الموضوع: جون جوردان-هذه القصائد
عرض مشاركة واحدة
قديم 08-31-2011, 07:00 PM
المشاركة 12
الصورة الرمزية رقية صالح
رقية صالح
أديبـة وكاتبـة سوريــة

اوسمتي

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افتراضي



النص الأصلي

Poem about My Rights
June Jordan
Even tonight and I need to take a walk and clear
my head about this poem about
why I can’t go out without changing my clothes
my shoes .. my body posture
my gender identity my age
my status as a woman alone in the evening
alone on the streets/alone
not being the point
the point being that I can’t do
what I want to do with my own body
because I am the wrong
sex the wrong age the wrong skin
and suppose it was not here in the city
but down on the beach
or far into the woods
and I wanted to go
there by myself thinking
about God/or thinking
about children or thinking
about the world/all of it
disclosed by the stars
and the silence:
I could not go
and I could not think
and I could not
stay there.. alone
as I need to be ..alone
because I can’t do what I want to do
with my own .. body and
who in the hell set things up
like this
and in France they say
if the guy penetrates
but does not ejaculate
then he did not rape me
and if after stabbing him
if after screams if
after begging the bastard
and if even after smashing
a hammer to his head
if even after that if he
and his buddies fuck me after that
then I consented and there was
no rape because finally
you understand finally
they fucked me over
because I was wrong
I was wrong again to be me
being me where I was.. wrong
to be who I am
which is exactly like South Africa
penetrating into Namibia penetrating into
Angola and does that mean
I mean how do you know if
Pretoria ejaculates
what will the evidence look like the
proof of the monster jackboot
ejaculation on Blackland
and if after Namibia
and if after Angola
and if after Zimbabwe
and if after all of my kinsmen
and women resist even
to self-immolation of the villages
and if after that
we lose nevertheless
what will the big boys say will they
claim my consent:
Do You Follow Me:
We are the wrong people of
the wrong skin on the wrong continent
and what in the hell is everybody
being reasonable about
and according to the Times this week
back in 1966 the C.I.A.
decided that they had this problem
and the problem was a man
named Nkrumah so they
killed him and before that
it was Patrice Lumumba
and before that it was my father
on the campus
of my Ivy League school
and my father afraid
to walk into the cafeteria
because he said he
was wrong the wrong age
the wrong skin the wrong
gender identity and he was paying
my tuition and before that
it was my father saying
I was wrong saying that
I should have been a boy
because he wanted one/a
boy and that

هذي دمشقُ وهذي الكأسُ والرّاحُ
إنّي أحبُّ... وبعـضُ الحبِّ ذبّاحُ
أنا الدمشقيُّ لو شرحتمُ جسدي .. لسالَ منهُ عناقيـدٌ وتفـّاحُ
ولو فتحتُم شراييني بمديتكم .. سمعتمُ في دمي أصواتَ من راحوا
زراعةُ القلبِ تشفي بعضَ من عشقوا .. وما لقلبي إذا أحببتُ جرّاحُ
مآذنُ الشّـامِ تبكي إذ تعانقني .. وللمآذنِ كالأشجارِ أرواحُ
للياسمينِ حقـوقٌ في منازلنا.. وقطّةُ البيتِ تغفو حيثُ ترتاحُ
طاحونةُ البنِّ جزءٌ من طفولتنا .. فكيفَ أنسى؟ وعطرُ الهيلِ فوّاحُ
هذا مكانُ "أبي المعتزِّ".. منتظرٌ ووجهُ "فائزةٍ" حلوٌ ولمّاحُ
هنا جذوري هنا قلبي .. هنا لغـتي فكيفَ أوضحُ؟
هل في العشقِ إيضاحُ؟

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(أعشق وطني والمطر)