Ahead of a five-day Irish visit, poet Annemarie Ní Churreáin introduces the work of Palestinian-born poet Marwan Makhoul, whose work has just been translated into Irish - read his poem Ar an Traein Go Tel Aviv below.
'in order for me to write poetry that isn't /political, I must listen to the birds / and in order to hear the birds / the warplanes must be silent’
Two years ago, at a literary festival in India, I met the Palestinian-born poet Marwan Makhoul.
Listening to his words of testimony, and to the incantatory music of his Arabic reading, I was reminded, yet again, of the power of poetry to bear witness. Slowly, the question took root: how might the perspective of these poems resonate in Ireland’s native tongue? With generous support from IMRAM, Makhoul’s poetry has now been translated into the Irish language for the first time.
On 25th April the poet arrives in Ireland for a 5-day visit and a series of multilingual readings, presented in association with Poetry Ireland.
‘I’m a voice that tells people about our identity, and how we have worked to preserve it as Palestinian, Arab, and in connection with our people,’ writes Makhoul. Born to a Palestinian father and Lebanese mother, Makhoul grew up in Beqeia surrounded by a mountainous landscape that is omnipresent in his writing. Now living within the state of Israel, his work deals with the marginalization of Arab citizens, and explores issues of personal and national identity. Makhoul’s collections include Land of the Sad Passiflora, Where Is My Mom and A Letter from the Last Man. In recent years lines of his poetry have been adopted by millions of protestors around the world: ‘in order for me to write poetry that isn’t /political, I must listen to the birds / and in order to hear the birds / the warplanes must be silent’.
FÍSEÁN An file Palaistíneach Marwan Makoul in Éirinn an tseachtain seo agus cuid dá shaothar aistrithe go Gaeilge pic.twitter.com/1iUYFARQ1V
— NuachtTG4 (@NuachtTG4) April 25, 2024
Every day the Gaza death toll rises. Recent reports estimate 34,000 victims, mostly women and children. A further 77,000 people have been wounded. Makhoul’s poetry — including a recent poem titled New Gaza addressed to an unborn child — calls upon us to not look away from the unfolding horrors. I am deeply grateful to Irish poets Eibhlís Carcione, Louis de Paor, Áine Uí Fhoghlú and Celia de Fréine who have devoted hours of care to the translation of these powerful poems. The Irish language is one of the oldest and most historical languages in the world. It has survived, against the odds time and time again. And these cherished translations invite us to gather, reflect and express solidarity with the Palestinian people.
Ar an Traein Go Tel Aviv
Ar an traein go Tel Aviv
a chonac an bhean,
Rúiseach go smior,
Moscó go huile is go hiomlán
faoina geasa,
gasúr ina teannta,
as an Meán Oirthear, gan amhras.
Sa charáiste céanna
ar an traein go Tel Aviv
Aetóipeach,
ag sá is ag sacadh a shúile
sna paisinéirí,
gur éirigh sé céasta
is d’amharc amach an fhuinneog,
ar shráidbhaile Arabach scriosta
nár chuir ach masmas air.
Sa charáiste céanna
ar an traein go Tel Aviv,
an bheirt acu suite,
go bríomhar anamúil,
oibrí áitiúil agus an teifeach,
ar a bhealach go dtí an mhonarcha,
an bata agus an bóthar
tugtha dó cheana.
Ar thaobh mo láimhe deise,
an Giúdach as Maracó
a labhair liom ar feadh scaithimh
faoi chora crua a shaoil.
Ach nuair a d’aithin sé mo chanúint,
thug droim láimhe dom ar an toirt,
is thosaigh ag cabaireacht
leis an duine ar dheis.
Thuirling mé faoi dheireadh
ag an gcéad stáisiún eile,
dán nua i mo ghlac.
(Translated by Eibhlis Carcione)
About The Author: Annemarie Ní Churreáin is a poet and editor from northwest Donegal. Her books include Bloodroot (Doire Press, 2017), Town (Salvage Press, 2018) and The Poison Glen (The Gallery Press, 2017). She is the poetry editor at The Stinging Fly Magazine.
The views expressed here are those of the author and do not represent or reflect the views of RTÉ
