All my life i am on the move with poetry suitcase that goes with me from Baghdad to Haifa and now to Berlin. It is an Arab-Jewish journey. It shows that social and anti war poetry as well as the voice of the immigrant journey to the heart of the world.
Genre: POETRY / GeneralMati Shemoelof is an Arab-Jew poet, author and editor based in Berlin. His writing is diverse and includes six poetry books, plays, articles and one collection of stories. His works have won significant recognition and prizes. Lately he gave a lecture that was printed as a little booklet “Reißt die Mauer…” (Aphorisma Verlag, 2018). “Das künftige Ufer” - A Hörspiel he wrote was aired in the WDR radio station (2018). “Gedicte. Texte zwischen Bagdad, Haifa und Berlin” - German edition of his poems will be published by the Berlin publisher AphorismA publishers in 2019. His first article book “An eruption from the east: Re visiting the emergence of the Mizrahi artistic explosion and it's imprint on the Israeli cultural narrative 2006-2019“ will be published on “Iton 77” publishers in Israel (2020).
And I regret that I missed a way to his heart
I don't know why he loved to eat above the sink
without a plate, dark bread, salty cheese.
He sits, coiled on the black sofa, with an open book
inventing funny names for anyone, who enters the house.
and I’m sure he was a free spirited poet like me, despite working in a shop all his life
truth be told I have no way of knowing, discovering or talking with him.
The only way is to write...
that he wasn't happy than I
but I remember him reading one of my early poems one day
and coming back happy to our house he told me how in the "Old age" club where he visited
his friends liked my poems.
and perhaps with my inspiration, he started to write the story of his life
of how his wealthy grandfather was thrown out of Mashad by the local Muslims in Iran
and how he immigrated to Palestine round the start of the 20 century
[Damm, why didn't I keep this paper?]
and now I regret every moment I ignored his point of view
I could have hugged him and understood that was his story
and what is left for me? deep regret
what is left of him? one unfinished poem
and the days are getting less
while these memories grow in their nakedness.
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German
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Unavailable for translation.
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Portuguese
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Translation in progress.
Translated by Carlos Abalamatos
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Spanish
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Translation in progress.
Translated by Adán Caballero
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