Live Encounters Arab Poetry & Writing April 2025
A Lost Feast, poem by Fawzia Alawi Alawi.
Translated from Arabic by Dr. Salwa Gouda.
A Lost Feast
I still doubt my body
Is it mine
Or is it among the tribe’s possessions?
In pain
They push my body
To wrestle me down, and I wrestle it back.
In pleasure, they surround me
Planting reeds and thorns
So no dragonfly can reach me
Multiple parties intervene
To issue verdicts on the nature of my genes
The color of my eyes, and my kidneys—
Will they suffer aphasia
If I overindulge in pomegranate juice?
And this cursed heart of mine, why does it flutter
More than the nature of things demands?
In sickness, I curl into myself, an old cat
Alone, I melt in fever
Alone, I taste the sweat of defeat
I feel my ribs, one by one
All crooked
The curse of Adam follows me
My mad head spins with dizziness
Like the turban of the village elder
I rave from the intensity of the fever
They place lemon and salt on my head
Any pitying woman tries to heal me
They lock the door on me
No one bears the burden of my fever
Or shares in drinking my sighs
My lips, dipped in bitterness
Turn into two forgotten dry branches
On a hollow trunk
In the darkness of night
I forget the names of the stars and the daughters of the bier
A voice comes from the end of the courtyard
Surely guilty, and now purifying itself.
In dance,
The eyes of the tribe fix on my waist…
My cursed, trembling chest
My arms turn into the wings of a dove
Just freed from a hunter’s trap.
An old woman scowls at the daughters of Eve
As she dances within herself
Tall youth
Drawing my waist on the trunk of a mulberry tree
My cheeks on the evening moon
My hair on the night serpent
But if I whisper to myself about a feast of love
All the sticks, pens, and glories of the tribe rise
Along with sealed papers, secret and public books
To forcibly marry me to the village mayor
“Father, I don’t want him!”
My mother bites her fingers and winks
“No, she does want him, she’s just delirious.”
“Mother, my heart refuses him, and my body—
Take it, let love descend on you on the night of marriage
Mother, I am the one who chooses my love
I am the one who dissolves in what I choose
Mother, leave my body to me just once
Don’t exhaust my soul
Don’t wither the peach trees in my orchards
Soon, this companion will decompose, and forgetfulness will consume it
Leave it to me just once, in a season of solid joy
If I die, throw it into the sea, let the fish devour it
So it becomes a fierce wave in the storms.”
© Fawzia Alawi Alawi
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.
Fawzia Alawi Alawi is a Tunisian poet, novelist and essayist who has published nine poetry and short story collections, in addition to a novel entitled “Faces for One Woman” (2020). She also won several national and regional awards.