Artwork by Daniela Stubbs. Image courtesy of the artist
لا خريطةَ للغجريةÙØŒ
Ùقط أغنيات
للأمكنة التي تعبرÙها
وتنسى.
ÙÙŠ سرّÙها ترنّم٠الغجريةÙØŒ
بعض٠الكلمات٠لاتأتيها
Ùتستعير٠نبضَ الطرقاتÙ
السريعة٠والبطيئة.
الطيور٠تÙهمÙ
وتجيب٠ÙÙŠ سرّÙها أيضاً.
هي لا تبالي كثيراً
بتØولات الليل والنهار
ولو يدهشÙها
كي٠يمرّ٠بها القمر٠كلَّ مرةÙ
ويمضي
كأنه٠قطارٌ سيختÙÙŠ بركّابهÙ
ليتوقÙÙ‘ÙŽØŒ ÙÙŠ Ù…Øطته٠الأخيرةÙØŒ ÙˆØيداً.
الغجرية٠لا تنتظر٠أØداً.
التاريخ٠دمٌ يابسٌ
ÙÙŠ Ø£Øمر الشÙاهÙ
تضعه٠الآن
من أجل قتل٠اللØظةÙ
أو تجميلÙها قليلاً.
هي تعرÙ٠الوقتَ
من انØناءات٠الوردÙØŒ
من قرب٠السماء٠أو بعدÙها،
ومن اليباس٠ÙÙŠ يديها.
Øينما تتعب٠الغجريةÙ
من التجوالÙØŒ
تجلس٠قليلاً ÙÙŠ الظلّÙØŒ
وبعودÙها الصغير
ترسم٠على الأرض
وجهَ شخص٠لا تعرÙÙ‡Ù.
~ Dunya Mikhail
The gypsy has no map,
only songs
for the places
she will cross
and forget.
She hums in secret
and when words don’t come
she borrows the roads’ beats,
the fast and the slow.
The birds understand.
They answer in secret, too.
She doesn’t care much
about transformations
between day and night
although she’s puzzled
and amazed by the moon,
how it passes her by
and moves away,
like a train disappearing
with its passengers
until it stops,
at the last station,
finally alone.
The gypsy waits for no one.
History is dry blood
in her lipstick.
She applies it now to kill
or beautify
the moment a little.
She knows the time
from the way the roses bend,
from how far or near the sky is,
and from the dryness in her hands.
When the gypsy tires
of wandering,
she sits in the shade
and with her little stick,
she draws on the earth’s floor
the face of someone
she doesn’t know.
~ trans. from Arabic by the poet
Dunya Mikhail is an Iraqi-American poet. She is the author of ‘The Iraqi Nights’, ‘Diary of A Wave Outside the Sea’, and ‘The War Works Hard’. Her honors include the Kresge fellowship (2013), the Arab American Book Award (2010), and being shortlisted for Griffin Prize (2006) and the UN Human Rights Award (2001).
Editors’ note: The Missing Slate editors wish to thank Michael Abi-Saab for his assistance with discussing the Arabic version of this poem.
