A fine poem on the subject of Jersualem by Darwish (transl. Fady Joudah). The whole thing is
here, and I don't want to trespass on the poet's copyright by reproducing it on my blog, except to say that I was especially struck by these lines:
I was walking down a slope and thinking to myself: How
do the narrators disagree over what light said about a stone?
Is it from a dimly lit stone that wars flare up?
The original is in
The Butterfly’s Burden (2007), by
Copper Canyon Press.
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