Palestinian National Poet (Extract)

By NAIM ARAIDI
Extract from an article in Issue 11, September 15, 2008 of The Jerusalem Report. To subscribe to The Jerusalem Report click here. Mahmoud Darwish (1941-2008) was a poet of Palestinian nationalism and lyrical universalism Darwish was an exceptional individual on the landscape of Palestinian poetry in particular and Arabic culture in general. Almost immaculate, he remained above the disputes and stayed clear of belonging to this or that stream or faction of the numerous divisions of the Palestinian people, dispersed throughout the Middle East. He never accepted any political or organizational positions and was satisfied with editing the cultural-literary journal, al-Karmel, based in Ramallah, until the day of his death. Due to his national status and motivation, his bold expressiveness and his wide rhythm, some of his admirers have compared Darwish to the American poet, journalist and essayist Walt Whitman. His charismatic personality, his manly beauty and his gentle elegance provided him with a "regal" image that traversed borders, organizations and peoples. And Darwish took advantage of this. He refused to accept the title of "poet of the resistance" or "poet of rage" and he managed to avoid being constricted as a Palestinian poet. He wanted to be identified as one of the most important poets in the modern Arab world and did everything he could to achieve this; in my opinion, over the past two decades, he had been aiming for a Nobel prize. He attempted to renew his contacts in Israel through old friends on the Israeli left, especially after the agreements with the PLO, and in 1996 he returned to Israel to attend the funeral of his mentor, the Arab-Israeli-Palestinian author, Emil Habibi, who had been one of the leaders of the Communist Party when Darwish himself was a young poet. His visits to Israel increased after that, and he even recently gave two poetry readings to Arab-Israeli audiences in Haifa, thus returning to the family he had abandoned some 30 years earlier. He left Israel to first try his luck, unsuccessfully, as a poet in Egypt (common enough among poets who have been exiled from their homelands) and then to join the ranks of the Palestine Liberation Organization in Lebanon. His spent his last visit to Israel, several months ago, at the beside of his brother, Ahmed, who had been hospitalized in Rambam Hospital in Haifa. Like his life, Darwish's poetry can be divided into three periods. During the first period, he was still in Israel and belonged to the Israeli Communist Party. This can be considered his political period and it was this political poetry that brought him fame among the local and the world-wide Arab public. He was perceived as a committed or enlisted poet, who produced brilliant literary writings. His poem, "Identity Card," became both his symbol and the symbol of the struggle of the Arab sector in Israel, who were still living under martial law until 1966. Until the late 1960s, Arabs in Israel were forbidden to highlight their Arab identity; and, for 20 years after that, they were not allowed to express their Palestinian identity. "Identity Card" thus became the anthem of the Israeli Arabs; through this poem, they redeemed the pride of identity for themselves. Thanks to this poem, and other national poems, Darwish was perceived as the spiritual spokesman of the Arabs, to whom the official State establishment referred to as "the minorities," in order to isolate and distance them from their attachment to the Arab nation. Paradoxically, the fact that Darwish left Israel for the Arab states actually enhanced his public standing, despite the ongoing disagreement between those among the Arab intelligentsia who justified those who left, and the Communist party, who opposed the defections. Many who objected to Darwish's decision tried to convince poet and publicist Samih el-Qassam, Darwish's closest friend, to denounce "the national hero's flight from the arena" in the media. But the public only loved Darwish even more, and his devotees found reasons to explain his abandonment: He refused to be suffocated; while abroad, he could struggle against the Zionist entity; abroad, he would be more free to write and fight; outside of Israel, he would have possibilities that he wouldn't have here. And what's more, he would be heavily involved in the Palestine Liberation Organization, which had become a sacred symbol in the eyes of many Israeli Arabs: belonging to and being active in the PLO were considered great honors. The second period in his life and work can be seen as an interim period. Twenty years after he fled from Israel, and perhaps even a bit before then, his literary and cultural activity within the PLO had opened his horizons to embrace a new world and new spheres of interest. He became aware that the "saints" he had so admired while he was in Israel were no more than human beings. His experience as an Israeli and as a Communist revealed what he saw as his own superiority over these "angels." While maintaining the national identity of his work, he slowly began to write more modern poetry, to which he had been exposed through the many translations of European culture into Arabic in Lebanon. At the same time, and due to his first encounters with the refugee camps and the exile, Darwish began to concentrate on the human dimension of being a refugee in exile. After a not insignificant period of experimentation, Darwish, brilliant, perhaps even a genius, underwent a revolution. He took advantage of his unique talent and high status, which accorded him a comfortable home, a good income and extensive time to study, learn and educate himself. While other artists like him, who enjoyed similar advantages, turned inward or devoted the leisure time that they had at their disposal to unimportant activity, Darwish, in contrast, read extensively and probed deeply, providing himself with a historical and literary education and becoming a truly committed intellectual, involved in the existential problems of the world. And this is where the third and final chapter of his life comes in. It is paradoxical that during this period, his stature in the Arab world, including among Palestinians, was enhanced at the same time as he achieved international standing, at least among the European and American left. During this period, Darwish adopted a form of indirect poetry, neither religiously nor nationally identifiable. His new work, beginning in the 1990s, is postmodern, revealing an amazing command of artistic craft based on both classical Arab and universal modern poetry. His philosophical and historical education added new breadth to his work, which developed from flat and one-dimensional into artistic and multi-dimensional poetry. Darwish knew how to create remarkable new metaphors. He knew how to use the Arab language as if it were soft clay in his potter's hands, as if it were simultaneously both craft and art. Within the system of metaphors and images, the symbols and the metonymies that he created, the meaning of his verse became less obvious and more concealed. The national symbols that he created were ambivalent and could be understood in different, contrasting ways. In his lyrical poems he dealt with death and love, and these became more dominant in his later years. Again paradoxically, this elevated him to the status of a supra-poet. On the one hand, he became the symbol of Palestinian achievement, beloved by his people and by the entire Arab world, even though he had distanced himself, in terms of his work and in terms of his political-national involvement in the events around him. Following the expulsion of the Palestinians from Lebanon in 1982, and after the Oslo agreements between Israel and the Palestinians in 1993, in accordance with the expectations of the PLO, Darwish felt he was forced to leave Paris and relocate to Ramallah. But he actually lived the rest of his life between Ramallah and Amman. He visited Ramallah infrequently to maintain the validity of the permit that the Israelis had given him to be a resident there, thanks to those same agreements that he opposed. Amman became his permanent hotel room, since he preferred to travel around the world, if only because of the demands of his literary and intellectual activity. His new personality was criticized sharply, especially among Arab intellectuals, for two reasons: his post-modern, indirect (and therefore less intelligible) poetry and his refusal to take a stand on events in the Arab and the Palestinian worlds. Darwish hardly expressed himself with regard to what was going on in the Palestinian Authority and never took a clear stand on Islamic fundamentalism as it spread through the Arab intellectual world. In addition, he had many critics among the Arab intellectuals in exile in Europe, primarily because he "stole their show." Darwish was better known than they and more frequently invited in Arab circles and within the European left. In summing up Darwish's personality, his position in the Arab world, and the admiration he enjoyed as a supra-image, we reach a paradoxical conclusion: Darwish the man avoided crowds; he was closed and shy, almost antiseptic. He maintained his image as a national poet, as the one who gave expression to the human side of the Palestinian suffering, by keeping his distance from the people. Darwish refused to appear at poetry readings together with other poets and he demanded to be alone at any event - which, of course, contrasts with the modest and popular image that he created. Darwish started out among the ranks of the Israeli communist movement and became famous through that movement, but he died representing Palestinian nationalism. • Dr. Naim Araidi was born in the village of Maghar, in the Galilee, in 1950 and holds a PhD in Hebrew literature from Bar-Ilan University. His works, written originally in Hebrew and Arabic, have been translated into numerous other languages and he has received local and international awards. Araidy is currently director of the Children's Literature Center at the Arab College and the Coordinator of Studies for the non-Jewish students at Gordon College. He also presents two weekly programs on Israel's Channel 2 television. I Didn't Apologize to the Well By Mahmoud Darwish I didn't apologize to the well when I passed the well, I borrowed from the ancient pine tree a cloud and squeezed it like an orange, then waited for a gazelle white and legendary. And I ordered my heart to be patient: Be neutral as if you were not of me! Right here the kind shepherds stood on air and evolved their flutes, then persuaded the mountain quail toward the snare. And right here I saddled a horse for flying toward my planets, then flew. And right here the priestess told me: Beware of the asphalt road and the cars and walk upon your exhalation. Right here I slackened my shadow and waited, I picked the tiniest rock and stayed up late. I broke the myth and I broke. And I circled the well until I flew from myself to what isn't of it. A deep voice shouted at me: This grave isn't your grave. So I apologized. I read verses from the wise holy book, and said to the unknown one in the well: Salaam upon you the day you were killed in the land of peace, and the day you rise from the darkness of the well alive! From: The Butterfly's Burden (2007) Translated by Fady Joudah Extract from an article in Issue 11, September 15, 2008 of The Jerusalem Report. To subscribe to The Jerusalem Report click here.