Incredibly Random, Potentially Useless Info Pt. 1

(Un)fortunately with all my reading (which is not even that much) I acquire a lot of random information that I find interesting and am pretty good at being annoying about bringing it up in conversation. To that end, one of my friends one day suggested I send out a newsletter said random info. Rather than inundate and bore people, I figured a kind of monthly blogpost would be useful for my own memory and reference. So, let 's see how long I sustain this (if at all):

• Muslim women were the last category of citizens to gain the right to vote in France, in 1958
• Source: Ian Coller, Muslims and Citizens
• MGM is the last independent studio in the US (the rest being owned by corporations or PE groups)
• SoFi newsletter, also Wikipedia
• Dostoevsky's father died in a similar fashion to the Karamazov patriarch--likely killed by peasants
• Alex Christofi, Dostoevsky in Love

في القدس

 I hate being the person who posts Mahmoud Darwish poems when something happens in Jerusalem (putting it very lightly), but I am going to be that person--I think this one is so powerful:

في القدس، أَعني داخلَ السُّور القديم

In Jerusalem, and I mean within the ancient walls,

أَسيرُ من زَمَنٍ إلى زَمَنٍ بلا ذكرى تُصوِّبُني

I walk from one epoch to another without a memory to guide me. 

فإن الأنبياءَ هناك يقتسمون تاريخَ المقدَّس

The prophets over there are sharing the history of the holy...

يصعدون إلى السماء ويرجعون أَقلَّ إحباطاً وحزناً

ascending to heaven and returning less discouraged and melancholy,

فالمحبَّةُ والسلام مُقَدَّسَان وقادمان إلى المدينة

because love and peace are holy and are coming to town.

:كنت أَمشي فوق مُنْحَدَرٍ وأَهْجِسُ

I was walking down a slope and thinking to myself: 

كيف يختلف الرُّواةُ على كلام الضوء في حَجَرٍ؟

How do the narrators disagree over what light said about a stone?

أَمِنْ حَجَر ٍشحيحِ الضوء تندلعُ الحروبُ؟

Is it from a dimly lit stone that wars flare up?

أسير في نومي. أَحملق في منامي. لا أرى أحداً ورائي

I walk in my sleep. I stare in my sleep. I see no one behind me. 

لا أرى أَحداً أمامي

I see no one ahead of me.

كُلُّ هذا الضوءِ لي

All this light is for me.

أَمشي. أخفُّ. أطيرُ ثم أَصير غيري في التَّجَلِّي

I walk. I become lighter. I fly. Then I become another. 

:تنبُتُ الكلماتُ كالأعشاب من فم أشعيا النِّبَويِّ

Transfigured. Words sprout like grass from Isaiah’s messenger mouth:

((إنْ لم تُؤْمنوا لن تَأْمَنُوا))

“If you don’t believe you won’t be safe.”

أَمشي كأنِّي واحدٌ غيْري. وجُرْحي وَرْدَةٌ بيضاءُ إنجيليَّةٌ

I walk as if I were another. And my wound a white biblical rose. 

ويدايَ مثل حمامتَيْنِ على الصليب تُحلِّقان وتحملان الأرضَ

And my hands like two doves on the cross hovering and carrying the earth.

لا أمشي، أَطيرُ، أَصيرُ غَيْري في التجلِّي.لا مكانَ و لا زمان 

I don’t walk, I fly, I become another, transfigured. No place and no time. 

 فمن أَنا؟

So who am I?

أَنا لا أنا في حضرة المعراج.

I am no I in ascension’s presence. 

أُفكِّرُ: وَحْدَهُ، كان النبيّ محمِّدٌ يتكلِّمُ العربيَّةَ الفُصْحَى.((وماذا بعد؟))

But I think to myself: Alone, the prophet Muhammad spoke classical Arabic. “And then what?”

ماذا بعد؟

Then what? 

صاحت فجأة جنديّةٌ: هُوَ أَنتَ ثانيةً؟ أَلم أَقتلْكَ؟

A woman soldier shouted: Is that you again? Didn’t I kill you?

قلت: قَتَلْتني... ونسيتُ، مثلك، أن أَموت 

I said: You killed me ... and I forgot, like you, to die.