“Pat the Meek Donkey” Seven Poems by El Habib Louai

 

 

Hayat Belkacem

(20/11/1998- 25/09/2018)

 

She went swimming to Europe

but she felt tired ,

She chose that way

to flee homie oppressors

 

It is better to drown in the sea

eaten by peaceful fish

than die in the stifling air

She’ll have her nation in imagination!

 

 

 

 

The Consular Officer Won’t Take That Away

 

 Mercilessly,

years are plucked from my life

like a beige feather

from an old lady’s hat

Yet, I still laugh with the children

pick carobs,

pat the meek donkey,

plant seeds

& weed the garden of life

I cannot promise you very much,

But I promise you love

The consular officer

will not take that away

 

 

 

 

 

Da  Brik Meets Matisse

 

Dada Brik is a native potter,

Who sits comfortably in his woolen jellaba

He does not mind the flies bathing in his mint tea

His life on the periphery has gone untaxed

His sole preoccupation is making

jars for thirsty harvesters

he sits still and shapes pottery on a wheel

& bakes it in a kiln

Next week, he is scheduled to have cardamom coffee

with Henri Matisse at the Salon des Independents

the main topics of discussion will be

clay interiors, breastfeeding and still lifes

 

 

 

 

 

The Day the Nazarenes Arrived

 

When I was a child

I remember

Blonde travelers ( we call them Irumayn)

(survivors of spaghettios and fries)

they came to my native Amazigh village

In Land Rovers

Covered in red dust

& bottled water

They gave me

stylos,

chocolat,

bonbon français

& a pat on the head for free

 

I trusted them until

I heard them speak in a different tongue

 

 

 

 

 

Summer’s Ex Dreams

 

A summer of extremes cancels everything

Your idea about eternal return

Your disillusionment with the proliferating breweries

Your unattended garden in a Southern rain forest

 

Late in the afternoon, we observe

women, skirts tied in knots to their waists

squatting, digging for mussels and seashells…

& I say these beaches are mere flat waters which consume

quiet anger crushing against empty horizons.

 

A dog barking up the crowded beach

has found shelter under a camels belly, its legs

and face of the beggar worn

with the weight of long years gone hungry

he refuses to eat beautiful roses the bathers offer.

 

The complicit Moroccan immigrant plays beach tennis

while the horse is digging his grave,

while the camel has dreams about another desert

do not serve  the ponies cardamom coffee or mint tea

they had enough of Molotov cocktails in the backyard of a moveable feast

 

stop talking about man’s survival

biosphere survival

social engagement

political disengagement

 

Let us go for a walk

we are losing light

 

 

 

 

The End as I Imagine It

 

They break you into small pieces

they say emphasis must be

on accessibility

not artistic expression

but what about silence

and the thing that follows
the unexpected arrest

numerous elements get lost

easily inside in such a closed setting

as institution, as class, as prison

as a cell within a cell

can you signify in the void?

visions become ephemerae

dreams are beads strewn in space

the guard becomes a prisoner

& nothing matters after that

 

 

 

 

Nation Is What?

the flag saluted

by students

in the schoolyard

 

the flag hanging

Unnoticed

on the public buildings

 

the flag waved

fervently

when the commander of the

faithful passes

 

is not an expression

of loyalty

is not an expression

of identification

 

i belong where home is of clay

i belong where goats climb trees

i belong where trees are holy

i belong where children sing for rain

i belong where looms are sacred

i belong where solidarity is currency

i belong where memory is history

this is not a manifesto

& i don’t want you to use it

to conceive of me

 

 

El Habib Louai is an Amazigh poet, translator, musician and a teacher of English from Taroudant, Morocco. My articles, translations, and poems have appeared in different magazines and reviews such as Big Bridge Magazine, Sagarana, Al Doha Magazine, Xenophile, The Fifth Estate, Illanot Review, Lumina, Big Scream, Istanbul Literary Review and many others. His first collection of poems is called Mrs. Jones Will Now Know: Poems of a Desperate Rebel. He is currently working on his second collection of poems. He is a recipient of a Fulbright grant to do research on the Beats at Chapell Hill University.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Cover image: Collage by Basseck Mankabu.