As a part of its continuing effort to share a portion of the literary wealth of Arabic poetry with the English reader, The Arab American News translates a poem by the legendary Palestinian poet Mahmoud Darwish. A Ready Scenario was published after Darwish’s death, in his last book I Do not Want for this Poem to End.
A ready scenario
Let’s imagine that we fell,
the enemy and I,
we fell from the sky,
in a ditch.
What would happen?
A ready scenario:
At first, we wait for luck…
The rescuers might find us here
and extend the rescue rope,
so he would say: Me first.
And I would say: Me first.
And he curses me.
Then I curse him
for no reason.
The rope hasn’t arrived yet.
The Scenario says:
I would mutter in private:
That’s what is called the selfishness of the optimistic,
without wondering what my enemy is saying.
He and I are
partners in the same trap,
and partners in the game of probabilities,
waiting for the rope… the rescue rope.
Let’s proceed separately,
on the edge of the ditch–the abyss
for what we have left of life…
and war
if we could survive!
He and I,
scared together,
and we do not share any conversation
about fear or anything else,
for we are two enemies.
What would happen if a snake
showed up here,
from the scenes of this scenario
and hissed to swallow the terrified–together
me and him?
The scenario says:
We would be partners in killing the snake,
to survive together,
or separately…
But we will not say a statement of gratitude and congratulations
for what we have done together.
Because the survival instinct, not we,
was defending itself, by itself…
and the instinct doesn’t have an ideology.
And we did not engage in dialogue.
I remembered the knowledge of dialogue
in the collective futility,
when he previously told me:
Everything that has become mine is mine,
and what is yours
is mine
and yours!
With time, and time is sand and the foam of soap
Boredom and silence were broken between us.
He told me: what’s to do?
I said: Nothing, we drained the probabilities.
He said: where does hope come from?
I said: it comes from the sky.
He said: did you forgot you are buried in a ditch
like this one?
I said: I almost forgot,
but a fascinating tomorrow pulled me by the hand
and proceeded tiringly.
He said: Would you negotiate with me now?
I said: What would you negotiate with me over,
now in this vault tomb?
He said: Over my share and your share
of our futility and collective grave.
I said: What’s the point.
Time escaped us,
and destiny became an exception to the rule.
Here we are a killer and a victim,
sleeping in the same ditch,
and it is for another poet to continue this scenario…
to the end.
– Translated from Arabic by Ali Harb
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