Fathi Abdel Samee
Fathi Abdel Samee (1963) is an Egyptian poet residing in southern Upper Egypt. He has published seven poetry collections, and five other books including a book on his autobiography, and an extensive study on revenge in Upper Egypt, which won the State Encouragement Award in Social Sciences.
Translated by Dr.Salwa Gouda
Dr Salwa Gouda is an accomplished Egyptian literary translator, critic, and academic affiliated with the English Language and Literature Department at Ain Shams University. Holding a PhD in English literature and criticism, Dr. Gouda pursued her education at both Ain Shams University and California State University, San Bernardino. She has authored several academic works, including Lectures in English Poetry and Introduction to Modern Literary Criticism, among others. Dr. Gouda also played a significant role in translating The Arab Encyclopedia for Pioneers, a comprehensive project featuring poets, philosophers, historians, and literary figures, conducted under the auspices of UNESCO. Recently, her poetry translations have been featured in a poetry anthology published by Alien Buddha Press in Arizona, USA. Her work has also appeared in numerous international literary magazines, further solidifying her contributions to the field of literary translation and criticism.
Men’s train
My body is awake
But it is cold and heavy
My mouth is filled with a bite of the earth that
I fell on
And my eyes are empty
From the battle in which I was born with
I am the martyr they buried secretly
No one raises my picture
And delivers an enthusiastic sermon
That curses my killers
I was not shrouded in my country’s anthem
And my coffin is not
Decorated with flowers and medals
No cheer or a tear to bide me farewell
They did not put a stone on my grave
I am the martyr they buried secretly
I prayed two rak’ahs reciting Surah Yasin from the Holy Quran
I felt my books
And my papers that are full of cannons, planes
And a sketch of a homeland
I looked at my brothers
And I am thinking of the gifts I can
return with
My mother is sleeping among them
I am afraid she will wake up
And feels pain that she failed to bake something for me
I closed the door behind me quietly
But I heard her tears hit the ground
When she is trying to stop my brothers from whispering
So that I do not miss the men’s train
My weapon was primitive
But it works
And my heart was bigger than a battalion
But they convinced my mother that I was a devil
And she must ululate
When they get me.
قطار الرجال
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جسدي مستيقِظٌ
لكنَّه باردٌ وثقيل
فَمِي مملوءٌ بقضمةٍ مِنَ الأرضِ التي
سقطتُ عليها
وعينايَ فارغتانِ
مِنَ المعركةِ التي ولِدْتُ بها.
أنا الشهيدُ الذي دفنوه سِرَّا
ما مِن أحدٍ يرفعُ صورتي
ويدبِّجٌ خُطبةً حماسيةً
يلعَنُ فيها قَتَلَتي.
لم أُكفَّنْ بنشيدِ بلادي
ولم يكُ نَعْشي
مزيَّنا بالورودِ والنياشين
لم يودِّعْني هتافٌ
أو دمعةٌ
ولم يضعوا حَجَرا على قبري.
أنا الشهيدُ الذي دفنوه سِرَّا
صلَّيتُ ركعتيْنِ بسورةِ يسٍ
تحسَّستُ كُتُبي
وأوراقيَ الممتلئةَ بمدافعَ وطائراتٍ،
ورَسْما كروكيًا لوطنٍ.
ألقيتُ نظرةً على إخوتي
وأنا أفكِّرُ في الهدايا التي يمْكِنُ
أن أعودَ بها.
أُمِّي نائمةٌ وسطَهم
أخشى أنْ تستيقظَ
فيؤلمها فشلُها في أن تُخبِزَ لي شيئا.
أغلقتُ البابَ خلفي بهدوء
لكني سمعتُ ارتطامَ دمعتِها بالأرض
وهيَ تحاولُ منْعَ إخوتي عن الهمسِ
حتى لا يفوتني قطارُ الرجال.
كان سلاحي بدائيا
لكنَّه فعَّالٌ
وكان قلبي أكبرَ مِن كتيبةٍ
لكنهم أقنعوا أُمِّي بأني شيطان
وأنَّ عليها أن تزغرِدَ
حينما يتمكنون مِنِّي.
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من ديوان “الخيط في يدي“
