Θυμάμαι κάποτε διάβασα στα περίφημα "άρθρα στην ελευθεροτυπία" του λαογράφου Η. Πετρόπουλου πως ο ποιητής γράφει στη γλώσσα του, η οποιαδήποτε μετάφραση αλλοιώνεται και χάνει...
Παραθέτω το ποίημα όπως δημοσιευτηκε, χωρίς να προσπαθήσω να το μεταφράσω προκειμένου να το φέρω στα "μέτρα μας".
Το ποίημα αυτό ειναι για εκείνον, που ποτέ δεν θέλησε να γίνει ένας επώνυμος ακτιβιστής, ως "ανώνυμος στρατιώτης", έδωσε φως στα σκοτεινά κελιά, σχεδίασε τον ανθρώπινο πόνο, προκειμένου να μας φέρει πιο κοντά και αρνείται κάθε μορφή καταπίεσης. Για εσένα που "δεν έχεις όνομα" όμως έχεις ψυχή. Το ποίημα αυτό αφιερώνεται σε έναν αληθινό άνθρωπο, που αγαπούσα και αγαπώ, στον άνθρωπο χωρίς όνομα, στον "άνθρωπο"...
For W (my Palestinian Friend on THE Border)
On the Thresholds of Syrian Border
I am born on the border
Of countries on the crossroads
I have no face,
I am born without papers
And no one knows my name.
I come and I go looking for belongings
Where do my people sleep?
As I stay with them under an open sky
Talking about hope,
I have no roof, and I have no food
In the camps with thousands of children starving
I cannot stay,
I have no mother, and I have no father to hold my hand,
And how can I tell that my brother vanished in jail no where to be found,
I have no place, and I cannot play anywhere
Is it because I have no friends, or because I have no name?
I am a silhouette on midnight of the full moon,
Looking for my wife and my children asleep somewhere,
Where are they gone, I cannot find them, night or day
And I am always sent across boarders because I have no place,
Instead I get caught dancing in a wind
With a man with a golden gun on his hand longing to kill
I have no dance, and I don’t know the steps
My face is pale, and I have no name.
They wrap their flag all around me,
Asking me to sing, pushing me to sing
My national anthem, that is not mine,
But I have no body, and I have no voice,
I have no country, and I have no song
As I open my mouth to utter a word,
What comes out is I have no name…
O my people, where are you now?
Between the checkpoints or on a death row,
Why your rainbows are covered with blood,
And your children’s dreams are stolen in the dark,
I have no body, and I have no soul,
But my heart still beats for you and your love.
December 1st, 2013
Beirut, Lebanon
By: Shqipe Shqipe Malushi
Παραθέτω το ποίημα όπως δημοσιευτηκε, χωρίς να προσπαθήσω να το μεταφράσω προκειμένου να το φέρω στα "μέτρα μας".
Το ποίημα αυτό ειναι για εκείνον, που ποτέ δεν θέλησε να γίνει ένας επώνυμος ακτιβιστής, ως "ανώνυμος στρατιώτης", έδωσε φως στα σκοτεινά κελιά, σχεδίασε τον ανθρώπινο πόνο, προκειμένου να μας φέρει πιο κοντά και αρνείται κάθε μορφή καταπίεσης. Για εσένα που "δεν έχεις όνομα" όμως έχεις ψυχή. Το ποίημα αυτό αφιερώνεται σε έναν αληθινό άνθρωπο, που αγαπούσα και αγαπώ, στον άνθρωπο χωρίς όνομα, στον "άνθρωπο"...
For W (my Palestinian Friend on THE Border)
On the Thresholds of Syrian Border
I am born on the border
Of countries on the crossroads
I have no face,
I am born without papers
And no one knows my name.
I come and I go looking for belongings
Where do my people sleep?
As I stay with them under an open sky
Talking about hope,
I have no roof, and I have no food
In the camps with thousands of children starving
I cannot stay,
I have no mother, and I have no father to hold my hand,
And how can I tell that my brother vanished in jail no where to be found,
I have no place, and I cannot play anywhere
Is it because I have no friends, or because I have no name?
I am a silhouette on midnight of the full moon,
Looking for my wife and my children asleep somewhere,
Where are they gone, I cannot find them, night or day
And I am always sent across boarders because I have no place,
Instead I get caught dancing in a wind
With a man with a golden gun on his hand longing to kill
I have no dance, and I don’t know the steps
My face is pale, and I have no name.
They wrap their flag all around me,
Asking me to sing, pushing me to sing
My national anthem, that is not mine,
But I have no body, and I have no voice,
I have no country, and I have no song
As I open my mouth to utter a word,
What comes out is I have no name…
O my people, where are you now?
Between the checkpoints or on a death row,
Why your rainbows are covered with blood,
And your children’s dreams are stolen in the dark,
I have no body, and I have no soul,
But my heart still beats for you and your love.
December 1st, 2013
Beirut, Lebanon
By: Shqipe Shqipe Malushi
مؤسسة جفرا | Jafra Foundation
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