She Hunts Devils & White and Transparent

By Samir Darwish

This book contains a very personal experience through which the poet dives into his self, as he considers poetry a revelation of the hidden self, its pains and aspirations. He tries to be realistic to a wounding extent, or makes his reader believe that; hence he erases the distance between poetry and reality in a way that enables his reader to draw a portrait of his face without seeing him, for he does not only describe his inner emotions and apprehensions, but records the sounds of nature surrounding him in his isolation, which he chose willingly as a humane and an intellectual stance.
The poems of Samir Darwish are paintings and still scenes; he halts the scene and dives into it to see himself clearer, to see the universe through moments that might appear ordinary, and habitual, from the outside at least. His poems are also very condensed, as he uses the least number of words possible to build an artistic body, benefiting from the published modern global poetry and from the new movement of the Arab poetry.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Austin Macauley Publishers
• Release date: Jul 31, 2018
• ISBN: 9781784557034

Samir Darwish

* Poet of the '80s' generation in Egypt and has experience in writing novel, critic, political, and religious articles. * Held several leading positions in government and civil cultural departments and participated in publishing literary magazines. * All of his poetry books have been translated to English. Some of his poems are translated to German and French. He participated in many Arab and international festivals and his works dealt with advanced university studies within the context of the study of literary phenomena.

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Darwish

Copyright Information ©

Samir Darwish and Sawsan Fakih (2018)

The right of Samir Darwish and Sawsan Fakih to be identified as author and translator, respectively, of this work has been asserted by them in accordance with section 77 and 78 of the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without the prior permission of the publishers.

Any person who commits any unauthorized act in relation to this publication may be liable to criminal prosecution and civil claims for damages.

A CIP catalogue record for this title is available from the British Library.

ISBN 9781786299925 (Paperback)

ISBN 9781786299949 (Hardback)

ISBN 9781786299932 (E-Book)

www.austinmacauley.com

First Published (2018)

Austin Macauley Publishers Ltd™

25 Canada Square

Canary Wharf

London

E14 5LQ

She Hunts Devils

Dedication

To Sohail and Saif.

I wandered a year looking for a new collection.

Here it is and here I am!

(1)

Piles of dust come out of their hiding place

And paste their colors on the cheek of the yellow sun

Hence coloring people with the dusty yellow.

Winds flee from their fetter…

Run in streets, lanes, roads

The entrances of gloomy buildings…

And stick loose clothes to the bodies of girls.

And my girl alone is there

Behind windows she firmly closed

And heavy curtains

She renders yellow a marginal color

And controls the distance between her yearning body

And her delicate clothes.

March 8, 2009

(2)

Grains of ash are sown in the horizon

Hence I don’t see but the shadow of your body going and coming

As if your eyelashes were spread on the ground

And your lusty lips were quenching the thirst of the homeless

The-walking-aimlessly!

Maybe you admitted that you have approached my fruits

Maybe feminine shyness overwhelmed you

Maybe you shivered as you drank from the stream

Maybe the warmth of your daze by the light fun was stolen.

Maybe, maybe

Yet you have committed the great crime

For love, my little girl, is our crime together!

Ash is indeed mastering and covering

And the day is conquering, sending our bodies to another dream…

An attainable dream…

Maybe!!!

March 9, 2009

(3)

I’m moving now between your things as a lover

Who, it happens that the fingers of his bare feet

Will be printed on the face of earth!

I’m emerging from the books of history

And penetrating the details of the geography of a young body God had created

For existential crucial battles!

The longing man has only to enjoy as much as he can

He has only to rise above laws of philosophy

And to cry out, seeking the help of God…

As he twists in pain for fire to exit from its hiding place

He has only to pierce his fingernails into the desert

So it grows white babies and angels.

I’m now emerging from the scene

Leaving books on the bed, and newspapers on the armchairs

And remains of boiled herbs in cups

And moisturizing creams on the commode

And fingerprints on a breast that belongs to me!

March 11, 2009

(4)

I move swiftly between the details

I throw my jacket on a seat near the door

Over other jackets

I pull off my shoes and socks in a hurry

I hasten to get rid of a fast food meal

And, at the same time, to get rid of the rest of my clothes.

Why do we like to sleep on the same side of the bed?

At least, in the beginning?

And why do I like to see you naked in glaring light

While you like to imagine me in pale darkness?

Now I realize that the colored glass gives our rite a glamor

That the walls are displays of a history of desire

And that I was not preoccupied with boxes of barley in their hidden place

Nor with the color of the floor tiles…

Maybe because I’ve become a part

Of the décor of chaos!

March 12, 2009

(5)

The penguin is swinging on its chair

Spreading the odor of my sweat in the room space.

The white towel is hanging on its rack

It misses the drops of water stuck on my body.

The safety belt / the cups of tea / the doorbell / the confessions /rice dishes / Arabic language / the boxes of barley / the ringing of the phone / the music of poetry / the softness of the skin / the newspapers columns / the silent supplication to God / the photo frames / the voice of Shwikaar* / the sugar / the guard / the nightdresses / the popular market / the artificial bumps / the moans / the narghile / beef / the lurking cold / the voices of the loved ones / the redness around the neck / desire /

Where were you long time ago?/

.. .. .. .. ..

The penguin is swinging

And its hot blood is bleeding from my body!

March 17, 2009

*Egyptian actress and singer

(6)

I’m moving now among your things like a bird

A bird that swims in the air like he created air.

.. .. .. .. ..

A certain scent attracts me

It takes me from the extended asphalt and the similar buildings

And throws me into a pleasant chaotic world

A world that swims in the dim darkness and poems

And orange color and the dust of femininity.

Should I remove the rouge on your lips to see you real?

Like I see you in