9/25/06

مايا أنجلو


The night has been long,
The wound has been deep,
The pit has been dark,
And the walls have been steep.
Under a dead blue sky on a distant beach,
I was dragged by my braids just beyond your reach.
Your hands were tied, your mouth was bound,
You couldn't even call out my name.
You were helpless and so was I,
But unfortunately throughout history
You've worn a badge of shame.

I say, the night has been long,
The wound has been deep,
The pit has been dark
And the walls have been steep.

But today, voices of old spirit sound
Speak to us in words profound,
Across the years, across the centuries,
Across the oceans, and across the seas.
They say, draw near to one another,
Save your race.
You have been paid for in a distant place,
The old ones remind us that slavery's chains
Have paid for our freedom again and again.

The night has been long,
The pit has been deep,
The night has been dark,
And the walls have been steep.

The hells we have lived through and live through still,
Have sharpened our senses and toughened our will.
The night has been long.
This morning I look through your anguish
Right down to your soul.
I know that with each other we can make ourselves whole.
I look through the posture and past your disguise,
And see your love for family in your big brown eyes.

I say, clap hands and let's come together in this meeting ground,
I say, clap hands and let's deal with each other with love,
I say, clap hands and let us get from the low road of indifference,
Clap hands, let us come together and reveal our hearts,
Let us come together and revise our spirits,
Let us come together and cleanse our souls,
Clap hands, let's leave the preening
And stop impostering our own history.
Clap hands, call the spirits back from the ledge,
Clap hands, let us invite joy into our conversation,
Courtesy into our bedrooms,
Gentleness into our kitchen,
Care into our nursery.

The ancestors remind us, despite the history of pain
We are a going-on people who will rise again.

And still we rise.

9/10/06

فجر إفريقي



ترجمة شربل داغر


كيتا فوديبا، من مواليد 1921 في غينيا: معروف خصوصا بتصاميم الرقص الإفريقي التي ابتكرها في نطاق "الباليه"، والتي عرضها في غير بلد من العالم. نشر في العام1958 ديوانا بعنوان "قصائد إفريقية"، يستجمع فيه أطراف الشعر والنثر، موسيقى الآلة الإفريقية والأغنيات، المونولوجات والجوق، وهي من مميزات الأدب الشفوي الإفريقي. توفي في العام 1969
"
كان هذا عند الفجر: الضيعة الصغيرة تستيقظ رويدا رويدا بعد أن رقصت طوال الليل على أصوات الطام - الطام. الرعاة يقودون قطعانهم إلى الوادي وهم ينفخون في شباباتهم. الصبايا، بقدورهن الفخارية، يهربن واحدة تلوالأخرى باتجاه ممر النبع المتعرج، وفي باحة مقام الوالي الصالح تنشد مجموعة من الأطفال آيات قرآنية.
كان هذا عند الفجر. معركة النهار والليل. إلا أن الليل خارت قواه وانطفأ ببطء. أشعة شمس قليلة مثل إشارات مبكرة تتجرجر خجولة وصفراء عند الأفق. أشعتها الأخيرة تنزلق بنعومة بين أكوام الغيوم مثل أزهار العندم الهندي.
كان هذا عند الفجر. وهناك في البعيد، في عمق السهل الشاسع ذي الحدود القرمزية، شبح إنسان منحن يستصلح أرضا: شبح نامان، المزارع. إثر كل ضربة من مجرفته، تطير العصافير المذعورة وتلتحق بخفق الجناح بضفاف "دجوليبا" الهانئة. بنطاله القطني الرمادي، يضرب العشب المبلل بالندى. لا يبالي بالتعب، يستعمل أدواته بمهارة: إذ كان عليه أن يطمر حبوبه قبل هطول الأمطار الأولى

9/4/06

I Know Why the Caged Bird Sings


A free bird leaps on the back of the wind
and floats downstream till the current ends
and dips his wing in the orange suns rays and dares to claim the sky.

But a bird that stalks down his narrow cage
can seldom see through his bars of rage
his wings are clipped and his feet are tied so he opens his throat to sing.

The caged bird sings with a fearful trill
of things unknown but longed for still
and his tune is heard on the distant hill
for the caged bird sings of freedom.

The free bird thinks of another breeze
and the trade winds soft through the sighing trees
and the fat worms waiting on a dawn-bright lawn and he names the sky his own.

But a caged bird stands on the grave of dreams
his shadow shouts on a nightmare scream
his wings are clipped and his feet are tied so he opens his throat to sing.

The caged bird sings with a fearful trill
of things unknown but longed for still
and his tune is heard on the distant hill
for the caged bird sings of freedom.



Maya Angelou