“I had no say in who I was” – Mahmoud Darwish’s Mural

Mahmoud Darwish Exhibit at Bin Matar House

The Arab world has a long tradition of poetry.

In the pre-Islamic era, in Northern Arabia, Bedouin poets challenged each other to verbal duels.  Before a panel of esteemed judges, they described their nomadic life.  Their poems typically began with a lament for an abandoned camp and a lost love.  In the second verse they praised their camel or horse and described their difficult desert journey to the fair.  The finale was a tribute to the poets’ tribes while their enemies were vilified. ( Al-Bab.com)

The most beautiful poems, the Mou’allaqat, became the Hanging Ones.  The poems inscribed in gold letters were hung on the Ka’ba – the sacred stone in modern Mecca.

In the Arab world, Mahmoud Darwish is the modern day Moudhahhabat or Gilded One.

The “savior of the Arab language” his thirty volumes of poetry have sold over two million copies.  Reporters wrote whether he read his poems in Cairo or Damascus thousands of people, from college professors to cab drivers, attended.

“He could not walk out in public without being recognized.”

Like his Bedouin predecessors, his poets are laments for his lost land and love, Palestine.  They describe his difficult journey to Lebanon after his upper Galilee village was destroyed by Israeli soldiers in 1948.  When his horse finally found its way back to Ramallah in the newly formed state of Israel, he began to write poetry reflecting his experience of exile.

Imprisoned several times for reading his poems, he eventually moved to the Soviet Union, Cairo, Tunis, Beirut, and Paris.  There he continued to lament Palestinian uprootedness while finding the courage, and humanity, to write about his Jewish friends, lovers and Israeli jailors in “tender, nuanced portraits”.

After a life-threatening heart surgery, Darwish’s focus changed to the personal experience that transcends all emotions and politics – death.

The Mural excerpts I posted,

Someday I will become a thought, a bird and a poet,

show Darwish became more metaphysical or Sufi-like.  Like others who are confronted with their own mortality, Darwish described his near-death experience;

I came before my hour so no angel approaches to ask:

what did you do over there in the world?

I don’t hear the chorus of the righteous or wailing of the sinners

I am alone in whiteness

alone …

Alone, in the center of a room at the Bin Mattar House is a 4×2 meter concrete wall echoing the Ka’ba.  Layered on gold sheets, a photographic print of the Mural manuscript is embossed onto its walls.

Until I visited the exhibit last week, Darwish was unknown to me.

His first book, Wingless Birds was published in 1960.  But it wasn’t until 2001 when he won the $350,000 Lannan Prize for Cultural Freedom that his works were widely translated into English.  After awarding his prize, this American foundation began translating his work and publishing it through the University of California Press.

“His courage in speaking out against injustice and oppression, while eloquently arguing for a peaceful and equitable co-existence between Palestinian Arabs and Israeli Jews is what motivated Lannan Foundation to honor him.”

French artists Marie-Francoise Rouy and Luc Martinez created this exhibit before Darwish’s death in 2008.  Normally Darwish destroyed his manuscripts.  But when this project was proposed, he agreed to write out the last lines.  This living wall is a place people can gather to hear him reading and feel his words with their hands.

Despite the fact that pre-Islamic poetry is etched into the Ka’ba,  its existence causes controversy and Imams debate its significance.  Darwish’s life and work written at this particular moment in time will continue to be a thorn in the side of those in power.

His elegy written on cement walls in Bahrain will probably be the closest this Moudhahhabat’s work will come to hanging alongside his Bedouin predecessors.

Mahmoud Darwish’s Mural  is a multimedia and interactive art installation by artists Marie-Francoise Rouy and Luc Martinez.  It will continue through 31 June 2012 at the Bin Mattar House in Muharraq, Bahrain.

One Day I’ll Become a Poet

On the River Jordan is a site called Bethany Beyond the Jordan. It is said to be the place where John baptized Jesus. It is on the Jordanian side of the river. The water is very low because further upriver the river was dammed and the water diverted.

One day I’ll become what I want

One day I’ll become a poet

Water obedient to my vision

My language a metaphor for metaphors

I don’t speak or indicate a place

Place is my sin and subterfuge

I am from there

My here leaps from my footsteps to my imagination…

I am from what was or will be

I was created and destroyed in the expanse of the endless void.

– pg. 11 from Murals by Mahmoud Darwish

One Day I Will Become a Bird

Dove in Seyahdi House in Muharraq Bahrain

One day I’ll become what I want

One day I’ll become a bird

that plucks my being from nothingness.

As my wings burn I approach the truth

and rise from the ashes

I am the dialogue of dreamers

I shunned the body and self to complete the first journey

towards meaning

but it consumed me then vanished

I am that absence

The fugitive from heaven

pg. 11 from Murals by Mahmoud Darwish

One Day I Will Become a Thought

Poppies on mountain outside Bethlehem

One day I will become what I want

One day I will become a thought

that no sword or book can dispatch to the wasteland

A thought equal to rain on the mountain split open by a blade of grass

where power will not triumph

and justice is not fugitive.

– pg 10 from Murals by Mahmoud Darwish

Flower in the Sand

Desert flower after a winter with less than 3/4s of an inch of rain.

When the sky is grey

and I see a rose sprouting through the cracks in the wall

I don’t say: the sky is grey

but keep my eye on the rose and tell it:

it’s quite a day!

from Mural by Mahmoud Darwish

How Much is That Pearl in the Window?

Coming out of the Newport Beach post office last summer, this Golden Retriever pulled up in his chauffeured Bentley.

We started chatting and I asked him how did he get his car.

Bahraini Pearl Necklace

He said “I inherited my Mistress’ pearl necklace.  Those Bahraini pearls were a good investment.”

At least that’s the way I told the story to Ace and Mark when they asked me what I wanted for Mother’s Day.

From Clay She Molded an Image of Herself

This was actually after the second session. I forgot to take a photo of the first session.

The past four weeks I have been taking a sculpturing class from Michelle Karam.  For twenty years Michelle has been operating a ceramics studio.  This is the first time I got the opportunity to take her class.

She is teaching head sculpting.  Using her technique, in 8 sessions, we have gone from a figure that resembled a grey alien to a completed project.  She taught an amazing method to make the eyes.

Session 3 - adding ears and a base.

Session 4 - Fixing shoulder proportions and adding hair.

Session 5 -

Session five, I had to give her a lobotomy. I cut off the back of the head, scraped out the interior clay and reattached the cranium. I gained a new respect for brain surgeons.

Session 6-7.

For sessions 6-7, I spent most of the time hollowing out the stand and entire head, before stuffing it with newspaper.  I began attaching a hairpiece.  It was too heavy.  Her neck split open and her head fell backwards, nearly rolling off the table into my neighbor’s lap.

With help, I repositioned the head so she leaned forward and patched her severed neck.  Then added clay to the stand to support it.  Once everything was stable, again, I attached a head scarf.

The headscarf

It took four tries to get the headscarf correct.

Then I practiced making flowers until I came up with a strange lily and hibiscus arrangement.  It was time to be done – for now.  The class has been a fantastic experience.

The final outcome.

The amusing aspect of sculpting is that many of the heads looked quite a bit like their creator despite the attempts to create an Other.  I do not think mine looks like me.  It was only as I stared at Mojo over dinner did I realize she resembled him – with bigger lips.

I have no idea what will happen when she dries and is placed in the kiln.  I don’t know if she will live through her trial by fire.

Perhaps like the Divine I will have to create billions and billions in the hope that one day my creation will be perfect.

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