Badr Shakir al-Sayyab and the Role of the Modern Arab Poet
Modern Arab poets viewed themselves as the intellectual leaders of their nations and as agents of transformation and rebirth. Their role was not merely to exist on the margin of history as casual observers. Rather, they felt a responsibility to be engaged and to influence the historical events of their time. According to Sayyab, the modern Arab poet viewed himself as a visionary who, like St. John, was tormented with an apocalyptic vision of evil historical forces of destruction and desecration that strangled his world like a “formidable octopus.”[1] It was the destiny of the poet to face death and defy existential forces in order to reach the sublime and the heroic. The modern materialistic world, void of all spirituality, spurned a sense of urgency on the part of modern Arab poets to infuse their works with Biblical, Koranic, historical and mythical imagery in order to supplant the harsh reality of their world with a new unifying nationalistic identity. The modern poet constantly carried his sense of exile within himself. He searched for a legendary hero who would purge his once great nation of its present state of intellectual bankruptcy, literary sterility and political ineffectiveness. In most modern Arabic poetry, the persona of the poet and that of the hero blend together so much so that it becomes difficult to distinguish between the two. Nevertheless, in some instances, the poet stands apart and his voice is clearly that of a man crying in the wilderness, prophesying the coming of the redeemer.[2]
The generation of the avant guard poets, the pioneers of modern Arabic poetry, and particularly their leader,[3] Sayyab, shared the same fate of the tragic hero: the fate of a man against the empire. Most of these poets were persecuted, imprisoned, and involuntarily or voluntarily exiled. Sayyab died in Kuwait. Haidari, running away from a death sentence in Iraq, escaped to Lebanon and later died in London.[4] Hawi committed suicide and Qabbani, self- exiled in Lebanon, later died in London. Bayyati, one of Sayyab’s most prominent compatriots, died in exile and was buried in Syria. Adunis, imprisoned in Syria for his political views, lived most of his life in Lebanon and currently lives and lectures in France and Germany. Interestingly, Adunis remains the only member of the pioneers among the modern Arab poets who changed his name from Ali Ahmad Sa’id and adopted the telling pen name ofAdunis with all its mythical implications to emphasize his, as well as his contemporaries’ strong belief in the power of mythology particularly the myth of fertility, resurrection, and rebirth.[5] Only Nazik al Malaika, who pursued graduate studies in the United States, chose for the most part to remain in Iraq but frequently visited the United States. Nazik is now in her eighties and currently lives in Cairo where she also receives medical treatment. Another characteristic that all of these poets shared is a deep sense of loneliness and displacement and an increased longing for their homeland, be it Iraq, Lebanon, Syria or Palestine.[6]
The role of the modern Arab poet reached a critical juncture due to the occurrence of two main historical events: the Palestinian tragedy in 1948 and the Egyptian revolution in 1952. As a result, the word, “commitment,” became popularized in the modern Arabic poetic dictionary.[7] Most of the pioneers started out as Romantic poets and then adopted political ideologies such as Marxism, Communism, Existentialism, Syrian Nationalism, and later on, Arab Nationalism. Some, like Haidari, Sabour, and Adunis, ultimately embraced Sufism or Mysticism. Sayyab himself, a pronounced Marxist Communist, later rejected this ideology,[8] while Bayyati remained loyal to it.[9] Hawi, who started as a Syrian Nationalist, turned to Existentialism and enjoyed being called “the pioneer of Arab Existential poetry.” Later, he embraced Arab Nationalism, but ended his life frustrated and embittered.
The downfall of Romanticism in the Arab world in the 1950’s can be attributed to the awakening of modern Arab poets to Western poetry, and particularly, to the poetry of T.S. Eliot.[10] Critics agree that Lewis Awad should be credited with introducing the dominant voice of Eliot in 1946.[11] It was Awad who called on the poets to “Hattimu ‘Amoud alshi’r” or to destroy the Arabic edifice of prosody. What resonated deeply in the minds of the young generation of Arab poets was Eliot’s call to reject the false simplicity, sentimentality, and emotionalism of Romantic poetry and search for a more pulsating style capable of capturing real life experience in all its complexity and harshness.[12] The traditional Arabic poem of monorhyme and monometer, built on separate lines of two equal hemistiches each, was no longer accepted as a vehicle to carry the modern poet’s experience and mu‘anaat or suffering in a world where he or she was simultaneously the victim and the savior.[13] This new role or rather fate of the modern Arab poet necessitated a new medium to express his vision. Modern poets collectively rejected the traditional form of poetry and searched for a new technique.
The new innovative form of poetry that employed a single foot or beat, Taf’ila, is associated with the names of two Iraqi poets: Sayyab and Nazik al-Malaika, both graduates of Baghdad’s Teachers’ Training College. Each claimed the pioneering role in advancing the use of the free verse movement. Sayyab’s famous poem, “Hal kaana Hubban”( “Was it Love”), published in Egypt in his 1947 volume azhar Thabila (Withered Flowers) was written in free verse. Al-Malaika’s poem, “Cholera,” also published in 1947 in the Beirut Magazine al’uruba, employed free verse and was inspired by the terrible tragedy of the cholera outbreak in Egypt. It remains difficult to determine who should actually take credit for introducing the free verse movement in Modern Arabic poetry since the two poets met on many occasions, discussed innovations, and even planned to produce a book of poetry together which never materialized.[14] Nevertheless, Sayyab succeeded in popularizing the free verse movement and became closely associated with it.
Khalil Hawi described the new poetry as “ Ru’ya tuneeru Tajribah” (“a vision that illuminates an experience”),[15] while Adunis, considered the “ theoretician” of this new movement, described the new poetry as “a vision...and a revelation.” “Its function,” he says, “is to express the eternal anxiety of man and the existential problems which the poet experiences in his civilization, in his nation and inside himself. It is not only a revolt against traditional meters, but against a dead language” as well. In the new poetry, language is “made to say what it has not been taught to say.” Consequently, the new poetry is a revolt against language and it rises from our modern life in all its suffering, absurdity, displacement and hell.[16]
The poetry of Badr Shakir al-Sayyab poignantly depicts the plight of the modern Arab intellectual, trapped between a glorious past and a sterile present. Sayyab epitomizes the role of the modern Arab poet. He is a tragic hero, the Adonis of modern Arabic poetry. Physically debilitated, Sayyab was confined to a hospital bed, and like Prometheus who was chained to the rock unwilling to yield, he continued to believe in the dignity and future of mankind. He patiently bore tremendous physical pain, while waiting for a Herculean miracle to break out of his misery. In addition, his suffering for the sake of his countrymen and for his ideals constantly fueled his poetic inspiration.
In his later years, Sayyab wished to die a martyr so that the Iraqi, and ultimately, the Arab revolution, might be victorious.[17] This concept of martyrdom was also adopted by Sayyab’s friend, the Lebanese poet, Khalil Hawi, who literally committed suicide to protest both the Israeli invasion of Beirut on June 6, 1982 and to tragically mark the degrading Arab silence towards such a humiliating defeat. Hawi, like Sayyab, believed that his death as a sacrificial lamb would fertilize the Arab land with his blood so that resurrection would become possible and the season of sterility would pass. This role of the poet as the hero and the redeemer, who in his personal salvation lies the salvation of his people,[18] can be contrasted to the role of the poet as the rebel, the wanderer and the persecuted figure. This latter role of the poet was imposed upon him by dominant government authorities whose policies of censorship attempted to silence the prophetic voice of the seer, and whose Mukhbir, or informer, haunted the poet and chased him day and night.[19] Consequently, most contemporary Arab poets suffered under dictatorial regimes and had to flee their homeland, often dying in exile.
Like Sinbad, Sayyab traveled the world, yet always longed for his native soil of Iraq. Sayyab’s short life of thirty-eight years (1926 - 1964) was marred with constant suffering and disappointment. Like Odysseus, Sayyab was industrious yet his time away from his beloved village of Jaykour was prolonged due to powerful political and personal forces that kept planting obstacles in his path. Unfortunately, Sayyab was not destined to return to his native soil alive. Sayyab, like Job, was made to bear the ultimate suffering and even to ask his maker at the end for “the bullet of mercy.”[20] The last four years of Sayyab’s life were physically and psychologically the most painful and humiliating, yet the most fruitful and productive for him as a poet. In spite of all the pain, he kept on writing “so much so that poetry seemed to be the only means by which he felt he could still hold on to life”[21]
Sayyab was born in 1926 in Jaykur , a small village in southern Iraq, which is located near Bouwayeb, a small stream that weaved across a forest of palm trees. Sayyab grew up in a sparsely populated village among the date and palm trees. Both Jaykour and Bouwayeb were immortalized in his poetry. Sayyab’s mother died when he was six years old. The boy was very attached to his mother, and when he persisted in asking about her, he was told that she would return “the day after tomorrow,” a frustrated promise that he referenced in his celebrated poem “Hymn of the Rain.”[22] Three years later, his father remarried, left Sayyab with his grandfather, and moved away with his new wife. Consequently, Sayyab lost both parents before he was nine.
As a child, Sayyab started to read and compose poetry mostly in colloquial Arabic. After finishing elementary school, his grandfather sent him to Basra, a much larger city, yet Sayyab’s heart remained in Jaykour, with its meadows and streams. This was a time of strife and instability in Iraq. Britain was still extremely influential in Iraqi politics, and Sayyab witnessed the effects of colonization firsthand.
When Sayyab graduated from secondary school in 1942, he had not yet been to Baghdad. At the invitation of his friend, Khalid al-Shawwaf, he moved to the capital. Initially, the young villager felt lost and lonely in the big city and experienced for the first time a powerful longing for the countryside where he grew up and for the innocent flirting with the young girls of his village.[23] However, while in Baghdad, Sayyab decided to join the Teachers Training College in 1943 because he wanted to study Arabic literature, but primarily because it was free and he had no money. Thirsty for knowledge and eager to leave his mark on the world, he immediately immersed himself in the literary, cultural and political life of Baghdad. Baghdad was a whirlwind of cultural, political and social activities, for Iraq, like the rest of the Arab countries, was struggling to claim its identity and national status. Sayyab frequented the coffee shops and clubs, and came to know some newspaper editors. There is evidence that he was well received and respected as a young and aspiring poet.
World War II was raging at the time, and Iraq was exposed to a flood of new political ideologies: Nazism, Democracy, Marxism, Communism and Capitalism, to name but a few. In addition, Iraqis, and Arabs at large, were confronted with Colonialism. Until 1945, Sayyab remained uncommitted and did not claim affiliation with any group. However, in January of 1946 he was temporarily expelled from the university because of his Marxist affiliation. In June of 1946, he was arrested for participating in a demonstration against the British policy in Palestine. For the first time, he suffered the bitter and humiliating experience of imprisonment which only sharpened his enthusiasm for political activism. He found a new role to play and a cause to fight for. From time to time, he would visit his village and walk the streets and play in the water of the narrow stream in his village to rejuvenate his soul and shake the dust of the city off of his shoes.[24] During this period, he immersed himself in reading all the primary sources of ancient and modern Arabic literature. He read constantly and feverishly, and he even memorized complete poems which he recited at friendly gatherings. His favorite Arab poet remained abu Tammam.[25]
Feeling the need to widen his horizon, he returned to college but changed his major to English literature. He wanted to read English poetry in the original language. It was at this time that he read the works of Shakespeare, Wordsworth, Shelly, Keats, Byron, and Edith Sitwell.[26] He also translated a number of Western poems into Arabic. Soon, he was to make a personal discovery that he later passed on to all of his contemporaries. He discovered T. S. Eliot. Sayyab was the first Arab poet to present the figure of the poet as the redeemer and savior of his generation. He was also one of the first modern poets to frequently use myth in his poetry.[27]
In 1948 Sayyab graduated from college and was appointed as an English language teacher in al-Ramadi High School where he took his job very seriously and committed himself to educating the young generation of Iraqi youth.[28] He was still a professed Marxist, but the new government of Iraq was paranoid about Marxist activities. Sayyab was arrested again, thrown in jail, and fired from his job. He was totally demoralized and embittered. The Marxist party had been disbanded and its leaders arrested and jailed. Four of the leaders were executed. At this point, Sayyab returned to his village only to find that his uncle is also in jail. Sayyab found himself with no financial support, for he was banned from teaching for ten years. Unable to return to Baghdad, he went to Basra and worked in menial jobs until he found employment in the petroleum company of Iraq. It was at this time that he became greatly disillusioned with the new leadership of the Marxist party and started to question its goals and direction.[29] He then left his job and returned to Baghdad looking for work.
In Baghdad, Sayyab began writing in some daily newspapers. He found himself participating in popular anti-government demonstrations. When the authorities declared a state of emergency and started a campaign of arrest and torture, Sayyab, disguised as a bedouin, escaped to Jaykour and then to Iran where he remained in hiding for seventy days after which he obtained a false Iranian passport and was smuggled to Kuwait in 1953.[30] There he worked in the Kuwaiti Electric Company to support himself and served as a cook and housekeeper for a group of refugees who took him in. He longed for Iraq, and six months later, he returned to Jaykour and then to Baghdad where he obtained a job in the government of Faisal the Second while also working as a journalist. In 1954 he finally severed his ties with the Marxist party, yet it was during this time that he wrote some of his best long poems: “The Grave Digger,” “The Blind Harlot,” “The Dawn of Peace,” and “Arms and the Children.” It is probably during this period that he started to embrace Arab Nationalism.[31]
In 1955 Sayyab decided to marry. He chose Igbaal, an elementary school teacher, and they settled in Baghdad. However, Sayyab was imprisoned again and fined for his political writings.[32] In addition, marriage brought new responsibilities, and Sayyab found himself forced to cut down on drinking, smoking and frequenting coffee shops. His biggest disappointment came when he realized that the woman he married was not what he had envisioned her to be. Iqbaal simply wanted to be a good housewife and take care of her husband and children. However, she was either disinterested in, or incapable of,embracing his poetic and political ambitions. Until then, Sayyab had been a lonely, severely individualistic, independent vagabond accustomed to a bachelor’s lifestyle. The life of stability, family responsibility, and routine, stifled his creativity and limited his freedom. Although he felt relatively rested and in good health in the early months of his marriage, he also felt bored and resisted being domesticated. His marriage failed. Sayyab was emotionally fragile and frustrated. The mirage of a loving woman haunted him since the death of his mother and his grandmother. For him, a woman’s embrace always seemed near, yet in reality, far away. He never seemed lucky with women, neither before nor after Iqbaal.[33]
In spite of repeated political arrest, imprisonment, and exile in Iran, Lebanon and Kuwait, Sayyab’s fame continued to gather momentum inside and outside Iraq. He kept supporting Arab Nationalist movements like the revolutions in Algeria, Egypt and elsewhere. In 1956, he represented Iraq in the Conference of Arab Writers in Damascus. He also kept contributing to Arab magazines in Iraq and in Beirut, especially to “Hiwar,” “Majallat Shi’r,” and “al-Adaab.”[34] In his poems such as “Reader in Blood” and “A Letter from a Grave,” Sayyab forewarned of a revolution to come, and it arrived on July 14, 1958.[35]
1960 was a bittersweet year for Sayyab. His most celebrated Diwan appeared entitled,
Hymn of the Rain, and it gained instant success.[36] This was also the year when his health began to deteriorate rapidly, and it marked the beginning of a disease that would cause the poet to suffer a gradual, but steady paralysis in his back, from the waist down, to the point where he lost complete sensation in his legs, and, consequently, his ability to walk. This was followed by complete sexual impotence and loss of control over urination and other normal bodily functions.[37]
Stricken with illness, poverty and increased family responsibilities (he now had three children), Sayyab found himself preoccupied with death and his own mortality. This resulted in the total estrangement from his wife. However, Sayyab’s fierce determination to prevail caused him to continue writing, and he even participated in the Conference on Modern Arabic poetry in Rome in 1961 where he gave a lecture on “commitment” in Arabic poetry.[38]
The last four years of Sayyab’s life were probably the most prolific as he attempted to prove to himself that, although paralyzed, he was still in control of his life and still the pioneer of modern Arabic poetry. At this time, sexual imagery became more pronounced in his poems, clearly a form of compensation for his disability.[39] His search for medical treatment took him to Beirut, Baghdad, Kuwait, London and Paris. He went from one hospital to another while the shadow of death kept haunting him. His body became so fragile that his left leg broke during a massage session, yet at this time, he wrote some of his best poetry about death, life, and man’s destiny. He gracefully reintroduced the genre of self-eulogy into modern Arabic poetry. This emotional topic was probably initially introduced by the pre-Islamic Sa’aleek poets and adopted by Tarafa bin al’abd. It was made popular by the Abbasid poet, abu Firas al-Hamadani, yet Sayyab re-popularized it. This was, clearly, the “Job chapter” in Sayyab’s life as he himself wanted to refer to it.[40] Briefly before his death, Sayyab reconciled with his wife, who visited him both in Beirut and in Kuwait. He likened Iqbaal to Penelope and wrote many moving poems to his children especially to his son, Ghaylaan.
Sayyab’s last days were marked with severe depression, hallucinations, and a deep yearning for his childhood and hometown. He even told a friend, Naji ‘Allouch that he saw two giants from the Jinn wrestling by his window. He described how terrified he was, and that during the giants’ fight, he could not help but compare their strength and pronounced muscles with his thin bones and feeble and deteriorating body.[41] Sayyab reportedly told the psychiatrist that he believed the cause of his illness was not necessarily physical but rather psychological. Sayaab speculated that it was due to the harsh circumstances which he had endured during the last ten years of his life on both the political and the personal fronts.[42] Sayyab died alone as he had predicted and dreaded at 2:50 A.M. on December 24, 1964. A friend (‘Ali al Sabti) volunteered to transport the body in his own car back to Iraq on a stormy and rainy night, only to find Sayyab’s home deserted, because the family had been evicted. The body was carried to a nearby cemetery and buried in haste. Only a handful of people were present.[43] In 1971, seven years later, the Iraqi government, in a visible effort to reclaim the poet as Iraq’s own son and genius, erected a huge statue of the poet and unveiled it during a largemahrajan, which was attended by representatives from the whole Arab world.[44]
Among Sayyab’s many celebrated poems is his poem that gave its name to a whole collection of poetry, “Hymn of the Rain.” This poem is particularly important because it combines both autobiographical and nationalistic elements. The poem describes Sayyab’s feelings as he watches the drops of rain falling across the Arabian Gulf during the period of his political exile in Kuwait. The emotional climate in the poem is charged with nostalgia and reminiscence for his childhood and his homeland. Clearly, the child in this poem is Sayyab himself, who never recovered from losing his mother at age six. Sayyab grieves for Iraq’s present and hopes for a better tomorrow. The image of rain in this poem is infused with symbolism drawn from Frazer’s The Golden Bough and Eliot’s The Waste Land.[45] The identity of the female image of the opening stanza is never revealed throughout the poem. Perhaps the poet is addressing his mother, his homeland, a mistress or Mother Nature.[46] Sayyab poignantly juxtaposes the rain as life-giving and as an instrument of fertility to the daunting hunger in Iraq. The quintessential dilemma of divine intervention in the universe versus man’s ability to alter historical events is rather a challenging concept in modern Arabic poetry. Sayyab arguably believed that man could influence the course of events.[47] Other important images in the poem include the crows, the locusts and the thousand serpents drinking the nectar from a flower nourished by the Euphrates, a subtle reference to the colonial powers blundering the wealth of Iraq and leaving its people hungry.[48] For the poet, Iraq is the gift of the Euphrates, and according to Iraqi popular legend and local mythology, the Euphrates is one of the four rivers that originated in Paradise.[49]
“Hymn of the Rain” is a powerful example of the modern Arab poet’s use of free verse to step beyond the limitations of rhyme and meter to express his emotional and psychological pain and suffering. Free verse affords the poet the opportunity to more poignantly express his personal and political vision. Sayyab, like other modern Arab poets, viewed the Arabic language as sacred for it possesses a special charm and has the power to exert a tremendous influence on its readers and listeners. In modern Arabic poetry, language became more closely affiliated with ordinary speech as the demarcation between a poetic versus a non poetic choice of words disappeared. Notwithstanding, individual words became replete with symbolism and imagery and necessitated a more demanding effort on the part of the reader to discern the depth of their meaning.
Sayyab and the leaders of the free verse movement in modern Arabic poetry were all obsessed with the image of the heroic, the apocalyptic, and the sublime, not only in the linguistic sense, but more precisely, in their strife to implement the historical and political vision that they had embraced. In their desire to project a futuristic vision for their respective countries and in their eagerness to transcend the barren present, modern Arab poets strongly evoked the unifying power of local and universal mythology, legend, proverbs, and religious and historical symbols. These poets saw part of their mission was to shock, reject, provoke and challenge the status quo. Whether in their use of emotionally-charged vocabulary or with the terrifying imagery they employed, they remained committed to delivering their message and felt compelled to do so because they believed it was their responsibility to criticize and correct the prevailing conditions in their societies.
Sayyab’s poetry, like all of the new poetry, had an honest, yet frustrating portrayal of personal tragedy and current historical sterility, a thorough reading and reevaluation of the Arabic poetic and literary heritage, and a smart and healthy conversation with western poetry and criticism. All of these modern Arab poets were experts on the ideology and poetics of exile[50] with the majority of them being subjected to political, social and moral victimization.
As the intellectual leaders of their nations, the modern Arab poets felt they had been rejected, feared and misrepresented twice: once by their own politically oppressive regimes, and again by the western colonial powers that tried to subjugate them as Arab nationals, and misinterpret, even undermine them, as poets and thinkers. They felt compelled to self-correct both their personal as well as their national image and to be the role model and guide for their compatriots. Most of these poets faced exile from home, and some have, ironically, found home in their exile. With most of them currently absent from the poetic stage, Arabic poetry is looking for a new generation of poets to be the visionaries of tomorrow.
References:
[1]A condensed version of this article was delivered in an oral presentation at Columbia University during a special evening on Iraq in the fall of 2002. At that time, I also gave a reading in Arabic and in English of Sayyab’s poem, “Hymn of the Rain.” For the English version of the poem, I adopted, with a slight modification, the translation by Lena Jayyusi and Christopher Middleton.
[1] In the 1957 lecture that Sayyab gave at the American University in Beirut, he said “If I wanted to depict the image of the modern poet, I would not have found a closer image than that one which has been imprinted in my mind about St. John whose vision has defiled his eyes as he beholds the seven sins encompassing the world like a formidable octopus. In fact, the majority of the great poets acted throughout the centuries in the manner of St. John from Dante to Shakespeare, to Goethe to T. S. Eliot and Edith Sitwell.” Sayyab goes on to compare poetry with religion and he justifies the use of myth as well as the frequent mythical illusions in modern poetry arguing that in our modern materialistic society there is a real lack of spirituality, Hence, the need for legend and myth. He concluded by saying: “We are still attempting and trying but we are sure of one thing: that we will pave the way for a new generation of poets who will enable Arabic poetry to be read throughout the whole world.” (English translations of Arabic quotes are mine).
Although I agree with Terri DeYoung’s comment that Sayyab’s reference to St. John in the above-mentioned quote is “direct evidence of precisely how important the apocalyptic categories could be for Sayyab,” nevertheless I disagree with DeYoung’s English translation of Sayyab’s word “octopus” into “monster.” By using the word, “monster,” it appears that DeYoung chooses to focus on the affinity between Sayyab’s apocalyptic imagery and the text of “Revelation” while disregarding Sayyab’s intent to combine both Biblical and mythical imagery. The word, “octopus” denotes a closer affinity to pagan myth than the word “monster,” and the image of the octopus more strikingly depicts the feeling of strangulation and suffocation that the modern Arab poets experienced. See Terri DeYoung, Placing the Poet: Badr Shakir Al-Sayyab and Postcolonial Iraq. State University of New York Press: Albany, 1998, p. 15.
[2]
[3] Sayyab viewed himself as the leader of the new movement in modern Arabic poetry. See Abbas, p. 229 and Bullata, p. 178.
[4] In Beirut, the poet, Buland al-Haidari, worked for various magazines and newspapers as an editor and a writer. He continued to write poetry and remained very active on the literary scene. He also took teaching positions in private high schools. I had the honor of being his student at Brummana National School. Later on, Haidari wrote a brief introduction to one of my poetry books entitled, Lau Kunti Lee (If You Were Mine). Haidari was a man of immense humanity, humility and intellect. He was a pioneer poet who has not been given his well-deserved share of fame and appreciation.
[5] For the myth of Adonis and its use by modern Arab poets, see M.M. Badawi, A Critical Introduction to Modern Arabic Poetry. Cambridge University Press: Cambridge, 1975, pp. 248-55. Also see Abbas, p. 245.
[6] For an analysis of the poet’s view on exile versus the homeland, see my article on Khalil Hawi in Dahesh Voice.
[7] See Salma Khadra Jayyusi’s article, “Contemporary Arabic Poetry: Visions and Attitudes” in Studies in Modern Arabic Literature, edited by R.C. Ostle, Aris & Phillips Ltd., Teddington House, Warminster, Wilts, England, 1975, pp. 46-48. See also Badawi, pp. 207-08 and Bullata, p. 89, p. 125.
[8] See Badawi, p. 209.
[9] See Badawi, p. 209 and pp. 210-16.
[10] See Badawi, pp. 206-07 and pp. 224-25. Also see S. Moreh, Modern Arabic Poetry: 1800-1970. Leiden: E.J. Brill, 1976, p. 216 and p. 265.
[11] See Badawi, p. 224. Also see DeYoung, pp. 68-69 and Jayyusi, p. 48, and Moreh, pp. 196-97.
[12] See Badawi, p. 206 and p. 224. Also see my article, “T.S. Eliot’s Influence upon Salah Abdel-Sabour” in Dirasat, Universite Libanaise, Beyrouth. 10e annee, no. 11, 1983, pp. 35-48.
[13] See Badawi, pp. 204-09 and pp. 223-30. Also see DeYoung, pp. 68-69. Also see Brax, pp. 130-31.
[14] See Badawi, pp. 225-26. Also see DeYoung, pp. 191-92 and see Moreh, pp. 198-201.
[15] This quote has been translated by me. Also see my article on Hawi in Dahesh Voice.
[16] See Badawi, pp. 232-33 and Jayyusi, p. 55. Also see the two informative articles by Muhsin Jassim Al-Musawi “Engaging Tradition in Modern Arab Poetics” and “Abd Al-Wahhab Al-Bayati’s Poetics of Exile” in Journal of Arabic Literature, vol. XXXIII, no. 2, Leiden: Brill, , 2002 and 2001 respectively. Also see Brax’s commentary on the poetry of Sayyab.
[17] Concerning Sayyab’s gradual change of focus from Iraq’s destiny to a wider vision that embraced all of the Arab nation, see
[18] See Bullata, p. 76. Also see my article on Hawi in Dahesh Voice.
[19] This is a recurring theme in the poetry of Sabour, Sayyab, Haidari, and Bayyati who lived under strict dictatorial regimes. This was a much less pronounced topic in the poetry of Hawi, Adunis, and Qabbani who wrote in a more tolerant and less threatening political climate in Beirut. For an analysis of the “despised personality of the informer,” see
[20] See Badawi, p. 258 and Bullata, p. 158 and p. 163.
[21] See Badawi, p. 258.
[22]
[23] The image of the city juxtaposed to that of the countryside has been a dominant theme in the new poetry. This topic permeates modern Arabic poetry starting with the pre-Romantics to the Romantics and to the late Romantics, particularly their leader, Kahlil Gibran. Most of the pioneers who migrated to the city from their towns and villages, shared this love/hate relationship with the “heartless, cold, unfriendly and evil” city. It is interesting to compare this male-dominated view with that of contemporary Lebanese women writers who experienced the city as a place that afforded them sexual and political freedom from a dark and oppressive past. For those women authors, the city also represented a maternal image and a place to grow and mature. For example, see Samira Aghacy’s article on “Lebanese Women’s Fiction” in International Journal of Middle East Studies, vol. 33, Nov. 2001, no. 4, pp. 503-23. Also, see Jayyusi, p. 50. Also see Abbas, p. 49 and 244 and Bullata, p. 33 and p. 101, and Zaytoun, p. 23 and p. 65.
[24] This was a practice that was also cherished by the Lebanese poet, Khalil Hawi, who would pay frequent visits to his mountainous village of Shouwair and also to Mount Sannine where he would spend close to three weeks during the summer vacation away from his teaching duties and responsibilities at the AUB. He would spend his time resting, thinking, reading, writing, hunting and living a simple life, or as he used to say “ returning to the original innocence.” It was in Sannine where I first met Hawi. He was already a legend, and I was a high school student fascinated with his poetry, a lot of which I had memorized. Soon, he was to autograph and hand me a copy of his book, “ Nahr al-Ramaad.” See also Iliya Hawi.
[25] See Abbas, p. 74 and p. 240. This also supports the argument of Professor Al-Musawi that “Although seeming to perpetuate an epistemological break with the ancients, modern Arabic poetry since the mid-1940s has manifested an intricate and deep engagement with tradition. Writers, critics, and poets alike wrote on this issue, not only to pre-empt counter-criticism against their apparent deviation from tradition at large, but also to subscribe positively to a dynamic engagement with tradition.” See “Engaging Tradition in Modern Arab Poetics,” p. 172.
[26] See Abbas, p. 123, p. 240, and pp. 250-51. Also see Brax, pp. 138-39.
[27] See Badawi, p. 224-25, p. 250, and p. 256. Also see Bullata, p. 81, p. 86, p. 90, p. 98, pp. 187-89. Also see Abbas, p. 145, pp. 226-28, pp. 254-58, p. 286, and p. 303. And see ‘Abd al-Halim’s article on Sayyab in Studies in Modern Arabic Literature, pp. 70-71 and p. 80. See Jayyusi, pp. 48-49 and pp. 57-59. Also see Brax, pp. 131-39.
[28] See Bullata, p. 59.
[29] See Abbas, pp. 89, 92, 127-30. Also see Bullata, pp. 40 and 80.
[30] See Abbas, p. 173.
[31] See Allouch, pp. 64 and 67.
[32] See Abbas, pp. 237-38.
[33] See Abbas, pp. 25-26 and 236-37. Also see Bullata, pp. 29, 54, and 88.
[34] See Allouch, pp. 66 and 77. Also see Abbas, p. 237.
[35] See Allouch, p. 68.
[36]
[37] See Bullata, p. 11 and Allouch’s book, particularly the last two chapters. Also see Iliya Hawi, vol. 5, pp. 5, 6, 20, and 23.
[38] See Bullata, pp. 122-23.
[39] See ‘Abd al-Halim’s article on Sayyab in Studies in Modern Arabic Literature, pp. 72-73. Also see Badawi, p. 258, Abbas, pp. 171 and 363, Bullata, pp. 72, 127-28, 137, and 191. Also see Iliya Hawi, pp. 58 and 267.
[40] See Badawi, p. 257, Bullata, p. 15 and p. 100, and see Iliya Hawi, p.132.
[41]
[42] See Allouch, pp. 12, 13, 78, 79.
[43] See Allouch, p. 80 and Bullata, pp. 165-66. All the details of Sayyab’s life are taken from these two books. Issa Bullata has perhaps written the best biography of Sayyab thus far.
[44]
[45] See Badawi, pp. 253-55. Also see DeYoung, p. 73, Abbas, pp. 245-46 and p. 303, and Bullata, p. 81.
[46] See Badawi, p. 253, DeYoung, pp. 15-16, and Abbas, pp. 209 and p. 212.
[47] See Jayyusi, p. 51, Abbas, p. 250, and DeYoung, p. 19.
[48] See DeYoung, pp. 28-31. Also see Bullata, p. 92 and Abbas, p. 240.
[49] See Abbas, p. 244 and DeYoung, pp. 19, 24, 25, 28 and 31.
[50] See Al-Musawi’s article, “Abd Al-Wahhab Al-Bayati’s Poetics of Exile.”
Modern Arab poets viewed themselves as the intellectual leaders of their nations and as agents of transformation and rebirth. Their role was not merely to exist on the margin of history as casual observers. Rather, they felt a responsibility to be engaged and to influence the historical events of their time. According to Sayyab, the modern Arab poet viewed himself as a visionary who, like St. John, was tormented with an apocalyptic vision of evil historical forces of destruction and desecration that strangled his world like a “formidable octopus.”[1] It was the destiny of the poet to face death and defy existential forces in order to reach the sublime and the heroic. The modern materialistic world, void of all spirituality, spurned a sense of urgency on the part of modern Arab poets to infuse their works with Biblical, Koranic, historical and mythical imagery in order to supplant the harsh reality of their world with a new unifying nationalistic identity. The modern poet constantly carried his sense of exile within himself. He searched for a legendary hero who would purge his once great nation of its present state of intellectual bankruptcy, literary sterility and political ineffectiveness. In most modern Arabic poetry, the persona of the poet and that of the hero blend together so much so that it becomes difficult to distinguish between the two. Nevertheless, in some instances, the poet stands apart and his voice is clearly that of a man crying in the wilderness, prophesying the coming of the redeemer.[2]
The generation of the avant guard poets, the pioneers of modern Arabic poetry, and particularly their leader,[3] Sayyab, shared the same fate of the tragic hero: the fate of a man against the empire. Most of these poets were persecuted, imprisoned, and involuntarily or voluntarily exiled. Sayyab died in Kuwait. Haidari, running away from a death sentence in Iraq, escaped to Lebanon and later died in London.[4] Hawi committed suicide and Qabbani, self- exiled in Lebanon, later died in London. Bayyati, one of Sayyab’s most prominent compatriots, died in exile and was buried in Syria. Adunis, imprisoned in Syria for his political views, lived most of his life in Lebanon and currently lives and lectures in France and Germany. Interestingly, Adunis remains the only member of the pioneers among the modern Arab poets who changed his name from Ali Ahmad Sa’id and adopted the telling pen name ofAdunis with all its mythical implications to emphasize his, as well as his contemporaries’ strong belief in the power of mythology particularly the myth of fertility, resurrection, and rebirth.[5] Only Nazik al Malaika, who pursued graduate studies in the United States, chose for the most part to remain in Iraq but frequently visited the United States. Nazik is now in her eighties and currently lives in Cairo where she also receives medical treatment. Another characteristic that all of these poets shared is a deep sense of loneliness and displacement and an increased longing for their homeland, be it Iraq, Lebanon, Syria or Palestine.[6]
The role of the modern Arab poet reached a critical juncture due to the occurrence of two main historical events: the Palestinian tragedy in 1948 and the Egyptian revolution in 1952. As a result, the word, “commitment,” became popularized in the modern Arabic poetic dictionary.[7] Most of the pioneers started out as Romantic poets and then adopted political ideologies such as Marxism, Communism, Existentialism, Syrian Nationalism, and later on, Arab Nationalism. Some, like Haidari, Sabour, and Adunis, ultimately embraced Sufism or Mysticism. Sayyab himself, a pronounced Marxist Communist, later rejected this ideology,[8] while Bayyati remained loyal to it.[9] Hawi, who started as a Syrian Nationalist, turned to Existentialism and enjoyed being called “the pioneer of Arab Existential poetry.” Later, he embraced Arab Nationalism, but ended his life frustrated and embittered.
The downfall of Romanticism in the Arab world in the 1950’s can be attributed to the awakening of modern Arab poets to Western poetry, and particularly, to the poetry of T.S. Eliot.[10] Critics agree that Lewis Awad should be credited with introducing the dominant voice of Eliot in 1946.[11] It was Awad who called on the poets to “Hattimu ‘Amoud alshi’r” or to destroy the Arabic edifice of prosody. What resonated deeply in the minds of the young generation of Arab poets was Eliot’s call to reject the false simplicity, sentimentality, and emotionalism of Romantic poetry and search for a more pulsating style capable of capturing real life experience in all its complexity and harshness.[12] The traditional Arabic poem of monorhyme and monometer, built on separate lines of two equal hemistiches each, was no longer accepted as a vehicle to carry the modern poet’s experience and mu‘anaat or suffering in a world where he or she was simultaneously the victim and the savior.[13] This new role or rather fate of the modern Arab poet necessitated a new medium to express his vision. Modern poets collectively rejected the traditional form of poetry and searched for a new technique.
The new innovative form of poetry that employed a single foot or beat, Taf’ila, is associated with the names of two Iraqi poets: Sayyab and Nazik al-Malaika, both graduates of Baghdad’s Teachers’ Training College. Each claimed the pioneering role in advancing the use of the free verse movement. Sayyab’s famous poem, “Hal kaana Hubban”( “Was it Love”), published in Egypt in his 1947 volume azhar Thabila (Withered Flowers) was written in free verse. Al-Malaika’s poem, “Cholera,” also published in 1947 in the Beirut Magazine al’uruba, employed free verse and was inspired by the terrible tragedy of the cholera outbreak in Egypt. It remains difficult to determine who should actually take credit for introducing the free verse movement in Modern Arabic poetry since the two poets met on many occasions, discussed innovations, and even planned to produce a book of poetry together which never materialized.[14] Nevertheless, Sayyab succeeded in popularizing the free verse movement and became closely associated with it.
Khalil Hawi described the new poetry as “ Ru’ya tuneeru Tajribah” (“a vision that illuminates an experience”),[15] while Adunis, considered the “ theoretician” of this new movement, described the new poetry as “a vision...and a revelation.” “Its function,” he says, “is to express the eternal anxiety of man and the existential problems which the poet experiences in his civilization, in his nation and inside himself. It is not only a revolt against traditional meters, but against a dead language” as well. In the new poetry, language is “made to say what it has not been taught to say.” Consequently, the new poetry is a revolt against language and it rises from our modern life in all its suffering, absurdity, displacement and hell.[16]
The poetry of Badr Shakir al-Sayyab poignantly depicts the plight of the modern Arab intellectual, trapped between a glorious past and a sterile present. Sayyab epitomizes the role of the modern Arab poet. He is a tragic hero, the Adonis of modern Arabic poetry. Physically debilitated, Sayyab was confined to a hospital bed, and like Prometheus who was chained to the rock unwilling to yield, he continued to believe in the dignity and future of mankind. He patiently bore tremendous physical pain, while waiting for a Herculean miracle to break out of his misery. In addition, his suffering for the sake of his countrymen and for his ideals constantly fueled his poetic inspiration.
In his later years, Sayyab wished to die a martyr so that the Iraqi, and ultimately, the Arab revolution, might be victorious.[17] This concept of martyrdom was also adopted by Sayyab’s friend, the Lebanese poet, Khalil Hawi, who literally committed suicide to protest both the Israeli invasion of Beirut on June 6, 1982 and to tragically mark the degrading Arab silence towards such a humiliating defeat. Hawi, like Sayyab, believed that his death as a sacrificial lamb would fertilize the Arab land with his blood so that resurrection would become possible and the season of sterility would pass. This role of the poet as the hero and the redeemer, who in his personal salvation lies the salvation of his people,[18] can be contrasted to the role of the poet as the rebel, the wanderer and the persecuted figure. This latter role of the poet was imposed upon him by dominant government authorities whose policies of censorship attempted to silence the prophetic voice of the seer, and whose Mukhbir, or informer, haunted the poet and chased him day and night.[19] Consequently, most contemporary Arab poets suffered under dictatorial regimes and had to flee their homeland, often dying in exile.
Like Sinbad, Sayyab traveled the world, yet always longed for his native soil of Iraq. Sayyab’s short life of thirty-eight years (1926 - 1964) was marred with constant suffering and disappointment. Like Odysseus, Sayyab was industrious yet his time away from his beloved village of Jaykour was prolonged due to powerful political and personal forces that kept planting obstacles in his path. Unfortunately, Sayyab was not destined to return to his native soil alive. Sayyab, like Job, was made to bear the ultimate suffering and even to ask his maker at the end for “the bullet of mercy.”[20] The last four years of Sayyab’s life were physically and psychologically the most painful and humiliating, yet the most fruitful and productive for him as a poet. In spite of all the pain, he kept on writing “so much so that poetry seemed to be the only means by which he felt he could still hold on to life”[21]
Sayyab was born in 1926 in Jaykur , a small village in southern Iraq, which is located near Bouwayeb, a small stream that weaved across a forest of palm trees. Sayyab grew up in a sparsely populated village among the date and palm trees. Both Jaykour and Bouwayeb were immortalized in his poetry. Sayyab’s mother died when he was six years old. The boy was very attached to his mother, and when he persisted in asking about her, he was told that she would return “the day after tomorrow,” a frustrated promise that he referenced in his celebrated poem “Hymn of the Rain.”[22] Three years later, his father remarried, left Sayyab with his grandfather, and moved away with his new wife. Consequently, Sayyab lost both parents before he was nine.
As a child, Sayyab started to read and compose poetry mostly in colloquial Arabic. After finishing elementary school, his grandfather sent him to Basra, a much larger city, yet Sayyab’s heart remained in Jaykour, with its meadows and streams. This was a time of strife and instability in Iraq. Britain was still extremely influential in Iraqi politics, and Sayyab witnessed the effects of colonization firsthand.
When Sayyab graduated from secondary school in 1942, he had not yet been to Baghdad. At the invitation of his friend, Khalid al-Shawwaf, he moved to the capital. Initially, the young villager felt lost and lonely in the big city and experienced for the first time a powerful longing for the countryside where he grew up and for the innocent flirting with the young girls of his village.[23] However, while in Baghdad, Sayyab decided to join the Teachers Training College in 1943 because he wanted to study Arabic literature, but primarily because it was free and he had no money. Thirsty for knowledge and eager to leave his mark on the world, he immediately immersed himself in the literary, cultural and political life of Baghdad. Baghdad was a whirlwind of cultural, political and social activities, for Iraq, like the rest of the Arab countries, was struggling to claim its identity and national status. Sayyab frequented the coffee shops and clubs, and came to know some newspaper editors. There is evidence that he was well received and respected as a young and aspiring poet.
World War II was raging at the time, and Iraq was exposed to a flood of new political ideologies: Nazism, Democracy, Marxism, Communism and Capitalism, to name but a few. In addition, Iraqis, and Arabs at large, were confronted with Colonialism. Until 1945, Sayyab remained uncommitted and did not claim affiliation with any group. However, in January of 1946 he was temporarily expelled from the university because of his Marxist affiliation. In June of 1946, he was arrested for participating in a demonstration against the British policy in Palestine. For the first time, he suffered the bitter and humiliating experience of imprisonment which only sharpened his enthusiasm for political activism. He found a new role to play and a cause to fight for. From time to time, he would visit his village and walk the streets and play in the water of the narrow stream in his village to rejuvenate his soul and shake the dust of the city off of his shoes.[24] During this period, he immersed himself in reading all the primary sources of ancient and modern Arabic literature. He read constantly and feverishly, and he even memorized complete poems which he recited at friendly gatherings. His favorite Arab poet remained abu Tammam.[25]
Feeling the need to widen his horizon, he returned to college but changed his major to English literature. He wanted to read English poetry in the original language. It was at this time that he read the works of Shakespeare, Wordsworth, Shelly, Keats, Byron, and Edith Sitwell.[26] He also translated a number of Western poems into Arabic. Soon, he was to make a personal discovery that he later passed on to all of his contemporaries. He discovered T. S. Eliot. Sayyab was the first Arab poet to present the figure of the poet as the redeemer and savior of his generation. He was also one of the first modern poets to frequently use myth in his poetry.[27]
In 1948 Sayyab graduated from college and was appointed as an English language teacher in al-Ramadi High School where he took his job very seriously and committed himself to educating the young generation of Iraqi youth.[28] He was still a professed Marxist, but the new government of Iraq was paranoid about Marxist activities. Sayyab was arrested again, thrown in jail, and fired from his job. He was totally demoralized and embittered. The Marxist party had been disbanded and its leaders arrested and jailed. Four of the leaders were executed. At this point, Sayyab returned to his village only to find that his uncle is also in jail. Sayyab found himself with no financial support, for he was banned from teaching for ten years. Unable to return to Baghdad, he went to Basra and worked in menial jobs until he found employment in the petroleum company of Iraq. It was at this time that he became greatly disillusioned with the new leadership of the Marxist party and started to question its goals and direction.[29] He then left his job and returned to Baghdad looking for work.
In Baghdad, Sayyab began writing in some daily newspapers. He found himself participating in popular anti-government demonstrations. When the authorities declared a state of emergency and started a campaign of arrest and torture, Sayyab, disguised as a bedouin, escaped to Jaykour and then to Iran where he remained in hiding for seventy days after which he obtained a false Iranian passport and was smuggled to Kuwait in 1953.[30] There he worked in the Kuwaiti Electric Company to support himself and served as a cook and housekeeper for a group of refugees who took him in. He longed for Iraq, and six months later, he returned to Jaykour and then to Baghdad where he obtained a job in the government of Faisal the Second while also working as a journalist. In 1954 he finally severed his ties with the Marxist party, yet it was during this time that he wrote some of his best long poems: “The Grave Digger,” “The Blind Harlot,” “The Dawn of Peace,” and “Arms and the Children.” It is probably during this period that he started to embrace Arab Nationalism.[31]
In 1955 Sayyab decided to marry. He chose Igbaal, an elementary school teacher, and they settled in Baghdad. However, Sayyab was imprisoned again and fined for his political writings.[32] In addition, marriage brought new responsibilities, and Sayyab found himself forced to cut down on drinking, smoking and frequenting coffee shops. His biggest disappointment came when he realized that the woman he married was not what he had envisioned her to be. Iqbaal simply wanted to be a good housewife and take care of her husband and children. However, she was either disinterested in, or incapable of,embracing his poetic and political ambitions. Until then, Sayyab had been a lonely, severely individualistic, independent vagabond accustomed to a bachelor’s lifestyle. The life of stability, family responsibility, and routine, stifled his creativity and limited his freedom. Although he felt relatively rested and in good health in the early months of his marriage, he also felt bored and resisted being domesticated. His marriage failed. Sayyab was emotionally fragile and frustrated. The mirage of a loving woman haunted him since the death of his mother and his grandmother. For him, a woman’s embrace always seemed near, yet in reality, far away. He never seemed lucky with women, neither before nor after Iqbaal.[33]
In spite of repeated political arrest, imprisonment, and exile in Iran, Lebanon and Kuwait, Sayyab’s fame continued to gather momentum inside and outside Iraq. He kept supporting Arab Nationalist movements like the revolutions in Algeria, Egypt and elsewhere. In 1956, he represented Iraq in the Conference of Arab Writers in Damascus. He also kept contributing to Arab magazines in Iraq and in Beirut, especially to “Hiwar,” “Majallat Shi’r,” and “al-Adaab.”[34] In his poems such as “Reader in Blood” and “A Letter from a Grave,” Sayyab forewarned of a revolution to come, and it arrived on July 14, 1958.[35]
1960 was a bittersweet year for Sayyab. His most celebrated Diwan appeared entitled,
Hymn of the Rain, and it gained instant success.[36] This was also the year when his health began to deteriorate rapidly, and it marked the beginning of a disease that would cause the poet to suffer a gradual, but steady paralysis in his back, from the waist down, to the point where he lost complete sensation in his legs, and, consequently, his ability to walk. This was followed by complete sexual impotence and loss of control over urination and other normal bodily functions.[37]
Stricken with illness, poverty and increased family responsibilities (he now had three children), Sayyab found himself preoccupied with death and his own mortality. This resulted in the total estrangement from his wife. However, Sayyab’s fierce determination to prevail caused him to continue writing, and he even participated in the Conference on Modern Arabic poetry in Rome in 1961 where he gave a lecture on “commitment” in Arabic poetry.[38]
The last four years of Sayyab’s life were probably the most prolific as he attempted to prove to himself that, although paralyzed, he was still in control of his life and still the pioneer of modern Arabic poetry. At this time, sexual imagery became more pronounced in his poems, clearly a form of compensation for his disability.[39] His search for medical treatment took him to Beirut, Baghdad, Kuwait, London and Paris. He went from one hospital to another while the shadow of death kept haunting him. His body became so fragile that his left leg broke during a massage session, yet at this time, he wrote some of his best poetry about death, life, and man’s destiny. He gracefully reintroduced the genre of self-eulogy into modern Arabic poetry. This emotional topic was probably initially introduced by the pre-Islamic Sa’aleek poets and adopted by Tarafa bin al’abd. It was made popular by the Abbasid poet, abu Firas al-Hamadani, yet Sayyab re-popularized it. This was, clearly, the “Job chapter” in Sayyab’s life as he himself wanted to refer to it.[40] Briefly before his death, Sayyab reconciled with his wife, who visited him both in Beirut and in Kuwait. He likened Iqbaal to Penelope and wrote many moving poems to his children especially to his son, Ghaylaan.
Sayyab’s last days were marked with severe depression, hallucinations, and a deep yearning for his childhood and hometown. He even told a friend, Naji ‘Allouch that he saw two giants from the Jinn wrestling by his window. He described how terrified he was, and that during the giants’ fight, he could not help but compare their strength and pronounced muscles with his thin bones and feeble and deteriorating body.[41] Sayyab reportedly told the psychiatrist that he believed the cause of his illness was not necessarily physical but rather psychological. Sayaab speculated that it was due to the harsh circumstances which he had endured during the last ten years of his life on both the political and the personal fronts.[42] Sayyab died alone as he had predicted and dreaded at 2:50 A.M. on December 24, 1964. A friend (‘Ali al Sabti) volunteered to transport the body in his own car back to Iraq on a stormy and rainy night, only to find Sayyab’s home deserted, because the family had been evicted. The body was carried to a nearby cemetery and buried in haste. Only a handful of people were present.[43] In 1971, seven years later, the Iraqi government, in a visible effort to reclaim the poet as Iraq’s own son and genius, erected a huge statue of the poet and unveiled it during a largemahrajan, which was attended by representatives from the whole Arab world.[44]
Among Sayyab’s many celebrated poems is his poem that gave its name to a whole collection of poetry, “Hymn of the Rain.” This poem is particularly important because it combines both autobiographical and nationalistic elements. The poem describes Sayyab’s feelings as he watches the drops of rain falling across the Arabian Gulf during the period of his political exile in Kuwait. The emotional climate in the poem is charged with nostalgia and reminiscence for his childhood and his homeland. Clearly, the child in this poem is Sayyab himself, who never recovered from losing his mother at age six. Sayyab grieves for Iraq’s present and hopes for a better tomorrow. The image of rain in this poem is infused with symbolism drawn from Frazer’s The Golden Bough and Eliot’s The Waste Land.[45] The identity of the female image of the opening stanza is never revealed throughout the poem. Perhaps the poet is addressing his mother, his homeland, a mistress or Mother Nature.[46] Sayyab poignantly juxtaposes the rain as life-giving and as an instrument of fertility to the daunting hunger in Iraq. The quintessential dilemma of divine intervention in the universe versus man’s ability to alter historical events is rather a challenging concept in modern Arabic poetry. Sayyab arguably believed that man could influence the course of events.[47] Other important images in the poem include the crows, the locusts and the thousand serpents drinking the nectar from a flower nourished by the Euphrates, a subtle reference to the colonial powers blundering the wealth of Iraq and leaving its people hungry.[48] For the poet, Iraq is the gift of the Euphrates, and according to Iraqi popular legend and local mythology, the Euphrates is one of the four rivers that originated in Paradise.[49]
“Hymn of the Rain” is a powerful example of the modern Arab poet’s use of free verse to step beyond the limitations of rhyme and meter to express his emotional and psychological pain and suffering. Free verse affords the poet the opportunity to more poignantly express his personal and political vision. Sayyab, like other modern Arab poets, viewed the Arabic language as sacred for it possesses a special charm and has the power to exert a tremendous influence on its readers and listeners. In modern Arabic poetry, language became more closely affiliated with ordinary speech as the demarcation between a poetic versus a non poetic choice of words disappeared. Notwithstanding, individual words became replete with symbolism and imagery and necessitated a more demanding effort on the part of the reader to discern the depth of their meaning.
Sayyab and the leaders of the free verse movement in modern Arabic poetry were all obsessed with the image of the heroic, the apocalyptic, and the sublime, not only in the linguistic sense, but more precisely, in their strife to implement the historical and political vision that they had embraced. In their desire to project a futuristic vision for their respective countries and in their eagerness to transcend the barren present, modern Arab poets strongly evoked the unifying power of local and universal mythology, legend, proverbs, and religious and historical symbols. These poets saw part of their mission was to shock, reject, provoke and challenge the status quo. Whether in their use of emotionally-charged vocabulary or with the terrifying imagery they employed, they remained committed to delivering their message and felt compelled to do so because they believed it was their responsibility to criticize and correct the prevailing conditions in their societies.
Sayyab’s poetry, like all of the new poetry, had an honest, yet frustrating portrayal of personal tragedy and current historical sterility, a thorough reading and reevaluation of the Arabic poetic and literary heritage, and a smart and healthy conversation with western poetry and criticism. All of these modern Arab poets were experts on the ideology and poetics of exile[50] with the majority of them being subjected to political, social and moral victimization.
As the intellectual leaders of their nations, the modern Arab poets felt they had been rejected, feared and misrepresented twice: once by their own politically oppressive regimes, and again by the western colonial powers that tried to subjugate them as Arab nationals, and misinterpret, even undermine them, as poets and thinkers. They felt compelled to self-correct both their personal as well as their national image and to be the role model and guide for their compatriots. Most of these poets faced exile from home, and some have, ironically, found home in their exile. With most of them currently absent from the poetic stage, Arabic poetry is looking for a new generation of poets to be the visionaries of tomorrow.
References:
[1]A condensed version of this article was delivered in an oral presentation at Columbia University during a special evening on Iraq in the fall of 2002. At that time, I also gave a reading in Arabic and in English of Sayyab’s poem, “Hymn of the Rain.” For the English version of the poem, I adopted, with a slight modification, the translation by Lena Jayyusi and Christopher Middleton.
[1] In the 1957 lecture that Sayyab gave at the American University in Beirut, he said “If I wanted to depict the image of the modern poet, I would not have found a closer image than that one which has been imprinted in my mind about St. John whose vision has defiled his eyes as he beholds the seven sins encompassing the world like a formidable octopus. In fact, the majority of the great poets acted throughout the centuries in the manner of St. John from Dante to Shakespeare, to Goethe to T. S. Eliot and Edith Sitwell.” Sayyab goes on to compare poetry with religion and he justifies the use of myth as well as the frequent mythical illusions in modern poetry arguing that in our modern materialistic society there is a real lack of spirituality, Hence, the need for legend and myth. He concluded by saying: “We are still attempting and trying but we are sure of one thing: that we will pave the way for a new generation of poets who will enable Arabic poetry to be read throughout the whole world.” (English translations of Arabic quotes are mine).
Although I agree with Terri DeYoung’s comment that Sayyab’s reference to St. John in the above-mentioned quote is “direct evidence of precisely how important the apocalyptic categories could be for Sayyab,” nevertheless I disagree with DeYoung’s English translation of Sayyab’s word “octopus” into “monster.” By using the word, “monster,” it appears that DeYoung chooses to focus on the affinity between Sayyab’s apocalyptic imagery and the text of “Revelation” while disregarding Sayyab’s intent to combine both Biblical and mythical imagery. The word, “octopus” denotes a closer affinity to pagan myth than the word “monster,” and the image of the octopus more strikingly depicts the feeling of strangulation and suffocation that the modern Arab poets experienced. See Terri DeYoung, Placing the Poet: Badr Shakir Al-Sayyab and Postcolonial Iraq. State University of New York Press: Albany, 1998, p. 15.
[2]
[3] Sayyab viewed himself as the leader of the new movement in modern Arabic poetry. See Abbas, p. 229 and Bullata, p. 178.
[4] In Beirut, the poet, Buland al-Haidari, worked for various magazines and newspapers as an editor and a writer. He continued to write poetry and remained very active on the literary scene. He also took teaching positions in private high schools. I had the honor of being his student at Brummana National School. Later on, Haidari wrote a brief introduction to one of my poetry books entitled, Lau Kunti Lee (If You Were Mine). Haidari was a man of immense humanity, humility and intellect. He was a pioneer poet who has not been given his well-deserved share of fame and appreciation.
[5] For the myth of Adonis and its use by modern Arab poets, see M.M. Badawi, A Critical Introduction to Modern Arabic Poetry. Cambridge University Press: Cambridge, 1975, pp. 248-55. Also see Abbas, p. 245.
[6] For an analysis of the poet’s view on exile versus the homeland, see my article on Khalil Hawi in Dahesh Voice.
[7] See Salma Khadra Jayyusi’s article, “Contemporary Arabic Poetry: Visions and Attitudes” in Studies in Modern Arabic Literature, edited by R.C. Ostle, Aris & Phillips Ltd., Teddington House, Warminster, Wilts, England, 1975, pp. 46-48. See also Badawi, pp. 207-08 and Bullata, p. 89, p. 125.
[8] See Badawi, p. 209.
[9] See Badawi, p. 209 and pp. 210-16.
[10] See Badawi, pp. 206-07 and pp. 224-25. Also see S. Moreh, Modern Arabic Poetry: 1800-1970. Leiden: E.J. Brill, 1976, p. 216 and p. 265.
[11] See Badawi, p. 224. Also see DeYoung, pp. 68-69 and Jayyusi, p. 48, and Moreh, pp. 196-97.
[12] See Badawi, p. 206 and p. 224. Also see my article, “T.S. Eliot’s Influence upon Salah Abdel-Sabour” in Dirasat, Universite Libanaise, Beyrouth. 10e annee, no. 11, 1983, pp. 35-48.
[13] See Badawi, pp. 204-09 and pp. 223-30. Also see DeYoung, pp. 68-69. Also see Brax, pp. 130-31.
[14] See Badawi, pp. 225-26. Also see DeYoung, pp. 191-92 and see Moreh, pp. 198-201.
[15] This quote has been translated by me. Also see my article on Hawi in Dahesh Voice.
[16] See Badawi, pp. 232-33 and Jayyusi, p. 55. Also see the two informative articles by Muhsin Jassim Al-Musawi “Engaging Tradition in Modern Arab Poetics” and “Abd Al-Wahhab Al-Bayati’s Poetics of Exile” in Journal of Arabic Literature, vol. XXXIII, no. 2, Leiden: Brill, , 2002 and 2001 respectively. Also see Brax’s commentary on the poetry of Sayyab.
[17] Concerning Sayyab’s gradual change of focus from Iraq’s destiny to a wider vision that embraced all of the Arab nation, see
[18] See Bullata, p. 76. Also see my article on Hawi in Dahesh Voice.
[19] This is a recurring theme in the poetry of Sabour, Sayyab, Haidari, and Bayyati who lived under strict dictatorial regimes. This was a much less pronounced topic in the poetry of Hawi, Adunis, and Qabbani who wrote in a more tolerant and less threatening political climate in Beirut. For an analysis of the “despised personality of the informer,” see
[20] See Badawi, p. 258 and Bullata, p. 158 and p. 163.
[21] See Badawi, p. 258.
[22]
[23] The image of the city juxtaposed to that of the countryside has been a dominant theme in the new poetry. This topic permeates modern Arabic poetry starting with the pre-Romantics to the Romantics and to the late Romantics, particularly their leader, Kahlil Gibran. Most of the pioneers who migrated to the city from their towns and villages, shared this love/hate relationship with the “heartless, cold, unfriendly and evil” city. It is interesting to compare this male-dominated view with that of contemporary Lebanese women writers who experienced the city as a place that afforded them sexual and political freedom from a dark and oppressive past. For those women authors, the city also represented a maternal image and a place to grow and mature. For example, see Samira Aghacy’s article on “Lebanese Women’s Fiction” in International Journal of Middle East Studies, vol. 33, Nov. 2001, no. 4, pp. 503-23. Also, see Jayyusi, p. 50. Also see Abbas, p. 49 and 244 and Bullata, p. 33 and p. 101, and Zaytoun, p. 23 and p. 65.
[24] This was a practice that was also cherished by the Lebanese poet, Khalil Hawi, who would pay frequent visits to his mountainous village of Shouwair and also to Mount Sannine where he would spend close to three weeks during the summer vacation away from his teaching duties and responsibilities at the AUB. He would spend his time resting, thinking, reading, writing, hunting and living a simple life, or as he used to say “ returning to the original innocence.” It was in Sannine where I first met Hawi. He was already a legend, and I was a high school student fascinated with his poetry, a lot of which I had memorized. Soon, he was to autograph and hand me a copy of his book, “ Nahr al-Ramaad.” See also Iliya Hawi.
[25] See Abbas, p. 74 and p. 240. This also supports the argument of Professor Al-Musawi that “Although seeming to perpetuate an epistemological break with the ancients, modern Arabic poetry since the mid-1940s has manifested an intricate and deep engagement with tradition. Writers, critics, and poets alike wrote on this issue, not only to pre-empt counter-criticism against their apparent deviation from tradition at large, but also to subscribe positively to a dynamic engagement with tradition.” See “Engaging Tradition in Modern Arab Poetics,” p. 172.
[26] See Abbas, p. 123, p. 240, and pp. 250-51. Also see Brax, pp. 138-39.
[27] See Badawi, p. 224-25, p. 250, and p. 256. Also see Bullata, p. 81, p. 86, p. 90, p. 98, pp. 187-89. Also see Abbas, p. 145, pp. 226-28, pp. 254-58, p. 286, and p. 303. And see ‘Abd al-Halim’s article on Sayyab in Studies in Modern Arabic Literature, pp. 70-71 and p. 80. See Jayyusi, pp. 48-49 and pp. 57-59. Also see Brax, pp. 131-39.
[28] See Bullata, p. 59.
[29] See Abbas, pp. 89, 92, 127-30. Also see Bullata, pp. 40 and 80.
[30] See Abbas, p. 173.
[31] See Allouch, pp. 64 and 67.
[32] See Abbas, pp. 237-38.
[33] See Abbas, pp. 25-26 and 236-37. Also see Bullata, pp. 29, 54, and 88.
[34] See Allouch, pp. 66 and 77. Also see Abbas, p. 237.
[35] See Allouch, p. 68.
[36]
[37] See Bullata, p. 11 and Allouch’s book, particularly the last two chapters. Also see Iliya Hawi, vol. 5, pp. 5, 6, 20, and 23.
[38] See Bullata, pp. 122-23.
[39] See ‘Abd al-Halim’s article on Sayyab in Studies in Modern Arabic Literature, pp. 72-73. Also see Badawi, p. 258, Abbas, pp. 171 and 363, Bullata, pp. 72, 127-28, 137, and 191. Also see Iliya Hawi, pp. 58 and 267.
[40] See Badawi, p. 257, Bullata, p. 15 and p. 100, and see Iliya Hawi, p.132.
[41]
[42] See Allouch, pp. 12, 13, 78, 79.
[43] See Allouch, p. 80 and Bullata, pp. 165-66. All the details of Sayyab’s life are taken from these two books. Issa Bullata has perhaps written the best biography of Sayyab thus far.
[44]
[45] See Badawi, pp. 253-55. Also see DeYoung, p. 73, Abbas, pp. 245-46 and p. 303, and Bullata, p. 81.
[46] See Badawi, p. 253, DeYoung, pp. 15-16, and Abbas, pp. 209 and p. 212.
[47] See Jayyusi, p. 51, Abbas, p. 250, and DeYoung, p. 19.
[48] See DeYoung, pp. 28-31. Also see Bullata, p. 92 and Abbas, p. 240.
[49] See Abbas, p. 244 and DeYoung, pp. 19, 24, 25, 28 and 31.
[50] See Al-Musawi’s article, “Abd Al-Wahhab Al-Bayati’s Poetics of Exile.”
