World Literature

Contemporary World literature: Poetry from Syria

Beautiful woman covering tears

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Contemporary World literature

Poetry from Syria

Three Poems by Shurouk Hammoud

Shurouk Hammod, born in 1982, is a Syrian poetess, editor and literary translator. She did Bachler in Arts and a Masters in text translation from Damascus University. Shurouk is also the member of Palestinian Writers and Journalists Union. She has three published poetry collections in Arabic language and two published poetry collections in English titled: The night papers and blind time, which is translated and published in Serbian and Macedonian languages.

Contemporary World Literature - Syria- Shurouk Hammod - Sindh CourierHer poetry has been translated into 14 languages. And as a translator she has translated 16 books so far, in addition to poems by more than 40 poets from around the world.

She has also won many local and international creativity awards:

Charles Baudelaire first prize for poetry creativity, 2018

Sylvia Plath medal for writing poetry, 2017

Jack Kerouac prize for poetry, 2016, Italy

Arthur Rimbaud poetry prize, 2016, Italy

NAJI Naaman prize for poetry, 2015, Lebanon

Nazik al-Malaeka poetry prize, 2012, Iraq

Alexandria Library poetry prize, 2012, Egypt

I did not want to write

I am damaged, my dear!

I was not kidding when I said to you:

My heart is a matchbox that was wetted by tears.

My eyes are an hourglass

Time runs out in

Whenever shadows of love pass in front of them

I am damaged in an unfamiliar way,

So don’t try to be my Night’s Knight

Who comes on the Moon Horse?

I am tired of looking at the sky

As a sunflower

And I buried my compass

So that the directions would not stammer in my head like a time bomb

Then I recover from my ice

That keeps me alive

Like a corpse.

Fake life of a real person

I joined parties I knew nothing about

I attended the Communists Meetings

Just because my friends asked me to spend longer time with them,

I celebrated Nowruz with the Kurds

And danced around the fire

Like an Indian

Also just because I liked them

I attended discussion seminars about books I have not read

Because I like to sneak out silently to smoke a cigarette

Fate gifted me many nightmares that I used to tell to everyone

Under the pretext of interpretation

And the truth is, I don’t care about interpretation as I care for the pleasure I feel

 When all people turn to be the closest to my empty heart!

I flirt my sorrows

I flirt my nightmares

Pat their shoulders

Invite them to all my poetry-reading sessions

And let them sit in the first row as the closest friends.

Of course they did not hear of ingratitude,

So they share the same eagerness

Crown me as their first priority,

Telling me stories I thought I had forgotten,

Dancing with my past on the stairs of tomorrow,

And as they feel the pulse of frost in my body,

They sing to me

Their stubborn songs

In order not to sleep!

____________________________

Also read: Recreating Palestine in Literature: A Nation Crafted From Words

 

 

 

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