The Woman's Voice — September 1957
Every Month a Picture — Letters of Crystal
Emily Abi Rashed Nasrallah

Every Month a Picture

The signature of "Emily" this time, as we notice, is longer than the one we knew before. Quite simply — she being a bride of the month — she has added her husband's name to her family name.. Yet she is still perplexed about the matter, and she would like to poll the readers on it: must a woman writer, the moment she marries, submit to tradition and change her name, or double its length?.. What do our readers think??

Ancient histories, reproaches to our grandmother Eve, and blame for our late grandfather Adam.. do not drive me to all that; listen instead to an old tale: the tale of the woman-wife:

In one of the moments of this existence, the hands of the clock moved slowly as they recorded the binding of a man and a woman, and the crowd held its breath as the priest raised his palm with its ten fingers, on two of which hung two rings of gold; and with a motion much like a magician's, the man of religion moved the two rings from the right-hand fingers to the left,

and whispered, closing his eyes: We have become man and wife... Then everything grew still..

That is how the transition was for him. As for her, she saw beneath the ring a message on which her new name was written in invisible letters.

It would have been reasonable for her to feel the pang that "Farid Noun" felt; but she, my friend, felt the very opposite. She did not start, nor did dizziness overcome her; rather the strings of her heart trembled in song, and hope clapped its hands in her breast, and her eyes lit up when she saw the invisible letters grow larger and crystallize, and then settle down... in her heart..

It would be hard on you, my friend, to wake up one morning and find before you a mighty giant presenting you with a card on which is written in bold letters: "From now on your name becomes 'Farid al-Ma'na'" — when you are originally called "Farid Noun"... And you open your mouth to ask the meaning of all this, and see around you nothing but the magic card; whereupon you step up to the mirror to review your face in it, and find it just the same.. neither the mustache has changed, nor the nose and eyebrows; and the body you bundled up last evening in your nightshirt is still as it was... So what has happened, then?

That is how the matter looks to you, my friend. But for us, we of the weaker sex, the matter is decidedly different — and do not ask me now for the reason, for you might oblige me to consult

Talk of the Heart — Everything Is Over
Talk of the Heart
Everything is over,
Everything is over
The swallow has come back from its journey
Swimming through space to its nest
It shook off the dust and the down
Alighted on the rim of the trees
Picking itself over with its beak..
Holding in a lostness,
As though its whole affair...
Everything is over!
XXXX
Summer breathed out its weariness
The earth stretched itself over a handful of regret
The lovely one let down the curtain of her window
Came back from her innocent play
Her eye no longer feasts upon the road
Nor does a passerby occupy her mind
Everything is over!
XXXX
The storm has slept upon its sorrow
Dizzied by its own lullaby —
A mad, wild octopus.
The whistling deafened its ears
And the slapping of the returning ribs
So — exhausted — it cast down its arms
Its terror calmed, little by little,
And it gave itself over to the fates
Everything is over!
XXXX
...And after it all the lovely one holds out
The lovely one, before the world, holds out
She feigns a semblance of sleep
Feigns a semblance of living
While in her secret self are bewilderment and vagrancy
She takes shelter in the deadness of her dreams
Writhing one upon another
And she sends up the searing sigh:
O the desert of her world!
O the burning of her flowers!
The light has died in her eyelids
Love has drained away in her heart!
Everything is over
Aphrodite
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