Al-Samandel at the Edge of Absence

Mohamed Abd-Alhai

1

If lost in his inclination to the sea, the waves
and salt will carve out of his crystalized bones
shell gardens in iridescent summer nights
on a deserted sandy shore


2

She on her loom waiting
driving time, onward once, then back
for a brief glow, out of time, when
estrangement overlaps with return


3

Women sang on the rock, their braids unfurled
phosphorous blossoms
the green body soaked with sea color
satiated with the honey of lilies with poisonous aroma


4

At night, the dream holds water mirrors
with strange engravings and names, he sees in them
the bees occupied, packing ancient tree trunks
roots in alluvial blind desire sucking at the earth’s flesh


5

In the ebbing waves’ lament, he sees
the birds in summertime return to their scattered nests
the frothing blood—its purest presence—on the soil
and al-samandel, wet with fire, stands on the rock at the edge of absence


6

She in her loom waiting
in the silence, late night and before dawn
listening to sea and earth converse
voices in the ancient language
older than the wrangling of victory and defeat
older, purer than migration and return—hijra wal awda—
to mournful, waiting harbors
the still nothingness
between the sea dream and the body of fire

translated from the Arabic by Bakhit Bakhit and Aron Aji

Listen to the text in the original Arabic read by Bakhit Bakhit:

Beyond the obvious differences between the Arabic and English grammar, Abd Alhai’s syntax presents particular challenges to the translator. Often adverbs and adjectives are placed to accentuate sound and rhythm, more than sense. To ‘correct’ their placement in order to conform to the English usage would hurt the sound structures in the poem. Likewise, each stanza presents a single thought unit through the network of linked images and ideas developed across the four or more more lines. It is not unusual for particles or pronouns to simultaneously refer both to a preceding verb, noun, or image and to one that might follow. The translation, therefore, has to reflect these simultaneous links, working against a conventional linear reading. The actual process involves breaking down the original stanzas into phrasal units and to reconstruct them with these links in mind. A good example are the lines:

     She on her loom waiting
     driving time, onward once, then back

that should capture the movement of the loom back and forth and the workings of her mind between memory of loss and the longing for return.

Bakhit Bakhit’s collaboration with Aron Aji, too, involves the weaving together of two discrete translation processes that yield or resist to each other—now interrogating now complementing—hopefully moving toward an English version remains sensitive to the Arabic cadences—in sound, sense, or imagery.

Mohamed Abd-Alhai (1944-1989) studied at the universities of Khartoum, Leeds, and Oxford, where he earned a doctorate. He was associate professor at the University of Khartoum and director-general at the Ministry of Culture, Sudan. He published five collections of poetry and two books of literary criticism, The Tribal Mask and Vision and Words. Abd-Alhai's poetry is almost always about the Sudan and its difficult, fractured identity. Marked by deep lyricism, his work richly draws from scriptural narratives, as well as East African and Greek myths.

Bakhit Bakhit is a native of Sudan and has lived in the United States for the past decade. He is a translator from the Arabic at the University of Iowa’s M.F.A. program in literary translation.

Aron Aji is originally from Turkey and currently directs Iowa’s M.F.A. in literary translation.