Arxius

Posts Tagged ‘Àrab’

Adonis: Un Ulisses que ve de Síria

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55 …..BUSCO ULISSES

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Erro per les grutes sulfuroses,
abraço les espurnes,
sorprenc els secrets
en un núvol d’encens,
sota les ungles dels esperits.
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Busco Ulisses,
potser m’elevarà els seus dies,
talment una escala,
potser em parlarà,
em dirà el que les ones ignoren.
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57 …..TERRA SENSE RETORN

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Encara que tornis, Ulisses,
encara que t’oprimeixin les distàncies
i l’adalil se salseixi
en el teu rostre amarg
o en la teva pregona paüra,
romandràs història de la partença,
romandràs en una terra sense promesa,
en una terra sense retorn.
Encara que tornis, Ulisses.
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63 …..ULISSES

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Qui ets? De quin cim vens?
Llengua verge que només tu coneixes.
Com et dius i quin estendard has enarborat o llançat?
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Ho preguntes, Alcinoo?
Vols descobrir el rostre del mort?
Preguntes de quin cim vinc?
Preguntes com em dic?
Em dic Ulisses,
vinc d’una terra sense fronteres
que la gent porta a les espatlles.
He vagat, per aquí i per allá, amb les meus poemes;
i aquí em tens, esfereït i escardalenc,
sense saber si quedar-me o tornar-me’n.
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Adonis

800px-Adonis

علي أحمد سعيد إسبر Ali Ahmad Said Esber (Adonis) (Al-Qassabin, Síria, 1930)

Cants
de Mihiar el de Damasc

Traducció de Dolors Cinca i Pinós

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Adonis Cants del MihiarAdonis

Cants
de Mihiar el de Damasc

Traducció de Dolors Cinca i Pinós

Arola Edicions. Tarragona, 2010
ISBN: 9788492839599

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Khalil Hawi. El mariner i el dervix

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The syncretism of Late Antiquity is typical of the post-modern shadow of Ulysses. That of the Lebanese Khalil Hawi is a singular, bitter, apocalyptic concretion of Gilgamesh, Ulysses and Sindbad, Coleridge and Eliot, a ‘sailor’ who wanders through the unconscious, sacrifices his soul for knowledge, despairs of science, and sets sail towards the primordial banks of the Ganges where an ancient dervish foresees his death, the flames and ashes to fall on the coasts of the West, the emergence of boiling mud from a scowling earth, a new Athens or Rome. […]

For ‘syncretism’ do not read painless absorption, acquiescence in another’s models: read, as the Jews were forced to read, anguish, culture clash, and a tearing divide in life and history. Ulysses, as Dante understood once and for all, is no statue, but a flame, the tongue of fire which tells of a Greek condemned to death by the god of another’s culture. Ulysses is the West and he who knows it: attracted by it, his struggle is with himself.

Piero Boitani

The shadow of Ulysses beyond 2001
Comparative Criticism. Myth and mythologies. Vol. 21, pp. 3-19
Cambridge University Press 1999

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El mariner i el dervix - 1

El mariner i el dervix - 2
El mariner i el dervix - 3
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The Mariner and the Dervish

He sailed with Ulysses into the unknown, and with Faust he sacrificed his soul for the sake of knowledge. In the end, he despaired of modern science, rejecting it with Huxley and setting sail for the banks of the Gangesthe origin of Sufism. He saw nothing but dead clay here; nothing but hot clay there. Clay upon clay.

After suffering the swirl of storm and sea
and delusive light across darkened path,
and the expanse of the unknown
unfolding the unknown,
unveiling enveloping death,
unfurling blue shrouds for the drowned,
and opening the jaws of caves gowned
in the glow of flames on the horizon’s edge;
after tricking him, the wicked tempest
tossed him into the ancient East.

He set ashore in a fabled land
of which storytellers speak—
a tired tavern, legends and lore,
prayer and palm trees of partial shade
sheepishly murmuring in this humid,
uninhabited waste, wearing away
all feeling in feverish nerves,
muddling all memory and muffling
the remote, recurring echo—
the call of distant ports.

O if only the naked, ascetic dervishes would help him!
Dizzy from the dance of recitation and remembrance,
they transcended life.
Circles upon circles
around the ancient dervish,
his legs taking root in mud, motionless,
absorbing the excrement of the aging earth.
In the folds of his skin sprout parasitic plants,
old moss and thick-growing ivy.
Absent of feeling, he will fail to awaken,
and his share of the season’s fertile harvest
coursing through his veins
is but a rag that plants elegant beauty
on his old and tattered skin.

—Come, tell of the treasures
that have driven your eyes down
into the dark depths of the unknown.
—Crouching in this place
a thousand times, a thousand years,
crouching on the banks of the ancient Ganges,
the roads of the earth, however distant,
however far, all end at my doorstep,
and in my hut rest the twins:
God and boundless time.
And I see—what is it I see?
Death, ashes, flames!
descending upon the western shore.
Gaze out and you, too, shall see!
Or can you not bear the sight?
That frothing ghoul in boiling clay,
the feverish, forsaken ports,
and look! the pregnant earth writhing,
suffering, sending forth from the clay,
now and again, an Athens or a Rome!
And then the glow of fever rattling
in a barren chest, leaving behind a blister
and ashes from the refuse of time.

That suffering ghoul,
I see him as but a child
born of transient time,
a shriveled hand weaving a shroud
from his unraveling nerves.
Death is near, and you see me
crouching in this place
a thousand times, a thousand years,
crouching on the banks of the ancient Ganges,
and in my hut rest the twins:
God and boundless time.

Or do you believe yourself burdened
by the sight you cannot bear?

Leave me! The lighthouses
charting my course have died in my eyes.
Leave me to go where I do not know.
The distant ports will not deceive me:
some are feverish clay,
some are lifeless clay.
O how often have I burned in that boiling clay!
O how often have I died in that dying clay!
The distant ports will not deceive me:
leave me to the sea, to the wind, to death
unfurling blue shrouds for the drowned,
a mariner, in whose eyes
the lighthouses have extinguished.
Dead is that light in his eyes, dead:
heroism shall not spare him,
nor the humility of prayer.

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Khalil Hawi (1919 - 1982)

Khalil Hawi (1919 – 1982)

Khalil Hawi
Translation: Josh Moore
Font: www.indianajosh.com

 

 

Il marinaio e il derviscio

Con Ulisse vagò nell’inconscio,
con Faust immolò la sua anima
a causa della conoscenza.
Infine, nella nostra epoca,
egli disperò della scienza.
Estraniatosi come Huxley,
fece vela per le rive del Gange,
sorgente madre del sufismo.
Là egli non vide altro
che creta senza vita,
qui solo caldo fango:
pur sempre e solo fango.

Dopo aver avuto a che fare
col mal di mare, con lumi
devianti dalla rotta oscurata,
con ignote distese dilaganti
ad accerchiarlo da ogni lato
fuori dall’inconscio, dalla morte,
la quale sciorina sudari
azzurri per l’annegato,
spalanca fauci cavernose
in vacui orizzonti, rivestiti
di un bagliore d’incendio,
eccolo infine proiettato
dall’ingannevole gioco dei venti
sui lidi dell’antico Oriente.

Così approdò in una terra
di cui narrano in oziose taverne
i cantastorie, miti, preghiere,
il mormorio svagato delle palme
dalle fievoli ombre.
Ivi uno sciabordio acquoso
intorpidisce ogni sensazione
lungo i nervi infiammati,
e attutisce ogni ricordo
a un’eco ripetuta e distante
come il richiamo di porti remoti.
Potessero almeno aiutarlo
i nudi, ascetici dervisci!
Rutilanti nei vortici
dei loro circoli di rimembranza,
essi ormai oltrepassarono
i confini dell’esistenza.

Circoli e ancora circoli
intorno a un vecchio derviscio:
le gambe radicate nella melma,
assorbe linfa dalla grama terra.
Se ne sta immoto insensibile,
e nelle pieghe della sua pelle
germogliano piante parassite:
muschio stagionato dal tempo,
edera che infittisce crescendo.
Egli mai più si sveglierà,
ma quel po’ di fertile stagione
che gli scorre ancora nelle vene
riveste di bellezza e eleganza
la sua vecchia pelle screpolata.

“Suvvia, svelami i tesori
che attrassero il tuo sguardo
nel profondo dell’inconscio”.
“Da mille anni accovacciato
in questo ricorrente sciabordio
sulla riva primordiale del Gange,
le vie del mondo, benché distante,
tutte si arrestano alla mia porta,
e nella mia capanna dimorano
divinità ed eternità gemelle.
Tu vuoi sapere che cosa vedo?
Morte, cenere e fiamme,
abbattersi sui lidi d’Occidente.

Osserva tu stesso e vedrai:
o non puoi tollerare la vista
di quel mostro in fermento?
Anche il fango ribolle di febbre,
i porti sono battuti dalla febbre,
ma ecco: la terra è gravida,
soffre il travaglio e le doglie.
E’ così che erompe alla luce
ogni tanto un’Atene o una Roma,
fra scorie combuste del tempo.
Così in un petto devastato
a una febbre che divampa
subentrano strani tumori.

Io in quel demone sofferente
non vedo altro che un figlio
generato dall’attimo fuggente,
e una mano dai peli grigi
già ordisce coi suoi nervi
un sudario per la sua morte.
Ma tu vedi me accovacciato
in questo perenne sciabordio
da mille anni per mille volte
sulla riva primordiale del Gange.
E nella mia capanna dimorano
divinità e eternità gemelle”.

“Non ti senti dunque oberato
da una visione insostenibile?”.
“Lasciami, che io prosegua
il cammino nell’inconscio.
La luce dei fari è spenta
sulla mia rotta ai miei occhi.
Non mi attira più ormai
la lusinga di porti lontani,
scavati nel fango febbrile,
di altri nel fango senza vita.
Quante volte io bruciai
nella febbre di quel fango,
quante volte sono morto
in quel fango inanimato!

Ormai quei porti remoti
non mi traggono in inganno.
Lasciami al mare, al vento,
e alla morte, che sciorina
sudari azzurri per l’annegato:
un marinaio, ai cui occhi
è spenta la luce dei fari.
Spenta la luce sulla sua rotta,
gesti eroici non lo salveranno,
né l’umiltà della preghiera”.

Khalil Hawi
Traduzione di Pino Blasone

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Ilyādhat Hūmīrūs. La Ilíada en àrab de Suleiman al-Bustani

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Suleiman al-Bustani (سليمان البـسـتاني ) 1856–1925) (Bkheshtin, Líban, 1856 - Nova York, 1925).

Suleiman al-Bustani (سليمان البـسـتاني ) 1856–1925) (Bkheshtin, Líban, 1856 – Nova York, 1925).

Sulaymân al-Bustânî (1856-1925) translated the Iliad of Homer into Arabic verses with a 200-page historical and literary introduction to the author and his works. First edited in Cairo 1904, Ilyâdhat Homîros is an impressive comparative study in the literatures of old Greek heathenism and pre-Islamic Arab Jâhiliyya. The book compares the 150 years of “pre-Islamic renaissance” (an-nahda al-jâhiliyya) with poet Imru’ al-Qays at its height 90 years before Islam, to the centuries around Homer in 900 B.C.E. (1: 117). It compares Arab heroes like `Antara to Greeks of Achilles’ calibre, and the Arabic “hanged poems” (al-Mu`allaqât) to the Greek great tradition of epic poetry (1: 173). Finally, it compares the rather “primitive” war, Harb al-Basus, to the more spectacular Trojan War (1: 168) and compares the Arabian traditions of competition — athletic, as was illustrated by the forty years’ war that followed a disputed racing between Dâhis and al-Ghabrâ, and intellectual, as in the ta`âkuzia debates (1: 191) — to the great Greek tradition of agonism.

Mohammed Ben Jelloun
Agonistic Islam (nota 6)

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Iliada Al-Boustani

Inici del Cant I de la Ilíada, en la traducció d’Al-Boustani (1904)

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The importance of El Bostany’s poetic translation is due to the three following factors:
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1.- It represents a turning point in the cultural and academic life in Egypt and the Arab world. It was published 21 years before the foundation of the Department of Ancient European Culture (= Classics) in Cairo University (1925) by Taha Hussein […]. Therefore, it can be reasonably said that this translation partially contributed to the establishment of Greek and Latin Studies in Egypt. Soliman El Bostany had tried to teach himself Greek. However his translation of the Iliad depends on French, Italian and English translation rather than on the Greek original.
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2.- The introduction to El Bostany’s translation is extremely interesting. It is a serious comparative study of Greek and Arabic poetry. It also deals with the problems of translating poems into poetic translations. This introduction, appearing so early, can be considered as a leading study in classics and comparative criticism.
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3.- It is the first complete translation of the Iliad into Arabic.

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[…]
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The translation of the Iliad intto Arabic took Soliman El Bostany almost twenty years of hard work. It has about eleven thousand Arabic verses, parallel to about sixteen thousand Greek original verses. The problems which El Bostany faced are numerous. Such translation requires wide reading in the mythology, history, archeology, geography, economy and politics of Ancient Greece. How did he solve the problems? […]
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In the 1960s Dreeny Khashabah published an Iliad and an Odyssey. A Lebanese, Anber Salam by name, published simplified texts of the two epics. Amin Salama also published the two epics in Arabic. The last serious effort was that of the great Syrian poet Mamdouh Udwan who published in Abu Dhabie (2002) a complete prose translation of the Iliad, made from an English translation.
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Ahmed Etman
The Arab Reception of the Classics, dins de:
A Companion to Classical Receptions
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Suleiman al-Bustani

Suleiman al-Bustani

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AL.SHI’R AL-MURSAL (BLANK VERSE) IN MODERN ARABIC LITERATURE

The accepted definition of poetry among most of the classical Arab prosodists is al-kalãm al-mawzûn al-muqaffã ‘speech in metre and rhyme’. Unrhymed verse was thus excluded.

The simplest rhyme in Arabic verse is generally a consonant (rawiyy) between two vowels. The only exception to this rule is the rhyme of al-qasîda al-maqsûra, i.e. in a poem which rhymes with alif maqsûra, where the consonant is not important.

It is obvious from statements of critics and philosophers interested in the Greek sciences that the fact that the Greeks wrote blank verse was known to the Arabs. However, they were all firm in their conviction that rhyme in Arabic poetry was essential as metre. In his Kitãb al-shi’r, al Fãrãbi (873-950) observed that Homer used blank verse: ‘It is clear from the work (fi’l) of Homer (Awmirûsh) the poet of the Greeks, that he does not keep the equal endings (of the lines) while the Arabs pay more attention to rhyme than do other nations: ‘The Arabs pay more attention to the ending of verses in poetry than many nations with whose poetry we are acquainted’.

Even the great scholar of Greek philosophy and commentator on the Poetica of Aristotle, Ibn Sinã (980-1037), tended to deny Arabic unrhymed verse the title of poetry: ‘Poetry is imaginary speech (kalãm mukhayyal), equal rhythm; repeated according to its measure; similar in its final letters (mutashãbiha hurûf al-khawãtim)… our saying: “similar in its endings” is in order to distinguish between the rhymed and unrhymed. We almost do not call that which is unrhymed poetry’.

The Arab prosodists disapproved of slight discordances in the rhyme, its vowel, and the vowels preceding its consonant (rawiyy). In their developed ‘art of rhymes’ (‘ilm ak-qawãfi) each type of discordance was given a special term, such as iqwã’, ikfã, isrãf and sinãd. Of course, avoiding such ‘defects’ imposed greater restrictions on the poet’s freedom. Pure scientific, philological and lexicographic works which were written by Arabic scholars developed poetry towards purification in form, music, and visual perfection by introducing al-badi’ (the science of metaphor). These devices added further obstacles to the free expression of emotion and thought. During centuries the monotonous themes, poetical diction, and metaphor arrived at a point of stagnation, in spite of the fact that, through their extraordinary talents, great masters of Arabic poetry succeeded in adding a few interesting innovations to the Arabic poetic heritage.

Under the impact of the West, some Arab poets tried to introduce new poetic diction, metaphors, and themes, and to find new forms and music which suited them, in order to be able to avoid what they considered the enslaving style, and the sonorous and declamatory tone of classical Arab poetry. For this reason strophic forms of the muwash-shah and zajal were revived. The versification of the Iliad by Sulaymãn al-Bustãni (1856-1925) was one of the most serious attempts to get rid of the burden of the monorhyme in the monometric poem. Bustãni translated most of the Iliad into strophic verse following an established fashion among the Syrian and Lebanese poets. He did not want to use blank verse, the original form of the Iliad, in his versification, preferring strophic verse because, he stated, poetry in Arabic is defined by rhyme and metre (al-kalãm al-muqaffã ‘l-mawzûn). He therefore refrained from violating Arabic taste and the nature of the Arabic language which, in contrast with other languages, is rich in rhymes. However, although he was convinced that rhyme and its melody are an essential part of Arabic prosody, he did not use monorhyme extensively because he found it monotonous and an unnecessary restriction in epic and narrative poetry. Nevertheless, his admiration for rhyme led himself to avoid any defects in rhyme condemned by Arab prosodists.

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Smuel Moreh

Modern Arabic Poetry 1800-1970

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Elsa López, amb Aquil·les, Tersites i Penèlope, en castellà i en àrab

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EL EXTRANJERO

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Tú eres Aquiles, el hermoso perdedor,

el de la espada de hierro,

el de la radiante cabeza coronada,

el mejor.

La verdad que sí,

¡Oh dioses inmortales!

que eres realmente bello.

Y no me extraña en absoluto 

que Helena perdiera el aliento

y su peplo de seda

al verse frente a ti

arrojadas al mar sus sandalias de cuero.

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Yo soy Tersites, el guerrero aplastado por tu brazo

y el peso brutal de tus caballos.

Yo soy el que te ama

en medio del fragor de las batallas,

mordido y ensangrentado por tus perros.

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Elsa López

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Elsa López (Santa Isabel de Fernando Poó -Guinea Ecuatorial-, 1943)

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EL REINO DE ITACA

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Y Penélope espera en el lecho vacío

y las noches son largas

y le sobran las horas

para tejer el velo

que cubra su tristeza

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Elsa López

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Elsa López

La fajana oscura

Poemas

Premio de poesía “Rosa de Damasco 1989”

Traducción al árabe: Rifaat Atfe

Ediciones La Palma. Madrid, 1991

ISBN: 8487417116

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