Adonis For The Noble? God No!
For God and the Empire
Indra, the Rain God, 'forgive for our past sins'
Why people think there is no GOD ?
The Noble prize for literature is announced tomorrow...
Syrian poet Adonis (real name Ali Ahmad Sa'id) is widely considered to be on the short list for tomorrow's Noble literature announcement. Adonis should not get too excited. He has been widely rumored as a likely winner in the past only to lose.
If he should win he will be the second Arab to win the prize for literature. Adonis is one of those Arabs (not unlike other people) who chases the prize. He has spent the second half of his life living in France, where he still resides, and seeks Western recognition, credibility and praise. As if a Norwegian body is the final arbiter of Arabic poetry. And let's not pretend that politics does not play. Western critics like their Arabs to be measured in their politics (i.e. not too critical of Israel/Zionism) and the decisive factor which ruled in favor of the first Arab winner (Naguib Mahfouz) was because he was an Egyptian writer who supported Sadat's trip to Jerusalem and peace with Israel. And he was awarded after Egypt made its peace when the nation became "Egyptian" and more acceptable by Western tastes than Arab and Muslims things in general. Adonis fits the profile. He hasn't said a word about Palestine in years and panders to Western sensibilities.
But the name is a shameless self-promoter. How awful? Consider this line: On Arab poets: "continuing the tradition with a few variations, whereas I am the rupture with the past, I am the one who is revolutionizing the order of things, and that is ultimately what matters."
And he's not above pettily attacking fellow Arab poets/writers. And this is at his most small and petty self. "Mahfouz is more of a symbol than a great writer," he tells us. No doubt resentful that the former achieved a following in the West which has eluded Adonis and that Mahfouz is believed to have been chosen over Adonis for the Noble in 1998. And until the recent death of Palestinian Mahmoud Darwish, Adonis was seen as second best to Darwish. Darwish has above and far the most popular and widely regarded Arab poet. But Adonis only waited until Darwish died to criticism him: Referring to him as tool of Saddam. He constantly attacks all his contemporary poets, and often until they die when they cannot defend themselves. He has accused Lebanese poet Khalil Hawi (who committed suicide in 1982) of being jealous of him and has accused another, Syrian Muhammad Al-Maghut who died in 2006, of beating his wife. The guy constantly attacks his colleagues.
And, finally, he tell us in a recent interview book (conducted by his daughter) that he "discovered" that he is beautiful in his 40s. And he's a sad man. When asked about his relationship with his siblings all he had to say is that he gives them money.
Maybe Adonis deserves the Noble. After all it awards literary talent and not a judge of personality. And I have not read enough of him to judge. But solely because he is a petty, mean-spirited and pompous ass-whip I hope he loses.
Anyway, some of his more famous poems, Judge for yourself:
"Tree of Fire":
The tree by the river
is weeping leaves.
It strews the shore
with tear after tear
It reads to the river
its prophecy of fire.
I am that final
leaf that no one
sees.
My people
have died as fires
die - without a trace.
"Remembering
the First Century":
Drawn forth to silence
by the drum of words, I am
a knight riding the horse
of all the earth.
My song
is everything I see and all
I breathe.
Under thundering
suns, I pace the foaming
shore.
I sing my way
to death, and, having sung,
I leave this elegy to burn
for poets, birds and everything
alive from here and now
until the end of heaven.
"The Funeral of New York":
Here
on the moss on the rock of the earth
I know and say what I know.
I remember a plant called life.
I rememberm y land as I rememberd eath,
a robe of wind
a face that murders me for no reason
or an eye that shuns the light.
Against you, my country,
I still create to make you change.
I stumble into hell and scream
while poisonous drops revive my memory of you.
New York, you will find in my land
a bed and silence,
a chair, a head,
the sale of day and night,
the stone of Mecca
and the waters of the Tigris.
In spite of all this,
you pant in Palestine and Hanoi.
East and west
you contend with people
whose only history is fire.
Since John the Baptist
Each of us carries on a plate his cut head
and waits to be born again.
