NEWS AND REFLECTIONS
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Iraq-l

On June 9, 1997, Iraq-l, an information and discussion list about Iraq, was created. There are now around 59 Iraqis and non-Iraqis subscribed to the list (status, July 2, 1997) If you like to know more about the list or want to subscribe, please send a blank message to:

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UD

At least three of my friends from Kirkuk learned to play the ud. One of them, Nurradin As-Salihi, gave up his engineering study and became a composer and singer. He later studied music in Germany and got a PhD in modern Arabic music.

Once, when we were studying in Germany, he thought I would be successful in singing and wanted to train me. But I was not receptive for that idea although I liked to sing at our student meetings and celebrations.

A year and half ago he came to visit me in Costa Rica. One day during his visit we found an ud at a music shop. A secondhand ud made in Damascus. It belonged to a Syrian living in San Jose. I always wanted to have an ud. So, I bought it on the spot for $300.

Before leaving Costa Rica Nuraddin wrote some basic ud exercises for me and I started to train. Soon after that one of the strings broke. Since then I am unable to replace it because the strings available here are guitar strings. They are less flexible than those used for the ud and that makes a lot of difference in the quality of sound.

Months have passed and I have done nothing. I could have asked Nuraddin to send me a string from Germany, but I haven't done that yet.

Do I really need to learn playing ud? For what purpose? Why do I feel "guilty" each time I see the mute ud hanging from the wall?

I have musical day dreams. I don't hear tones and melodies. I "see" musical compositions in which the ud is the leading instrument accompanied by sophisticated electronic instruments producing an infinity of sounds. I would like to record them and then let a dizzy, sharp thinking and decisive mind select and combine surfaces, textures, extensions, on a time continuum. Colors of dazzling dynamics would slip and land on virtual places ... Sounds are aggressive. They offset colors and can demolish structures and smoothen textures, make objects unrecognizable. Maybe that's because music is frugal energy, invisible and absolute, union of things and their negation, the void and the nothingness.... But beyond all this, there is the ud, making all this violent yet innocent acoustic display "meaningful", if not for the senses of today, then indeed for the senses that would be molded to suit the sounds of tomorrow.

Maybe this is why I have to replace the broken string as soon as possible.

Tarek

Tarek El-Tayyeb and Ursula came from Vienna last April and stayed for two weeks. Although I had correspondence with Tarek for the last five years, it was the first time that we met face to face. You have to guess his internal life as a writer, poet and painter. Only little of his self is externalized, yet he is not a reticent. His calmness and gentleness are the manifestation of deep faith and appreciation for what is ethically and physically beautiful.

T R A N S I T I O N S
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S.B.

A lovely obsessive thought about S.B. all these days: I want to write a poem about her. During many years, we used to meet almost everyday, first when she was my teacher at the International Institute of Journalism in Berlin., later during my two years as lecturer at the Institute of which she was then the director, and still later during my frequent visits at her family home in Berlin-Friedrichshagen.

In spite of our thirty years of friendship, how little I know about her. Indeed, I have to write to her and ask her to send me a short autobiography.

No, it was not that feeling of being in the presence of your mother. She was not much older than myself. She was forty and I was thirty when I came to know her as my teacher. She was the kind of person/Geist/mind you would trust instinctly, immediately, without much analysis. Maybe she was the kind of person whom you would like to lean at, feel the support she can give you , and even accept her protection. There was something so deeply civilized, liberating and ethical about her tender, delicate, and somehow transparent physical person that would make you feel happy and reassured for days after meeting her.

She would listen to whatever you wanted to say, even to your personal problems. You are accepted without pity. Equally, she would talk about her life and problems as matter-of-fact issues of life, never sentimentally, without dramatizing or emotional blackmailing. She suggested and never demanded. That produced relaxed mutual respect, a kind of insight or realization in those who came to know her, that they are capable of achieving much more without harming their internal peace. That was perhaps what attracted people to her.

Her genuine interest in the life of others, in their aspirations, difficulties, particularly those of her students, was enormous. That was not curiosity, and never passive interest. She was always there for whatever assistance that might be needed to help others promote their own life projects. All that made her a genuine leader, patient, tolerant and adored.

Where from does so much energy and tenderness emanate?

I know, she endured the hardships of life in Germany during the Second World War, and went through the horrors of Anglo-American bombardment of her beloved Dresden during the nights of February 13 and 14, 1945. She saw the fires and the thousands of dead.

Later, she made and maintained friendships with students and people from a variety of countries. She also visisted and stayed in many Third World countries and wrote a book about Egypt. But she was and is very German, incorporating in her person the best traditions of German culture which are, I believe, the richest and most powerful source of her capability to feel respect and appreciation for others.

Mutual Impact: Non-massive Culture - Mass Culture

The impact of non-massive culture on mass culture has already been researched up to certain extent, particularly themes borrowed, reformed, modified or reinterpreted by pop and rock singers and musicians. Examples of this impact where compiled some two years ago by Andrew Careaga (acareaga@umr.edu) and posted to Writers, an Internet discussion list (Writers Digest - 27 Sep., 1995) *)

What about the impact of mass culture on non-massive culture? How far has this impact been researched? An interesting research question would be this: Why does mass culture attract non-massive artists and writers? I suppose this is chiefly because non-massive culture is, in a certain sense, "established" and "elitist" culture in which reform and renovation are not the rule but the exception, while mass culture is essentially the culture of the rebel, the proscribed, and the dissident. This applies in spite of the vulgarity and triviality of much of the products of mass culture.

If this makes sense, then we may conclude that the boldness of the work and methodology of the creators of mass culture can trigger genuine renovation in non-massive culture and serve as an example. Mass culture exists under the conditions of fierce competition. This is perhaps why it has to be nonconformist, even in a trivial way. Therefore, its spirit of rebellion is effective in attacking the old and the established in the arts, and could, therefore, become a driving force for general cultural renovation and search for new languages and forms.

*) The compilation by Andrew Careaga includes many examples of the impact of non-massive culture on mass culture. Let me know if you want me to send you the file.

M E T H O D S A N D T E C H N I Q U E S
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More boring Aspects of Contemporary Poetry (Arabic and non-Arabic)

Many poems do not offer anything of value, no meaning you may consider an addition to your knowledge, no emotional "instructive" experience, nothing worthwhile to warm your hands and be kept for later and repeated consumption. Such poems are mostly word structures and arrangements that wouldn't add much to your daily projects. No, no, of course, I am not calling on poets to write with the intention of gratifying readers whatever the price. That would be suicidal for poetry.

How then should a poet meet this implicit quality criterion I am trying to formulate? I don't know exactly. I have no suggestion. Good poems seem always to "teach" us some useful things. Strangely, this happens only if the poet wouldn't care about teaching us.

One weekend in June, I was with my wife and daughter at a hotel-farm in the mountains outside San Jose. There were horses in the farm and we went to have a look. As we approached the horses some of them came to the fence. We stood there and caressed them. They seemed to understand and enjoy the gesture.

Was all that, strictly speaking, a new experience? No. Did I learn anything new through the encounter with the horses? I don't know. Back home I realized that watching those horses was gratifying. It gave me something I can't identify or describe in prose (maybe I can express it in a poem).

The point is this: a poem, which is the expression of experience - and can itself become experience - should gratify us in an "incomprehensible" manner, so as the horses did.

The Language of Modern Arabic Poetry

It is urgent to conduct a broad and thorough analysis of the language used in modern Arabic poetry. My impression is that there is extensive deterioration to be discovered and explained.

Using Electronic Mass Media for the Popularization of Literary Works

Any way for an effective use of electronic mass media, particularly satellite/cable TV and the Internet, for the popularization of literary works beyond the boring elitist recitals or adaptation of novels for movies?

By popularization I mean reaching the man on the street and making fine literary works almost as popular as sci-fi, thrillers and horror novels. There is one interesting site on the Internet where you can read "mobile" poems (sorry, I don't have the URL at hand. Perhaps search under: traverseworlds, traversal)

Once in an article in "Asharq Al-Awsat", I recommended that Arab novelists study Michael Crichton's work. I think his "Jurassic Park" in particular contains a useful proposal for writing popular high-quality novels.

R E M I N I S C E N C E S
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Al-Khalwa

During my childhood and early youth people used to relate about hermits and sufis who practice the Khalwa. In Arabic, the word "khalwa" means voluntary confinement of oneself to solitude and isolation. Cellars were favorite places for hermits to confine themselves. Cellars were common at that time. Most urban houses had cellars which were used to store provisions and for rest during the very hot Summer in Iraq.

So, a hermit would live in a cellar for forty days, praying and contemplating. His diet is very limited and consists mostly of dried fruit and water. During those forty days, he would barley speak to anyone and is not disturbed by others.

Divine Word and Sacred Bread

Some Arabic and Islamic newspapers and magazines carry the following note:

This publication carries quotations from al-Qur'an al-karim and ahadith (traditions) of the prophet (blessings of Allah and peace be on him.) Please ensure their sanctity. The pages on which such quotations occur should be disposed of according to the proper Islamic manner.

As far as I know such texts are either kept/stored/archived, or burned or thrown in the sea. The reasoning behind this: for muslims, al-Qur'an is divine word. The ahadith are sacred.

This applies, by extension, to several other objects. Bread, for instance, is considered sacred by muslims since it is defined as "nimatu Allah", i.e. God's gift.

In my childhood, we were taught to put al-Qur'an in a clean cloth and keep it at a high place at home (not at the level of other things of common use.) We avoided throwing bread on the ground where it may be trodden upon. People who find a piece of bread on the road would pick it up, kiss it, and try to place it somewhere away from the road to protect it from being stepped upon by pedestrians.

I have always considered this respect to the word and the conveyance of life/spirit to objects, bread in particular, fascinating and poetic.

Hills from Memory

Hill I

Yes, on the horizon, arid, almost. And the road to the hill is delicious because of the Spring light at noon. Edible herbs and bush, exploding with water, at both sides of the road. Distinct flavours of the short intensive Iraqi Spring.

Hill II

Adolescents came to learn about how scorpions dwell here. They brought music, and saw how their bodies grew a bit each day. That Spring, of that year, went down in the flow of time and drove with it that audible image: sounds soaked in the humidity of air, ladies singing for a passing train, light floating over the landscape, frozen warm waterfall, birds, flocks of birds ....

P O E M S (NEW)
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Berlin - Friedrichshagen

A tree bleeding in this Winter night;
Glaciers and sand overflowing the road.

At the timber yard,
resin in the flesh of the logs;
and here, in the pine,
a bleeding face, ashen green.

Waters, fairies, and rabbits,
stags and fawns playing at dawn,
pressing grass for sleep --
concealments, glades, a body loosing serum;
in this night, distended by blue;
on this earth,
strayed in the words
of a greedy mind.

Anwar Al-Ghassani
September 5, 1995
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Copyright (C) 1995 Anwar Al-Ghassani

I love India

India is a notion of effective harvest,
of dead fruit and stiff corn,
an amulet or an omen,
perhaps a black diamond,
images triggered by a power
that run amuck
as fruit gum sprinkled on my tongue.

Cold and warmth of Indian food.
Dried Lemons of an ancient era,
somehow, centuries of learning people,
of dissipated blood.
Dark hairs drenched in olive oil;
voices, related to eating --
craving for playing
in a dull landscape
melting their mocking tones.

White garments fluttering in the breeze;
topologically streamlining bodies
pulsating with desire,
perceived as love bordering perversity --
love is perverted hate
driving us towards godhood --,
an idea -- consistent and volatile --
like gaseous dynamite.
Love, carved in marble,
and souls, ours, flying away.

How these eyes, so voluptuous,
make death an intuitive event
and incite us to violate the taboo:
to touch the flesh of the beast.

Men and women are ideas,
white clothes they are and phantoms;
horror of our lives based on misapprehension,
antidoton of those baroque decorations,
those archaic empires.

It is not the mouth that is crying,
it is the whole body screaming.

Anwar Al-Ghassani
April 24, 1997

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Copyright (C) 1997 Anwar Al-Ghassani

Faces at Dawn

(very rough, first version)

Dark, also the eyes, complexions consumed by tobacco, yellow, wrinkled as if chewed, decaying in tender light. The minaret still vigorously iluminated. Pale is the light of the distant sun. Colorful rags with geometrical patterns on masts. Here at the border checkpoints, the guards are preparing breakfast.

Somewhere here is the sea, iodizing mud walls and crumbled chalk wash. A cat pulling a dead fish from a net. But a net is not a safe haven for dead fish; it could be a non-semantic sense of cosiness, a dose of protection assigned to this dead fish, all that was available, also for forefathers and the children of today who reside in the dwellings with faces - so notorious and boring - like apples, drowned then greened in sweet waters, from where they are now being mined out. A dawn scenery: the detectives are here, the children and the eternal crowd.

Now, if the fish were alive, it would then see, from inside the net, a cat imprisoned within a net whose inside is pulled out; and would then return, to the sea.

Faces from our lifetime, tangled up in events where evil and good make no difference; faces to be flushed to the bureaucrats within a day or two, to ignite an exercise of dirty words "nonoutspoken" and an array of stamping. Here, the human child is a horse, a Moebius strip where "in" and "out" are mere words. Alas, human child, how futile is your disguise and sojourn in caves; Your exposure is eternal, an unhealing wound.

Blue fumes and faces at dawn for you to embrace - for one day, no more. Nothing prevails but the animal stuff stretched in woolen rugs, and the dead stone.

Anwar Al-Ghassani
July 2, 1997

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Copyright (C) 1997 Anwar Al-Ghassani

P O E M S (FRAGMENTS)
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Fragment 1

They sat there at the edge of the landscape watching the desert garden.....

Fragment 2

Assassinated Singer

Your bedouin voice paired with the chaotic Pop and Rock is gracious, Storming the sky left over your bleeding chest. Instead of strolling around, your voice pulled down obsolete scenery, You were frantically driven towards the glimmering light, Never impressed by the insane reason imposing order.

What could we possibly do with you (you embracing your child in the color photo)?

Send his soul to the mountain. Give him some rain upon arrival, Or send him to the dry region... and restore the Summer he missed, A festival shall he be for the women who lost their youth so early, For no apparent reason except that earth's fires were absent and the tyrant was left alive.

Although the machines are rusty, you may still meet his clean face and drink his voice from the electromagnetic patterns on tapes or neatly organized digits. All voices are miracles, so no voice will ever be lost.

P U B L I S H I N G N E W S
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- Two years have past since the publication of "Lieutenant Salah Jamil" in Pen International, (London), vol.46, No.2, 1995 and I am still "thinking" of sending more poems to the magazine!!

My Arabic translation of "Lieutenant Salah Jamil", published later in Al-Mu'tamar (London), was horrible. The poem lost the spirit and brilliance of the English original.

- The literary weekly Akhbar Al-Adab (Cairo) must have published several poems I sent to them over the past two years or so. I received back published only the short "Um Kalthoum" poem. It is so difficult to manage this publishing business over a distance of thousands of kilometers.

- Still trying to prepare an English translation of the "Mashhadia" poem for "Jusoor" (Bethesda) Editor Munir Akash was so kind as to ask me to send a poem for publication. But, alas, six months have passed and nothing has happened from my side.

- Iraqi writer Buthaina Anasiri (Cairo) asked me to send poems for her new anthology. I did. She is preparing an interesting anthology of Iraqi love poems.

- After the recent changes in the profile of "Periodica Islamica" (Kuala Lumpur), editor Munawar Anees is planning to publish some of my poems. Dear Munawar will also help in publishing a parallel selection of my poems (Arabic/English) in Indonesia.

- "Dalil Karkuk" (A Guide to Kirkuk), a long poem of 9 pages (ms) was published few months ago in Al-Mada (Damascus) Only minor typing errors. But they missed to mention that it was a poem and not a poetical prose text.

- "Ra'ad" was published in the recent issue of "Arab Studies Journal" (Washington, Georgetown University)

"Ra'ad" is a reflective essay in Arabic about my brother Ra'ad, missing since 1983 during the First Gulf War.

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W o r k s h o p R e p o r t

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(c) Copyright 1997 Anwar Al-Ghassani
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