Monday, November 05, 2007

ابدية الحزن العربي

يسألني كثير من المتعلمين للعربية هنا، مِمّن تمكّنهم معرفتهم باللغة أن يستمعوا إلى شيء من الموسيقى أو يقرؤوا مقاطع من الشعر، عن سرّ الحزن الذي يحمله العرب في صدورهم، سيّما حين يتعلّق الموضوع بالحب. لماذا يحْزن العربي حين يُحب؟ مفارقة كبيرة حقا. هل نحن نحب لنحزن؟ الحزن، ضمن أشياء أخرى، أصبح بطاقة تعريف العربي للعالم. أنا أحزن إذن أنا موجود. لا أحاول هنا أن أنمّط ثقافتي، لكنّ تماهينا نحن العرب مع الحزن واستمتاعنا بذلك التماهي يثير الدهشة فعلا. ربما ساعدتنا أوضاعنا السياسية المتردية في هذا العصر على تشرّب الحزن حتى الثمالة، لكن المسألة، جوهريا، أعمق من ذلك بكثير.

شِعرنا بدأ بالربط بين الحب والبكاء. ربما نتساءل فيما إذا كان امرؤ القيس قد قال الشعر لأنه أحب فعلا، أو أن الحب كان مجرد وسيلة فنية لقول الشعر، لكننا إذا صدّقنا أن معلقته هي من أولى قصائد الشعر في تاريخ العرب، فإن فزعا من الحب لا بدّ أن يصيبنا. أيّة أمة تبدأ نصوصها الأدبية برجاء الشّاعر أصحابه أن يساعدوه في بكائه؟

قفا نبك من ذكرى حبيب ومنزل بسقط اللوى بين الدخول فحومل

الحب هنا مرحلة متقدمة زمنيا عن قول النص. لا يخبرنا الشاعر من أحب، ولماذا تركته حبيبته، وفيما إذا كان ثمة جماليات للتجربة ينبغي أن تقال. ما يعني الشاعر هنا أن يبكي ويُبكي معه أصحابه، هو يبكي لأنه أحب ورفاقه يبكون لأن صديقهم أحب. القبيلة كلها تبكي لأن شاعرها أحب، والنتيجة أن العرب كلهم أصبحوا يبكون لأن كبير شعرائهم بكى. أليس هو الذي "بكى واستبكى وأوقف واستوقف" كما قال عنه النقاد العرب؟ ماذا لو بدأ الملك الضليل قصيدته المشؤومة هذه بتصوير سعادة الحب وأهله؟ هل كان وقوع الشاعر في الحب المبرّر الذي جعله يشعر بهذه المركزية العجيبة للذات؟ والأعجب أن المخاطب في هذا البيت ليس أصدقاء الشاعر فقط، بل هو كل عربي على امتداد الزمن. لا أدري كيف كانت الألف علامة للمثنى في قواعد العربية. ألف امرئ القيس في (قفا) علامة ملايين العرب، عشاقا ومعشوقين.الشاعر يأمر هنا، لم يأت البيت بصيغة الماضي او المضارع، بل هو أمر. هو تصوير-أو ربما تشكيل- لحالة الحب العربي الفاجعة: مرحلة قصيرة من الحلم/الوهم (ليست مذكورة في البيت طبعا، فالاهم هو البكاء)، تتلوها ذكريات العويل والنحيب. هل قال امرؤ القيس تاريخ العشق العربي في بيت واحد؟ البكاء هنا ليس حالة استثنائية، ليس إحدى التبعات الممكنة للوقوع في الحب، بل هو الضرورة التي لا محيص عنها. الغرابة الأخرى أن هذه الصورة البكائية للحب صدرت من ذات الشاعر الذي كان يلهو مع نسائه في القصيدة ذاتها. لماذا لم يستطع وعي امرئ القيس، أو لاوعيه، أن يبدأ القصيدة بذكريات جميلة عن الحب، وهو الذي كان يعيشها فعلا على أرض الواقع؟ نبوءة من الشاعر، ربما. كان يدرك بحسه الفطري أن هذا ما يحب العربي سماعه. امرؤ القيس أحد أعظم المنتصرين في التاريخ الإنساني. ببكائه، ضحك على أمة كاملة جعلت قصيدته نموذجه الأعلى في الشعر، شكلا ومضمونا.

الحب العذري، بعد ذلك بمائتي عام أو يزيد، أوصل المسألة إلى حالة هستيرية. ما الذي يحدث؟ "نحن قوم إذا عشقوا ماتوا". هذا هو الجواب. ليس المهم أن نسأل عن أسباب هذه الظاهرة بقدر ما هو مهم أن نرى آثارها. هناك بكاء وهنا موت وجنون. أليس مؤسفا أن المرات القليلة التي حفظ لنا الشعر العربي فيها أسماء نساء حقيقيات كانت عندما كنّ هؤلاء النساء سببا في عذاب الرجل وآهاته؟ حالة من الفقد مؤلمة حقا تطغى على هذا الشعر. ما الذي يفتقده العذري؟ ماالذي يفتقده العربي؟ الفقد يستلزم ملكية مسبقة، لكنك أحيانا تحسّ أن الفقد حالة ملازمة لنا، نولد فاقدين لشيء ما، لم نملكه، ربما لا نعرفه، لكننا نشعر بفراغه في قلوبنا، لذلك نبدأ بالبكاء عليه. إشارة بعض الباحثين إلى أن العذري كان يهرب من حبيبته، في ذات اللحظة التي يقع في حبها، حتى تصبح مادة لحزنه، جديرة بالنظر ولو أنها تضيف على المأساة مأساة. قبيلة واحدة شغلت التاريخ العربي وأصبح رجالها مثالا للموت عشقا. مفارقة أخرى في حضارة قامت نظريا على مفهوم الأمة. كان كثيّر عزّة يزعم أنه:

فإن سأل الواشون فيم هجرتها فقل نفس حرّ سُلّيت فتسلّت

هل تسلّت نفسه فعلا؟ لاحظوا أن هذا البيت هو آخر أبيات تائيته الشهيرة. التسلّي زَعْم، تركه الشاعر دون دليل، لأنه ليس جديرا بالذكر في نظره. ما يستحق السرد هو الألم الذي يسبق. حالة البحث العبثي عن شيء لا وجود له ربما. ماالذي فعلناه بالمتنبي وفعله الزمان به حتى يهشّم الذات العربية، ذاتنا، إلى الأبد، ويجعلها غريبة عنها؟ ما الذي أراده أبو الطيب؟

أتى الزمانَ بنوه في شبيبته فسرّهم وأتيناه على الهرم

هرم في عصر المتنبي. هل نعيش الآن سكرات موت الزمان إذن؟

كان ذلك كله في لحظات انتصار على مستوى الأمة، أو القدرة على تخيل الانتصار على الأقل، فماالذي سنكون عليه في عصر البكاء الحقيقي؟ لننظر إلى الفيديو الذي صاحب أغنية أوبريت الحلم العربي. حلم على صور الهزائم ونكسة عبد الناصر وجنازته وحرب بيروت. أي حلم هذا؟ أمر طبيعي إذن أن يعيد نزار قباني أسطورة الحزن العربي بحذافيرها وكأن شيئا لم يتغير. الملك الضليل تذكر فبكى، والفتى الدمشقي علّمه الحبّ أن يحزن. ألف وعام من الحزن، إذا استعرنا عنوان رشيد بوجدرة.ربما يكون إنجازنزار أنّه سمح للمرأة أخيرا أن تبكي، فسمعناها بعد أن ظل البكاء طويلا حكرا على الرجال. أحزان نزار ليست شيئا طارئا، بل هي ملكية شخصية لا تفارقه:

فأنا لا أملك في الدّنيا إلا عينيك وأحزاني

ثم يأتي غير العرب المتعلمين للعربية ليسألونا عن سرّ عشقنا لعبدالحليم. أجيب أحيانا أن من الصّعب أن تحب عبد الحليم إذا لم تكن عربيا. العندليب كان صورة الحزن العربي بامتيازها. أم كلثوم كانت حزينة غالبا، لكنك تشعر أن شكلها لا يساعدها على ذلك. أما عبدالحليم فقد كان حزينا من كل الجهات، جوّانيّا وبرَانيّا. ولعلها مصادفة أن تصاحب لقطات جنازته عندما تعرض على التلفاز أغنيته (أي دمعة حزن لا). هل كان العرب يحاولون بعد وفاة عبدالحليم أن يثوروا على الحزن، لذلك اختاروا هذه الأغنية وداعا له وللحزن معا؟ ربما، فنغمة الحزن الصادق خفّت كثيرا مع صعود موجة الأغاني الحديثة المصورة. لكن أشرطة عبدالحليم وصوره وعينيه المليئتين بحزن عمره من عمر لغتنا وشعرنا ما زالت تملأ المكان والقلب العربي، قلب فَقَد قبل أن يملك، وبكى قبل أن يفرح.

نشرت هذه المقالة في القدس العربي

5/11/2007

Tuesday, October 23, 2007

Illegal Immigrants

One of the most irritating terms I always hear is the one describing some residents in America--mainly Mexicans- of being illegal immigrants. In a country-or an empire; nobody knows- which was built completely on immigration, it is too rude for former immigrants to deprive other people of the same right they enjoyed hundreds of years ago, as if those white European settlers who "discovered" America were legal immigrants.The other point to be mentioned here is that Mexicans, for example, are immigrating mainly to places that belonged to them in the past--the American Southwest. They are not coming form overseas as their European counterparts did in the past, and they are not killing the indigenous of this land. The White settlers of America didn't only massacre the real Americans-and am not using the word "native" because it is also irritating- but also stole some other states from neighboring countries, included them in the empire, and called their indigenous illegal immigrants.

Monday, August 13, 2007

Meeting in the sky!

It was a real funny trip last night. I was flying from NY to Jordan when I met on the plane one of my old friends. He is a flight attendant with the royal Jordanian. I saw him bringing our first meal when I yelled at him: "hey man, hurry up." He looked at me with a grinned face before realizing who I was.

Really strange. Not to meet a friend on earth for the last five years and then meet him in the sky! We chatted for a long tine. He took me to the back of the plane, offered me more fruits and food! and told me about his discovery of the owrld as a flight attendant. I forgot for a moment that we were really talking in the sky. I felt it like a cafe and hookah was the only thing missing! It is interesting to see how this guy conceives his work and how much he feels now bored of navigating in the horizons after four years of work. I think I found a good topic for a short story!

Monday, July 16, 2007

Marhaba Cous, Marhaba Chicago!

I went to Chicago a couple of times in the last month. There, I enjoyed being with Arab friends who came mostly from the same place I came from in Jordan. Our greeting was: Marhaba cous, one word in Arabic (means hi) and the other is a short cousin. It is funny how much "Arabizi" is used among us.

I had a strange image in my mind about Chicago. For some reasons, Chicago was always related in Jordan with my city Zarqa. We called Zarqa "Jordan's Chicago" I don't think that I knew anything at that time about Chicago, but it indicates a world full of crimes and gangs, and thus was connected with Zarqa which was, and still, a spot for tough troublemaker guys.

It wasn't until the last trip that I really believed that old image. I found myself among gangs in midtown Chicago who were cursing each other using known and unknown bad words, while my cousin was yelling at me
"Get to the car Omar, they will start shooting."
" huh, shooting! Are you serious? Where did you bring me ya cous?!"

It is a very beautiful city though. Zarqa will cry when seeing the water resources Chicago enjoys. I still need to try Chicago Pizza. Zarqa, by the way, gave the world the notorious Abu Mus'ab al-Zarqawi! What did Chicago give?!!

Wednesday, July 04, 2007

LIAR

Today is the Day of Independence. Here, in a small town called Beloit, I saw for the first time in my life the Americans celebrating their freedom. It was, by and large, a nice day except few major lies uttered by some speakers who accompanied the musical band. One of them was describing, in a Hitler-like way, how much America supported democracy and human rights, and how America was, and still, against all foes who are violating the basic rights of humanity. He mentioned, proudly, how America stood in solidarity with all nations in their aspire to freedom and justice.

LIAR!

Does this guy know that he is a liar? I don't know. He is not the only liar here. Who might support me in my claim that this guy is a liar? let's see.

Ask Salvador Allende of Chile about this guy, and he will smile from his tomb and say he is a liar.

Ask Shah of Iran about what this guy said, and he will say it is a big lie.

Ask The democratically elected government of Hamas about this guy, and she will say he is a liar.

Ask Marcos of Philippines about this guy, and he will burst into laughter and say he is a liar.

Ask that woman from Vietnam who was fleeing with her daughter from their house while the American army was bombarding it, and she will tell you how much this guy lied.

Ask the prisoners in Abu Ghraib about that, and they will tell you the truth.

Ask the three hundred Iraqi civilians who were killed while hiding in a shelter by American bombs during the first Gulf war, and they will tell you how much this guy lied.

Look at the faces of Guantanamo's prisoners, and you will know how much this guy lied.

Ask Henry Kissenger about that, after you reminded him of his friend Binoche, and he will tell you how much this guy lied

Ask the kids in Palestinian refugee camps and they will tell you how much this guy lied.

Ask me, ask yourself, ask many Americans, and all will tell you how much this guy lied

Saturday, May 26, 2007

Forgetting

He couldn’t remember when he did it for the first time. He used to sit by himself every night, before going to sleep, in order to forget everything that happened to him that day. He didn’t think that it would work, but he was amazed in the first day, when he went out to work, that he couldn’t find his office. “Why do I do that?” he asked himself. He was torn between two explanations. The first one was very negative. It stated that he forgot people and events because they didn’t deserve to be stuck in his memory for more than one day. He was not inclined to adopt this explanation. “I love people,” he said, though he forgot the last time he had a friend.

The second explanation, however, was the exact opposite: He forgot people in order to discover them everyday, to see them for the first time. He felt that this might be the real reason behind what he is doing. He tried many times to adopt one of those two explanations, but he forgot. The process of forgetting itself was so interesting that he felt inclined to tell others about it, but he forgot.

He sat down in his room every evening and wrote a summary of all the situations of that day. They usually amounted to 100 situations, none of which took more than one minute to be forgotten. Last week, for example, he forgot that his employer said that he had never seen such stupidity embedded in a human being. This was the 95th situation of the day, after which came three other situations in which his colleagues seconded his employer’s claim. After writing those situations down, he erased them, word by word, repeating the word that he was erasing ten times until he forgot it. This ritual was very important; if he forgot to write those situations in pencil and wrote them instead in pen (which happened every other day by the way); he was forced to rewrite them again, wondering why he forgot to hold the pencil.

It took a long time before people started to believe what was going on with him. His boss at work, for example, only discovered the case of his employee five minutes before signing his release from the job, on which he wrote as a reason for the release “because this guy is an ultimate shit”. Not only did the employer burst out into laughter when he knew about the crazy situation and decided to keep this funny guy, but he also started to take advantage of it. After being exposed to an unbelievable humiliation, the forgetful guy usually started to yell:

“I will complain against this bad treatment”

“Today or tomorrow?” asked one of his colleagues.

“Tomorrow I guess. There is no time left today”

“Then add to your complaint that I said fuck you!”

And then he met her. If there was anything in life that shouldn’t be forgotten, then it must be her smile. That is what he said to himself the first time he saw her. He didn’t remember that he actually forgot her every night until she said to him, annoyed at his childish flirting:

“Can’t you see you are bothering me?”

“No.”

“What do you mean No? I asked you yesterday to leave me alone.”

“I just saw you for the first time today.”

“Huh” she lost her mind here, and then added “So you just saw me today?”

It took her two weeks, after this incident, to believe that this guy really forgot everything. She tested him. She told him that she would kiss him if he came the next day knowing at least her name. For her, this test must be enough. “Kissing me is a dream for him,” she said “If he really forgets my promise, then what people said about him must be true.” The next day, he said to her, after the usual flirting, “I forgot to ask you about your name. Mine is …”

She was surprised at her enjoyment of the curious situation. She was rediscovered everyday. She didn’t feel overwhelmed by him. She began to spend a lot of time with him. Everyday he approached her and asked, “Hi can I talk to you”. Had he been a normal guy, she would have slapped him for being so silly. Is this a way to approach a girl?

It was obvious that she started to like him. She would talk to him about different topics everyday. A strange question, suddenly, began to occupy her “What if I fall in love with him? For him, that won’t happen at all because love needs the persistence of memory. But for me…” He met her only today. She meets him everyday. She wanted him to kiss her, but he didn’t. He couldn’t kiss a girl in the first day they met. But finally, after thirty five days of her meeting him and five hours of him meeting her, she was brave enough to kiss him.

The next day she waited for him to come. He ran toward her.

“Hi …,” he said. She was shocked.

“What did you say?”

“What do you mean?”

“How do you know my name?”

“I guess, if nothing else, you kissed me yesterday.”

“But, I mean, you usually …”

What she understood later was that he didn’t forget what happened to him that day. It wasn’t an intentional decision of him. Simply, he forgot to forget.

New York,

4/14/2007

Friday, April 06, 2007

An Empty Seat

When he got on the train, he noticed that he was the only one standing. He tried to overcome his uneasiness, since everyone around him was involved in more useful things like reading or talking, except him; he was only standing. Yet, what amazed him so much is that he found everyone in the train suddenly staring at him. He tried so hard to remember if he was looked weird or smelled bad. With the increasing stares of his neighbors he started to check himself out, while looking at the angry faces around him with a fake smile painted on his face. Right away, he brought out a small mirror and started to look at his teeth to see if their color was annoying to the sensitivity of his neighbors. When he remembered that he actually didn’t open his mouth, that is to say, no one saw his teeth, he started to lose his patience. “Even that beautiful girl over there” he said to himself. “Something horrible must have happened to me”. As soon as the minute of silence that reigned over the train faded away, one of the riders stood up, very angrily, and said:

“Why don’t you sit down, you stupid?”

It was as if all the riders in the train were just waiting for his initiative. Within seconds, undistinguished voices and curses were directed at him: “How could you do that?” “Isn’t it clear how rude you are?” “Who the hell you think are?” Shocked as he had never been, he started to look around himself insanely and said:

“But where do you want me to sit? Is there any empty place around?”

“Not our problem” said the beautiful girl, the one whom he thought of approaching when he saw her.

“But, I mean, what are you talking about? How could I sit down while all seats are occupied? You want me to sit? Okay, then, give me your seat.”

“But if someone gave you his seat, where would he sit, you dumb ass?”

“Okay, what if I continue the ride standing, what is the problem with that? I am free…”

“You are what?”

When the train reached the 42nd street stop, he heard the conductor saying “Stand clear of the closing doors please, and make this shitty man sit down”. At that moment, he started to tremble. He felt that a real threat was waiting for him. “Well, you didn’t listen to us” said the beautiful girl. He started to look below the seats, between the riders’ legs, so that he might find an empty seat.

“Sit down, bitch, what are you waiting for?”

“Please help me find an empty seat”

“Just look around you”

“I did, but I found nothing. Does any one know where I can find a seat?” “If you want to go to South Ferry you must ride in the first five cars of the train and make this moron sit down” said the conductor again. Suddenly, people from the other cars started to enter the cursed one. “Where is this only standing man, huh?” Chaos spread in the whole car. Everyone was beating him, saying: “Sit down, you shit”.

“There is no seat”

“Just look around you”

“Suppose I am free to do whatever I want…”

“You are free to shut up, stupid”

“But I really tried to find one”

“Liar, you were looking at the girl”

“I feel more comfortable standing”

“We don’t”

“But there was no seat”

“How dare you”

“Where was it?”

“Just look around you”

“I did”

“Liar”

“Ok, I will look now”

“Too late”

“What must I do now?”

“You must sit down”

“I will”

“Too late”

“But there is no seat”

“Liar”

“Where is the seat?”

“Liar”

“Where is the seat?”

When they reached South Ferry, all of the people in the car were standing, except him; he was lying on the ground, sighing “Where is the seat?”

Wed, 28/3/2007

New York