WEBEXCLUSIVE

Rachida Madani

 

XII

Time passes and takes half
her face away
while of the other half so few
words remain
so few images
that she can’t make
a poor book.
So little saliva that scraping dryness
her voice cracks and breaks.
Lost, the dream of the howling seas
storming the jade palaces
lost because of the spell wishing
Shahrayar long life and prosperity.
She can no longer take off in pursuit of
the renegades.
She can no longer advance
she can no longer say if it hurts
she no longer knows if she writes haltingly
or if the words fly into her face.
She no longer knows with which stick
to root around which space.
She writes as if blind
& fear is her companion.

(Book 2)

 

 

 

 

 

VII

Through what rip
path of violence and blood
did you enter
Thirst
into this body without shadow?
An oasis quick
a well
a truce.
Death laughter’s sidekick
laughter’s claws
launches its vultures
on my bare shoulders.
If I fall the sun hits
and road snakes assault me
lead my caravans astray.
If toward heaven I attempt
a scream of rage and agony
my call loses itself
in a silence always stronger
than the storm.
But allied to the
quicksands my scream
makes the pathway toward oblivion
impracticable.

 

translated by Pierre Joris

 

 

 

 

 

 




from: Rachida Madani, “Contes d'une tête tranché” in Blessures au vent, Clepsydre/Éditions de la Différence, 2006.

Contributors

Pierre Joris

Pierre Joris, while raised in Luxembourg, has moved between Europe, the U.S. & North Africa for half a century now, publishing close to fifty books of poetry, essays, translations, and anthologies—most recently The Agony of I.B. (a play commissioned & produced in June 2016 by the Théatre National du Luxembourg; Editions PHI); An American Suite (early poems; inpatient press 2016); Barzakh: Poems 2000-2012 (Black Widow Press 2014); & Breathturn into Timestead: The Collected Later Poetry of Paul Celan (FSG 2014). When not on the road, he lives in Sorrentinostan, a.k.a. Bay Ridge, Brooklyn, with his wife, multimedia performance artist and writer Nicole Peyrafitte.

Rachida Madani

RACHIDA MADANI was born in Tangiers, Morocco, in 1951, and still lives there, now retired from a career teaching French. A careful writer who says “I love to savor my words, especially when I find the one I need in the place it needs to be” she has published three collections of poetry since 1981 when her first book, called Femme je suis (Woman I am), came out. It was Mohamed Serifi, a high profile political prisoner who shared the poems with others in prison & encouraged Madani to publish them. “To shut up is not fair,” says Madani, but also: “I am a passive militant. I don’t know how to scream slogans or brandish banderoles. I militate with my words.” When Abdellatif Laâbi was freed from prison, Madani asked him to preface her book.” “He told me that if he did that, the book would never be published. I insisted and indeed it is because of his efforts that Femme je suis was published in France in 1981.”

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