الشاعر المحزون ...وترجمتها

[هانى الشرقاوى]

الشَّاعِرُ المَحْزُونُ ..
يَحْمِلُ الحَقَائِبَ القَدِيمَة
ويمضغُ التاريخَ
ويشحذُ القريحةَ العَقِيمَة
مُسَافِرٌ يُسَائِلُ الزَّمَان
عن بيتِهِ . . عن أَهْلِهِ . .
عن عُمْرِهِ . .
في رِحْلَةِ الإحْبَاطِ والحِرْمَان
عن نَثرِهِ . .
عن شِعْرِهِ المدفونِ في مَغَاوِرِ النِّسْيَان
مُسَافِرٌ يُقَلِّب الصَّفَحَاتِ
من أَيَّامِهِ
ويمضغُ الأَحْدَاثَ مِنْ أَعْوَامِهِ
يفتّشُ المنازلَ القَدِيمَة
يَتَلَمّس الجُدْرَان
فلربما تأتي الحَبِيبَةُ
مَا عَادَ يُذْكُر إِسْمَهَا
آهٍ لعَلَّها نَجَوى . .
هُدَى . . سُوزَان
لعَلَّها تأتي مَعَ النسَاءِ في الصَّبَاح
لتملأَ الجِرَار
من بِئْرِنَا العَمِيقَةِ القَرَار

* * *

الشَّاعِرُ المَحْزُونُ يَسْأَلُ نَفْسَهُ
أينَ الرِّفَاق ؟
ويَصْفَعُ الجَبِين ..
كَأَنَّهُ يُخَاطِبُ الحَنِينَ والأَشْوَاق
لَعَلَّهُ قَدْ تَاهَ في الصَّحْرَاء
أو ضَاعَ في مَوَاكِبِ الإعياءِ والإرْهَاق

* * *

الشَّاعِرُ المَحْزُونُ

يَفْتَحُ الحَقَائِبَ القَدِيمَة
وينثرُ الأوراقَ في عُرْضِ الطريق
وينثرُ الأشعارَ والقصائدَ اللعينة
وَيُشْعِلُ الحَرِيق
فتضحكُ البنات
وَتَسْخَر النِّسَاء
والشَّاعِرُ المَحْزُون يَذْرف الدُّمُوع
ويبدأ البكاء
ويخدشُ الخدودَ بالأظافرِ الطويلة
فَتَصْرُخُ البناتُ
وتولولُ النسوان
لَكِنَّهُ يَذُوبُ
في سَحَائِبِ الدُّخَان

behold ! the saddened poet walking clinching to an old portfolio,
absent-mindedly chewing on his past
as if begging his barren genius
for some thoughts and ideas.
behold him wandering around
asking time the whereabouts,
of his old house and its people.
what went wrong with his life
in a journey so voiding and so ungiving.
but still searching for some poetry
burried and lost in the hollows
of his forgetful memory.
behold this wanderer..
flipping one page after another,
of the days gone by
still looking..and examening
every happening
of his recent passing years.
searching for her in
one old house after another,
anoiting them wall after wall
hoping to find a lover,
whose name could not recall.
was it..Najwa?or Huda
or perhaps Suzanne?
perhaps ,he thought,if he waits by the well,
she would come to fill her vessel,
like the rest of the women
and see her amongst them.

behold this saddened poet
talking to himself,wondering,
where all his friends went.
but denyingly, slaps his face silly;
"what happened to me?
it had to be
my yearning and longing that caused me
this pain of a drifter lost in a desert
or the pain of a lost one
amid clamour and tiresome".

behold ! the saddened poet
open his portfolio of old poems,
piling them across the road
like a bad curse,so dire.
he sets them on fire,
before the very eyes
of giggling teens,
and belittling women.
but the sad poet drops the tears
as he begins to weep.
he walks toward the burning heap,
bleeding through his cheeks.
suddenly they started to yell and scream,
as he disappears
behind the smoke screen...

[.. Mysterious ..]

ميرسي يا فندم على الموضوع
سلمت لنا يمينك
وميرسي جدا ع المجهود المرئي والمتميز من حضرتك
بس ياريت تكتب اسم الشاعر ؟
تقبل مرورى المتواصع