L’autunno, qui, è magico e immenso (25 gennaio — 2 febbraio)

L’autunno qui, è magi­co e immen­so
Tour poe­ti­co del poe­ta siria­no Golan Haji

«Tor­ne­re­sti affa­ma­to, come un’idea che temi pos­sa mori­re. Se apris­si una por­ta qua­lun­que, per ras­si­cu­rar­ti o andar­te­ne, apri­re­sti la stra­da al dub­bio»

Il poe­ta cur­do-siria­no Golan Haji è in un tour ita­lia­no per la pre­sen­ta­zio­ne del suo libro L’autunno, qui, è magi­co e immen­so, edi­to nel­la col­la­na Altria­ra­bi (col­la­na di nar­ra­ti­va medi­ter­ra­nea) per le edi­zio­ni il Siren­te la pri­ma rac­col­ta euro­pea di poe­sie, fino­ra appar­se solo in rivi­sta, risa­len­ti per la mag­gior par­te agli ulti­mi due anni.

Dal 25 gen­na­io al 2 feb­bra­io il poe­ta sarà coin­vol­to in scam­bi poe­ti­ci, arti­sti­ci, poe­ti­ci-filo­so­fi­ci, con varie per­so­na­li­tà del­la sce­na cul­tu­ra­le ita­lia­na: il musi­ci­sta Pao­lo Fre­su, i poe­ti Gia­co­mo Trin­ci e Alber­to Nes­si…
Golan Haji è abi­tua­to a lavo­ra­re con arti­sti visi­vi e con musi­ci­sti, con un’idea del­la tra­du­zio­ne mol­to aper­ta e, con una, altret­tan­to aper­ta appar­te­nen­za cul­tu­ra­le

Il tour ini­zia da Trie­ste, la cit­tà sogna­ta. Il 25 gen­na­io alle ore 19 pres­so la Libreria-caffè San Mar­co (via Bat­ti­sti 18). Inter­ver­ran­no il poe­ta Golan Haji, la cura­tri­ce del volu­me Costan­za Fer­ri­ni, rea­ding poe­ti­co a cura di Mari­na Moret­ti e musi­ca di Fabio Zorat­ti.

Bolo­gna, 28 Gen­na­io ore 18, Sala del­la Cap­pel­la Far­ne­se, Piaz­za Mag­gio­re. Par­te­ci­pa­no il poe­ta Golan Haji, Pao­lo Fre­su, Gia­co­mo Trin­ci e Costan­za Fer­ri­ni.

Chias­so, 29 gen­na­io ore 18, Foyer Cine­ma Tea­tro, via Dan­te Ali­ghie­ri 3b. Intro­du­ce Mar­co Gal­li (coor­di­na­to­re di Chias­so let­ta­ra­ria), inter­ven­go­no Golan Haji, Alber­to Nes­si, Lui­sa Orel­li e Costan­za Fer­ri­ni.

Firen­ze, 2 feb­bra­io ore 12, caf­fè let­te­ra­rio Le Mura­te, piaz­za del­le Mura­te. Inter­ven­go­no Golan Haji, Gia­co­mo Trin­ci, Bru­nel­la Anto­ma­ri­ni e Costan­za Fer­ri­ni.

Un’occasione per riflet­te­re sul­la bana­li­tà del male, la nor­ma­li­tà del­la fol­lia e l’ironia neces­sa­ria per soprav­vi­ve­re.

Golan Haji è nato nel 1977 a Amou­da, una pic­co­la cit­tà cur­da nel nord est del­la Siria. Ha stu­dia­to medi­ci­na all’Università di Dama­sco. E’ pato­lo­go di for­ma­zio­ne, ma ha una pre­sen­za let­te­ra­ria impor­tan­te che inclu­de nume­ro­se rac­col­te di poe­sia, con la pri­ma Na’ada fi azzo­le­mat (Chia­mò nel­le tene­bre) (2004) si è aggiu­di­ca­to il pre­mio Moham­med al-Maghut. La secon­da rac­col­ta appar­sa nel 2008 in occa­sio­ne di “Dama­sco cit­tà del­la cul­tu­ra” s’intitola Tham­ma­ta man yara­ka wah­shen (C’è qual­cu­no che ha visto in te un mostro). La ter­za rac­col­ta bay­ti al-bared al-ba’id (La mia casa è fred­da e lon­ta­na) è pub­bli­ca­to pres­so la casa edi­tri­ce Dar-al Gamal a Bei­rut 2012, Adul­te­rers, For­la­get. Korridors, Copenhaghen 2011. Tra­dut­to­re di clas­si­ci ingle­si tra cui Lo stra­no caso del Dr Jekyll e Mr Hyde in ara­bo, ma anche fram­men­ti rac­con­ti e poe­sie di ita­lia­ni attra­ver­so la lin­gua ingle­se qua­li Pave­se, Saba, Ginz­burg, Levi, Cal­vi­no, Mon­ta­le.

0

Siria. E poi venne l’inverno, nella poesia di Golan Haji

| Osser­va­to­rio Iraq | Dome­ni­ca 22 dicem­bre 2013 | Chia­ra Comi­to |

Quel­la stes­sa neve che non ha rispar­mia­to i cam­pi pro­fu­ghi in cui vivo­no cen­ti­na­ia di miglia­ia di siria­ni in fuga da un pae­se lace­ra­to da due anni di guer­ra civi­le e vit­ti­ma dell’indifferenza del mon­do.
È impos­si­bi­le non pen­sa­re ai tan­ti bam­bi­ni, uomi­ni e don­ne inti­riz­zi­ti o mor­ti per il fred­do taglien­te quan­do si leg­go­no le poe­sie del poe­ta cur­do siria­no Golan Haji con­te­nu­te nel­la rac­col­ta L’autunno, qui, è magi­co e immen­so (Il Siren­te, 2013), dove i ver­si scan­di­sco­no i tem­pi di sta­gio­ni ter­ri­bi­li, fat­te di pol­ve­re, lacri­me, piog­gia, san­gue, dolo­re e desi­de­ri irrea­liz­za­ti.
E di neve. La neve su cui cam­mi­na­no, ad esem­pio, i sol­da­ti del­la poe­sia “Scri­gno di dolo­re” in cui il poe­ta, par­lan­do del­la con­di­zio­ne degli esi­lia­ti che egli stes­so vive dal 2011, scri­ve: “Ora sei una sto­ria rac­con­ta­ta dove manchi./La tua gola,scrigno di dolore,/è pie­na di ossa e piume./Nel bian­co dell’occhio/hai una mac­chio­li­na di san­gue arrugginita/simile a un sole che tra­mon­ta lontano/su un cam­po di neve/calpestato da lun­ghe file di sol­da­ti affa­ma­ti”.

Con­ti­nua a leg­ge­re →

0

L’autunno siriano secondo Golan Haji

Fron­tie­re News | Mer­co­le­dì 11 dicem­bre 2013 | Moni­ca Ranie­ri |

Incon­tro Golan Haji, poe­ta cur­do siria­no, a Baridove è sta­to invi­ta­to per pre­sen­ta­re la sua rac­col­ta di poe­sie “L’autunno qui, è magi­co e immen­so”, edi­ta da “Il Siren­te”. Ho il libro tra le mani e lo sguar­do con­ti­nua a sof­fer­mar­si su alcu­ni ver­si che ave­vo sot­to­li­nea­to leg­gen­do­lo. “La mia ombra, appe­na calpestata/ si ripa­ra sot­to di me/ e le mie parole/che sono il mio deser­to e mi fan male/si accam­pa­no intor­no a me”. L’espressione degli occhi di Haji men­tre mi rac­con­ta del­la Siria, dei dirit­ti del popo­lo cur­do, e del suo muo­ver­si lun­go ed oltre i con­fi­ni del­le scrit­tu­re e del­le lin­gue, e il tono vibran­te del­la sua voce, mi han­no con­dot­to ami­che­vol­men­te lun­go i sen­tie­ri che le paro­le accam­pa­te trac­cia­no attra­ver­sa­no il deser­to.  Con­ti­nua a leg­ge­re →

0

Leggere” la Siria da un altro punto di vista. A Bari il reading del poeta curdo siriano Golan Haji

| Edi­to­ria­ra­ba | Lune­dì 2 dicem­bre 2013 | Sil­via More­si |

Lo scor­so vener­dì a Bari si è svol­to l’evento “Nar­ra­zio­ni libe­re. Dal­la Siria all’Italia il futu­ro è com­mons”. Un’occasione per la cit­tà puglie­se di ascol­ta­re le paro­le del poe­ta cur­do siria­no Golan Haji e riflet­te­re su una Siria “altra”, rispet­to a quel­la pro­po­sta dai media main­stream recen­te­men­te. Sil­via More­si ha par­te­ci­pa­to all’evento e ne ha scrit­to per il blog (oltre a foto­gra­fa­re alcu­ni momen­ti del­la sera­ta). Buo­na let­tu­ra! Con­ti­nua a leg­ge­re →

0

Libri: ‘L’autunno, qui, è magico e immenso’, di Golan Haji

ANSA­med | 25 novem­bre 2013 | Cri­stia­na Mis­so­ri |

(ANSA­med) — ROMA, 25 NOV — La guer­ra, la bel­lez­za, il san­gue e l’amore. Sono que­sti alcu­ni temi che com­pon­go­no la rac­col­ta di poe­mi scrit­ti negli ulti­mi due anni da Golan Haji, ”L’autunno, qui, è magi­co e immen­so” (il Siren­te, col­la­na Altria­ra­bi, pp.128, Euro 10), che il 29 novem­bre pros­si­mo, ver­rà pre­sen­ta­ta a Bari nel cor­so dell’evento ”Nar­ra­zio­ni libe­re. Dal­la Siria all’Italia il futu­ro è com­mons”. Con­ti­nua a leg­ge­re →

0

Golan Haji — Every Writing is a Translation

Prai­rie Schoo­ner | Dome­ni­ca 16 giu­gno 2013 |

Photo of Golan Haji; Photo Credit: Mikel KruminsA patho­lo­gi­st and doc­tor, Golan Haji’s lite­ra­ry career inclu­des seve­ral col­lec­tions of poe­try; an Ara­bic trans­la­tion of Robert Louis Stevenson’s clas­sic, The Stran­ge Case of Dr. Jekyll & Mr. Hyde; and nume­rous appea­ran­ces at festi­vals world­wi­de. His fir­st col­lec­tion won the al-Maghut pri­ze and his late­st, A Cold Fara­way Home, will be publi­shed soon in Bei­rut. He lived in Dama­scus until he had to flee his coun­try in 2011. He set­tled in Fran­ce.

It is hard to belie­ve that I met this Syrian/Kurdish poet two years ago in May 2011 as the cri­sis in Syria was only just begin­ning. It sad­dens me that it has con­ti­nued to be so bloo­dy for so long. When I met Golan we were in Bei­rut with Reel Festi­vals and he had no idea if he would be able to go back to his home as the bor­ders were often clo­sed and the road was dan­ge­rous. It was a stres­sful time to be in the region wor­king on trans­la­tions with the­se gene­rous and embat­tled poe­ts. Despi­te the stri­fe, we mana­ged to crea­te a free e-book of new Syrian and Leba­ne­se poe­try in trans­la­tion. Golan’s poe­tic gra­ce and thought­ful­ness con­ti­nues to be rele­vant.

Golan Haji: I think that eve­ry wri­ting is a trans­la­tion. For me as a Kurd, I talk in Kur­dish but I wri­te in Ara­bic. But it’s not as sim­ple as that, and I think that’s what’s going on in the poet’s head. Some­thing is lost, and the wri­ting is always incom­ple­te. When you try to find the right word or the right ima­ge, and it’s not always pos­si­ble, the poem takes its beau­ty from this pro­cess of imper­fec­tion. It’s always imper­fect, and that’s why the wri­ting never ends. Just as the idea of iden­ti­ty ends in death, when one is dead, that’s his final iden­ti­ty. One is always loo­king for others in other pla­ces and lan­gua­ges.

Trans­la­tion is a pro­cess of chan­ging pla­ces whi­le you are in the same pla­ce. It’s not rein­car­na­tion, or just to imi­ta­te the others. It’s the stran­ger who comes to your hou­se, is wel­co­med, is invi­ted, and you know that he will chan­ge you in a very secret way, even throu­gh silen­ce. And this deep, slow chan­ge that trans­la­tion gives is very impor­tant. I think that wri­ting, throu­gh the histo­ry of lite­ra­tu­re, was always influen­ced by trans­la­tions. I can­not see the modern poe­try of any pla­ce in the world [without] trans­la­tions;  that’s impos­si­ble. Modern Arab poe­try is influen­ced by English, Ame­ri­can, French, Japa­ne­se, and Ger­man poe­try, and I think in Ger­ma­ny and England it’s the same. This trans­la­tion makes poe­try more pre­ci­se to work with.

To trans­la­te poe­try well, you need to know what’s going on in the world, and that your roo­ts are eve­ry­whe­re, in all con­ti­nen­ts. Trans­la­tion is not just moving the words from lan­gua­ge to lan­gua­ge; it’s also the move­ment of the sha­dow of mea­ning, how you must be pre­ci­se to cap­tu­re the sen­sa­tions, the ima­ges. You are una­ware when you have chan­ged, and you don’t know how.

RVW: You can trans­la­te eve­ry word in a poem and still not have a poem. I like the notion that you’re trans­la­ting your­self. As a Syrian poet in the cur­rent cli­ma­te , you’ve said befo­re that “being ali­ve is a poe­tic act,” and I’m just won­de­ring how the even­ts in Syria are affec­ting your work?

GH: I think that poe­try in gene­ral is a poli­ti­cal act, anti-poli­tics. When you wri­te any poem, when you’re tal­king about any­thing, it’s a poli­ti­cal act. But what’s been going on in Syria in the past two mon­ths is very new for the Syrian peo­ple. For the fir­st time in four or five deca­des, peo­ple are in the street demon­stra­ting. That is very beau­ti­ful and ter­ri­fy­ing at the same time. You are in the street and afraid of being kil­led… I was ama­zed by such cou­ra­geous young peo­ple in the stree­ts.

And when I see the death of a young man, when I see that beau­ty pass away, I feel com­ple­te­ly hel­pless. I’m una­ble to do any­thing, and that’s why my mind stop­ped for a who­le month, wat­ching tele­vi­sion, the Inter­net, I was una­ble to wri­te. I tried to arran­ge my ideas, just to con­trol this big con­fu­sion, but some­ti­mes I feel asha­med to be using words when such beau­ti­ful peo­ple are kil­led and you can­not do any­thing for them. Many friends and I who are wri­ters, poe­ts, and pain­ters suf­fer from the same cir­cum­stan­ces. Peo­ple in the street do not know us; I wri­te for them, but they do not read me. I wri­te for some peo­ple who I dream of, and I know them like they are my bro­thers and friends. And they chan­ged me.

It’s just two mon­ths but it feels like two years.  I look at my own coun­try in a dif­fe­rent way:  I know that Syria is going to chan­ge, and my only hope is not to see any more blood­shed, any more peo­ple thro­wn in jail, peo­ple who are afraid to talk, afraid to wri­te. Actual­ly fear is a great chain in the histo­ry of man. If you want to descri­be some­thing that is unu­sual psy­cho­lo­gi­cal­ly, it’s very impres­si­ve and at the same moment sad and cheer­ful; the­re are mixed fee­lings. Many peo­ple need time to see. Now, the situa­tion in Syria is com­ple­te­ly blur­red and con­fu­sed, but some­thing beau­ti­ful is coming out, and coming out soon, I hope.


For the com­ple­te inter­view, you can listen to the ori­gi­nal pod­ca­st at the Scot­tish Poe­try Libra­ry.

Watch “Road to Dama­scus,” a short film by Roxan­na Vilk fea­tu­ring Golan Haji.

Ryan Van Win­kle is a poet, per­for­mer, and cri­tic living in Edin­bur­gh. The­se inter­views are from his Scot­tish Poe­try Libra­ry pod­casts pro­du­ced and edi­ted by Colin Fra­ser. This team also pro­du­ces the arts pod­ca­st The Mul­ti-Colou­red Cul­tu­re Laser. He was awar­ded a Robert Louis Ste­ven­son fel­lo­w­ship for wri­ting in 2012.

0