Abdul Rahman Al-Hamidi
Sadness chases the poet Ahmed Al-Shalafi in his new collection, “A Moon Follow Me”, so that it forms an overall framework that contains it that leaves him only a little .. so that it becomes a style of his poetry that is framed by an emanated pattern in feelings, photography and flow .. and this style gives his poem its face, destination and vitality.
With sadness he knows himself and with his presence he acquires the source of strength and says "Sadness gives us strength" ... and he is the safe refuge whenever he gets days of pain, displacement and exposure so he asks his companion ..
"Hide me there ... behind that sadness."
As comrades, he carries his grief over and over again to stay and travel .. "I carry my sorrows and leave" .. He and sorrow are of one lineage, and for the severity of their connection and overlap and the fullness of each other does not know who came to life first .. He will be understood .. "Who was born first .. I am the mother of sorrow ?
He searches for himself as a poet, asking, "What about me? What about this sad?"
With his full confidence in his grief, he recommends that those unable to carry on the painstaking journey of "fatigue of grief" ..
Because it was the source of inspiration, singing, steadfastness and the password of the faraway lands.
So "Do not leave your sorrows to the wind
Sing
No matter how singing agreed.
And the poet sad in his office goes further than this. He cheated it as a focal point and a homeland for what he wants to describe it, as evidenced by his thick saying .. "The extent is a sad country."
Sadness, then, was completed by the Shelfi poet, who took the form of an icon in its growth and creation ... until it became a place of longing, an eagerness for nostalgia, and a guardian of meaning.
The transformations of sadness
and sorrow Al-Shalafi is not with sadness that breaks and hinders, it is not the one that inherits depression and loss of direction .. It is an entity that witnesses a number of transformations and crystallizes to: longing, to memories, to challenge, and to hope and dream ..
And a question about the deadline for leaving the war and ruin, and is it about to come?
"The stunners are ruin
Going to the truth "
This endless sorrow made him aware of his worlds with their new dimensions, a death that permeates the heart, widespread displacement in space, time, and alienation, and the geography of forced absence, as a summary of an absolute living experience.
"Every stranger kidnaps the heart of the other
He dies bereavement all the time
Every stranger dies. "
The poet is saddened by his sadness .. If he is a star, a bird, and a full moon, he follows him, opening his arms in the sky forever, granting the poet's self the glory whenever he strikes in exile and absence, and for the homeland his moon, the poet gives him the brightest in the most miserable moments of amazement .. Ahmed tells in his stories ..
In childhood: Ahmed was astonished
about himself
In innocence: Ahmed was distracted from his heart
Ahmed was going away from everything
Except light. "
Just as the poet fights poetry in an eagerness for a society forbidden by war, he pursues with the poem his soul that did not leave the homeland .. It remained there, feeding him with pain and people and friends, and circling the streets and markets .. providing him with the details of his spacious childhood, and the beginnings that polished the soul and the poem together with suffering .. that suffering that took shape New poetic positioning in the shrines of nostalgia. It was a "sad icon" that denies joy and surprises it .. Or, as he said ..
"And you left me for grief mocking me."
"How can I rejoice when I am in orbit?"
And indirectly suggesting in some of the poems of the Diwan, sadness takes a contemplative form to emphasize its boldness and depth in transmitting poetic vision, the interaction of linguistic formats and sound rhythms movement and ripple ... like this piece that showcases his abilities in harmony with the great mother life and drawn from the songs of dawn in his village ..
Ask the rose to smile
It opens
I ask the branch to bend
So bud
Oh these beings
How do you color ..?
And the river from his knowledge how to listen?
I know something behind these hills
Songs of dawn in my village
Far "
A glass that breaks the memories
and countries of others, no matter how they appear, is a vacuum in which he sees himself only as a stranger in glass towers that reveal and break feelings that do not care about a wound .. How can you be the homeland of a poet who has an orbit that is fond of longings and sorrows .. Then he throws his questions in the path of widespread fatigue and tests his torments ..
"Oh these crazy memories
I have not experienced before this torment
The torment of leaving and longing
The agony of the wounded nation
And it composes a sequence on the transformations of the exiled and disturbed sound whenever possible.
"It was impossible to reveal a nation
It became impossible for the country to be wounded
The wound became strange
But who gives you the homeland?
He concludes "
"Nothing grants home
Nothing but home
And not only with just a cold conclusion .. is the heart full .. decides:
"This consonant will fill my heart
National"
Just as sadness covers things, meanings, and trends, it is at the Shelfi, the gateway to sanctuaries and birth, as it expands more in poetry, dreams, and awakenings, it takes in it to contain your homeland whenever your estrangedness is long or distracted from you, he closes his eyes to dream a daydream .. sees himself in his homeland, observes his war and enumerates his descriptions A description and description and praying .. Then the dream is not a dream in the country of exile, it evaporates on the Corniche broken as a wave whenever he opened his eyes from their closeness ..
From Tirmana, next to the copper brokerage
I watch the war
And they wither away
The roads are full of young and clowns
And the open theater bustles the anthem
It's like the moment of birth
I open my eyes to emptiness
I run without a dream. "
And the late memories of Yemen, the sadness walks on two men and with its eyes approaching it and starts it, step by step.
And in Sana'a, old Sanaa kidnaps him and he dives in the markets, the salt market, the blindness of the industrial curtains, the brokerage of copper, and "tairmanat". They are collections that celebrate friends and exceptional delight, the flavor of history and the present and the wide door for the future, the self and society.
Speak to her and speak a soul that sees and longing agitates .. she walks and runs ..
"Things are running out with me
My shadow is also moving away
I closed my eyes and walked slowly
The salt market was a memory of me
Lunar waving to me
The lights are dimmed
And artificial curtains
Some passers-by and the homeless
Oh this dream
Young and naughty.
The sadness filled with nostalgia is hardly settled by the poet in Sanaa or the cities until he flies to "Taiz" .. A city that was his childhood, ambition and suffering, gropes his girls in her bigger street, a source of poetry and a bell of life that flavored and nurtured condolence ..
"And only the comforting accent summed up all these halves."
As a bird, it is saddened with sadness. It is hard to settle with it during its school days and for a girl whose hair until he moves to “Al-Sanat”.
And the mother is as clear as the village, as the son is like sorrow and as the homeland .. the opening of life and the sanctuary of soul and body ..
"Just before sunset ...
Birds gather in the sky
The mother’s voice alone closes the door of memories
The child returns loaded with his memories
And kiss it
The glory of Ahmed,
and based on that area of fertile sadness that heals, "Ahmed" met his entire childhood, which he always sought refuge in and did not leave him with a breakage ... so he was called like someone who found his soul for the first time ..
"Oh, how hard I am."
As if a child suddenly discovered that he wanted to return to the place in which he found himself a child .. the walls, the earth, the dirt, the old toys and the rain that rains on the heart.
And how much a person tries to forget that child, but a human being is a child, who yearns, loves, hates, gets angry, absent, sour and clears, and sometimes feels a victory and sometimes a defeat ...
He floats his hands in the air like crazy when he makes progress, so he remembers that there are things that a person cannot learn ... including absence.
And the son is the vital equation, for this all of it is dominated by Al-Shalafi, homelessness with spiritual extension and emotional contact, passing through the image of his son "glory" in his phone transformed between the two countries .. and the "glory" of a complete homeland and a young resistance and overflow ... are similar ... and the "glory" of rain that helps the soul and exile Sadness, passion, and poems, so that existence will light its light and its characteristics.
"This boy is a ton of words
Young woman with a strong mouth
I missed my longing for fancy sentences
I fell in love with my innocence and qualities
My son has stoked all the poems
And you opened a flood of prayers
A light overlooks if I crossed you
In my phone, you will spend all my life
The blog of the self for war
takes people, places, times, and destruction images that gather convictions that crystallize its psyche and its inspired vision of dimension and war .. and reveal the poet emanating from the shadow of meaning and its manifestations, in the text of "2019" it seems as if it offers something like an ethical code, self-reviews of war ... and its provisions. .
"- I decided to kick all this war away
- To pray for the souls of those who died
- Not to be a bullet in the hollow of a gun. "
And in the text of "The Last Coffin" what looks like the preamble to this blog ..
- Every coffin carries a complete death
- Only the victims cannot tell lies.
The grief revolves around what was made at the end of the strenuous period of alienation, to a bright hope that the country will be restored from war and back to Sanaa, heralding dawn.
"I cross the runaway eyes
To the other side of life ..
I feel hopeful"
To that bank, his friend carries his message to Sanaa with salvation and healing that included his homeless children .. Then he recites the ceremonies of this great celebration: by kissing her and scattering aspirations and addressing her with the anthem ..
"My friend, tell Sanaa
The meeting is close despite bitter stories
Say my country I love you
The dawn of interesting stories
And before he called it
Let your hopes in it
My country
It is my country "
Peace and
flying outside of his swarm without spirit and without wings. The Shafi’i poet recognizes himself wounded in the orbit of alienation, for it is his swarm that did not let him down.
"Salam Ali
I am wounded in exile
And with the faces that I don't remember.
What sea wash away from the longing poet .. And any day that will be thrown into a homeland that did not give a single opportunity to delirium, above all the nation attending .. O these crazy memories .. for this pain .. for this displacement .. and for this hope .. and for this peace .. and all this The power of sadness.