Two Gates to Redemption
Poet: Anwar Alkhatib
Translator: Allison Blecker
The sea has two gates to insomnia
One leads to unknown ports
and the other to drowning
I will choose one for redemption
Thus the fortuneteller of twilight compelled me
and buried the color of water in the sunset of my eyes
She filled the holes in my soul with sand
and drew on my forehead a torn sail
On the horizon memory burned
and there was a corpse stretched out on a boat
that belonged to sailors returned from ports unknown to them
To make a choice, two questions:
Will I be redeemed if the waves cast me
upon shores inconstant as beautiful women?
And will I be redeemed if I live in a kingdom of slumber?
I remember the fortuneteller said in a bewildered voice:
“Put your alphabet to the test…
Ports unknown to you don’t mean you’re lost
and your labyrinthine wandering in the depth doesn’t mean death”
By way of interpretation then, there are two meanings:
I strike the sea with my staff and it might split…
Or a friendly whale takes me to a land that isn’t mine
The truth has one face: I am not a prophet
nor the founder of a doctrine
I don’t claim to walk on water
All of my wishes are the size of a sparrow’s domain
in the crown of a cypress tree
From it, I survey the expanse
for an idea that has not been suffocated.
I stand before the narrowing waters
and embrace the meaning of a life without banks
On the asphalt of water, I draw a fork for every two waves
A third wave scatters it, after gathering into a ball that doesn’t last
And for a second time I draw on her breasts a pair of sea gulls
flying after a fourth wave
I draw a fork, then a seventh wave
then a wave, then another
arriving at a wave in the making
The truth has half a face: I am not a sorcerer
nor do I possess a drop that moistens an illusion
which ages and departs
The fortuneteller told me: “Don’t put your heart to the test in the water”
But I forgot
And she said: “When your visions exhaust you, trespass upon my isolation”
But I forgot
Then when I bared my chest
the fortuneteller of basil did not write the address of my solitude
I remained defenseless, sewing for the sea a carpet from foam
that broke, scattered and then sighed
I didn’t sigh
I was in need of the sea’s breasts
She breast-feeds me a bit of the ports’ milk
The truth has many faces: my mother can’t bear the sea
She was preoccupied with untangling the female jinn’s map of my dead
Pictures drawn in the void burdened me,
the spouts of my sorrow opened
and I began to gather my waves from the sea
so they would not get mixed up
A child hastening toward his mother passed by me
He faced the two gates of the sea, looking at me
I said to him: “On the horizon, there are two gates
One leads to your mother’s soul
and the other to two forks
He chose to draw a sea on the sea
and go far away from the two gates
11 September 2008