Poetry is Invincible
by Abdellatif Laâbi
(2022)
Translated by Howard Slater
I can attest to it
poetry is invincible
I know it
I have seen it
I have verified it
a hundred times more than once
Nothing stops it
not the cruelty of men
not that of the gods
not the hyperbolic ravings [rodomontades] of the powerful
not the irrevocable verdicts of death
From man to his humanity
poetry is the shortest path
the surest
From madness to reason
and vice versa
it offers the journey
and guided tours
Poetry is proud
facing the worst storms
It neither bends
nor breaks
Shameless
rebellious
fierce
excessive
always mutinous
It doesn't mince its words
and refuses itself no license
Amoral? Immoral?
It is indifferent to what people say
In its hanging gardens
poetry cultivates
distraction
slowness
the thrill before the gaze
before touch
It uncovers
the sixth sense
then the seventh
the eighth
Poetry quenches thirst
cleanses the eyes
unclogs ears
softens the tongue
perfumes the mouth
and when the belly is full
it says to the head
Sing!
Foremost art
poetry is the secret
of origins
and of the future
It already has memories
Poetry
sometimes hurts
sometimes does good
sometimes it does good
by hurting
Poetry is part of every battle
It is a modest victory
a placid defeat
It learns more from
disappointment
than from good fortune
Poetry does not forget
don't be fooled
by the tricks of memory
It is the last bastion
of fidelity
Between the living and the dead
poetry has no preference
It assiduously attends
the one and the other
and between them
becomes a messenger
and if needs be an advisor
Poetry walks
among the multitude of migrants
Through snow
and heatwave
on rough seas
by barbed wire walls
with the dogs let loose
It keeps the register of those who fall
along the way
the disappeared
the suicides
and receives the testimony
of those who
crazed with sorrow
consumed by despair
continue on their way
Poetry roams
wherever there are
refugee camps
In the rain
The slush
In sandstorms
On mounds of trash
Its attention is focused
On prioritising children
on children's eyes
and sometimes the smile
which miraculously illuminates
a face
What it sees
renders it speechless
and it remains mute
long after it has left
the scene of the crime
perpetrated
by the human race
against itself
After the shock
rage
disgust
shame
It invariably ends up
speaking out
It accuses
The supporting evidence
distributes its copious maledictions
screams until its lungs burst
then
on the verge of fainting
it falls to its knees
wipes away a tear
and prays ... prays
in its sacred language
Poetry knows by heart
the prison layout
the secret torture centres
It has its own entrances to the cells
the coolers
the caves
where robots of flesh and bone
work day and night
to break
body and soul
the rebellious
Poetry stands beside
all of the crucified
at the most unbearable times
of the Question
at the critical hour of agony
If they survive by miracle
it is the first
to visit them
And for sure
It doesn't come empty-handed
Poetry has long since deserted
the palace
the courts of tyrants
of enlightened despots
and other satraps
renounced their largesse
fled like the plague
from their graces and disgraces
This is how it conquered
its liberty
its most cherished possession
its greatest distinction
Since then
poetry can neither be bought
nor sold
It offers of itself
or does not exist
When the statue
of a bloodthirsty despot
an unrepentant slaver
a famisher of the people
is knocked off its pedestal
and crashes nose to ground
poetry does not
ruminate
about its pleasure
Poetry inhabits
each of us
every animal
every plant
every stone
every grain of sand
Poetry inhabits
every drop of water
every ray of sunlight
every object shaped
by the natural elements
or the hand of man
In all sureness
poetry is here
at the moment of birth
of passing away
of the revelation of love
of the pact of friendship
of the epiphany of beauty
always unexpected
always disconcerting
Of all languages
poetry is the intrinsic melody
the flute or cello solo
of zither or bafalon
Of every language
it is the Bacchic feast of words
their carousing
the awakening within them of some
of the famous seven deadly sins
and others
discovered thanks to it
and consumed with as much
if not more
delectation
Of every form of life
on earth as in heaven
and far beyond
in the Universe
poetry takes an atom
a drop
a snippet
and then collates
the elements of the whole
concentrates it
and makes it legible
Of flesh
of blood
and spirit
Of fire
and water
and silt
Of the visible
and invisible
poetry is also
in large part
dark matter
Poetry speaks to the ear
to the heart
and makes the best use
of silence
When by misfortune
or the stale air of time
poetry becomes plethoric
it withers away
Poetry
is to this day
the only success of alchemy
its Great Work
so to speak
With, however, the caveat
that it works both ways:
from a common metal
it obtains gold
and gold
which it does not really appreciate
it transforms
into vile metal
Poetry beats the call
of life
of its necessary
and sufficient reasons
It names
its enemies
its auctioneers
its gravediggers
Poetry does not waver
does not negotiate
does not compromise
doesn't pull its punches
doesn't give up
We take risks
big risks
in trying to define poetry
But the temptation is too great
to try
Even if it means losing feathers [plumes]
let's try this:
Poetry
is the word given
and kept
whatever the cost
How many poets have been defeated
by life
treachery
the disappointments of love
the sadism of despots
the pain of having returned
to the worst country
at the worst time
How many poets have left us
without having known during their lifetime
the slightest recognition
the realisation
of even one
of their just dreams
of anything even remotely
close or far
to happiness
What have martyrs not given
so that poetry
itself
does not surrender
it never surrendered
So
Spread the word
high and loud
here and everywhere
Today
and in the centuries
of centuries:
Yes
poetry is invincible!
From Abdellatif Laâbi, La Poesie est Invincible, Le Castor
Astral, 2002 |