روحي تـُمطر .. لا تفتح مظلة: مطر الآخرين

The cage went in a search of a bird

Sun, 25 May 2008 19:47:00 GMT

The "cage went in search of a bird" - Kafka.

ذاكرة الجنسية

Wed, 28 Nov 2007 19:54:00 GMT

اختارت الوسط قبل أيام نشر طلبي للحصول على الجنسية البحرينية ضمن مقال طويل في استعراض لذاكرة الجنسية البحرينية عبر الأجيال.

في هذا الوقت، ليس عندي تعليق على ما نُشر .. لكني قد أعود لقول شيء ما لاحقاً !

مقال عادل مرزوق في الوسط من هنا

مطر مترجم .. ولا عزاء للمظلات

Thu, 22 Nov 2007 16:05:00 GMT

شرفتني الأستاذة العزيزة بنت بطوطة بإعداد بروفايل بسيط عن مدونتي بالإضافة إلى ترجمة عدد من مقالاتي، حين قرأت الترجمات شعرت بمتعة غريبة في اكتشاف الصياغة الجديدة للأفكار، وفاجأتني بعض الترجمات حين جاءت بمعاني لم ألتفت لها لكنها كامنة في الكلمات بالفعل! أثارني أن تجد بنت بطوطة على سعة اطلاعها على المدونات ما يثير الانتباه في مدونتي، وأعترف أنها قدمت لي عبر مجهودها هذا واهتمامها الكثير من الدعم والتشجيع للإهتمام بالتدوين أكثر. في بعض الأحيان فقدت إيماني بقدرة الكلمات على تحقيق التواصل بين البشر لكن ها هي بنت بطوطة تثبت لي أن الأفكار الصادقة، بأي لغة كانت، يمكنها دائماً أن تصل.

شكري العميق لك بنت بطوطة لما بذلته من جهد ووقت، وشكري للمتعة التي قدمتها لي في قراءة الترجمات، وشكري للدعم الذي ربما لا تعرفين أنك قدمته بالفعل لكنك فعلت.

أترككم مع النص الذي كتبته بنت بطوطة عن مدونتي، يليه الترجمات.

translations of bahraini blogs - ebtihal salman

After another long wait, here is the third in the series of translations of Bahraini blogs (for previous posts look in the sidebar). I approached this particular blogger, Ebtihal Salman, quite some time ago about profiling her blog, and she answered all my questions very promptly; the delay in posting the translations is entirely due to me, so I must thank her for her patience.

Ebtihal has a blog entitled My soul is raining - don't open an umbrella. I started reading her blog in August of this year, when a post entitled A request for Bahraini citizenship caught my eye. I have translated an extract from that post below, as well a couple of other posts (one chosen by me, one by Ebtihal).

A quick note about the translations: for those of you who like to compare the original with the translation, you may find parts that do not correspond exactly, or that might be open to a slightly different interpretation. Ebtihal has checked the translations herself, and very kindly asked me to leave my versions as they are, without changing those small things.

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Ebtihal Salman followed blogs for a long time before beginning one herself. She used to contribute regularly to online forums, but eventually felt that she needed her own space with full control over what she could say. Her blog was intended to be somewhere she could post her creative writing, specifically short stories, but she hasn't written any new ones since starting it, and has chosen not to post her old work. She also wanted to be able to comment on local news, and express the thoughts that come to her mind every day when she reads the newspapers, but has ended up not doing that much either.

The name of Ebtihal's blog, My soul is raining - don't open an umbrella, comes from a fondness she has for rain. She has often used 'Rain Maker' as an online name. Because she was actually banned from posting on a particular forum (after criticising the administrators), she imagined her writing as rain that was not welcomed, and was determined that no umbrella should stop it.

Her first post was prompted by the loss of Sheikh Abdul Amir Al Jamri in December 2006, and at that point she created a category of posts called Jamri Rains, to contain any post related to Bahrain. I think in fact she has somehow combined her two original intentions; she often writes about Bahraini politics and society, but in quite a literary and creative way. Other posts are more general. The first one below, He is not cried over, is one she says she wishes she had not posted, but felt unable to remove once she had. The post that I noticed, A request for Bahraini citizenship, was written after she saw a newspaper report about the education benefits newly-naturalised Bahrainis receive; she describes it as 'an explosion of emotions'.

He is not cried over

Then you let go of my hand, in the moment in which the wind was about to carry me away. What were you thinking about? My capacity to manage without you? Or did you have the selfish hope that I would experience death without you? Did you think about the possibilities of distance, time, and age that would separate me from you? I said farewell to you, and you had said farewell to me long before that – the last time that you said 'I love you', meaning and feeling it completely, and the last time you really wanted me near to you. After that, those feelings didn't truly overcome you again, because they didn't truly overcome me again. And I knew – without wanting to believe it – that my fingers held in your hand were a burden you couldn't bear, and that maybe you would prefer to save yourself, and that you would let go of my hand, as if you would not cry over love.

Posted 27 December 2006

A graveyard – your good fortune

It makes me happy to notice that the graveyard could well be the most beautiful place in our neighbourhood. At the very least it reassures me that the long years I will spend waiting for the day of resurrection will be in a beautiful location.

Tall trees thick with leaves are found throughout and transform it into a delightful garden. The paths are laid with red bricks, and there is shade and seats for passers-by to rest. Most people of the neighbourhood use it daily for going to or from somewhere else in the area or around it, because it is a shortcut. I remember the days long ago when I crossed it twice a day to go to and from school. Perhaps some of the girls told me there was another shortcut, but was there another beautiful shortcut? I don't think so.

There is nothing at all bad about a graveyard being nearby and being this beautiful, so when a friend tells me that her new flat will be next to the graveyard, I say, 'That's your good fortune.' But she is afraid – what are you afraid of? That a poor dead person will awake at the end of the night to spit out his grief? They never have done, for as long as the living have been more dangerous than the dead. But you have the power to do something when a bunch of flowers wilts on the table – to lay them on a grave instead of throwing them in the rubbish.

Posted 6 October 2007

A request for Bahraini citizenship

I would like to submit a request for new Bahraini citizenship, with the emphasis on it being 'new', as I already have (as you are well aware) the 'old' Bahraini citizenship. God determined that my fate would be the old, original citizenship, by birth: myself, my parents, my forefathers, all born on this land since long before the new people's discovery of the road leading them here. And as long as we accepted this fate we found nothing more beautiful, but now, after much consideration and contemplation, it seems that I finally want to change my nationality to the new version, with no sympathy for my forefathers. … I would like to feel that I am a valued citizen, and that all the institutions of the state are working to serve me, to improve my standard of living, and that every day they will offer incentives to encourage me to keep my citizenship, and that they won't hold back with money from the public treasury to enable me to remain and become deeply rooted with a foothold in every inch of this land.

Posted 4 August 2007

ليلة القدر .. وجودك ذنبٌ

Tue, 13 Nov 2007 21:42:42 GMT

(( كان باديا للجميع أنك ما عدتِ تنتمين لأحد، ما عدتِ قابلة للألم. كلّما صافح هذا القادم بقعة منك طفتْ وتحرّرتْ.

لو كنتِ تعلمين أن هذا العالم الرديء يضمر جمالا يشرخ القلب كجمال فتاك؛ لما خطرت لك فكرة بغباء حفرة وتراب !

الآن وقد خلعتِ الخفق من قلبك المتعب، خلعتِ يديك المكدودتين عطاء، وأشحتِ عن كلّ الذين أحببتِهم وآذوك؛ الآن يلتفتون بكلّهم نحوك، يلتفّون بكِ، ينازعونكِ هواء غرفتك، ويشاطرونك خلوتك بفتاك. ))

مقطع من نص (ارجعي) لـ زهراء موسى، لقراءة النص كاملاً انقر هنا

فكـِّــر بغيرك

Sun, 26 Aug 2007 21:11:00 GMT

القصيدة التي لبعض الوقت أسرتني

ودفعتني إلى تلوينها على الصور.

محمود درويش يرسم ملامح : فكّـر بغيرك.

حمل ملف الباوربوينت من هنا

آخر القلب أنت

Sat, 24 Mar 2007 20:37:00 GMT

في هذا الصباح المغسول بالفرح، في إشراقة هذا النهار الربيعي أهبك الوداد. وأنزع الدثار الشفيف عما تخبئه روحي من توق مجنون إليك. آخذك إلى نسغ الفؤاد يا أيها الكائن الجميل. يا أنشودة فجر الفضة وشاطيء الرغبات المضيئة. خذ القمر المسحور بالحنو. هيأ له شهية الزهر والوعد المبارك بالوهج. وأحطه بحضن يقيه برد الليالي. وأسلم إليه ودائعك ونجمتي عينيك. هبه طفولته الشهية. ومن روحك المعجونة بصلصال الحنان زده من شغب الطفولة ونزق الفراشات.

أردك أيها النبع كأني أهبط سلم الرغبات مكابداً الشوق ومثقلاً بحنين التوغل في الحلم القصي. حتى أبلغ مشارفك وارتشف رحيق وردك. وإذ يأخذني الشعور بالإرتواء، أفطن إلى أن الأمر أشبه بالوهم، كأنني لا أرتوي، كأني لم أبلغ النبع، كأن السلم الهابط إلى الرغبات سلم صاعد إلى المتاهة، ولأن التكرار عذب، أعاود الكرة مخطوفاً بك، أقتفي آثار الوله الأول، ما الذي يخطفني سوى نقصاني منك وظمئي إليك الذي يقذفني في كل مرة على مشارف هاوية الغياب، وأنت كالحاوي الفطن بأسرار النشيد السحري تخترع لي حكاية كلما أوشكت أن أنتهي، ساحر أنت تتلبس الفتنة فتأخذني إليك قمراً في مدار كوكب خرافي سريع الدوران، تأتيني في سروج طيف من ياض في أريج اللحظات الهاربة من الزمن المستحيل، كأنك آخر القلب بعدك ليس سوى السديم.

حسن مدن، شرفة الروح، مجلة سيدتي ، 21 مارس 2007