The World in 1393 and How it Got There
Straddling Two Worlds
My home town is a lot like this one
Stone upon stone, ancient beyond reckoning
Life upon life, piled high, lost to memory
But we do not pause at sun-bleached Rafah
The caravan rides by
And the town is too proud to ask it to stop
Do I still remember a time
When I watched caravans pass in the distance?
***
My mother said: son, do not go to the desert
In the desert there are the Bedouins
They will rob your caravan,
They will steal your soul;
My mother said: son, you do not need to go;
The desert comes to us itself
Unbidden; well then, so I write a poem
Unwelcome; well then, so my future is a desert.
***
Lacking alternatives, Zeno guards the caravan
His mother was of the saqlaba (1), his father a devil
But they named him after a king (2).
His hands are greedy and his eyes impudent
He has a Turkish helmet and a Turkish saadak (3)
We have too many like him in Egypt
Though his hair is like straw
And they are sly-eyed men of the Steppes (4)
***
Ormuz is where my camel bears me.
Ormuz, they say, is fabulously rich:
Each man is a merchant, and every merchant owns a lucky dhow
Ormuz, they say, is infamously corrupt
The Muslims keep boys, and the Christians are worse
The Sabians (5) are worst of all: they think
The world is ruled by devils, and call it wisdom.
But Ormuz leads to India, of pepper and of gold.
***
Behind his greying beard, Musa hides a thousand stories
He knows a thousand people;
Everyone is his friend at the souq (6) in Aden
He has led a thousand caravans
His tyranny over the drovers is worthy of a Sultan
Musa worships in private;
Just don’t call me a Greek like Zeno, he says
Musa tells his stories sometimes; every one a lie.
***
The wadi (7) is dry, the land is desolate
From dark waters (8), as always, does the sun rise
With some effort I recognize her abode again
So here I stand, twenty years later.
I notice the three stones blackened by cooking fires
But the encampment stands empty, so
Good morning, memory, I say;
May you always be safe from dangers.
***
***
Zeno points to the north; that way, he says
Is golden Jerusalem, temples and kings
A thousand times, in a thousand tongues
Holy, holy, holy.
There he fell on his knees, he confesses
His young soul singing out,
Panagia Theotokos! (9).
I have been to Jerusalem but my soul is here
Cities break up and the earth is dust
***
Musa says: the Firanj (10) in Alexandria worry
They fret; ships come only to trade.
Across the seas, they care not for Alexandria;
The Firanj princes court the people of Khemi (11)
They suddenly learned how to be polite;
Your folk shall do well in the future.
I shrug; I have never been to Alexandria
The Firanj are there; there is no homeland.
***
River (12) and Desert lay alongside each other
Longer than anyone can say
Why then, does the Desert spill over now
Leaving sand on both banks?
The archer horsemen and the men of striped cloth (13)
They come and claim our spaces. Remember us now!
Stubbornly, we cling on
In towns of sandstone and brick; we pray.
***
Beyond the Hijaz and Meccah is Jiddah,
Its harbour-masters claim to be Caliphs;
Beyond Jiddah is Yemen; everyone has a price there.
East of Yemen is Muscat; nobody
Is pure enough for Omani Imams.
Across the Najd is Bahrayn (14);
The pearl-divers make the petty lords rich.
Outside Aqaba, we ponder our journey.
***
They say: since you write like an Arab,
Write us a verse about wine.
In Masr (15) they sing of wine all the time,
It is a great and glorious transgression.
My wine used to come in earthenware jugs
After supper, near dusk; dry and acid
Sweeter than memory. I ride in a caravan.
Singing of wine would take me back to Khemi.
***
When I am sick of cities, I sing of my camel
When grief besets me, I ride off at once
On my swift, lean-bodied friend;
Sick of sadness, I sing her feet, nimble and sure
Her shining flanks like a castle wall.
We race along the blinding path
Me, the camel, and hope, a beast with three souls
Together, we are at home in this space.
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