Arabic translation:
(bold text at bottom)
Happy New Year - Jabel Al Mukaber (Football) Club
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Curator's Note:
The Arabic texts to the left and right of the image are two poems.
The poem on the right is by the late Palestinian poet, Mahmoud Darwish and is titled:
Identity Card (1964)
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EXCERPT
Write it down!
I am an Arab
And my identity card number is fifty thousand
I have eight children
And the ninth will come after a summer
Will you be angry?
Write it down!
I am an Arab
Employed with fellow workers at a quarry
I have eight children
I get them bread
Garments and books from the rocks…
I do not supplicate charity at your doors
Nor do I belittle myself at the footsteps of your chamber
So will you be angry?
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The poem on the left is by the late Palestinian poet Tawfiq Ziad and is titled:
Here We Shall Remain (1964)
In Lydda, in Ramla, in the Galilee,
Here we shall remain
Like a wall upon your chest, and in your throat
Like a shard of glass
A cactus thorn,
And in your eyes
A sandstorm,
Here we shall remain
A wall upon your chest,
Clean in your restaurants,
Serve drinks in your bars,
Sweep the floors of your kitchens
To snatch a bite for our children
From your blue fangs
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Image source:
https://abedabdi.com/portfolio/staying-here
Mahmoud Darwish 1964
Identity Card
First published: Leaves of Olives, 1964.
Source: New Democracy, Vol. 31, November 2008.
Transcribed: by Zdravko Saveski.
Write down!
I am an Arab
And my identity card number is fifty thousand
I have eight children
And the ninth will come after a summer
Will you be angry?
Write down!
I am an Arab
Employed with fellow workers at a quarry
I have eight children
I get them bread
Garments and books from the rocks...
I do not supplicate charity at your doors
Nor do I belittle myself at the footsteps of your chamber
So will you be angry?
Write down!
I am an Arab
I have a name without a title
Patient in a country
Where people are enraged
My roots
Were entrenched before the birth of time
And before the opening of the eras
Before the pines, and the olive trees
And before the grass grew
My father ... descends from the family of the plough
Not from a privileged class
And my grandfather ... was a farmer
Neither well-bred, nor well-born!
Teaches me the pride of the sun
Before teaching me how to read
And my house is like a watchman's hut
Made of branches and cane
Are you satisfied with my status?
I have a name without a title!
Write down!
I am an Arab
You have stolen the orchards of my ancestors
And the land which I cultivated
Along with my children
And you left nothing for us
Except for these rocks ...
So will the State take them
As it has been said?!
Therefore!
Write down on the top of the first page:
I do not hate people
Nor do I encroach
But if I become hungry
The usurper's flesh will be my food
Beware ...
Beware ...
Of my hunger
And my anger!