LANGUAGE IMMERSION IN A TECHNOLOGY-RICH ENVIRONMENT: FROM THEORY TO PRACTICE

NOCTURNAL WANDERINGS

In the evening of tomorrow,

The sun will set on my canoe

And my eyes.

I don’t know where the waters will take me.

During the day, 

The river meanders

Its bed knows where it goes.

My eyes befriend its path

Salute its banks

Touch its foliage

And the fauna drinks in plain sight.

My eyes shake hands with its alligators

Greet its tadpoles

Beckon its birds…

In the dead of the night,

The river’s the river;

But is the river

The river?

Ahead of me

May be my day

But only maybe.

What turns and slopes?

How steep are the slopes?

Are there pills to dispel my fears?

And systems firmly in place to steer clear of swirls

Any hard shoulders?

How about tributaries, 

Currents running upstream,

And other natural safe exits?

No, no, no!

I shall not now

Go back home

I shall continue my stroll.

A stylistic analysis of Al-Mutanabbi's poem: واحر قلباه - My heart burns in English translation

Applying the principles of stylistic analysis on any piece of writing is a very powerful tool for tackling text of all kinds. There are times when we are lucky enough to have knowledge of the context in which any piece of writing was composed. In the case of the poem at hand,  واحر قلباه ممن قلبه شبم - 'My heart burns at he whose heart grows cold', it seems there is enough information about the poet, his epoch, and the circumstances that gave rise to the poem. It makes sense to use those to contextualize the whole poem, but deep scrutiny of the bricks and mortar of the text is what I have relied on, for the most part, to achieve a  provisional understanding of the poem. For the record, I have selected some 13 lines from the poem, which is otherwise much longer. I have crystallized my interpretation in the vodcast below, which I hope will serve as a stepping stone for a superior understanding. Thanks for watching. Ali H. Raddaoui.

As I clutched the lower reaches of an elm tree

As I clutched the lower

Reaches of an elm tree

This October eve

Recalling for a wink

The olive-green

Dreams of the springs

Of the kid in me

I looked askance

At the sickly leaves

And through the breeze

They whispered back to me:

“Do you chance to know

Where we’ve erred

To deserve to wither

And lose our vigor

And go so early!”

Ali H. Raddaoui

Time Pegs from the Coconut Kingdom

At times

When the time canvas

On which I sketch the times

Is torn between

The time at which I planted

The first coconut tree

And the next one

That should have been planted…

And hangs loose,

Then I scatter seeds

From past crops

Of the coconut tree

And spray them

With syllabary stored

From the time of first planting.

Then the canvas gets tight

And steady

And resists the wear and tear

Of fading

Time.

الحصار

أيتها الهوجاء عودي

تراجعي، ارتدي

كُفّي، انكفئي

تقهقري من حيث جئت

من غياهب الظلمة

اجمدي، تجمدي، أيبسي، تيبسي، تحنطي

وضعنا دون خروجك

سياجا وسياجا وسياجا...

لا تحلل، لا تضمر، لا تجهر، ولا تهمس

أيتها الهوجاء استسلمي، نامي

توسدي أضغاث أحلامك

الضمير الغائب مستتر، متستر

جلده ما عاد يعرف القيظ ولا الزمهرير

تكلست عيناه في الظلمة

نسي الألوان كلها

نسيت أذناه صدى الأصوات

أيتها الهوجاء انبطحي

انتحري، اندحري

نسي التاريخ قلمه

جهاز الرصد وقع في قاع المحيطات

دون قوقعة

مات

أنكرت وكالات الأنباء وجوده، سقوطه، موته

أيتها الهوجاء أدركك الليل

اجتثي غدد الدمع من عينيك

تدثري بكساء سميك من التراب

امسحي ذاكرة النور لديك

توسدي تاريخك السرمدي

إلى حيث انتهى

وانته،

انته

أنت

أنت العاصفة

...

فتهاوت

وهوت

واهية