badspringbye's review against another edition
4.5
"When asleep, you are your own overlord and sovereign. Alive, but without life's burdens."
"...you tell reality: You are only a figment, and tell imagination: You are the only reality I can depend on."
"You lived at zero, perhaps less, perhaps more."
one of the most difficult things I have read this year and in my entire reading journey generally. challenging to a great extent but always worth the time delving through the meaning behind the metaphors thrown down on every corner of every chapter. it's either you get lost in between words and sentences or find yourself floating on top of them and see it through with outmost clarity. I think the best way to understand the context/sense of this whole thing is to consume the writing yourself first-hand and let the writing consume you.
more excerpts:
"And you must defend the discrete letters of your name as a cat would its kittens. Do what you must: defend the window's right to look at passerby. Do not ridicule yourself if you are incapable of providing proof."
*
"Letters are restless, hungry or an image, and the image is thirsty for a meaning. [...] Rub one letter against another and a star is born. Bring a letter close to another and you can hear the sound of rain."
*
"You are you, and more.
You are you, and less.
You are you and not you at the same time."
*
"Are we what we do with time, or are we what time does with us? Finding a response does not interest you as much as slowing down time. You do not want this autumn to end, just as you do not want the poem to grow to fullness and end. You do not want to reach winter. Let autumn be your private eternity."
*
"Death does not pain the dead, it pains the living."
*
"Longing lies and never tires of lying, because it lies honestly."
*
"Are you what you were, or what you are now? You fear you will forget tomorrow while mired in the question: In which time do I live?"
leilorenzo's review against another edition
challenging
emotional
inspiring
reflective
medium-paced
5.0
asiyepuff's review against another edition
5.0
You ask: Can a word of eight letters be big enough for all of these, yet too small for us?
You grow up quickly hearing big words. you grow up at the edge of a world falling apart behind you, and get to form before you, a world tossed like a stray stone in the game of fates. You ask yourself: Who am I? You do not know how to define yourself. You are still too young for a question that perplexes philosophers. But the weighty question of identity halts the butterfly’s weight.
(i love darwish so much i just want to keep him in my brain cells forever *cries*)
You grow up quickly hearing big words. you grow up at the edge of a world falling apart behind you, and get to form before you, a world tossed like a stray stone in the game of fates. You ask yourself: Who am I? You do not know how to define yourself. You are still too young for a question that perplexes philosophers. But the weighty question of identity halts the butterfly’s weight.
(i love darwish so much i just want to keep him in my brain cells forever *cries*)
fhuwaida's review against another edition
5.0
For the best experience: play rain sounds, grab coffee, and don't rush through this book. This is the kind of prose that you want to enjoy over a long period of time. 4.5 stars tbh but I'll round it up.
An excerpt that I loved:
“The poison-tipped questions were shot at you: What will you write without exile? What will you write without the occupation? Exile is existence. The existing occupation is what hinders the efficacy of the imagination. I will write better. But why are such questions never put to poets from other countries? Is it because slavery is the precondition for Palestinian creativity, or is it that freedom is not in sync with our rhythms? What does it mean for a Palestinian to be a poet and what does it mean for a poet to be Palestinian? In the first instance: it is to be the product of history, to exist in language. In the second: to be a victim of history and triumph through language. But both are one and the same and cannot be divided or entwined.”
An excerpt that I loved:
“The poison-tipped questions were shot at you: What will you write without exile? What will you write without the occupation? Exile is existence. The existing occupation is what hinders the efficacy of the imagination. I will write better. But why are such questions never put to poets from other countries? Is it because slavery is the precondition for Palestinian creativity, or is it that freedom is not in sync with our rhythms? What does it mean for a Palestinian to be a poet and what does it mean for a poet to be Palestinian? In the first instance: it is to be the product of history, to exist in language. In the second: to be a victim of history and triumph through language. But both are one and the same and cannot be divided or entwined.”