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Beacon is a new name to be added to the never-ending journey of Omani culture. Enriching the Arabic language and Omani culture has always been the preoccupation of Omani writers and translators. World literatures have been translated into Arabic, thus introducing new concepts and genres that have been adopted, embellished and re-produced in an Arabic form. However, it is time for us to stop playing the role of the recipient and take on the role of the sender. It is time for us to translate our own literature into other languages in order to introduce it to non-Arabic readers.
The Omani Society for Writers and Literati has been aware of the issue and proved this in their very fi rst issue of the “Noon” (the offi cial publication of the Society). One text was translated into English and presented side-by-side with the Arabic original – a trend that continued in the following issues of the “Noon”.
The original plan for Beacon was to publish an English language version of the “Noon”. However, as we started collecting materials for translation we realised that we should not limit ourselves to the texts from the “Noon” but broaden our scope to incorporate a wider diversity of texts. Indeed some texts included were originally published in the “Noon” but others will be printed here for the fi rst time. As a matter of fact, one page will be designated for original English language literature. In this regard we welcome all writings in English in various genres. Our principal concern remains life in our region, and the individuals who people it: Their experiences, thoughts and desires.
At our e-mail [email protected] we are more than happy to receive your contributions and suggestions on how to improve the status of the magazine.
Let this new magazine be a beacon that guides readers to the haven of Omani literary tradition, allowing our voices to be heard through the work of literary individuals.
Beacon… Our Voice to the WorldBy: Badr Al-Jahwary
Writers Society: The Vision and the Mission
Dialogue with One’s Self:An Introduction to Criticism & Reformation
The Madness Pretender
2
4
6
Sept. 10 2008
Painting by : Abdullah Al-Hajri
Printed & Published by
Tuesday, November 4, 2008
The Writers Society:
For a long time, Omani followers of the disciplines of literature, poetry and prose, have been dreaming of an institution similar to those in other Arab countries. They strive to belong to such an organization. It would enable them to communicate professionally with their peers as well as providing a door to the international literary stage.
This dream has always been there. It sometimes faded and disappeared only then to reappear shining again. Months and years have passed and still the dream remains. With an overwhelming desire to make it true, this dream lives on, arousing emotions.
However, this dream was associated with hard work. There are dreams that do come to fruition and others that remain unfulfi lled. The dream of an Omani writers’ institution kept facing obstacles. Just as we felt we were making progress, something new appeared preventing it from becoming reality.
Nevertheless, the dream continued to exist. We were determined to achieve success. New generations followed the dream of their ancestors, each making some progress. Eventually, the fi rst step was achieved. The most signifi cant thing for members to focus on was not to loose self-confi dence or let anything undermine their
determination.
Although progress has been slow, we should support the Society as it promotes Omani literature on the international stage.
In the 1950s or even before that, professional writers in Oman like Abdullah Al-Taa’i, Hilal bin Badr, Mohammed Ameen Abdullah, Mahmood Al-Khusaibi and others were dreaming of having an institution to which all writers could belong just as in Cairo, Damascus, Beirut, Baghdad and all other Arab capitals. They believed Oman is a country with a literary tradition. A lot of earlier Omani writers, such as Abu Muslim Al-Bahlani, Abu Salam Al-Kindi, Suleiman Al-Lamki and some other fellows of the same generation also longed for such an institution. In the 1960s, the dream moved to Abdullah Al-Khalili, Ahmed Abdullah Al-Harthi, Suleiman Al-Salmi and Suleiman Al-Kharousi. Then, it moved to Hilal Al-Siyabi and Saud Al-Modhaffer as well as others who were interested in writing. In the1980s, the dream shifted to Hilal Al-Aamri, Said Al-Saqalawi, Sadek Abdawani and their fellows, and then to Saif Al-Rahbi, Zahir Al-Ghafri, Samaa’ Issa and their colleagues followed in their footsteps. The dream tempted Abdulkarim Jawad, Mubarak Al-Aamri, Talib Al-Maa’mari and then continued with Mohammed bin Saif Al-Rahbi, Hilal Al-Hajri, Aasim Al-Saidi, Mohammed Al-Mahrouqi and Mohsin Al-Kindi. New generations of their colleagues and students joined them in their non-stop journey which grew and continued to generate and renew an endless creativity.
I remember in the 1970s, we tried to establish a club or a gathering for writers. We were a small group of young people supported by great literature masters in Oman. However, this initiative didn’t work out. We tried again in early 1980. A high-ranking offi cial promised to help us. He asked us for an application signed by twenty literati’s, and a list of the most signifi cant goals of that gathering. We prepared the list. Thankfully, the Kuwaiti Writers and Bahrain Writers Group helped us. We used their materials, which we felt were suitable for our situation. We made some major amendments and additions with more than thirty people signing the application, The most prominent being Oman’s greatest poet, Sheikh Abdullah Al-Khalili, Sheikh Hilal Al-Siyabi, Abdullah bin Sakher Al-Aamri, and Mahmood Al-Khusaibi and others. Two or three years later, we made another attempt. This time we were given a promise; we thought we had fi nally succeeded. I announced publicly our success at the Alghadeer poetry night, held by Alghadeer magazine in 1983. The event was under the patronage of His Excellency the Minister for Education. Many Omani writers, poets and some governmental offi cials were present. After that, many sessions and meetings were held at the Family Society, a hall for the Directorate of Curricula and College of Technology. They were attended by some famous writers such as the deceased Abdullah bin Sakher Al-Aamri, the deceased Ali bin Muhsin Al Hafeed, Mohammed Al-Masrori and Dr. Mohammed Al-Dahab who attended the meeting. After the Law of Associations was promulgated, the writers decided to meet again. They fi rst met at the
Cultural Club and then at the Literary Forum and fi nally at the Journalism Club. They tried to take advantage of the power granted by the governmental offi cials who were interested in supporting all aspects of the society.
Eventually, these collaborative efforts and endeavors succeeded. The Omani Society for Writers and Literati was announced in accordance with the laws regulating all professional and profi table societies. The day of announcement was a very special day for all Omani writers, as their dream fi nally became reality.
There are many people to whom we would like to express our appreciation and gratitude. They played signifi cant roles in the formation of the temporary administration of the Society. The formal announcement was made two years later. We would like to mention all their names and thank them publicly for the great efforts they made. Unfortunately, it would take too long and we might forget to mention everyone. However, most are well known and familiar to our writers and interested people. We would like to thank the board of Temporary Administration for their brilliant achievements. They have spent considerable time, money and effort in this regard. They will continue to support us until the fi rst elected administration gets control of the Society at the beginning of next year as per the law of the society. Two names cannot be omitted as they represent an inspiring example that refl ects the soul of this administration; these are Nasser Al-Badri and Said Al-Hashmi.
As well as the administration, there are other people to whom we should express our gratitude and appreciation. These are the members of the Society, high governmental offi cials and citizens who are unifi ed by the love and concern they have towards the Writers Society. We sincerely thank you for your great efforts.
Today, as the Society has been announced and become a real entity in the country, it has a lot to do. It needs to prove itself and achieve its goals. Its members should cooperate with each other and forget about self-ambitions and narrow visions. They should fi rst support the Society fi nancially and spiritually by paying fees and supplying it with all the requirements for a solid foundation. The Society is a newborn institution and therefore needs to be fi rmly structured from the very beginning. We attribute great expectations and trust to the new and published writers. Hopefully they will make every effort to develop the Society and consolidate its beginnings. As a result of which they will be able to reach their goals and activate the Society locally and internationally.
We invite all writers from Buraimi, Dhofar, Musandam, Ibra, Muscat, Nizwa, Sohar, Samail, Sur, Ibri, and every single village and city in the Sultanate to join the Society and develop it for a brighter and more successful future. The more writers who give to the Society and enrich it with their writings, the more benefi cial it will be for all concerned. Omani writer’s presence will at last be felt beyond the circles of the literati and our voices will be heard far and wide.
The Vision and the Mission
2
By: Ahmed Al-FalahiTranslated by: Dalal Al-Attabi
Tuesday, November 4, 2008
Editing Team
Bader Al JahwaryNasser Al BadriThomas Roche
Design by John Lopez
Special Thanks to:• Department of Public Relations & Information
• Society for Fine Arts
• Photography Society
Sultan Qaboos University
Sponsored by:
Printed & Published by:
Editor-in-Chief: Essa bin Mohammed Al ZedjaliCEO: Ahmed Essa Al Zedjali
in support of THE OMANI SOCIETY FOR WRITERS & LITERATI
I was a little girl who swam fully clothed everyday. This earned me the title of the fi sh. But that was when we lived by the sea, before the fi shermen deserted the shores which were then fi lled with multi-story hotels and expensive villas. My father moved to a village far away from the sea, yet the nickname stuck. I don’t know how, but everyone started calling me the fi sh just a few days after we arrived at the new village.
With the government’s compensation money, my father bought a small farm. Fortunately, local people helped him to build a small house. He then arranged for me and my mother to follow him to the village. We stayed awake in the huge bus, which contained our old things, as we traveled, moving our lives and memories to a new place. We took it all with us. I was left with only a memory of the sea. I was very unhappy. My pain was very severe, my silence too. It was like carrying a bundle of worries upon my head while my mouth was stitched shut with thick threads.
When we arrived, I saw the falaj dividing the village. I immediately threw myself in fully clothed, and swam with its current. As I swam in its water, new memories rushed into my mind.
I always swam alone, even after I had grown up and my breasts had grown with me. My parents tried to convince that me that I was too old to be swimming in the falaj. But every time I thought of leaving the water for good, I became sick - covered in a rash of goose bumps.
My father was not the angry type. I felt that he was lost since he left the sea and his fi shing. His everyday life was limited to his house, the mosque and the Majlis where people used to gather. There, they talked and whispered. There, tattling, rumors and sharp stares fl ew dangerously through the air. He felt like an outsider in a strange place. One day, he told me that people were talking about me and my lonely swimming in the falaj. He ordered me to stop going out: “Take your mother with you, and go out only at night”. Sorrow whipped my soul, and I refused to listen to him. He seemed very strict as he stared at me. He pleaded with my mother for help with his unruly daughter.
That night I got a fever but I kept silent. My mother, who felt my suffering, stroked my head until I fi nally was able to sleep. It was then that I decided to steal from our house into the night, freeing myself of my rags so that I could swim naked like a fi sh under the moonlight. I wasn’t scared, for I was sure my mother’s eyes lightened the surrounding gloom.
When I grew old, no one proposed to me, as we were still considered strangers in that village. People started calling me the spinster fi sh. My helpless parents watched my future disappear down the falaj. I told them: “Don’t worry about it. I made my decision and fell in love with water along time ago”.
One day my father came to me and said, “You can go to the falaj anytime you want.” I was overwhelmed with joy. I ran like the wind, and before stopping to catch my breath I jumped into the water. I dipped my braid and silver jewelry in it and let it take me wherever it desired.
When my mother passed away, my father’s grief knew no boundaries. Our eyes didn’t meet. He turned his face when he talked to me and a mysterious look which never left him appeared in his eyes. I felt the sorrow that engulfed him. His only daughter was an old maid and he was living alone with her.
Suddenly, the one thing that I never expected became a reality. Several months passed with no rain in the village. The water in the falaj drained away, drying up completely before it reached us. At that moment, I felt that my end was coming; that I had nothing else to do in life; the tide on which I had traveled ebbed away stranding me on a desolate shore. My soul was overwhelmed with darkness and I felt like a widow bidding farewell to her soul mate.
My father, who observed my state from a distance, surprised me one day with a bag full of colored threads. Our eyes met that day for the fi rst time in ages while he asked me to make dolls to drive away our sorrow and grief. That was our last conversation as my father passed away just a few days later. Since then, our house has been fi lled with dolls.
On Eid mornings I used to carry my dolls on a plate upon my head. This gave me over whelming joy. I distributed all of the dolls that I had made. After that no one used my nickname. Children could not wait for Eid to get my dolls. They came to my house in giggling expectant throngs every day.
One morning, I collected my things and headed to the mountain. There, under the shadow of a rock, I sat making my dolls with threads and palm leaves.
I don’t really remember the way I died. All I remember is that I was bending over my loom under the moonlight when I heard the sound of a rock heaving behind me.
The Longing FishBy: Mahmoud Al-Rahbi Translated by: Umaima Al-Harthi
I don’t really remember the way I died. All I remember is that I was bending over my loom under the moonlight when I heard the sound of a rock heaving behind me.
3
Photograph by: Fatma Al Wahaibi
Tuesday, November 4, 2008
I hesitated when I thought of writing about my own experience with disability. I thought about it a great deal. Prior to considering writing such a personal disclosure, I sought the opinion of my close friends. I asked them and myself many questions: Why should I write about my disability? What should I write? And for what audience should I write? Writing is not a skill I can claim to have. It seemed that I was unable to convince myself that I could produce something that would be benefi cial to readers. A friend of mine simplifi ed the issue. He clearly stated that writing about my disability did not detract from the severity of it. In fact it may help others understand what it is like living with a disability. He elaborated saying writing about it might also help me. As he was aware of my circumstances, he knew how much pain and suffering I had experienced. Another friend said “If disability is a taboo subject, then writing about it could be a unique experience. Many people could fi nd it benefi cial.”
I was encouraged by their comments. I know many others suffer from the same disability. Perhaps, I
could help people understand what life is like with a disability.I attempted to write methodically for a general audience. Regrettably, the fi nal draft fell short of my expectations.
As a result, I put the written story into an envelope and put it in a drawer with my other papers. Looking through these, I was reminded of things in my past. I found my 4th grade school certifi cate. There was also a health certifi cate that stated I was eligible to enter the United States of America. Then I found a letter from a local commercial bank in Sur offering me a temporary job. By accepting this position, I had to postpone my trip to the USA with my colleagues who went on to pursue a university degree.
My friend did not forget about the writing project. Several months later, he asked me about the progress of my work. When I told him that I was not satisfi ed with the outcome of the manuscript, he became angry with me. He insisted that I would not be the best judge of my own work.
He took the manuscript home with him. On the next day he called to say that he had read the entire story. He had found it a very compelling read and couldn’t put it down until he had fi nished it completely. After consulting with experts in the fi eld, he thought the book was worth publishing. Nevertheless, he felt I had omitted many details and encouraged me to continue with my work.
I was, however, able to justify my reasons for keeping my story short. Firstly, a lengthy writing about such a topic might not encourage people to read it. The second reason was that my life and disability involved other people. Out of respect I withheld certain details thinking that others may not feel comfortable being mentioned in my story. Therefore, I chose not to divulge some events.I remembered why I had decided to write about my disability. It was an attempt to enlighten others about my experience of living with a disability. It is my humble wish that people will fi nd my efforts an enjoyable and benefi cial reading experience.
A Prologue to “The Taste of Patience”
4
Painting by : Marwa Al Ajmi
Writing on
By: Mohammed Eid Al UraimiTranslated by: Saleh Abdullah Alkamyasi
Tuesday, November 4, 2008
The Islamic world is living an intellectual era packed with revisions and refi nements of its heritage, especially with relation to the Holy Qur’an, Sunnah and their associated sciences. This movement promises a brighter future for our nation. However, it also has aroused a reactionary movement that has harmed some people and hindered them from continuing to criticize and examine our common heritage. This counter movement claims that criticism and examining our values poses a threat to our culture; they do not wish that that we remove the sacred covers from our heritage and re-examine the concepts which have been enshrouded there. Surely questionable beliefs exist in every culture and we must do just that to them – examine them. We should not surrender in our efforts to revise and refi ne our beliefs because it is a diffi cult or unpleasant task, we must overcome such hindrances in order to fi nd the areas of our heritage which need to be re-examined and if found necessary then modifi ed.
Conceding defeat to this counter-movement would mean quitting criticism. Indeed if we reject this diffi cult process of critical refl ection, it is not only an act of cowardice but an act of self-betrayal and betrayal to future generations. Parochial reactionaries admire our heritage blindly without refl ecting on the pros and cons of these practices. Is a blindly accepted heritage worth giving to future generations? Throughout the history of thought we repeatedly see that every new concept faces some initial disagreement. For how long was the concept of a round earth rejected? Reform will always be challenged and as a result must be driven forward by capable people who would pump it full of life blood and fi ght misconceptions of its project.
The diversity and disagreement of opinions should not lead to divisions and disputes. Instead, the energies of disagreeing parties must be utilized to enrich the knowledge of the nation. Fracture in this movement of refl ection and dispute has been caused by narrow-minded people who believe that the world will cease to exist if we contradict their opinions. One fi nds that such characters are the most dogmatic and intolerant of people who simply refuse to consider anything other than their own opinions. They are of course in keeping with the Pharaonic motto: {The Pharaoh said, “I show you only what I think is proper and guide you only to the right direction”} Gafi r: 29. Each one of us has a pharaoh inside him, but the tempered mind restrains us from practicing such tyranny. However, the pharaoh cited was able to disrupt the minds of the fanatics and manipulate them into an attack on their opponents.
Opening doors for dialogue and multiplicity of opinions is a form of divine wisdom. The Almighty Allah engaged in a dialogue with His angels before making humans vice-regents on earth, {behold, thy Lord said to the angels: “I will create a vice-regent on earth.” They said: “Wilt Thou place therein one who will make mischief and shed blood?- whilst we celebrate Thy praises and glorify Thy holy (name)?” He said: “I know what ye know not.”} Al-Baqarah: 30. Yet greater than that is the dialogue Allah has narrated to us which occurs between Him and the most ungrateful and wicked creature, Satan, in which He said {(Allah) said: “What prevented thee from prostrating when I commanded thee?” Satan said: “I am better than he: Thou
didst create me from fi re and him from clay.”}Al-A’raf: 12. This divine wisdom, based on dialogue and found in the Holy Qur’an, is practiced by the prophets (PBUT). Examples of such dialogue are:
•Ibrahim's dialogue with his son when asking his opinion whether to implement Allah's command to slaughter him or not.
•Ibrahim's dialogue with the angels to persuade them not to bestow punishment upon Lot's people
•Prophet Jacob who talked to his sons and agreed upon what they wanted although knowing their bad intentions
•Prophet Solomon who talked to the Hoopoe before imposing a punishment on it for missing the meeting, but then considered his justifi cation for his absence
•The Queen of Saba who didn't oppress her people when she said, {Ye chiefs! Advise me in (this) my affair: no affair have I decided except in your presence.} An-Namal: 32
•Prophet Mohammad commanded by Allah to have a dialogue and listen to the other's opinion, {…so pass over (Their faults), and ask for (Allah’s) forgiveness for them; and consult them in affairs (of moment).} Aal-Imran: 159.
These Quranic examples of dialogue between The Creator and His creatures and between the angels and prophets whom we should follow are not redundant but rather at the heart of our faith relating to legislation and its application in reality. The dialogues in the Holy Qur’an are neither for entertainment nor enjoyment; they institutionalize the principle of dialogue which is a core principle of Islam along with other fundamentals of Islamic legislations.
Dialogue is a Quranic obligation which one’s faith depends on. Unfortunately, it has been neglected in most Islamic speeches and replaced by pharaonic irrational speeches. The approximate vision of dialogue and the fact that it’s a tool to explore and correct knowledge has been replaced by another vision which holds all dialogue to be a means to mute the opponent and preach to him. Thus, once a dialogue starts, terms such as certainly and unanimously begin to fl oat in the air. Are these the linguistic signposts of tolerance and open dialogue? - or the nomenclature of pharoism? Furthermore, repeatedly when one party is unable to convince the other, the sense of failure upsets them and so they resort to condemning others. Does this indicate a mature process of open dialogue?
What are more surprising are the fully-attended halls of the so-called conferences of religions and cultures of dialogue. That is not unexpected because their presence serves as emotional leadership for a muted nation, who unwillingly shows obedience and loyalty to a militarily and economically powerful party. Attending a dialogue conference with non-Muslims while dialogue is missing in our Islamic homes reveals the hypocrisy and intellectual oppression Islamic discourse suffers from. It also highlights the mental confusion obfuscating a self-evident truth: defi ciencies amongst some Muslims are better than the infi delity with non-Muslims. A sinful Muslim is more
obliged to take part in dialogue than a non-Muslim.
Fanaticism and extremism are not new to our Islamic societies. Yet sadly they are prevalent in the current period. Fanaticism began during the last days of Calif Othman. The beginning of the disagreement was purely political and the rebels wielded these tools against Othman. The Umayyad dynasty used it against Ali and the legitimacy of his succession. After that, it was entrenched by the Intellectual Institution established by the Umayyad state as a way to attract their opponents. That institution adopted narration to prove its legitimacy.
Scholars received the legacy of the political confl ict between the Umayyad and their opponents and began theorizing the dispute, rooting the controversy between the parties in retrospectively established sects based on current political needs – this is no creative interpretation but a textual violation. Each party professes whatever he likes regardless of its relation to the original narratives. These invented prologues and caveats then accumulate in the tens of thousands like treacherous sediment obscuring the original narrative. These authors did not, even if they claim to, study the content of the original narratives. We have subsequently inherited a treacherous legacy of narratives, which shocks a person for its contradictory accounts, apparent lack of reason and evident confl icts with the Qur’an. Moreover, this legacy goes against the Sunnah of the Prophet Mohammad (PBUH). The authenticity of these narratives was accepted as a way to keep Sunnah and religion intact. Every Muslim became guilty until his innocence was proven! Minds were dominated by an apprehensive fear of any new ideas.
All attempts of reformation led by the Muslim pioneers have failed to wake the nation from its slumber. The reformation school of Mohammed Abdou brought forth the method of “Legislative Purposes”. However, its fl ames were extinguished quickly under the roar of the narrators and the voices who accused them of denying Sunnah. The nation returned to the narratives once again and the minds of our thinkers remained trapped by the shackles of these narrations that fragment thinking instead of pushing it towards the vision of completeness and inclusiveness that are brought about by the Quran.
Our nation today needs genuine critical refl ection, dialogue, and an accurate diagnosis of its defi ciencies. Facing the current commitments of civilization through igniting confl icts amongst the intellectuals who criticize heritage in an attempt to distinguish its pros and cons is just a naïve means to escape the real challenges we are facing. Ultimately such reactionary steps are self-defeating.
True loyalty to the heritage of our nation urges us to face the challenges of the present and withstand the self-perceived tide of cultural superiority of the other. Our nation needs rational minds and energy to cultivate tolerance and scientifi c research. It also needs to open the doors to dialogue and accept a multiplicity of opinions. The façade of homogeneity should be dropped, critical thought should be embraced as a step towards cleansing the falsehood which remains an impediment to the success of our civilized nation.
An Introduction to Criticism & Reformation
5
By: Dr. Zakariya Al MaharmiTranslated by: Salim Al kindi
Dialogue with One’s Self
Tuesday, November 4, 2008
6
“Go on, I’ll follow you” said my mother while she was putting on her Abayah. I went out and saw Sa’ad (or Sa’doon as many villagers called him) standing at the door. I shivered. I couldn’t move. But when our eyes met, I saw only an innocent face and his compassionate eyes diminished my fear. He kept staring at me, deep in his eyes fl ickered looks full of grief, pain, despair and many other feelings that I couldn’t identify. I wanted to utter a word but my tongue didn’t obey me. I didn’t know what to do, so I hurriedly called to my mother.
-Mad Sa’ad is at the door, Mom.
My mom asked him to come in but he refused. He told her that he wanted to see my brother. She wondered why Sa’doon wanted to meet my brother.
-I want him to come with me to Egypt.
-Egypt? Why do you want to go to Egypt?
-I want to meet Hussain Fahmi [the famous Egyptian actor]
I couldn’t control myself and started laughing. My mother angrily gestured to me to keep quiet. Sa’ad became angry and my mother was trying to calm him down. She asked him to read some verses from the Holy Qur’an. She asked him to recite Surat Al Fatiha but he said that he didn’t know it.
Then she asked him to recite Surat Al Ikhlas “It’s short and you must have memorized it.” He recited the whole Surah unsure if he had remembered all of it. “Yes, you recited the whole Surah correctly!” said my mother happily. She started fl attering him but all her attempts were in vain. His mood did not improve.
She decided that we must go, but he shouted, “I’ll stay at your door till he comes!” My mother looked at him and said in a sad voice “Very well.” Then she murmured, “This is the result of parental negligence.”
It was a long time before we returned from my aunt’s house, but he was still waiting at our house. Mom told him that my brother was not coming this week. His looks were full of anger. Then he threw a stone and cried, “You are lying to me!” and left. I was a fool to think he was mad. He was able to communicate quite sensibly.
Days later, I came to know that Sa’ad continued pretending to be mad. He stopped women in the street and asked them to give him donations. He played the role of a policeman and organized the traffi c in the village. He even changed road signs. He changed the sign “Stop” into “Don’t Stop”. My mother told me that Sa’ad was one of the best students in his school. He was always ahead of his classmates. All people envied him for that. When he was in grade 9, something strange happened to him. He refused to go to school. No one could change his mind. The school principal
was unable to convince him to return to school. His father beat him and kicked him out of the house. He took refuge in the mosque and ate whatever he could fi nd.
Sa’ad grew thin and was looking older. Nevertheless, he read whenever he had a chance and anything he could get his hands on – newspapers, magazines or any other print material. All the villagers were astonished when they saw him reading. This made them doubt that he was insane.
His father took him to a mental hospital. He was put in a room full of doctors. They were astonished by his accurate answers to the questions on art, history and science. He even recited some verses from the Holy Qur’an and told them some sayings of the Prophet Muhammad ( PBUH).
The head doctor came out of the room looking amazed. Sa’ad’s father asked him about his son’s condition. “If there was someone insane in that room, it’s got to be me!” said the head doctor. “Take your son, he doesn’t belong here.”
When they arrived at the village, Sa’ad returned to his usual madness. Today, he is in jail for assaulting a child whom Sa’ad accused of harassing him. The child is now stationed in an ICU.
Everybody tried hard to get him released on grounds of insanity. Sa’ad frustrated their attempts by admitting to his crime and many others that he hadn’t committed.
The MadnessPretender
Painting by : Alya Al Muquami
By: Rahma Al-HarrasiTranslated by: Mathla Al-Wahaibi
Tuesday, November 4, 2008
You shall die alone, exiled You shall no more fi nd fate in your right hand
God shall take you to the utmost.You were savage and sick
When you abandoned all your beloved
Who are you?Who are you to own things alone?
Look at the sunTo comprehend your lost steps on the streets
Your shadow is an emberFaraway bells behind you
Look at the sand,To recognize how you mess up the desert
How you alone read the futureReturn
For if you delve in the distance desert, You shall die alone.
You contaminated the poem by your absenceYou loved a self of your own
You deprived her of love.You are her favourite son of the soul,
You are her heartYou are her hope.
You who like summer, You who made the evenings tired
Wake upFor you shall die burned within yourself.
Whenever you sing in the misty air of the desert, You shall fi nd it strange.
They seduce you with their expatriationsThey reduce your directions
Return, Enough suffering from fruitless travelling.
Sandy in Your ExileIn Echo, Scenes & TransformationWatery Despite the Drought
By: Is’haq Al-KhanjariTranslated by: Muna Al-Battashi
-Scene 1- (Watery)In her fl owery imagination,
She stares at angles and every angle is me.To her, I am the happy sound that runs in her blood,
And the moon who teaches her divinity.In our ribs, we mourn together,
We prosper in our wound with rain,And we share the world. In our ribs, we fi nd
Powerful meaning, Longing as the water is wide,The fl ourishing grass of the cloud,
The woods of violets. In our ribs, we fi ndA white city grows alone like the wind
Grows whenever words shake the world.
-Scene 2- (Watery)She cries for the sea does not,
She sprinkles her shadow on the sand,And she aimlessly leans on it. She prays for a gypsy pigeon
Who gave her happiness and left herShe sings for its lavender heart that knows
Her secret, Her desire’s call, Her endless and sickened travel, And her weary steps.
-Scene 3- (Watery)She calls her mirror’s dialogue with the sun, a ghost.The mirror cries: The sun does not know the story,
Only my body takes me to my body.And I, the stranger. Shall go far away,
Shall read things before the crack of dawn.
-Scene 4- (Watery)A north worry follows her.
A summer grubs out her forgotten past. Love can’t guard her Neither a celestial inspiration weeds her path.What night needs of a maid infl amed by tears?
Within her Crash, Draught, And clash.
-Scene 5- (Watery)As a homeless breed she grows
And from death as a musical instrument departs.Seclusion on shores feeds the absence.
She screams: You oriental,How hard superstitions can be! Return my body.
Upon an echo, I shall bestow my memory.
7
Photograph by: Amal Al-Mashaikhi
Tuesday, November 4, 2008
By: Fergus Allen
The inhabitants of the Empty Quarter
sleep much of the day and move by night,
Stepping out from behind the breasts of sand-dunes
To resume the tête-à-têtes whose forgotten
Diffi cult-to-pin-down beginnings lie
In leftovers from usage and event,
Bones piled on the rim of the plat du jour.
Questions about the way to the Fertile Crescent
Are met with smiles and humbug about camels
And tradition and the lack of marker.
But saddled transport seems to come and go
At near enough the appointed times,
Theatrical bargaining fi lls the evenings
And at full moon the haggled-over bales
Can be seen lurching away into the uplands.
Overfl own by migrating storks,
We have to hang about for our guides---
Shadowy characters apt to materialize
Smiling from the shelter of night-cold rocks,
Who could all do with lessons in voice production
Or simple specifi cs against catarrh
And the hawking and spitting behind the tents.
But insofar as a message emerges
The tone is neutral, some might say teasing.
The granaries of the nomads are all around,
Their latitudes and longitudes a food
For the constantly baffl ed numerologist
Seated under the doum-palm with his abacus.
The problem is fi ne-tuning the dowsing-rod
To the vibrations of rice, wheat, sorghum, maize.
Inside Arabia
Photography By: Majid Al Rawahi
