from America, America

from America, America


I too love jeans and jazz
and Treasure Island
and John Silver's parrot
and the balconies of New Orleans.
I love Mark Twain and the Mississippi
steamboats and Abraham Lincoln's dogs.
I love the fields of wheat and corn
and the smell of Virginia tobacco.
But I am not American.

Is that enough for the Phantom pilot
to turn me back to the stone age?
. . .
America:
let's exchange gifts.
Take your smuggled cigarettes
and give us potatoes.
Take James Bond's golden pistol
and give us Marilyn Monroe's giggle.
Take the heroin syringe under the tree
and give us vaccines.
Take your blueprints
for model penitentiaries
and give us village homes.
Take the books of your missionaries
and give us paper for poems
to defame you.
Take what you do not have
and give us what we have.
Take the stripes of your flag
and give us the stars.
Take the Afghani Mujahideen beard
and give us Walt Whitman's beard
filled with butterflies.
Take Saddam Hussein
and give us Abraham Lincoln
or give us no one.

. . .
We are not hostages, America
and your soldiers
are not God's soldiers ...
We are the poor ones,
ours is the earth of the drowned gods,

the gods of bulls
the gods of fires
the gods of sorrows
that intertwine clay and
blood in a song...
We are the poor,
ours is the god of the poor
who emerges out of farmers' ribs
hungry
and bright,
and raises heads up high...

America, we are the dead.
Let your soldiers come.
Whoever kills a man,
let him resurrect him.
We are the drowned ones, dear lady.
We are the drowned.
Let the water come.


Saadi Youssef

(translated from the Arabic by Khaled Mattawa)

Posted over on Catarina