3 Poems by May Ziadeh translated by Rose DeMaris

---

To Mokattam at Dawn*

 

You bathe your rocky ornaments in mists,

…………………..let roselight bleed into your cracks.

 

The Star slowly mounts: his light drenches you.

…………………..The Star-King of two worlds, Earth and firmament,

 

sifts gold dust over your skin 

…………………..as a hand strokes a sleeping lover’s hair.

 

Above your blunt peak, a pink satin sky

…………………..cups the rising slice of fire.

 

……………………………………….Oh, if I could be a lark and kiss your crest

………………………………………………………………………………..with my wing—

 

……………………………………….if I could ride a horse to your distant slope,

………………………………………………………………………………..careless, wild, and bold—

 

……………………………………….if I could wander your caves, sleep in you—

………………………………………………………………………………..if I could climb,

 

……………………………………………………………………………………….forgetting my pain.

 

 

 

Au Moukattam  

 

Baigne ton feston géant

Au sein des eaux vaporeuses,

Un sillon là-bas flottant

Saigne des lueurs songeuses ;

L’Astre monte lentement

Et de sa clarté t’inonde,

L’Astre-Roi du double Monde

Se promène au firmament.

 

Une poussière dorée

Folâtre sur tes flancs nus,

Comme une main adorée

Frôlant des cheveux connus. . .

Et sur ta cime aplatie

Un ciel rosé, eblouissant, 

De son satin ravissant

Suspend la chaude partie. 

 

Ah, si pareil aux oiseaux, 

Je pouvais raser ta crête

De mon aile .   .   .   . 

.   .   .   .   .   .   .   .   . 

Si je pouvais, à cheval,

Là sur ta côte lointaine

Capricieuse et hautaine

Errer, oubliant mon mal. 

 

*Mokattan is the only mountain in Cairo, Egypt. 

 

 

 

---

In Forest

 

Sweet dews

in these tender stems

flood my eyes.

 

            The breeze holds her breath—

            then ripples 

            through heaven’s hidden depths;

 

            a curved branch, 

            stirred by her sigh, 

            plaits grass at my feet;

 

            a leaf trembles;

            a bird sings, waits, sings

            in rhythm with her wishes. 

 

Something slides, 

drops 

into the thick green braid.

 

Once, I sang for love.

Now my voice grows weak,

having hurt too much.

 

            The far-off edge of the sea,

            tentative, smiles

            through her vapors of brine,

 

but my soul, 

 

            unwoven,

 

is trapped in a chasm,

 

 

and only cries come from my heart. 

 

 

 

 

En Foret  

 

La douce rosée

En molle fusée

Inonde mes yeux ; 

La brise module

Et sa plainte ondule

Dans le fond des cieux.

 

Son frisson caresse

La branche qui tresse

A mes pieds ses noeuds ;

La feuille frissone

Et l’oiseau chantonne 

En rhythmant ses voeux.

 

Qulque chose glisse

Sous l’herbe que plisse

Un grand galon vert.

Des voix amoureuses

Pleurent, langoureuses,

D’avoir trop souffert…

 

La plage lointaine

Sourit, incertaine,

Parmi ses vapeurs ;

Et mon âme souffre,

Comme dans un gouffre,

Et pleure des coeurs ! 

 

 

 

---

Song to the Moon 

 

What do you dream in your azure palace,

ivory insomniac moon?

What do you dream, contemplative moon,

as I bathe in your nacreous gaze?

 

Tell me the tireless story that gleams

from your luminous late-at-night face.

Tell me the reverie that radiates, white,

and restarts every night, and never concludes. 

 

Shine for me, pearl satellite.

Shine for me in my long sleepless ache.

Your crystalline beams and breezes unlock

these slow tears and sad melodies of mine.

 

 

A La Lune 

 

Au fond de ton palais fait d’azur et d’éther

O Lune languissant en ta pâle insomnie,

A quoi donc, rêves-tu, contemplatrice amie

Dont le large regard tombe mystique et clair ? 

 

Quel est-il, dis-le moi, cet inlassable rêve

Qui sur ton front brillant jette un reflet blafard,

Ce rêve qui te fait songer la nuit bien tard,

Qui toujours recommence et ne jamais s’achéve ?

 

Brille sans te lasser, bel Astre de la nuit,

Brille pour consoler me longues insomnies ! 

J’aime tex clairs rayons et la brise qui fuit

Et les pleurs langoureux de tristes harmonies. . .  

 

---

May Ziadeh (1886-1941) was a Lebanese-Palestinian poet, essayist, translator, intellectual, and feminist. A passionate advocate for the emancipation and education of Arab women, she was a key figure during the Nahda (Arab renaissance) of the early twentieth century. Born in Nazareth, she was educated at a French convent school in Lebanon and spent most of her adult life in Cairo, where she earned a university degree in Modern Languages. Using the pen name Isis Copia, Ziadeh made her literary debut in 1911 with a poetry collection called Fleurs de Rêve, consisting of poems she wrote before the age of 25; the above selections are from that book. Ziadeh wrote essays for newspapers and periodicals. She translated novels from English, French, and German into Arabic (she also knew Spanish, Syriac, Latin, and modern Greek), and she published numerous works of nonfiction, including biographies. For twenty years, Ziadeh hosted a famous weekly literary salon, catalyzing conversations among the most influential artists and thinkers of her milieu. Though she remains a beloved literary figure among Arabs and has even been the subject of a Google doodle and a documentary, none of Ziadeh’s books have yet been published in English.

 

Rose DeMaris is a novelist, essayist, translator, and poet of partial Lebanese heritage. She is working on a complete creative translation of Ziadeh’s Fleurs de Rêve (Dream Flowers). Her work has been published by Random House, The Millions, Asymptote, Alaska Quarterly Review, and elsewhere. She is a Poetry MFA candidate at Columbia University in New York. rosedemaris.com 

---

21 October 2021