Nizar qabbani poetry in english
If only my lovely granddaughter had a way of knowing, The ones she meant were my ancestors of long, long ago. Her glory! I anointed an open wound festering, And in my heart anointed another that refused to go. She said: Alhambra! Pride of my ancestors glowing, Read on its walls my glories that shine and show. Foreman Click to hear me recite the original Arabic The day the conversation ended Between your breasts awash in water And the tribes that battled over water, That day ended our Golden Age And began the Age of Decay. The decoration of Alhambra I almost hear pulsing, And the ornaments on the roof, I hear their call grow. Behind her like a child I walked, she was guiding, And behind me, history, piles of ashes row after row. The long earrings on her neck were glittering, Like Christmas Eve candles that sparkle and glow. She came with me and her hair behind her flowing, Like luscious ears of grain in an unharvested meadow. In the perfume of Generalife with waters gleaming, Its Arabian Jasmine, its sweet basil and citron odour. In your Arab face, in your mouth still storing The suns of my country from the days of Arab lore. WikiMatrix At 0955 hours, an armed terrorist group launched an attack from the direction of Qarabis, opening fire on a civilian vehicle as it crossed Nizar Qabbani street. Damascus, where is it? I said: you will be seeing It in your flowing hair, a river of golden black ore. Balqis al-rawi, the Iraqi wife of Syrian poet Nizar Qabbani, who worked for the embassys cultural section, was also killed in the attack. And the Jasmine inlaid in its stars were shining, With the golden singing pool, a picture of splendour.
I saw a room in our old house with a clearing, Where mother used to spread my cushions on the floor. With a Damascene face, through it I was seeing, The eyelids of Sheba and the neck of Sucad once more. How strange is history, how is it to me returning? A beautiful granddaughter, from my pedigree of yore. And Umayyad, with flags lifted high, flying, Their horses streaming by, unnumbered they pour.
Granada! Seven centuries awoke from slumbering, In her eyes, after the clothing of sleep they wore. Are you a Spaniard? I asked her enquiring, She said: Granada is the city where I was bore. Two soft black eyes in perfect frames enticing, Generating after-effects from the past ages afore. that the Syrian poet Nizar Qabbany wanted a burial in Damascus because it was the place that gave him 'the alphabet of Jasmine' A record of the entry may be seen at Wikipedia. Translated by Habeeb Salloum/Contributing WriterĪfter touring the Alhambra Palace in Granada with a beautiful Andalusian guide, the Syrian poet Nizar Qabbani wrote: At the entrance of Alhambra was our meeting, How sweet is a rendezvous not thought of before. A fact from Nizar Qabbani appeared on Wikipedias Main Page in the Did you know column on 18 August 2008, and was viewed approximately 833 times (check views).The text of the entry was as follows: Did you know. A figure by a pool at the Alhambra by Henry Stanier