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#palestinian literature
luthienne · 4 days ago
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Something is missing from me. And I can't. I can't.
Mahmoud Darwish, from Memory for Forgetfulness: August, Beirut, 1982 (tr. Ibrahim Muhawi)
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luthienne · 27 days ago
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—Goodbye, sir. —Where to? —Madness.
Mahmoud Darwish, from Memory for Forgetfulness: August, Beirut, 1982 (tr. Ibrahim Muhawi)
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luthienne · 28 days ago
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And I don’t want a correct answer as much as I want a correct question.
Mahmoud Darwish, from Memory for Forgetfulness: August, Beirut, 1982 (tr. Ibrahim Muhawi) 
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luthienne · 29 days ago
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Mahmoud Darwish, from Memory for Forgetfulness: August, Beirut, 1982 (tr. Ibrahim Muhawi)
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luthienne · a month ago
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“And I’m mocked by friends who say, ‘What use is poetry? What use will it be when the war ends?’ But I’m screaming at a moment when screams can go nowhere. And it strikes me that language must force itself into a battle in which voices are not equal. (...) —But what are you writing? ‘I’m stammering out a scream,’ I answer.”
— Mahmoud Darwish, from Memory for Forgetfulness: August, Beirut, 1982 (tr. Ibrahim Muhawi)
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luthienne · a month ago
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I want to sing. I want a language that I can lean on and that can lean on me, that asks me to bear witness and that I can ask to bear witness,
Mahmoud Darwish, from Memory for Forgetfulness: August, Beirut, 1982 (tr. Ibrahim Muhawi)
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al-cantrez · 2 months ago
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Someone recommend Palestinian Literature to me. It can’t be any of the following and I need 3 recommendations. For my seminar I’m not allowed to write about ANYTHING we discussed in class and tbh I’m at my wit’s end because I don’t know more Palestinian literature than these 🤷‍♀️
Samira Azzam “Man and His Clock”
Sahar Khalifa, The End of Spring
Adania Shibli, “Out of Time.”
Adania Shible, We Are All Equally Far from Love.
Imil Habiby, The Secret Life of Saeed, the Ill-fated Pessoptimist
Mahmoud Darwish, Memory for Forgetfulness.
Anton Shammas, Arabesques
Fadwa Tuqan, A Mountainous Journey
Mourid Barghouthi, I was born there, I was born Here
Fawaz Turki, Exile’s Return
Edward Said, Out of Place
Mahmoud Darwish, “Eleven Stars over Al-Andalus.”
Ghassan Kanafani, Return to Haifa
Ghassan Kanafani, Men In The Sun
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weusetobegiants · 7 months ago
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I have the wisdom of one condemned to die, I possess nothing so nothing can possess me and have written my will in my own blood:
Mahmoud Darwish from I Have The Wisdom of One Condemned to Die tr. Omnia Amin and Rick London
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fatvenitu · 8 months ago
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Nadir from Concrete Monsters by Zohar Zahira on Amazon.
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megairea · 8 months ago
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Am I another you and you another I?
Mahmoud Darwish, from We are Missing a Present; The Butterfly's Burden: Selected Poems (tr. by Fady Joudah)
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megairea · 8 months ago
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There's nothing left of me but you,
Mahmoud Darwish, from Who Am I, Without Exile?; The Butterfly’s Burden: Selected Poems (tr. by Fady Joudah)
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megairea · 8 months ago
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Mahmoud Darwish, from Low Sky; The Butterfly’s Burden: Selected Poems (tr. by Fady Joudah)    
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absentsun · 10 months ago
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You wrote to me then, saying: "Why do I miss you with this continual longing, if the word 'I' means us, we two, just as we had agreed?" I guarded my hope with the devotion it deserved. I wanted you, wanted you, with all the demands that word implies.
Ghassan Kanafani, from All That’s Left to You, a novella and short stories
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motashaael · a year ago
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ربعي المدهون -  مصائر : كونشيرتو الهولوكوست و النكبة   2015
“Destinies: The Concerto of The Holocaust and The Naqba” is a rather peculiar novel by the Palestinian author Rabai Al-Madhoun, which won him the Arabic Booker Prize. It is peculiar due to its structure. He wanted to emulate the style of and structure of a musical concerto, with a main underlying theme and instrument leading the way different movements composing the whole. While each movement can stand on its own, listening to them all is what gives the concerto its structure. The main theme here, at least for me, is that of the Palestinian exile, whether it be interior or exterior, and the main leading instrument is that of Walid, a Palestnian living in the UK and of his wife Julie, a British woman of Palestinian origins. Her mother, born in Palestine, had a dying wish for her daughter to return to her native city of Acre and spread her ashes in their old home, thus Julie would discover what is Palestine. But this is just the underlying premise as in this novel we have many different stories and people that we encounter, and such stories are aimed to present a global image of the Palestinian experience. 
The novel is peculiar in its structure as it doesn’t follow any linear path, and it even contains a novel within a novel, and layers upon layers. This, I admit, can be frustrating at times. While I like non-linear narratives that challenge the reader, I also like that all the pieces come together once we reach the end, this making the entire structure be a full whole rather than just independent pieces. I felt that since the novel isn’t the long, it could have been better to actually expand more and the different pieces and tales, as at times it did feel just superficial. The stories are important. Al Madhoun really tried to give a full representation of the Palestinian experience with a wide array of people and tales, but the constant changes in points of views and the constant shifts did not always work for me. Sadly, it was a case of style over the substance. Don’t get me wrong, he is a good writer and I loved his language. It’s just that the tales themselves aren’t new in Palestinian literature, and narrating them is always important, but not focusing more on style and structure didn’t help, at least for me. So if you already read a lot of novels or literature about Palestine, this will be an interesting book to read. But if you’re new to it, then maybe it’s not the best place to start.
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la-ragazza-che-ride · a year ago
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لم تعد الصور القديمة تمثلنا لم تكبر مثلنا لم تنكمش مثل ا جسادنا او تتلاشى بالتدريج مثل عقولنا لقد ا صبحت فقط .. باهتة مثل ذكرياتنا التي لم تعد واقعا منذ تجاوزها الزمن
كوداك, ASHRAF FAYADH
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pflummage · a year ago
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Jabra Ibrahim Jabra ::: Hunters in a Narrow Street (1960)
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con-alas-de-angeles · a year ago
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I do not sleep to dream, she told him. I sleep to forget you. How good it is to sleep alone, soundless in silk.
Mahmoud Darwish, Almond Blossoms and Beyond: I Do Not Sleep To Dream
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eliamatrell · 2 years ago
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Silence said: truth needs no eloquence. After the death of the horseman, the homeward-bound horse says everything without saying anything.
MOURID BARGHOUTI (translated by Radwa Ashour)
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