Nizar Sartawi

BIO

Nizar Sartawi is a poet, translator, essayist, and columnist. He was born in Sarta, Palestine, in 1951. He is a member of numerous literary and cultural organizations, including the Jordanian Writers Association (Jordan), General Union of Palestinian Writers (Palestine), General Union of Arab Writers (Cairo), and Asian and African Writers Union. He has participated in poetry readings and international forums and festivals in numerous countries, including Jordan, Palestine, Lebanon, Dubai, Sharjah, Morocco, Egypt, Kosovo, and India. Sartawi’s poems have been translated into more than a dozen languages, including English, French, German, Italian, Danish, Chinese, Persian, Urdu, Hindi, Tamil, Odia, Gujarati, and Malayalam. His poetry has been published in more than 40 international anthologies in addition to journals and newspapers, in Arab countries, the U.S., Australia, Kosovo, Indonesia, Singapore, Bosnia, Italy, India, the Philippines, Russia, Switzerland, and Taiwan.

Sartawi has published more than 25 books of poetry and poetry translations. He has written introductions to a large number of books in both Arabic and English. Sartawi was awarded the first prize in translation by Al-Nour Literary Organization in 1913, Naji Naaman Award for Creativity in 2018, and Jerusalem Intellectuals Forum Honorary Award in 2019.

For the last nine years, Sartawi has been working on poetry translation from English to Arabic and Arabic to English. This includes his Arabic poetry translation project, “Arab Contemporary Poets Series”. He also has translated poems for a large number of modern and contemporary international poets from numerous countries of the world.

 

Ahd Tmimi’s Dreams

The shriveled red hair
flying freely
upon her red face

flying freely –
freely like her green-blue eyes
roaming freely beyond the walls
of her village house
beyond the green mounts
that stretched for miles
and resting on the blue Mediterranean
in the West
as its white mellow waves
whispered:
“good morning sweet one”
every morning
and
“see you tomorrow ginger-haired one”
every eve

Her name:
Ahd Tamimi
Her stolen dreams:
to wake up one day
and see no aliens in her land
and
play soccer too…
play it freely.

 

The Fatal YouTube
(For Ahd Tamimi, arrested on December 19, 2017)

How old is she?
Not yet 17….

Where does she live?
Inside a cell
in Palestine.

What happened?
At 3 a.m.
IDF boys besieged the house
they broke the door
pushed Bassem aside
silenced Nariman
trooped in
swearing
shouting
flouting
thumping
kicking
shattering
battering
trampling…
until…
they found them – the fiery eyes
the ones they had been searching for
the ones that had removed the sleep
out of their eyes

they snatched her out of bed
they dragged her
tied her
tossed her
in an armored van
and drove away
roaring with laughter
so proud were they
of their prey

What are the charges?
– terrorism!
for years she has been throwing pebbles
and further yet:
– she’s instigated the village of
Nabi Saleh
to protest against land confiscations
and…
well?
– she’s driven, intruders
out of her home
and with a furious hand
she slapped their arrogance
on the face…

but worst of all
the whole world saw it …
on YouTube.

 

A Vision Quest

Advancing eastwards
all alone,
the nine-year-old Nez Perce lad,
tired of fasting
and walking on,
stops for a while.
He rubs his tired eyes as he looks far ahead,
and catches sight of a mountain top.
“There, there you are,” he smiles,
“I must get there,” he tells himself,
“for there, I know, is the sacred sphere
where Wide-Winged Eagle will be my guide.”
He reiterates his chief’s commandments,
“I must go forward,
never turn my back
I must walk softly,
the serene night I mustn’t disturb
I must hearken to all the whispers
of the Great Spirit
and if my feet are pricked by thorns
And my moccasins worn or torn
I must embrace the pain.
and never complain.”
He heaves a sigh, as gold nuggets glisten
within his chest,
and marches on.

 

Dreams in Black and White

a jet-black garment
wraps my body
from top
to bottom
as though
i were born
a few hours ago

in a cellar, i lie
narrower than the tummy
of a little fish
no windows
to smuggle a drop light

and all my dreams are
in black and white.

 

Hymnody

The hidden rhythm
of their plainchant
– singing the tales
of ancient times
of glorious triumphs
of their majestic Micronesian chiefs –
was echoed by
the island soaring trees
that watched the nimble moves
of their half nude dance
and fluttered their branches in delight

Meanwhile
the thick and mighty arms
and adroit hands
rotated swiftly in the air
forward and backward
as though to revive
their maritime ventures
across the friendly pacific waters
of Oceania
that stretched endlessly
before their eyes

Holding their paddles
– long and light –
carved by adept artisans
out of hibiscus wood
they made as if to tickle
the bottomless waters of the ocean
as when in olden days
their light, swift canoes went sailing
near the wind
racing with spirits
through the open expanse
towards
domains unknown.

*****