WU‘UD MIN AL–‘ASIFA (Promises of the Storm) — Marcel Khalife
Cinque poesie di Mahmoud Darwish (1941-2008) e una di Izz al-Din Manasirah (1946-2021) tradotte in musica da Marcel Khalife, libanese virtuoso del oud (liuto arabo), qui al suo primo album. Un inno alla nostalgia, alla resistenza e alla voglia di ritrovare la propria casa.
Qui trovate la scansione del libretto dell’album con testi (originali e in inglese) e note: https://folkways-media.si.edu/docs/folkways/artwork/PAR01047.pdf
Five poems by Mahmoud Darwish (1941-2008) e one by Izz al-Din Manasirah (1946-2021) are here translated into music by Marcel Khalife, Lebanese maestro of the oud (Arabic lute), in his first album. An anthem to nostalgia, resistance and the longing for finding a home once again.
Here you can find the liner notes with the lyrics (original and in English): https://folkways-media.si.edu/docs/folkways/artwork/PAR01047.pdf
(Billy Pilgrim)
Wu’ud Min Al-‘Asifa (Promises of the Storm) – Marcel Khalife
1983, Paredon Records
Arabic music
لى امي
محمود درويش
أحنُ إلى خبز أمي
وقهوةِ أمي
ولمسةِ أمي ..
وتكبر فيَّ الطفولةُ
يوماً على صدر يومِ
و أعشق عمري لأني
إذا متُّ
!أخجل من دمع أمي
خذيني .. إذا عدتُ يوماً
وشاحاً لهدبكْ
وغطي عظامي بعشبٍ
تعمَّد من طهر كعبكْ
وشدِّي وثاقي..
بخصلة شعرٍ ..
بخيطٍ يلوِّح في ذيل ثوبك..
عساني أصيرُ إلهًا
إلهًا أصير ..
إذا ما لمستُ قرارة قلبك !
ضعيني إذا مارجعتُ
وقودا بتنور ناركْ
وحبل غسيل على سطح داركْ
لأني فقدت الوقوف
بدون صلاةِ نهاركْ
هرمتُ فردّي نجوم الطفولة
حتى اشاركْ
صغار العصافير ..
درب الرجوع ..
لعُشِّ إنتظارك
To my mother
Dearly I yearn for my mother’s bread,
My mother’s coffee,
Mother’s brushing touch.
Childhood is raised in me,
Day upon day in me.
And I so cherish life
Because if I died
My mother’s tears would shame me.
Set me, if I return one day,
As a shawl on your eyelashes, let your hand
Spread grass out over my bones,
Christened by your immaculate footsteps
Fasten us with a lock of hair,
With thread strung from the back of your dress.
I could become a god
A god is what I’d be
If I but touch your heart’s deep breadth.
Set me, if ever I return,
In your oven as fuel to help you cook,
On your roof as a clothesline stretched in your hands.
Weak without your daily prayers,
I can no longer stand.
I am old
Give me back the stars of childhood
That I may chart the homeward quest
Back with the migrant birds,
Back to your awaiting nest.
Kollettivo Ferramenta 