Every Flower Has Its Fragrance

Truly, one who savors the fragrance of the flower, and cares for both flower and fragrance even in circumstances of war and under the weight of materialism, is himself a flower, possessed of fragrance.

For this reason Chafic Maalouf has held his eminent place among men of letters and lovers of letters; they flock to his flowers, whether they be roses with a sting in them, or lilies that tower proudly, or violets that keep humbly low; and when they have feasted their eyes upon them, they turn away with the perfume still clinging to them —

"And the perfume endures: whenever the east wind blows from any quarter, it breathes out its scent."

And for this reason, too, Chafic Maalouf has, from time to time, his season. After "Dreams" and "Abqar," and after "Censers of Sandalwood" and "The Call of the Oars" and other works known to the ink of the inkwell but not yet to the ink of the press, his season for this year was a bouquet neither large nor small, which the poet sealed with a title that is itself poetry: "Every Flower Has Its Fragrance." Within its hundred pages are some twenty sweet poems, among them "She Who Shattered the Cup," "The Peasant," "The Postman," "To My Son,"

and "The Ruins of Baalbek."

Dar al-Ahad undertook the printing of the collection and brought it out with its well-known and singular blending of elegance and simplicity, and Dar al-Kitab undertook its distribution; together they have shared in publishing the first diwan of this year.

In our next issue we shall publish a critical study of the poet and this new collection of his.