PATRICK KOSIEWICZ and NAJWA MASRI
ADONIS (Ali Ahmad Sa'id) from Celebration of the Obscure and the Luminous.


III. Celebration of Day and Night

Day closes the fence of his garden.
He washes his feet and wraps himself in a shawl to welcome his friend, Night.
Dusk falls quietly. Blood stains his shoulders and a rose withers in his hand.

Dawn proceeds.
Roaring.
His hands open the book of time and the Sun turns the pages.

At threshold of evening Day shatters his mirrors in order to sleep.
Message written for humankind but without language.

Every day the Sun gives birth to a child named Morning,
but he prospers only for a little while.

Glances       waves of time,
and all bodies       beaches.
Time is wind approaching from the direction of Death.
Night buttons Earth's gown and Day undresses her.
He is dawn.

On the balcony blossoms flutter their eyelashes
and through the window braids of sun undulate.
Day sees with his hands and Night sees with his whole body.
If Day spoke, he would proclaim Night.
Gentle hands of Night run through braids of Sorrow.

Winter is solitary.
Summer is migration.
Spring a bridge between them.
Autumn on his own penetrates seasons in their entirety.

Time: a mountain Day and Night reside in.
Day ascends.       Night descends.
Day doesn't know sleep except in Night's embrace.
The moon does not sleep on Night's balcony.
My sadness was given to be a night within Night.

The past: a lake for one to swim in: memory.
Light: a dress that happened to be woven by Night.
Dusk: the only pillow where Day and Night embrace.
Light works only when awake, and darkness only when sleeping.
Dreams of Night: threads we weave into clothes of Day.





XIV. Celebration of Beirut- 1982
The Age pushed on with a cane made from bones of the dead.

Blade of insomnia slits throat of night.

Skulls pour blood for more drunk and delirious skulls.

Can fire be soiled, and the air bent?

Smoke is Cloud, Cloud the form of heads.

Letters from the sky are imprinted as corpses on the ground.

The horizon urges his son the air not to exit the day.

How could these bundles be collected and shipped-- these corpses?

The Sun herself could not illuminate this body that pours Darkness.

Day wears dust. They have the features of the elderly.

Butterflies burn as they ascend the ladder of sleep.

Ash
            The Prince
                        sits and takes homage.

The Missile
            The King
                        drags his tails over the bodies of his subjects.

The Sun almost tells her light
"Dazzle my eyes so I can't see."

Is life a mistake to be corrected by murder?

Where is the pit that holds tears?

Where is the hole for the soul to take refuge?

Thing assimilates Thing.

Are there any other tits for the sky?

Where did the Rose get this stubbornness?

She still reads her love to me.

The Rose almost forgets to give birth to her fragrance.

day fears Day and night hides from Night.

The Sun gouges out her eyes and sighs, not believing what she saw.

Thank you.

For the dust mixing with smoke from fires that soften it,

For the interval between bombs,

For the tiles that still bear traces of my steps.

Thank you Stone that teaches me patience.

I test
            drunkenness of explosions,
                        lust of thunder.

I launch my face into the face of possibilities.



The light is extinguished.

I will ignite the planet of my dreams.

Take me Love,

and encompass me.