I Say My Words out Loud
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I SAY MY WORDS OUT LOUD AHMED FOUAD NEGM PRINCE CLAUS FUND CONTENTS Poems Poems translated by Mona Anis My Country First 4 5 Mother Egypt 8 9 This is My Handwriting 12 13 Light a Candle 14 15 Pablo Neruda 18 19 Your Wondrous Sea, Oh Alexandria 24 25 Message Number 1 from Tura Prison 28 29 The Prison Ward 32 33 The Consolations of Poetry 38 39 Alone 42 43 Essays Ahmed Fouad Negm: ‘Speaking Truth to Power’ by Hala Halim 44 Exploding into the Seventies: Ahmed Fouad Negm, Sheikh Imam, and the Aesthetics of a New Youth Politics by Marilyn Booth 54 Acknowledgements 79 MY COUNTRY FIRST (1967) My country first, My country second, My country third. My country first, I’m improvising before singing my mawwal.1 My country second, I say my words out loud. My country third, It’s my treasure, my wealth, and my pride. My country first, I’m improvising before singing my mawwal According to what has been prescribed. My country second, I say my words out loud And without any punning. My country third, It’s my treasure, my wealth, and my pride, And it’s esteemed by all. My country first, I’m improvising before singing my mawwal According to what has been prescribed for the sick. My country second, I say my words out loud, Without punning and to the bull’s eye. 4 5 My country third, It’s my treasure, my wealth, and my pride. It’s esteemed by all, and it’s time, My country, that you drew a line Between truth and lies, Time you raised your banner high, A proof of your strength. My country first, My country second, My country third. 6 7 1 Mawwal, is a traditional form of vocal music that is usually presented before the actual song begins MOTHER EGYPT (1969) Let our words be preceded by our greetings to all who are listening, Little sparrow chirping rhymed words full of meaning About a dark land, a moon, A river, a boat and a shore, And fellow travellers on a hard journey And an image of a huge gathering And processions Reflected in the eyes of a beautiful young woman, Who is the reason for my words and meanings. Beautiful Mother Egypt Wearing a tarha and a long robe, Time’s grown old, and you’re still young, It’s now departing, and you’re still coming, Coming after a hundred and one nights, Treading on hardship, Smiling as always, As strong as ever. When you laugh, morning appears After dark and dusk, And the sun rises above you, A young, playful and beautiful woman. Islands of night Are swept by the sea, And dawn’s a high torch Undrowned by the waves, And the shore is looming Near sunlit cities. Come, give us a hand, Help us; No matter how rough the waves may be, Together, with resolution And perseverance, We will make the crossing. 8 9 Mother Egypt, you’re like a ship; No matter how rough the sea may be, Your peasants are your sailors; They will harness the winds. The helmsman is a worker And the oarsman, an Arab knight, And the one up on the mast Can see all that has passed And all that is to come. Two knots, and a third for luck, You ride on the crest of a strong wave To reach the shore safely, Young, playful and beautiful. And our sweet words carried by our greetings Hover above the gathering once more, Like a sparrow singing its merriment, Dropping songs as if they were seeds Kissing the land which receives them with joy. They blossom, They grow, Become songs again, Singing: He who built Egypt Was a sweet maker. 10 11 THIS IS MY HANDWRITING (1970) This is my handwriting, And these are my words. Cover the paper with tears, Oh my eyes, For the olive groves are mine, And this land is an Arab land. Its breeze is my breath, And its dust is of my people, And it would not forget me If I tried to forget. This is my handwriting, And these are my words. I shall write, Oh my eyes, You are forbidden sleep. And I shall dim my eyesight with tears all day, Until I pay my debt That is as sacred As prayer and fasting. For debt to the free man Is bitter agony, disgrace, And worries towing hidden grief. This is my handwriting, And these are my words. I shall write on my hand, With my blood as ink, Oh my resolve, don’t fail me, Oh my people, do join in. And when we fulfill our promise We shall rejoice in the names Of those who died young In shelled houses and schools, And those workers buried Under the factory’s rubble. 12 13 This is my handwriting, And these are my words. LIGHT A CANDLE (1970) Light a candle, loved ones, Lead my steps. Two eyelashes Are bidding me follow: One course leads to blame, The other to regret; Two courses, each one risky, Tell me, people, where to go, Light a candle, Lead my steps. Two piercing eyelashes On magical eyes. They raise my heartbeat, Promising me love; Promises like raw fruit Growing on the other bank, Flirting with me, Calling to me From afar, saying I am yours. I wish I could, I want to cross, But premonitions slow me down. One course leads to blame, The other to regret; Two courses, each one risky, Tell me, people, where to go, Light a candle, Lead my steps. Light a candle, young maids, Lead my steps, allay my fears. A sea separates me from my love With waves like my premonitions, Each wave carrying its own load: 14 15 A night’s dream, A night’s worry. Count the waves of the sea, you Who have seen me, And tell my loved one I wish I could, I want to cross, But premonitions slow me down. One course leads to blame, The other to regret; Two courses, each one risky, Tell me, people, where to go, Light a candle, Lead my steps. Why, my heart, has love crossed our path? Why be blamed by those not in love? Love has come, bringing anguish, Disturbing our sleep at night. From dusk to dawn We are awake when others sleep. Wounds are our destiny, But one day the wounded shall be cured. Oh my heart, all this anguish? Calm yourself and follow reason: One course leads to blame, The other to regret; Two courses, each one risky, Tell me, people, where to go, Light a candle, Lead my steps. 16 17 PABLO NERUDA (1973) Shoulder your gun And consign your promises And excuses To the dustbin. They massacred the roses On the cheeks of the girls And the greenery In their hearts. There can be no peace, Oh fabricators of the age of prosperity, With the ogres all around. Wounds are still fresh; They, History, And memories Have not been forgotten: Imam Hussein, Spartacus, Allende, Lorca, Abdel-Rehim,1 A peasant from our country Who was burnt before Doomsday In the hell of betrayed Sinai, Constantly betrayed. Ernesto Guevara The great, Khamis and Baqari,2 Shafie,3 Adham4 With his old mawwal, And Qotb, the pivot of religion himself,5 Punished for reciting the Qur’an. A garnet necklace, beaded with martyrs 18 19 From the time of Socrates. Today, a diamond has been added: Neruda, the morning piper, The pipe of the breeze. In the morning beautiful Santiago Drinks milk from your songs. Scared, the sparrows Scattered When the owl cried The portents of your death. You, a martyr, Whose presence fills the space, A surgeon visiting the wounded, Examining their wounds. They rise, Reach for their guns, And with all the might of the afflicted They stab at what has plagued them, Putting an end to the plague. The sun rises in the morning, Bidding good morning To all those Carrying guns and wounds in one hand And flutes in the other. And the sun rises in the morning Above every palace And every wilderness, And the sun falls At dusk As Pablo Neruda is martyred. Oh earth, Mother of boys, Rotating, counting the years. Oh earth, Mother of girls, 20 21 Rotating, counting the past: Hardships, Wars, Peoples’ ordeals, Dogs, Agony, Fog, Sunsets, Lightning, Thunder, Sunrise, Uprisings, Struggles, Just duels, Unjust ones. And justice was And remains At all times The cause And the gamble. And the land will always remain A stage for the knights in the arena: Imam Hussein, Spartacus, Guevara, Lorca, Abdel-Rehim, Neruda, the morning piper, Neruda, The pipe of the breeze. 1 an Egyptian soldier killed in the Arab-Israeli 1967 War 2 two workers hanged in Egypt in 1952 22 23 3 leader of the Sudanese Communist Party hanged in 1971 4 an Arab folk hero who sided with the poor 5 Muslim Brotherhood leader Sayed Qotb hanged in 1966 YOUR WONDROUS SEA, OH ALEXANDRIA (1976) Oh Alexandria, Grant me some of your love, Let your wondrous sea Toss me from the arms of one wave to another While it’s rough and the fishing is plenty. Let me wash my clothes and hang up my worries, With the sun rising above me and me rising with it, As if I were a peasant in Urabi’s army1 Who died guarding the fortress And was swept away by your sea; As if I were a breeze atop the hills Coming from the sea to drown in your magic; As if I were words from the mind of Beiram,2 A song straight from Sayed’s heart;3 As if I were a student who In the heart of a demonstration Chanting your name died rejoicing.