I started to write that it's a pity that Palestinian poet Mahmoud Darwish's obituary in the Times yesterday was written by a Jew, but that sort of cheap prejudice defies Darwish's spirit.
The poet would expect that anyone with the door open on his soul could understand his work; and the poetry was very accessible. Still, the Times obit was flat.
As'ad AbuKhalil a professor of political science at the University of California/Stanislaus, has translated many of Darwish's poems at angry Arab– and AbuKhalil's comment on the Times is savage/brilliant:
the New York Times. Ethan Bronner, who knows no Arabic, writes about
the poetics of Mahmud Darwish. I should start writing about Russian
poetics, not knowing any Russian. He says: "Mr. Darwish had the
straight hair, wire-rim glasses and blue blazer of a European intellectual."
Oh, yes. Arab intellectuals would never wear wrire-rim glasses or a
blue blazer, especially a blue blazer. As is known, blue blazers are as
offensive in Arab cultures as tossing shoes in people's faces. He then
says: "And while he wrote in classical Arabic rather than in the
language of the street." Can you ask Mr. Bronner what "the language of
the street" is? Is that the language of tossing shoes? Then Bronner (or
some Israeli military brochure) said: "During the war that led to
Israel’s independence, Mr. Darwish and his family, from the Palestinian
village of Al Barweh, left for Lebanon. The village was razed but the
family sneaked back across the border into Israel, where Mr. Darwish
spent his youth." First, notice that Mr. Darwish "left" for Lebanon. He
must have went for a picnic with his family. Secondly, notice that "the
village was razed" but we don't know by who. Who are the unknown
criminals who razed the village? I am sure an investigation is
undergoing to find out.
The best obit I've seen of Darwish is here, by Saifedean Ammous. Some excerpts:
For me, the most striking and admirable thing about Darwish’s poetry
is how it remained so resolutely humanist and universalist in its
message. Never did Darwish succumb to cheap nationalism and chauvinism;
never did he resort to vilification of his oppressors or the usual
jingoism so common in political art and literature. Never did he forget
that his oppressor too is human, just like him. The magnanimity,
forgiveness and humanism he exhibited in his work remain the ultimate
credit to this great author….
He was born in 1942 in Al-Birweh, Galilee, before the Zionist ethnic
cleansing of Palestine that made him a refugee in Lebanon in 1948. His
father decided to return his family to Palestine in 1949, risking
murder by Zionist militias that had murdered countless Palestinians who
attempted to “escape home”. Somehow, Darwish succeeded in returning,
and thus lived the years of his youth as a second-class Israeli
citizen. He would then leave to study in the Soviet Union in the early
1970’s, joining the growing Palestinian Diaspora in Europe. His
political activism lead to Israel stripping him of his second-class
citizenship, and thus returned him to the ranks of Palestinian refugees
and the Diaspora. He would then live in Egypt, Jordan and Lebanon,
getting to savor the experience of the homeless Palestinians wandering
across the Arab World.
Darwish witnessed the 1982 Israeli invasion of Lebanon—one of the
pivotal points of his life, his poetry and of Palestinian history—and
left with the Palestinian resistance on the boats headed to Tunisia.
From then on, he lived the quintessential Palestinian nomadic life; the
whole world was home for this stateless nomad.
…Throughout ethnic cleansing, living as a second-class citizen, being
placed under house arrest, having his second-class citizenship revoked,
being chased and hounded from one exile to another, being bombed in
almost each of these exiles and living under countless sieges,
Darwish’s humanism never succumbed. One of his most popular poems, Rita, spoke of his love for a Jewish Israeli woman by that name; and about the absurdity of wars coming between lovers.
…Darwish’s last poem, published a few weeks before his death, tells
the fascinating tale of falling into one hole with one’s enemy. Darwish
explores the dynamic of enemies facing a common plight; how the past is
remembered and yet forgotten when they cooperate to murder a snake; how
instinct triumphs over ideology and how a common plight makes the
concept of enmity absurd. In a pretty accurate description of the
current plight of Palestinians and Israelis, and in a very ominous
phrase indicating that Darwish felt his impending death, he concludes:
He said: Would you negotiate with me now?
I said: For what would you negotiate me now,
in this grave-hole?
He said: On my share and your share of this common grave
I said: What use is it?
Time has passed us,
Our fate is an exception to the rule
Here lie a murderer and the murdered, sleeping in one hole
And it remains for another poet to take this scenario to its end!
