Qassim Haddad

Qassim Haddad Poems

1.

No one knows stone like me.
I seeded it in the fetus of the mountain,
and I reared it on blossoms of metal.
It grew like a walking child
...

That was he
He was my friend
whose body opened to receive the blade
He was neither mad nor rash
...

A body grants flirtation room for delights.
There is no pulse unless we are there
We caress the desire in the paradise of night and we fill the jar with silver.
A body is capable of dueling and attacking
...

4.

I saw you in a body where stallions moan
and from whose arms storms emerge.
Abandoned to sighs
trampled by fillies with the whinnying of desire
...

Friends
weave their new rags
in a morning with a missing sun.
Their bodies convulse, and their fingers are caught in
...

He put his paw in the lake
like one dipping a quill in a well of words…
He wasn't of reed,
nor has Love a thing to grant:
...

Welcome Rider
Highwayman
ragged with hunger and cold
frightened by winds
...

I gave her the history of the water and saw the plants take the blame for their grandchildren.
In her loneliness I planted stories and poems about the prisoners of war waiting on my balconies for time to ripen and
...

I am not asleep or awake,
but the enchanting dream dazzles me.
The same dream interrupts every waking and every sleep.
A caravan stows away fire in its carriages and rolls over the buts to widen the road. Whenever I focus my eye on
...

Everybody said it was useless
Everybody said, 'you're trying to lean on sun dust'
that the beloved before whose tree I stand
can't be reached
...

From blue sky birds come
bearing bright kerchiefs in their beaks
From lilac sky moon yawns
weary from not sleeping
...

1-We are not an island,
except to whoever sees us from the sea.
2-Wine in half the cup,
the other half was not empty;
...

13.

I don't know how
I sit this way, my head the hat of the universe and my hands in a frenzy.
I am not tired or sad
I see whiteness, towers of chao
...

While standing on the sidewalk
waiting for someone or something,
a man I do not know comes from behind.
He stabs me in the back with no reason or motive.
...

Naked I stand in the chilling wind
Alone
like the letter A
and I do not bow
...

Those many children
who frolic around you
Have you chosen names for them
or will you leave the naming to the gardens?
...

Book of the defeated man:
In you let me write
one red letter that plants
green sadness leading to crystal joy
...

You still talk irrationally in dangling interpretations.
Your eyes are startled, and mounds of clay have changed you.
You see troops drawing near,
your eyes are startled, and you talk irrationally.
...

19.

He remembers his prison cell with its air hole as if he loves it.
Forgetfulness cannot
Tremble in the cage of freedom: o, there
Where the Lamptonite horizons include herds of fog,
...

Whoever saw a sea so narrow
narrow narrow
like the pupil of an eye
I mean - who
...

Qassim Haddad Biography

Qassim Haddad (born 1948) is a Bahraini poet, particularly notable within the Arab world for his free verse poetry. His poems have been translated in several languages including German, English and French. Qassim Haddad was born in Bahrain in 1948 and did not complete his secondary education, having educated himself over the years.[2] Haddad first rose to prominence with his poetry that contained revolutionary and political themes such as freedom. He published his first poetic collection titled Good Omen in 1970 and has since published more than 16 books, including Majnun Laila, a book of poetry and paintings, and a book of poetry in collaboration with Saudi photographer Saleh al-Azzaz.[2] In 2007, Haddad created controversy when he reworked the Arabic classics Layla and Majnun, with Marcel Khalife which fundamentalists believed undermined Islamic morals. Haddad is also the co-founder and chairman of the Bahraini Writers' Union.)

The Best Poem Of Qassim Haddad

Stone

No one knows stone like me.
I seeded it in the fetus of the mountain,
and I reared it on blossoms of metal.
It grew like a walking child
and I followed in its footsteps.
Its silence is a listening heart
and its solitude is an alphabet that teaches speech,
a burnishing that suffices for treasures,
and imprints itself on books and mirrors.
I read in it the glass of paradise, and the amulets of passion.
It rises lightly, and offers the wind the company of books,
like me.
Solitary, and a companion to strangers.
Its water is the wakefulness of pinnacles.
It guards the sleep of trees, and bends.
At every slope it has an envoy washed by snow,
that it takes from the sea the messages of the waves.
With eyes that exude yearning in a stranger's childhood,
and chased like a tiger swinging in nets that dangle about me,
it listens to the pulse in arteries.
It glows and lusts, roves
and raves,
like me.
It knows secrets and scandals,
is well-versed in the unseen
The rose takes from it its purpose,
and it gazes from the mountain
as the sky discloses and dissolves it shapes.
Like me
its names are in metals
and in the adversary's alibi.
Like me,
a lover melting, its water is anxiety and the paradise of loss.
It endures love
and is filled with travel and desire for ecstasy,
like me.
It alone knows the history of my steps and my errors.
It forgives and forgets like me.

Translated by: Khaled Mattawa

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