ArteEast Quarterly: Introduction to the Poetry of Young Emirati Female Students at Zayed University Abu Dhabi

December 1, 2008



Introduction to the Poetry of Young Emirati Female Students at Zayed University Abu Dhabi

By Lisa Isaacson

For a recent requirement to recite and discuss with me in my office a poem from a long list of choices, several poetry students chose Robert Graves’ “The Cool Web.” In that poem, the speaker traces how the filaments of “speech” and “spell” weave patterns of thought that both order the chaos of experience and diminish it.  Acknowledging that language offers both retreat from the world of human activity and fortification of one’s home in that land, Graves’ speaker accepts the double bind of language.  In intellectualizing retreat, recollecting in tranquility, one loses the extremes of felt experience, saturating the sea of memories with such preserving salts of language that the experience is not refined but parched, and though fluently comprehended, perhaps marked by inconstancy or fickleness of attention:

                                        Retreat from too much joy or too much fear:
                                        We grow sea-green at last and coldly die
                                        In brininess and volubility.  (“The Cool Web”)

In the selection of poems by young Emirati poets writing in English, this double bind of language is perceived in theme and in structure.  In addition to facing feeling with language, as one faces the rose as beautiful and cruel, these writers variously recognize that to risk retreat from immediacy of perception is to risk all.  There is no hesitancy or metaphoric masking of felt experience--silence seems audibly, syllabically approachable—but rather an awareness that to toss off language is to risk not return to innocence but absolute oblivion. 

In some of these poems, there is another concern:  how does this double bind of language—as it orders it too removes us from experience—differently poignant when one is writing either in English as a second language or in English as learned first as a member of an Arab society.    Several of these poems are based on an imitation exercise.  After discussing the sound structures at work in Langston Hughes’ “Theme for English B,” the students wrote poems that tried to employ different levels of sound structure, generic musical (which might be local arabesque as well as Western classical) to imposed but accepted metrical.  The only other requirement was to try to work out a power relationship of any sort in the poem in a way that was both self and other instructive.  As you can read, language as power is a dominant theme.

Other poems in this selection are either ekphrastic or visual disruptions of narrative, such as “Apple Spine,” a variation on still life and “The Necklace,” an undoing of Guy de Maupassant’s short story and comment on contemporary consumer culture.  And finally, a sequence of poems including the technically brilliant “Disheartened” hones dialogically the intellectual apprehension of pure emotion and disguises its original medium of text message poems, which in that medium of SMS do not allow one to see the exactness of technique that scrolls the poem through mind. Imagine this sequence arriving in two or three yellow envelopes of SMS.

All of these poems were either originally published or forthcoming in the Zayed University student literature and arts journal, SAFE, or are written by former editors and contributors.  Students chose the title of their publication based on the double meaning of the word in English and in Arabic.

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Ayesha's Theme
By Ayesha Saleh


An American said,
    “Go home and write
    a page tonight.
    And let that page come out of you—
    Then, it will be true”.

Is it that simple, Sir?
I am the granddaughter of pilgrim merchants
Whose presents were the morals of being.
Of a modest master whose soul mingled a slave’s!     
On an island luminous with minerates’ crescents , I was born a Muslim
and so was reborn.
I left that island to live in a city called The Lofty, where in white and green stand
numerous immaculate mosques.
Half an hour, to the island again I head
for an American expects my page:


Let’s see. I bow to my creator fifteen times, I place a scarf upon my head,
and my forehead upon his earth.
I like to eat, drink, sleep, and tickle my little sister!
I like to read, write, reflect, and share thoughts and smiles.
I like all piano, Yanni, Yann,
and music of wind—diple, didgeridoo, or duduk.
I guess wearing a scarf doesn’t suffocate my brain unlike other girls singing
“you go ahead let your hair down” who are other faiths.
So will my words be dull that I wrote?

Being a Muslim, words should not explode either,
and they shall not, American!
A nun in Harlem covers her head,
I do too, oh the looks I get.
How American!
Tell me my friend, what is truth to you?
“Sometimes perhaps you don’t want to be a part of me.
Nor do I often want to be a part of you.”
Yet we are, that’s the truth!
“As I learn from you,
I guess you learn from me”
even when you fear
the veiled crown’s beauty!

This is my page for World Poetry,
and may all Peace be upon Thee.

********************************************************************************
Theme for English B
By Humyan Khalid Al Meraikhi


Then the instructor said,
Follow the structure, of the page of the theme for English B,
What makes the assignment tough is that it is out of you.
As long as you are honest with yourself, it will be true.

Give a frame and frame yourself:
It will be fun,
I'm not only 20 but also one,
Born in august, in the heat of the sun,
And there was I, not even one,
20 more to go and 20 to come.

And there sat me, and there they were, and there she was, and here am I?
Lost in my thoughts, I hold my pen, I hear some words, and write them down,
Twinkle, twinkle and the stars,
Roses and violets, red and blue.

Then I stop and listen,
Music to the class was added,
The blues and the jazz were mentioned,
But where's the Oud and the oil of Oud?

Saved by the watch, I leave the class, down the stairs, step by step, the pen's not dry but it's not ticking, my bag is heavy, but it is clinging, to my shoulders, to my fingers, to the car, to my painting.

In my painting, I saw myself, and how I used to think of me,
I stroke with pink but also blue,
And in between the strokes was white,
A cup of coffee shaped as a heart,
My hair was wild and veiled my eyes,
And my necklace with the key, not on my neck but the chain,
I let go of my earrings, pearls, into the burden of my name.

Then I see myself now,
With the pen, still, but lost the date,
When was it due and why am I late?
Isn't it fun, I'm with the moon?
Lost its light, I cannot write,

It is dark..

How can it be, that something about me, can't fill the space, of my empty white?
        And how could he, for his English B, find the page to set his instructor free?

It is not done, but here I am, and here I struggle, not with the instructor, but with my pen and its English B

********************************************************************************
Nahed Ali Ahmed

The instructor said,
Go home and write
A page tonight.
And let that page come out of you-
Then, it will be true. –from Langston Hughes, “Theme for English B”

It is a simple question “who are you”
Yet, there ain’t a question mark!
It just throws itself inside my heart
I left a white shrinking paper shouting:”I beg you, help me out”
I look in the mirror, is there any error!
Am I seeing me- you, oh no – but “who are you!”
Shhhhhhhhh
I’m twenty two, twisted into tranquil sea with salt and pearl
My root is UAE, AD is my life
At ZU, a spot light focuses on my path twice
“Who are you” and “What do you do “
Another shape of me, salty with no soul
A pearl appears within me repeating the call
Nahed …
Shhhhhhhh
Don’t say the name,
It brings me to the needless body again,
Hey you! - Me
Tell me if you discover something new!

I over analyze
I grow up with memories that drive me out of mind
Clashing with present, holding on to my beginning
Cutting myself on a thousand different things
It makes me stuck in my past
I refuse this world
I refuse the earth when it goes fast
Nostalgia Nahed
We both shares the Ns
When will this confusion end 
You are still gonna hold your memories
To answer:
“I’m what I’m
The child whose smile becomes
Different when her body
Changes into a lady!”
The dreams shut!
Am I paralyzing?

Is this what you mean instructor!
To make the mirror laugh at me
To be too afraid to ask “Who is me!”
Hence, what do you see?
Just childhood reflection in my face
Little girl, with little hopes
I draw a big frame without angels on my white paper
So I can breathe
And let a warm breeze blows
I can’t handle life without my memories
Yet, I can’t let nostalgia tie me!
I’m mixed by my feelings
My confusion is only the victor. 

********************************************************************************
By Alia Obaid Al Dhaheri

Dr. Lisa said
Go home and write
A page tonight.
And let that page come out of you
Then, it will be true.

Massacring silence…

clock arrows are rotating anticlockwise and post-clockwise
voices from immemorial past,
vivacious present,
and mesmeric prospect,
are amalgamated into a faithful cleric’s advise.
My brain is raining
And the drops are; vigorous fixed and moving photos
Of my life and others.

These times, voices and photos formed a glasses
Suitable for my staring at the sun…

I am twenty, born once upon a July in the oasis of Al Ain
I was, since KG in AL Nahda school, then I
Come here to Zayed University in a congested place.
I am the only student whose spirit
lives in the White fort,
walks on the roads behind the Mona Lisa,
holds some bricks of the Great Wall of China,
color some drawings on the pharaohs’ columns and,
plays in The Hanging Gardens of Babylon .

The way from the Y-201 blue door to,
my room’s white door is long,
but as the car is moving I pass by different sounds and colors,
which leads me to think and pass through different times
and worlds! Alohas to all of the people and things I meet in my
memory journey.

At last I’m in my room, I closed my peaceful white door for now.
Hey paper. Hey pen. It’s me and you. Don’t be scared from what
Will you hear or see. Now my pen I’ll pour in you some bright,
Yellow rays from the sun, so both of you must be ready to make these
Words feel true. My name has an “A” and “D” , yes it’s AD.
I’m Abu Dhabi, and Abu Dhabi is me, in my eyes you can see the
Falcons, camels and the palm trees.

Well I like to eat dates from our farm in AlAin, European chocolate and,
My favorite cup cake which is made from seven layers
each represents a continent.
I guess eating this cup cake doesn’t make me different from others
Where right is right and wrong is wrong.

Professor you are an American and I’m an Emirati
AD is welcoming the world
That’s a combination, which makes our poetry class much
Artistic and colorful.

Oh, I run out of my yellow ink, and the sun isn’t here anymore
Yah it’s AD, but we farewell the sun for not along time
So till the sun show up again it’s time to say good bye
And let you fill the coming lines.
 
Influenced by Kim Pyǒngyǒn’s A Song For My Shadow
Page 854- from our book-

The shadow is singing for you

I follow you as you come and go  
    It’s my beautiful destiny which I’ll undergo

I am pleased to be like you
    But like is different from equal to

On the shore, I am in pursue
    I expand myself for you as a bequest
    Under the setting moon, where me and you

In the country yard, I feel so shy
     I shrink from being asked about your beauty
    Under the midday sun, where we and them

Don’t look for me under your pillow,
    Because I’d left you for your dreams and went to my fallow

When you turn around in front of your lamp,
    You’ll find me around, even if I was in a middle of a damp

I do love you ,too, in my heart
    But trust is love’s greatest part

Light is the lungs from which I breathe
    When it comes to an end I leave

********************************************************************************
By Lucanus

Insomnia

Dreamless nights
unrest of the unloved
agitation and a fear
of continuation
disquieting confusion
of life and what it brings.
No point of living in a world all on your own.
Unsettled by the day,
Stirring, every hour of the night.

Daydream

The silence increases its volume and the lawn is a mirage, it hides the sands I ride across and the chirping of the birds, they sit and watch me from the trees as I wander just beneath, they follow as I ride around to check that I too sing, but silence is all they hear, I’ve returned to here.

Disheartened

Muted are the days that follow,
Silent as the darkened hour
Left to languish and to cower,
Lost the vision of divine – devoured,
Divisions dealt into submission,
Gone the thoughts of love forever,
There despair reigns and follows.
Free now to know my lot is sorrow,
Nothing ever to look for tomorrow,
Ended thus my search for friends,
Never quest for them again.
I’ll live alone contented then,
That this is how my life shall end,
And at my funeral let it be read to air,
That amongst the living I was dead –
No caring relative
No present friend
A family that would not comprehend.

********************************************************************************
The Necklace
By Shamma bentKhalifa شمــــا بنت خلـيفة


The Necklace

it was
Beautiful
she
Loved
it.

her
crowbar
Smile
Said so.
And her eyes which
Scattered
like
Broken Glass.
The Necklace

it was
Beautiful
she
Loved
it.

her
        bar
crow
Smile
Said so.
And her eyes which
Scattered
like
Broken Glass.
The Necklace

it was
Beautiful
she
Loved
it.

her

Smile
Said so.
And her eyes which
Scattered


 
 
Lisa Isaacson is an Associate Professor of Humanities and Social Sciences at Zayed University in Abu Dhabi.  She has published poems most recently in New American Writing, Bateau, Denver Quarterly and American Letters & Commentary.
 
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