Live Encounters Arab Poetry & Writing April 2025
He Speaks to His Balcony with Anguish, poem by Al-Bahaa Hussein.
Translated from Arabic by Dr. Salwa Gouda.
He Speaks to His Balcony with Anguish
I said to the cross on your chest
And in your car
What passersby say to each other with a glance
When they exchange nothing but a look
That satisfies curiosity
Then each goes their own way
I said to your chest, as it jiggled over speed bumps
Everything
To your cheek
All that fingers could say to the cheek of a dying lover
But you treated death with good faith
As if it were your spoiled cat:
Oh, you impulsive woman
Who gave a single cat the three rooms of the house
The glimpse of your breasts, her entire embrace
And left me the balcony.
Every day
I ask those who pass beneath me
About a silver cross, swaying in the car’s mirror
Like a child clapping
Every time it escapes a pothole
I ask about you, the earth’s soil
The cats
All the stray dogs
You would scratch your skin and shoo away flies that didn’t exist
Whenever you saw a mangy dog gnawing at the wall
How you suffered for the dogs, as if you were one of them
As if they were “your only way to understand yourself,”
As if they were your little children.
I ask about your fifty years, why you left them as a trust in my care
Along with your white album
Perhaps you want me to wander through your sad features
To adjust your appearance in the shots you don’t like
To guard you from the wrinkles that began creeping into your pictures
Perhaps you want me to update the smile the flashes forced upon you
At the wedding party
Perhaps you wanted me to keep your children away from the edges of the frames
Fearing they might fall
Or to pour milk for your little cat, “Maryam,”
Into the empty bowl in the picture
Or maybe you want to sleep on your other side
Who knows, oh sister of my soul
What do the dead think about?
Still, the dogs bark on the balcony empty of you
To show me your desire
Dogs reveal their owners’ desires through barking
Longing reveals itself
In the wag of a tail.
How often I’ve asked about the rainbow
About the clouds colliding in the sky
Without a sound
About the single color of the dresses
In your closet
Oh, how I’ve asked about a grave worthy of your bones
A grave where we could take turns
Whenever I feel like dying
And I find nothing better than the balcony
How often I’ve asked about the rainbow
About the clouds colliding in the sky
Without a sound
About the single color of the dresses
In your closet
Oh, how I’ve asked about a grave worthy of your bones
A grave where we could take turns
Whenever I feel like dying
And I find nothing better than the balcony
© Al-Bahaa Hussein
Translated from Arabic by Dr Salwa Gouda. She is an accomplished Egyptian literary translator, critic, and academic affiliated with the English Language and Literature Department at Ain Shams University. Holding a PhD in English literature and criticism, Dr. Gouda pursued her education at both Ain Shams University and California State University, San Bernardino. She has authored several academic works, including Lectures in English Poetry and Introduction to Modern Literary Criticism, among others. Dr. Gouda also played a significant role in translating The Arab Encyclopedia for Pioneers, a comprehensive project featuring poets, philosophers, historians, and literary figures, conducted under the auspices of UNESCO. Recently, her poetry translations have been featured in a poetry anthology published by Alien Buddha Press in Arizona, USA. Her work has also appeared in numerous international literary magazines, further solidifying her contributions to the field of literary translation and criticism.
Al-Bahaa Hussein, born in 1969 in Sohag, Upper Egypt, is an acclaimed Egyptian poet and journalist. With a prolific career, he has authored 14 books and poetry collections. He holds a doctorate in Arabic literature and is an active member of Egypt’s Writers and Journalists Syndicate. His work reflects deep engagement with language, culture, and human experience.