My Dear Poet Friend

My dear poet friend,

What am I to say in the face of this new, alluring temptation that appears before me this morning, stamped with your signature — the noblest thing that could reach me as a token of the friendship that has stood firm between us for some thirty years and more, all of which have passed like the twinkling of an eye.

And here I sit up in my bed, resolved anew, and with firm determination, to remain — taking your collection of poems as the warrant for this insistent resolve to draw from life all that can be drawn, in defiance of fate itself.

And can this obstinate fate, I wonder — which has laid its hand on everything that might comfort my body — stand between me and the comforting of my spirit, on such an occasion as this, as I receive this generous outpouring of feeling?? No, upon my life! There is no power under the sun that can deny me the delight of stealing in among these pages, which will carry me back to days gone by, the days of youth and strength, when I would listen to Fayyad as he scattered and recited those precious pearls, and I would pray that his earthly house might fall to ruin, so that he might wander on, roaming through the world of dreams and distant visions, presenting us with those fragrant breezes which, in all their freshness and their force, still perfume the air of Arab literary circles in every region and every gathering..

And how beautiful is this simple, charming garment in which you have dressed it, my friend! — and this soft green color that grates on no nerve and offends no eye, this dreaming, tranquil color which you have perhaps picked out from among the hundreds of colors belonging to the green tribe during your latest ramble through the gardens of your bygone youth, while you were gathering and selecting the darlings of your heart, to fold them between the two wings of this message which you wished to be in accord and harmony with your delicate feeling and your enchanting imagination!

And so it is, my friend! You have succeeded completely, for the result you sought has been achieved.

... In moments of deep inward emotion, the doyenne of our women of letters triumphs over her agonizing bodily pains, and the springs of her overflowing spirit burst forth in pure literature ...
Perhaps the latest of these works, as yet unpublished, is this gem which she sent to Dr. Nicolas Fayyad after he presented her with his book "Rafif al-Uqhuwan," and which she has reserved for "The Woman's Voice."

And I too have succeeded along with you: hardly had my eyes fallen upon this precious gift of yours, swaying between my hands in its charming, simple dress, than I almost fancied myself your partner in choosing the cover and the color .. Has not simplicity been, and does it not remain, my favorite watchword in every walk of my life? .. And how often, in my past days, did I call the daughters of my country to it, in writing and from the platform! ...

As for this green color, I counted it too as my own inspiration, since it is the color my soul adores for its silence and its remoteness from loud, colored advertisement; and since it is the only natural color with which I have kept in touch in my seclusion. Here is the dear green bough, looking in on me from the height of the one window through which I look out upon the world! — the bough I see swaying between death and life, clinging to the trunk of the mother tree, the only one that slipped away by stealth from the rest of her sister trees on the day they were all condemned to death at a single stroke!!

But for how long, I wonder, will the blessing of this bough last me? I do not know! — since it and its mother still occupy a few spans of ground at the rear of the lot, and this is not permissible by the custom of the people of this age, and of the town-planning and beautification bureaus of Lebanon!! It was a black day indeed, my poet friend, on which that tragedy was played out; it shook my being with a shaking

that I can never forget so long as I live. It was the day on which the master of the land — our new neighbor, and newly enriched — ordered life to be torn from all the trees, to plant in their place this massive building, which has shut off from me the sun and the light and the air. And no wonder, my friend, for these natural elements — sun, air, light, and the green of the trees — had a powerful working upon my soul, a spiritual exhilaration I cannot describe. Was not the little of them that seeped through to me — little as it was — a miniature picture of what exists and goes on around me, outside my room? Was it not they that beguiled me, and lightened much of my pain, and made it easy for me to remain in constant touch with the nature of the earth and with the birds and beasts that flutter and creep upon it? Surely you — you the poet — will grant me that the green nature of the earth, its sun, and its open air have a profound importance in our lives, whose importance and whose captivating magic we scarcely realize so long as we still roam and frolic in its expanses on our own two feet.

Woe, then, to those monopolists among the profiteers of war! And woe, and woe again, to whoever squanders the ordering of the administration of this poor country's survival, and to those entrusted with protecting the lives of God's creatures and preserving the very being of this martyred mountain — but for whose green nature and fresh gardens there would be no Lebanon, nor would these cedars of which they boast and vaunt themselves have lived..

It is truly astonishing that your book should have been heralded, a few hours before it reached me, by a dream that appeared to me, during which I was earnestly searching for two poems, one of them yours and the other by your late brother. There is a curious story to this dream, which I shall tell you when we meet.

Hardly had the book reached my hands than I hastened to turn the pages, hoping to come upon what had eluded my finding in the blackness of night. And how great was my amazement that the first thing my eyes should fall upon was this following verse — the first and only one that caught my eye at first glance, though it stood neither at the top of the page nor at its foot; yet it is, beyond doubt,

closely bound to the subject I had been seeking! ...

No laughing ray is left of my sun —
so spread your clouds as you will, and aspire.

And so, whatever may be made of this dream, and of the commentary linking it to a real event which I touched with my own hand on the morning of the following day — in this rare circumstance, and in this period when I stand in such sore need of it — all of it gives that nocturnal vision, and the axis on which it turned, and your book, and this verse I have quoted, a value in my eyes above all the values of material life. Let those who preside over my affairs domineer as they please, and let them stretch their hands to all the material provisions of my life whenever they will: never again shall it be given them to touch my spirituality or to master my very breathing, for I have finally resolved to free myself from the bondage of matter and all that pertains to it.

I shall give myself over wholly to walking in this new spiritual direction, caring nothing for this present that cuts me off from nature, and unafraid of whatever unpleasant surprises tomorrow may hold for me — a tomorrow in whose hands I have become a plaything, tossed about at its whim — since I have in "Rafif al-Uqhuwan" what will make up to me for all I miss of the material world!

And how could it be otherwise with me, my friend, as I gaze at this precious delight that lies in my hands? For all the resources of my body have run dry at their source, and drought had all but crept into my soul, were it not for this remnant that holds fast in my veins — this remnant that draws its only nourishment from the springs of immortal thought and glorious imagination!

Forgive me, then, O Fayyad — and you are the best of men to ask forgiveness of — if I should stray from the paths of justice (and of copyright reserved) with regard to this collection of yours, which I had scarcely grasped — my condition being as I have described — before I fancied myself your partner in it, and myself of all people the most entitled to possess it, since every verse in it has its own particular resonance in some particular corner of my soul. And no sooner had I felt this spiritual bond between myself and its contents than all the deprivation and pain with which I have been afflicted vanished from me, and I felt all the images of the world, with all the colors and splendid appearances that adorn them, stirring within my soul, filling it with new life and a surpassing joy.

Pray, then, for the endurance of this joy and this feeling, my friend! For even if not all of it endures, I shall content myself with part of it; and I shall keep for you, so long as I live, all appreciation, thanks, and respect.

Julia