Recently Published Books: The Spring of Autumn — Thirty Poems

By Sheikh Said Takieddine

I do not know why the word "marada" — giants — comes to my mind whenever the name of Sheikh Said Takieddine falls on my ears. Perhaps the reason for this association is my admiration for Said whenever I read him in his short stories. I picture him — though I have never once seen him — a giant, one of the remnants of those marada who lived like eagles above the heights of Lebanon, the ocean washing their feet while their heads butted the heavens. They loved their homeland in the full sense of the word and defended its cedar with a surpassing courage before which the armies of conquering invaders faltered. And this giant of Lebanon speaks of his Lebanon with confidence — and what authority he has! No wonder: Lebanon runs as hot, gushing blood in his heart, a sweet song on his lips, and a soft, companionable light in his eye. And Lebanon, for its part, repaid him love for love and tenderness for tenderness: it gave him a deathless pen of its cedar, rivaling Baalbek and Palmyra, and made a spring burst forth in his heart from the flood of its inspiration, an abundant Kawthar. Who, then, is worthier than Said Takieddine to tell you tales of Lebanon? You do not believe?.. Come with Said to the Shouf and look; sit with him in "the Hoopoe's Vineyard," the vineyard of the "late" Abu Tawfiq Hamad al-Saqi, and hear him tell you, with a charm and a grace that compel admiration, the story of Lebanon the peasant, who said with his pickaxe to the barren highlands, Be! — and they were; and Bring forth! — and they brought forth grapes and olives and apples whose coquetry tempts a thousand and one Eves from the ends of the earth. Has the story of Hamad al-Saqi stirred you? Truly it is of the very marrow of Lebanon.. But never mind — accept the giant's advice, which he offers you for the sake of God:

"Brother, beware of selling your land... He who sells his holding in the villages of Lebanon cuts the rope that binds him to the anchor of livelihood and casts from his hand the banner he raises in the battle of life."

And now, are you thirsty for more? Come to "the spring trickling through the mulberry leaf" — it is enough to quench your burning thirst. And do not wonder: "everything in the village today is scarce and dear, and every waste — even of drops of water — is unbelief and crime.." But the women of the village are "more generous than the sword," so take up the pitcher and drink from its spout — and may it do you good — then listen to the women talking of "Abu Issam" and what Saada the gypsy did to him with her evil eye, that infidel she-demon..

Then accompany Said to the city, to Beirut, and make the acquaintance of the Tower of Babel, and see how this homogeneous-discordant mixture lives — the educated and the ignorant, the rich and the poor, the noble and the base. And if your wallet is picked, do not forget to call at the police station — no doubt it will have got there before you. And if resident Lebanon has wearied you, my friend, then take the giant's wings, and he will carry you on his magic carpet to emigrant Lebanon; and when you arrive, "stand up on your feet, dear reader, and bow in reverence, for we are speaking of emigrant Lebanon." The talk runs on and on, and the roads are desolate — truly desolate, and very desolate — but no harm will come to you: you will witness the winged struggle, and you will come out with head raised and brow held high, proud that you are of Lebanon.

This is some of what is in The Spring of Autumn — to say nothing of the grace of the talk, the gaiety of the style, the sweetness of the word, and the delicacy of the touch. Together they work on you like magic, till you wish the jar would never fill and the water trickling from the mulberry leaf would never cease its murmuring in your ears..

Thirty Poems, by Tawfiq Sayigh, is a book brought out by Dar al-Sharq al-Jadid; its pages come without numbering, and most of the poems are without titles.

The poems are scattered surrealist remains, unrestricted in expression, free in diction, new in imagery, which the poet has woven after the manner and on the loom of the poets of Holy Scripture. In them he is David the King and Isaiah the Prophet and Jeremiah the rebel and others. And no wonder, for Tawfiq was reared in a house where the Bible held the place of honor — it was the foundation of the house and the order of the family.

In some of his poems the poet stands as a great question mark before the great questions: he wants to tear away the sky and gaze inside it, then to know the depths of God the Creator and sound the depths of man. He is always asking Why? and Where? and When? and How? And when the answer defeats him, he rebels, throws the rope on the withers, and commands his feet, saying:

"Strut on —
we are the vessel
and the captain and the compass;
my care is that you set sail.

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My feet, set sail,
and I shall go hopping."

And so our poet hops about, restless, flinging all his ideals against the wall; he finds that his summer resort is emptiness, his winter quarters dread, and his life a train, and he cries out, "Then what... and long live my crumpled days".. In this fashion Tawfiq carries you from the riddle of the Creator to the riddle of the creature himself.. to woman, to whom, like every poet, he devotes a large share of his verses. The finest thing said of her is number 15: "calm one hour and tumult the next" "in your two eyes" "and savage waves that none but a god can tame" — as if he had pronounced the final verdict on woman, taking this image, perhaps, from the Lake of Tiberias, over which Christ walked and on whose shores he spent a stretch of his life. In sum, the book is a new color of literature added to the Arabic library, and worthy of attention.