A room that only had room for him and no other, not even dreams or even angels or devils
Yasmine Hussein, a lecturer at the Department of English Language and Literature, Alexandria University, has translated the Arabic poem of Maysara Salah El-din, an Egyptian poet, playwright and translator
Maysara Salah El-din is an Egyptian poet, playwright and translator, with a publishing record that includes many poetry volumes, verse plays and musicals. He received several national and Arab awards. A number of his poems were translated into English, Italian and Spanish, and many of his plays were performed on stage. His translations include Kokoro, Barbara, Shuggie Bain and The Bell Jar. His poetry collection Secret Numbers (2010) was recently translated into Spanish and appeared in print in 2023.
Yasmine Hussein is a lecturer at the Department of English Language and Literature, Faculty of Arts, Alexandria University. She received her MA degree in 2014 and her PhD in 2019, both in poetry. Besides academia, she has been working as a freelance translator and simultaneous interpreter since 2006.
Syllables and Iambs
He lived in a very narrow room
That he could barely enter sideways
And slept with his feet against the door
A room that only had room for him and no other
Not even dreams
Or even angels
Or devils,
For that
He didn’t talk much
And when he wrote poetry
His poems were
Short… humped… and coarse!
With no one to understand them
Or think to foster them
He himself wasn’t keen for them to finish their education
Until one night Walt Whitman
Appeared to him,
Pulled his hair
And told him
What is this rubbish you write?
His eyes grew red
And he felt sorry for himself
For misfortune wasn’t going to be his lot
In both this life and the hereafter
He summoned his courage and said
Give me time, Walt
Till I compile my new poetry collection
Szymborska materialized to him
From the box of old books
Under his bed and said
Man up dude
Will you loiter until your next collection?
He wiped his eyes
To dry his tears
But they fell harder
He produced a green piece of paper
That had been wrapped around some stale bread
And held his pencil to sharpen it
But to do so had to bite on it
He started to write
And write
And write
The ceiling grew further
The bed under him grew wider
And the mattress became softer
The angels entered
Lighting candles
Illuminating the place
Out of the fissures in the wall came
Herds of deer
Galloping everywhere
And a glutted panther
Savannah
Grew from the floor
A fan descended from the ceiling
And a waterfall burst forth
Satan also took heart
And entered
And started to whisper to him
But he wasn’t used to such whispering
He continued to write
And write
And write
And his eyes ran with tears
Until the blade fell from his hand
And blood spattered everywhere
And they didn’t begin to interrogate
The poem
Till
Three days after …
***
أسباب وأوتاد
كان ساكن في أوضة ضيقة قوي
يا دوب يقدر يدخلها بالجنب
وينام فيها ورجليه ساندة ع الباب
أوضة ما تساعش حد غيره
ولا حتى الأحلام
ولا حتى الملايكة
ولا الشياطين،
علشان كدا
كان قليل الكلام قوي
وكان لما بيكتب شعر
قصايده بتطلع
قصيرة.. ومقتبة.. وخشنة
ومحدش يفهمها
ومحدش يفكر يتبناها
وهو كمان مكانش مهتم تكمل تعليمها
لحد ما في ليلة والت ويتمان
طلع له
وشده من شعره
وقال له
إيه العك اللي بتكتبه دا؟
عينيه احمرت
وصعبت عليه نفسه قوي
ما هو مش هايبقى
ولا دنيا ولا آخرة
استجمع شجاعته وقال له
استنى عليّا يا والت
لحد ما أجمع الديوان الجاي
شيمبوريسكا طلعت له
من صندوق الكتب القديمة
اللي تحت السرير وقالت له
استرجل شوية يا جدع إنت
إنت لسّه هاتستنى للديوان الجاي
مسح بإيده على عينيه
عشان ينشف دموعه
فزادت
وطلّع ورقة لونها أخضر
تقريبا كان ملفوف بيها رغيف بايت
ومسك قلمه اللي عشان يبريه
كان مضطر يعضعضه بسنانه
ابتدى يكتب
يكتب
يكتب
وابتدى سقف الأوضة يعلى
والسرير يوسع من تحتيه
والمرتبة تبقى طرية
ابتدت الملايكة تخش
تولع شمع
وتنور المكان
طلع من شقوق الحيطة
أسراب من الغزلان
تتنطط في كل حتّة
وفهد مصاب بالتخمة
وأعشاب السافانا
نبتت م الأرض
ونزل م السقف مروحة
وانفجر شلال ميّة
الشيطان كمان اتشجع
ودخل
وابتدى يوسوس له
وهو مش واخد ع الوسوسة
فضل يكتب
يكتب
يكتب
وعينيه بترغرغ بالدموع
لحد ما الموس وقع من إيده
والدم طرطش في كل حتّة
وما بدؤوش يحققوا
مع القصيدة
غير بعديها
بتلات تيام…
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