Letter #3
(5/7/1947)
My Dear Brother, Saleh, (Jawad al-Tu’mah)
As I write to you, I am suffering from the most difficult and severe physical
condition, but I feel that loneliness weighs more heavily on me than illness
itself. I have waited a very long time for the arrival of a letter from you.
You said that you would begin writing… but I forgive you because I can surmise
why you have forgotten or have become oblivious to the fact that there is a
lonely person out there whose sorrows would be alleviated by your letter. It is
spring, and not only flowers blossom in spring, but hearts and souls as well.
Perhaps the decadent spring has stretched its tender fingers to your heart,
tickling it and awakening it to love or perhaps the approach of final
examinations has distracted you from everything except studying and being
diligent.
As for me, I don’t feel the presence of spring - “It is really “spring”… but
only for those who deserve it.” I am not worthy of spring. Yes, the
countryside is covered in vestments of silk, as they say, and it is also true
that the orchards and the forests of palm trees are adorned with yellow and blue
flowers, and the pomegranate trees are in full bloom. - In spite of all this, I
am still in mournful winter which I envision in my imagination: the rain is
pouring down, and drops of rain are falling on the window pane and flowing
slowly and sadly.
After all, why do I burden you and burden myself with this tormenting image?
You remember, no doubt, that I asked you to inform Miss Lami’a (the poetess,
Lami’a ‘Abbas ‘Amara ) to return to me a book that she has borrowed, the poetry
collection of the British poet, Robert Brook. I don’t know whether you have
told her and she neglected to send it or if you yourself have forgotten this
matter. I implore you both to send me this book for I have a burning desire
these days to read it.
I don’t know whether or not the new poetry collection of Miss Nazik
al-Malai’ka, “Splinters and Ashes,” appeared in the market yet. What has
happened recently in the world of poetry and literature during this period of
time? By the way, what about “Asateer”? When will “His Highness” (‘Ali)
al-Khaqani publish it? I hope you will - later of course- retrieve the
collection from him and send it to me by certified mail for I see him as a
procrastinator.
More than a week has passed since I wrote the first lines of this letter, and
now I resume writing after a period of persistent illness and false recovery. I
am suffering from a relapse now. All the physicians’ efforts have been in vain,
and I have lost the little money that I had as I wait for what hope tomorrow
will bring, yet the disease gets stronger and more violent. But I am assured of
one thing: that I will not die in the near future because there is comfort in
death and I am destined not to enjoy comfort for I have yet to endure many
tribulations.
Perhaps you will understand my feelings and emotions during this period by
the poems that I am fond of. I read them repeatedly until I have almost
memorized them – memorization is hateful to me because it strips the splendor
out of the poem - I like a poem by the British poet, John Mansfield, entitled
“To C.L.M,” which was addressed to his deceased mother. I hereby translate the
first paragraph for you, and then I will summarize the rest of the content:
“In the dark womb where I existed for the first time, my mother’s life made
me human. Her beauty nourished my barren soil and watered it during the long
nine months of pregnancy: I was unable to see or breathe or move without
killing something in her.”
The poet then realizes that his mother- while in her deep and dark grave- is
unable to behold this life that she has given. Is there a path toward goodness
rather than toward evil and annihilation? While searching and inquiring, she is
unable to knock at the muddy gates for she realizes that her memory has already
been buried in the minds of her people, and even if it were possible that the
grave opens its gates, she would not have recognized her youngster. He has
grown up and become an adult. They might even meet in the street, and she might
pass him and continue walking as she would a stranger - (unless a spiritual
face) makes her aware of the gratitude imprinted in her son for her generous
deed.” He then asks himself: How did he repay his debt to this woman, and what
did he do to reward this beloved, deceased woman? Men still trample the rights
of women under their feet, and some of them still pretend and brag about their
heroic deeds in front of women, while others almost drown the universe in their
lust? What did he do to reward this great woman? “Oh, grave- may you remain
locked lest I feel my shame!!”
(Please give) my regards to everyone. Respond if time allows. Otherwise,
postpone answering this letter until after the examinations, and take care of
yourself.
Your faithful brother,
Badr
[From the book, al-Sayyab’s Letters, by Majid al-Samurra’i, (Beirut: Al-Mu’assasa al-‘Arabiya li-al-dirasat wa-al-Nashr, Second Edition, 1994, p.
101) Translated from the original Arabic and with an introduction by George Nicolas El-Hage, Ph.D., Columbia University.]
(5/7/1947)
My Dear Brother, Saleh, (Jawad al-Tu’mah)
As I write to you, I am suffering from the most difficult and severe physical
condition, but I feel that loneliness weighs more heavily on me than illness
itself. I have waited a very long time for the arrival of a letter from you.
You said that you would begin writing… but I forgive you because I can surmise
why you have forgotten or have become oblivious to the fact that there is a
lonely person out there whose sorrows would be alleviated by your letter. It is
spring, and not only flowers blossom in spring, but hearts and souls as well.
Perhaps the decadent spring has stretched its tender fingers to your heart,
tickling it and awakening it to love or perhaps the approach of final
examinations has distracted you from everything except studying and being
diligent.
As for me, I don’t feel the presence of spring - “It is really “spring”… but
only for those who deserve it.” I am not worthy of spring. Yes, the
countryside is covered in vestments of silk, as they say, and it is also true
that the orchards and the forests of palm trees are adorned with yellow and blue
flowers, and the pomegranate trees are in full bloom. - In spite of all this, I
am still in mournful winter which I envision in my imagination: the rain is
pouring down, and drops of rain are falling on the window pane and flowing
slowly and sadly.
After all, why do I burden you and burden myself with this tormenting image?
You remember, no doubt, that I asked you to inform Miss Lami’a (the poetess,
Lami’a ‘Abbas ‘Amara ) to return to me a book that she has borrowed, the poetry
collection of the British poet, Robert Brook. I don’t know whether you have
told her and she neglected to send it or if you yourself have forgotten this
matter. I implore you both to send me this book for I have a burning desire
these days to read it.
I don’t know whether or not the new poetry collection of Miss Nazik
al-Malai’ka, “Splinters and Ashes,” appeared in the market yet. What has
happened recently in the world of poetry and literature during this period of
time? By the way, what about “Asateer”? When will “His Highness” (‘Ali)
al-Khaqani publish it? I hope you will - later of course- retrieve the
collection from him and send it to me by certified mail for I see him as a
procrastinator.
More than a week has passed since I wrote the first lines of this letter, and
now I resume writing after a period of persistent illness and false recovery. I
am suffering from a relapse now. All the physicians’ efforts have been in vain,
and I have lost the little money that I had as I wait for what hope tomorrow
will bring, yet the disease gets stronger and more violent. But I am assured of
one thing: that I will not die in the near future because there is comfort in
death and I am destined not to enjoy comfort for I have yet to endure many
tribulations.
Perhaps you will understand my feelings and emotions during this period by
the poems that I am fond of. I read them repeatedly until I have almost
memorized them – memorization is hateful to me because it strips the splendor
out of the poem - I like a poem by the British poet, John Mansfield, entitled
“To C.L.M,” which was addressed to his deceased mother. I hereby translate the
first paragraph for you, and then I will summarize the rest of the content:
“In the dark womb where I existed for the first time, my mother’s life made
me human. Her beauty nourished my barren soil and watered it during the long
nine months of pregnancy: I was unable to see or breathe or move without
killing something in her.”
The poet then realizes that his mother- while in her deep and dark grave- is
unable to behold this life that she has given. Is there a path toward goodness
rather than toward evil and annihilation? While searching and inquiring, she is
unable to knock at the muddy gates for she realizes that her memory has already
been buried in the minds of her people, and even if it were possible that the
grave opens its gates, she would not have recognized her youngster. He has
grown up and become an adult. They might even meet in the street, and she might
pass him and continue walking as she would a stranger - (unless a spiritual
face) makes her aware of the gratitude imprinted in her son for her generous
deed.” He then asks himself: How did he repay his debt to this woman, and what
did he do to reward this beloved, deceased woman? Men still trample the rights
of women under their feet, and some of them still pretend and brag about their
heroic deeds in front of women, while others almost drown the universe in their
lust? What did he do to reward this great woman? “Oh, grave- may you remain
locked lest I feel my shame!!”
(Please give) my regards to everyone. Respond if time allows. Otherwise,
postpone answering this letter until after the examinations, and take care of
yourself.
Your faithful brother,
Badr
[From the book, al-Sayyab’s Letters, by Majid al-Samurra’i, (Beirut: Al-Mu’assasa al-‘Arabiya li-al-dirasat wa-al-Nashr, Second Edition, 1994, p.
101) Translated from the original Arabic and with an introduction by George Nicolas El-Hage, Ph.D., Columbia University.]