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From kreda@mobinil.com Thu Aug 22 00:04:10 2002
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Message-ID: <7ADF9449F577D311855700A0C9AA70D3098AAA35@wtc_mail_01>
To: "[PenTemplePilots] (E-mail)"
Subject: On the sand dunes..
Date: Wed, 21 Aug 2002 18:29:22 +0200
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From: Khaled Reda
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X-eGroups-Approved-By: crazycamel1976 via web; 22 Aug 2002 07:04:08 -0000

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Friends,

This is my first message on the list. I've just subscribed a couple of hours
ago. I went through few emails so far and I'm already enjoying the list..
:-)

Since most of the people here are from SaharaSafaris, then I would like to
post this poem which I wrote directly after I got back from our trip to the
Western Desert last February. I hope you like it.

Love, Khaled.
--

On the sand dunes
devotedly drifting, wandering around,
nightly toasting from the tea pots
admiring the lonely stars, their godfather
with its mystic halo traveling round and round

With the new young night
come about the magical tunes
stirring memories and humors, till the light
climbs up the fixated high mountains
the stretched ridges, the unfolded hills

Then descends the morning
with the faithful voices praying for His feast
rising to His throne in awe
for His verses in action
His humble creation, the least

Mission fulfilled, with the graying
of total strangers into green friends
sharing rememberings, laughs, and stories
and yet, bearing even more
over the sacred unadulterated lands

Khaled Reda
February 26, 2002

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Date: Wed, 21 Aug 2002 16:03:58 -0000
To: Pen_Temple_Pilots@yahoogroups.com
Subject: Things I Didn't Know I Loved
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X-eGroups-Approved-By: crazycamel1976 via web; 22 Aug 2002 07:04:10 -0000

Dear Hala,

Your poem reminded me of a great poem I adore for Nazim Hekmet. I=20
would love to share it with you and all the beautiful people here.

Khaled
--

THINGS I DIDN'T KNOW I LOVED

it's 1962 March 28th
I'm sitting by the window on the Prague-Berlin train
night is falling
I never new I liked
night descending like a tired bird on a smoky wet plain
I don't like
comparing nightfall to a tired bird

I didn't know I loved the earth
can someone who hasn't worked the earth love it
I've never worked the earth
it must be my only platonic love

and here I've loved rivers all this time
whether motionless like this they curl skirting the hills
European hills crowned with chateaus
or whether stretched out flat as far as the eye can see
I know you can't wash in the same river even once
I know the river will bring new lights you'll never see
I know we live slightly longer than a horse but not nearly
as long as a crow
I know this has troubled people before
and will trouble those after me
I know all this has been said a thousand times before
and will be said after me

I didn't know I loved the sky
cloudy or clear
the blue vault Andrei studied on his back at Borodino
in prison I translated both volumes of War and Peace into=20
Turkish
I hear voices
not from the blue vault but from the yard
the guards are beating someone again

I didn't know I loved trees
bare beeches near Moscow in Peredelkino
they come upon me in winter noble and modest
beeches are Russian the way poplars are Turkish
"the poplars of Izmir
losing their leaves...
they call me The Knife...
lover like a young tree...
I blow stately mansions sky-high"
in the Ilgaz woods in 1920 I tied an embroidered linen
handkerchief to a pine bough for luck

I never knew I loved roads
even the asphalt kind
Vera's behind the wheel we're driving from Moscow to
the Crimea Koktebel=20
formerly "Goktep=E9 ili" in Turkish
the two of us inside a closed box
the world flows past on both sides distant and mute
I was never so close to anyone in my life
bandits stopped me on the red road between Bolu and=20
Gered=E9 when I was eighteen
apart from my life I didn't have anything in the wagon
they could take
and at eighteen our lives are what we value least
I've written this somewhere before
wading through a dark muddy street I'm going to the
shadow play Ramazan night
a paper lantern leading the way
maybe nothing like this ever happened
maybe I read it somewhere an eight-year-old boy going
to the shadow play Ramazan night in Istanbul holding
his grandfather's hand
his grandfather has on a fez and is wearing the fur coat
with a sable collar over his robe
and there is a lantern in the negro eunuch's hand
and I can't contain myself for joy

flowers come to mind for some reason
poppies cactuses jonquils
in the jonquil garden in Kadikoy Istanbul I kissed Marika
fresh almonds on her breath
I was seventeen
my heart on a swing touched the sky
I didn't know I loved flowers
friends sent me three red carnations in prison 1948
I just remembered the stars
I didn't know I loved them too
whether I'm floored watching them from below
or whether I'm flying at their side.

I have some questions for the cosmonauts
were the stars much bigger
did they look like huge jewels on black velvet
or apricots on orange
did you feel proud to get closer to the stars
I saw color photos of the cosmos in Ogonek magazine
now don't be upset comrades but nonfigurative shall we=20
say or abstract well some of them looked just like
such paintings which is to say they were terribly
figurative and concrete
my heart was in my mouth looking at them
they are our endless desire to grasp things
seeing them I could even think of death and not feel=20
at all sad
I never knew I loved the cosmos

snow flashes in front of my eyes
both heavy wet steady snow and the dry whirling kind
I didn't know I liked snow
I never knew I loved the sun
even when setting cherry-red as now
in Istanbul too it sometimes sets in postcard colors
but you aren't about to paint it that way

I didn't know I loved the sea
and how much
except the seas of Aivazovsky

I didn't know I loved clouds
whether I'm under or up above them
whether they look like giants or shaggy white beasts

moonlight the falsest the most languid the most=20
petit-bourgeois strikes me
I didn't know I liked it

I didn't know I liked rain
whether it falls like a fine net or splatters against the glass
my heart leaves me tangled up in a net or trapped=20
inside a drop and takes off for uncharted countries
I didn't know I liked rain
but why did I suddenly discover all these passions sitting
by the window on the Prague-Berlin train
is it because I lit my sixth cigarette
one alone could kill me
is it because I'm half dead from thinking about someone
back in Moscow
her hair straw-blond eyelashes blue

the train plunges on through the pitch-black night
I never knew I liked the night pitch-black
sparks fly from the engine
I didn't know I loved sparks
I didn't know I loved so many things and I had to wait
until sixty to find it out sitting by the window on the
Prague-Berlin train watching the world disappear
as if on a journey of no return

Moscow, 19 April 1962

tr. by Randy Blasing and Mutlu Konuk=20

--- In Pen_Temple_Pilots@y..., "hmelbanna" wrote:
> Art
>=20
> Talking about art
> I come to think about
> The fine sentiments
> Present in God's creation.
>=20
> ...
> ...
>
> Finally, it is up to the artist to pick and choose
> For the gift is in each and every meditating soul.
>=20
>=20
> Hala ELBANNA