Featuring Palestinian Voices, part 4: Palestinian poetry for National Poetry Month

This National Poetry Month, we continue to honour and stand alongside the Palestinian people, who resist the ongoing colonization of their lands, apartheid, and genocide perpetuated by Israel. Literature and art is cultural testimony, and Palestinian writing and art continues to affirm Palestinians’ rights to their homeland.

Writing is part of a larger cultural resistance effort. Most recently, the Toronto Public Library removed Dr Refaat Alareer’s poem, “If I Must Die,” from their display. (Readers can contact TPL about the removal of the poem via answerline@tpl.ca or 416-397-5981.) Dr Refaat Alareer was martyred by an Israeli airstrike on December 7, 2023. On today, April 26, 2024, the IOF killed his eldest daughter Shaimaa Alareer, an accomplished Palestinian illustrator, for whom he wrote that very poem.

As we hold onto the memories of Palestinian martyrs with grief and rage, as we read and engage with Palestinian writing and art, we must remember that there is a greater call for us to stand for Palestinian liberation in material ways. And that is a call we must answer — including calling on the government to materially enforce an arms embargo on Israel and remove the discriminatory 1000-applicant cap on Palestinians in Gaza applying for refuge.

Let these poems guide us—

“If I must die,” by Refaat Alareer

If I must die,

you must live

to tell my story

to sell my things

to buy a piece of cloth

and some strings,

(make it white with a long tail)

so that a child, somewhere in Gaza

while looking heaven in the eye

awaiting his dad who left in a blaze—

and bid no one farewell

not even to his flesh

not even to himself—

sees the kite, my kite you made, flying up above

and thinks for a moment an angel is there

bringing back love

If I must die

let it bring hope

let it be a tale

[Note: Refaat Alareer was martyred on Dec 7, 2023.]

“Languaging Memory,” by leena aboutaleb, via Poetry Online

You, we, I. Do you remember? He was your age now. Tall. The rifle. Four, then seven, then ten.

Qalandia. Ramallah. September. Yarmouk. Kuwait. Can you say the name? Everyone wants futility. Let

them languish and despair, disguising pride in cowardice. I am born in fugitive, the cover of eternity

clothing me. If not this life, the next. If not us, the next.

“The Idea Has Failed,” by Basman Aldirawi, translated by Elete N-F & Sarah Lasoye, via Arab Lit

I sympathize with God a lot:

My heart, too, has been let down.

If we could sit together now

we’d share a cigarette. I’d rest my hand on His shoulder, and

we’d cry together until a light rain fell,

washing Gaza of this cloud of smoke

that does not belong to the sky,

stopping the din that kills another child in Gaza

and the blood that’s spilling from the world’s hand and mouth.

“Life,” by Saleem Al-Naffar, via Literary Hub’s “These are the poets and writers who have been killed in Gaza”

Knives might eat what remains of my ribs, machines might smash what remains of stones, but life is coming, for that is its way, creating life even for us.

[Note: Al-Naffar and his family were martyred on Dec 7, 2023.]

“That Nation Talk,” by Rasha Abdulhadi, via West Branch

Talk talk abolition, talk transformation

talk justice talk justice talk just us

making for each other cause no one else is coming

“they stop torching our cities long enough to pray,” by Mandy Shunnarah, via Protean Magazine

On what day of creation was god the architect of hell?

In which beginning was it decided each creation myth

must accompany destruction? There’s a reason

torcher sounds like torturer.

“IN THE YEAR 2148, OUR ONLY NAKBA,” by Fargo Tbakhi, via Hobart Pulp

is the egg yolk, broken when it was meant to be fried,

the sobbing of a child who’s just found

that their favorite character does not survive,

the scraped knee, the store out of cigarettes (already?)

the unreturned love, a freezing morning

with the jacket left at home, time and the wicked

things it does to the flesh

“Our Loneliness,” by Hiba Abu Nada, translated from Arabic by Salma Harland, via Arab Lit

How alone it was,

our loneliness,

when they won their wars.

Only you were left behind,

naked,

before this loneliness.

[Note: Hiba Abu Nada was martyred by an Israeli airstrike on October 20.]

“Border Wisdom,” by Ahmad Almallah, via The Markaz Review

I won’t describe the past for you,

I tell you I got held

at borders, I tell you I am

used to it, and what?

“Ode to Mennel Ibtissam singing ‘Hallelujah’ on The Voice (France), translated in Arabic,” by George Abraham, via Split This Rock

with thanks to Marwa Helal*

maybe if , ash & smolder way the – tongue own my in never but song this heard i’ve

there’s – it birthed who fire the not & gospel become can , mouth right the in seen

a , arabic your of fall minor the – flame still is , core its at which , prayer bluest your

god finds , tremor oud shrieks country a , somewhere – before us failed has which flag

*Rules of engagement: if the poem is to be read from right to left, it is to be observed unredacted. If the poem is to be read from left to right, the reader must impose redactions of the English language. If the poem is to be read down its right and/or left margins, it is to be sung in Mennel’s voice.

“It No Longer Matters If Anyone Loves Us,” by Samer Abu Hawwash, translated by Huda Fakhreddine, via Arab Lit

We are tired of ourselves in this endless night,

and tired of our mothers clinging to what’s left of us,

tired of this rock we carry on our backs,

this eternal curse.

From abyss to abyss, we carry it,

from death to death,

and we never arrive.

“OBIT,” by Mosab Abu Toha, via The New Yorker

To the shadow I had left alone before I

crossed the border, my shadow that stayed

lonely and hid in the dark of the night,

freezing where it was, never needing a visa.

To my shadow that’s been waiting for my return,

homeless except when I was walking by its side

in the summer light.

“Love Poem,” by Summer Awad, via Adi Magazine

I want my fatherland

To lay his overgrown beard in the crook of my neck, want him

To squeeze me when he cries out from the nightmares, from the film reel

Of bombs, the frames etched in our collective subconscious because he has decided

We must not look away.

For further reading, we recommend:

Palestine Square via the Institute for Palestine Studies, which publishes news, analysis, narrative, perspectives, and arts and culture pieces on Palestinian affairs.
Protean Magazine’s “Letters from Gaza” in partnership with the Institute for Palestine Studies
E-sims for Gaza, an initiative to ensure Palestinians can remain in contact with loved ones and the outside world as electricity is cut off.
Dispatches from We Are Not Numbers (WANN), a youth-led Palestinian nonprofit project in the Gaza Strip that tells the stories behind the numbers of Palestinians in the news
Resources from the Toronto Palestine Film Festival, including how to take action
We Had Dreams, a platform that uplifts the hopes, dreams, and fears of Palestinians in Gaza, available in multiple languages
Passages Through Genocide, a compilation of collected, translated, and published texts from Palestinian writers confronting the genocide in Gaza
Verso Books’ From the River to the Sea: Essays for a Free Palestine and other resources
Operation Olive Branch, a spreadsheet (and soon-to-be website) about calls for mutual aid, actions to take for Palestine, solidarity projects, resources, and more.