Three Poems by Yirgalem Fisseha Mebrahtu
I. ገጣሚት ኣይኮንኩን
ግጥሚ እፈቱ’ምበር ገጣሚት ኣይኮንኩን
ገጣሚ አድንቕ ግን ‘ገጣሚት’የ’ ኣይበልኩን።
ኣነ ድኣ ትብዓተይ ቀቲለ
ሕልናይ ኣቝሲለ ዓይነይ ዓሚተ እዝነይ ኣሚነ
ልብኻ ዓሚጽካ ምንባር ክኢለ፣ ንሓቂ ከይስየፍ ደኒነ ‘ናኸድኩ
መቓብር ስምዒተይ ኰይነ ‘ናሃለኹ
ተጋጊኺ`ለኺ ተጋጊኻ ኣለኻ ኣነ ኣይኰንኩን እታ ትብላ ዘለኻ!
ከመይ ድዩ ገጣሚ!፧
ከመይ ድያ ገጣሚት!፧ ንህይወት ሽፋና ዘይኰነ ዕምቈታ ልሳና ዘይኰነ ስምዒታ ኣንቢቡ᎓ መርሚሩ᎓ መዝጊቡ ሓቅን ፍቕርን᎓ ሕልናን ፍትሕን ኣዋሲቡ
ምእንቲ ጽባቐ ዝነብር ኣብ ገድሊ ንልቡ ዘዳምጽ እኮ’ዩ ገጣሚ።
ጠበቓ ውጹዓት᎓ ልሳን ዝተዓብሱ
ትንፋሱ ከኽትት ዝሓጸየ ነብሱ
ብርዑ ዝጥዋፉ ስምዒቱ ሴፉ፣
እኮ’ዩ ገጣሚ ብርሃንን ቀንዴልን ዘይነብሮ መዓርግ ኣነ ኣይቅበልን
ክኸውን’ምበር ክመስል ኣይደልን!
(ካብ መጽሓፍ ይርጋኣለም ፍስሃ: ኣለኹ (ሽወደን: ኣሕታሚ እምኵሉ: 2019): ገጽ 88።
I am not a Poet
I love poetry, but I am not a poet poets fascinate me But I never said, ‘I am a poet’: because I have sabotaged my courage, wounded my conscience, closed my eyes, trusting my ears, learned how to live, deceiving my heart.
Because I refused to sacrifice for truth, I walk down cast.
I have become the grave of my emotions. Sir, Madam, you are wrong! I am not who you say I am.
What is a mere poet!? What is a mere poetess!? Life’s surface is not its true depth
The tongue is not the emotion.
Having read, examined, and documented
truth, love, conscience, and justice combined
the poet abides in struggle, listens to his heart
for the sake of beauty advocates for the muzzled, oppressed
his gasp as self-sabotaging payment.
The pen is his candle, emotion his sword
the poet is the light and the candle I cannot accept an honor that I cannot uphold--
I do not simply want to be but to act.
- from Yirgalem Fisseha Mebrahtu, I am Here, Sweden: Emkulu Publishers, 2019) p. 88.
II. ዓቕሊ ጽበት
ሸላይ ክንዲ ቍመተይ
ምድራ ክንዲ ዓራተይ።
ኣየራ ብቝንጣሮ ምቘታ ከም ጸበል
ውሻጠኣ ገሃነም ማዕጾኣ ኣፍ ገበል።
ሎምስ መሪሩኒ ክጾራ ኣይከኣልኩን
ሰብ ገዲፉ ዋላ ሰይጣን ይዅን፡ ‘ንዕናይ’ ተዝብለኒ፡ ‘ናበይ፧’ ኣይምበልኩን።
(ካብ መጽሓፍ ይርጋኣለም ፍስሃ: ኣለኹ (ሽወደን: ኣሕታሚ እምኵሉ: 2019): ገጽ 73።)
The prison cell fits my body height
its mud floor serves in lieu of my bed.
Suffocates, sickly atmospheric overwhelming, like a bad effect of traditional medicine, hell in the inside, caged by a door in the shape of a serpent’s mouth.
Too much sorrow, I can’t bear. If anyone would call, “Come with me!” I wouldn’t want to ask “where?” But would rather concur To go along. Never mind: with Demon or Man.
- From Yirgalem Fisseha Mebrahtu, I am Here, Sweden: Emkulu Publishers, 2019 p. 73.
ትጽሕፍዶ ’ሎኻ ትሕንጥጥ ትጭሕግር
ብዘይ ድምጺ ትንድር ትምድር!
ትጽሕፍዶ ’ሎኻ፧ ንዕምቈት ስምዒት ለዊስካ ብንብዓት!
ምስ ሃፈጽታኡ ምስ ምቘቱ ኣብ እዋኑ ኣብ ሰዓቱ፡ ሓቂ ተሳሒጋ፡ ፍትሒ ’ናተጨውየት
ሓልዮት ተረጊጻ፡ ፍቕሪ እና’እወየት፡
ነገራት ስኢኑ ቀይዲ ጐፍ ምስ በለካ ኣብ መገዲ፣ ከም ሰብካዶ እዝንኻ ትውትፍ ብቓንዛን ጫውጫውታን ነፊጽካ ትሃትፍ
ወይስ ርግእ ኢልካ ትዕዘብ ትጽሕፍ፧
ነቲ ሓሶቶም ሓቂ፡ ነቲ ሓቅኻ ሓሶት
ምስሉይነቶም ክብሪ፡ ትብዓትካ ድማ ሞት።
እናበልዎኸ ከመይ ’ልካ ክትሓልፎ
ብደውካ ኣብ ቅድሜኻ እንከሎ መሕልፎ
ትጽሕፎ’ምበር ከመይ ዘይትጽሕፎ፧!
ጽሓፍ በል ሓንጥጥ ኣፈልፍሎ ወረቐትስ ካበይ፡ ኣብ ኣእምሮ
ጽሓፎ’ሞ ኣብ ጽቡቕ ኣንብሮ ‘
ንፋስ’ ኣብ ዘይረኽቦ ‘ውሑጅ’ ኣብ
ዘይፍሕሮ ንግዜኡ ኣብ ልቢ ቅበሮ!
(ካብ መጽሓፍ ይርጋኣለም ፍስሃ: ኣለኹ (ሽወደን: ኣሕታሚ እምኵሉ: 2019): ገጽ 80።
Are You Writing?
Are you writing, sketching and scribbling,
Silently roaring and arguing?
Engraving your deep emotions with a dough of tears!
That give off steam and heat there and then When truth battles to speak, and justice is hijacked
compassion is trampled, and love screams when the center cannot hold and anarchy is loose do you shudder away by the pain and noise? Or do you withhold, observe, and stay and write?
Their lie is called truth, your truth falsehood their bigotry is called honor, your courage is paid in death.
How could you then not not-write-- while standing there and it is fleeting before you--
of course, you would write. How couldn’t you!
Go then and write, let it flow. But where is the paper? just write it in the mind, or conceal it in the heart for now The safe store, where the wind cannot reach and the flood cannot destroy.
- From Yirgalem Fisseha Mebrahtu, I am Here, Sweden: Emkulu Publishers, 2019, p. 80.
Four Poems by Haile Bizen
I. ካብ ፍቕሪ ወይኸኣ ሞት
ኣብ እንዳ ማርያም ነይሩ: ጆን እንብሎ ከም ግዛዕ ዝገብሮ። ካብ ዝነገረኒ ዘይርስዖ--
ኣብ ጸሎት: ብፍቕሪ ከላግጽ ማርያም ሰሚዓቶ:
እቲ ጽፍዒት ዘላደደቶ፣ ኰይኑ ከም ዘጽገቦ
እንጀራ ምስ ሕምቶ።
---ነዚ ዕልላ ግልብጥ ነብሎ፣ ማለት ፍቕሪ
ዝሕጭጨሉ ንነብሱ ባዕሉ ዝጸፍዕ
ዛንታይ ከኣ ከምዚ ምዀነ-- ኣብ መንደቕ ተላሒጉ ዝተረፈ: ቅጥኒ ጸሎት ‘ተሸንከሮ: ብደዉ ዝገርነወ--
“ፍቕሪ ወይኸኣ ሞት!” ተጽደቖ: ሱባኤ ዝኣተወ።
-ካብ መጽሓፍ ሃይለ ቢዘን: ፍቕሪ ወይኸኣ ሞት ሽወደን: ኣሕታሚ እምኵሉ: 2019 ገጽ 14።
At St Mary’s, there was a man we called John he was someone lacking a filter. Somethings he told me, I never forget.
When, during prayers, Mary heard him being cynical about love
she gave him a hard slap in the face but the slap would nourish him like a delicious dish of injera and fried meat sauce, nevertheless
--Let us flip the conversation. Make love the ridiculer of the self-slapping fool—
And so my story would be hence, of someone standing-still against a wall
nailed by prayer-yarns, unaware of sounds, and longing “Love or Death” to deliver he who enters devotional life.
-From Haile Bizen, Love or Death, Sweden: Emkulu Publishers, 2019, p. 14.
II. ዝተኻዕወ ስምዒት
ናተይ። ኣይናተይን። ወዘልዘል ዝበለ ሓሳብ ጋሕመጥመጥ ዝበለ ስእሊ በሰሮ።
** እዋን ዘላህመሞ: ሓዊ ዘይሰምዕ ፈጋዕጋዕ ዝበለ
ተቐባሊ: ውሉድ ክልተ ቀዝሒ **
ስቕ ስቕ ** ሕንክርክር
** ግብ ኢሉኒ። ጸሊም መንደቕ: ጸኒሑ ጸሊም ማዕጾ:
ጸኒሑ ጸሊም ጐልጐል: ጸኒሑ ጸሊም ሰማይ። እቲ
ጸላም ኣብ ትሽቱሸይ ኣትዩ ቲኽቲኽ ኢሉኒ **
ክርትም ኢለ ስሒቐ ** (ካብ መጽሓፍ ሃይለ ቢዘን᎓ ብድሕሪ ማዕጾ ኣስመራ᎓ 2008᎓ ገጽ 6-8።
Poured Out Thought
Mine. Not mine. Scattered thought incoherent picture of a neophyte.
** Worn out by time, unresponsive to flaming fire
a recipient child of sorrow on top of sorrow
Silence Silence ** Entangled ** I entered darkness. Black wall, then black door, then black field, then black sky. And then
darkness entered my armpit and tickled me. ** And I burst with laughter ** -Sections from a poem by Haile Bizen, Behind the Doors (Asmara: 2008), p. 6-8.
III. ዘወንታ ሓሳብ
ሰብ? መገዲ? ሰብን መገድን?
ምግፋሕን ምቕጣንን ዘመሳስሎም።
ዝዅየጥን ዘይዅየጥን ዝፈላልዮም።
ግልል ጐሪሐ ግልል
ኣነ ኾይነ ብድሕሪት ተኸዊለ
ዘወን ካብ መጽሓፍ ሃይለ ቢዘን᎓ ብድሕሪ ማዕጾ (ኣስመራ᎓ 2008)᎓ ገጽ 2።
Man and road?
Road and man?
Roughness and smoothness
breadth and shallowness make the semblances.
Transience of man and the road’s infinity
(And either can rise up or stay even)
make the differences.
I am staying away; being clever, I am staying away
My face is in front
I am behind Hiding
Strutting -From Haile Bizen, Behind the Doors (Asmara, 2008), p. 2.
IV. ስርዓተ-ነጥቢ ግፋ
The Punctuation of Rounding Up
Knock Knockknock knock knockknock
Boomboom boom boomboom boomboom Knockknockknock
OpenOpen Come on Come on
OpenOpen Come on Come on
Who is there? Who is there? Woofwoof Woofwoof
Who is there? Who is there?
Woofwoof Woofwoof Whoistherewhoisthere?
-From Haile Bizen, Love or Death ((Sweden: Emkulu Publishers, 2019), pp. 122-124.
Yirgalem Fisseha Mebrahtu is an Eritrean poet, who lives in exile following her release in 2015 from the government’s prison where she languished for six years for her poetry and critical journalism. Since 2018 she is a scholar of the Writers-in-Exile Program of the PEN-Center in Germany. She has extensively written about her prison experience, and performed her poetry in several events in Europe and elsewhere. In 2019, she received the first PEN Eritrea’s Freedom of Expression Award.
Haile Bizen is a poet, journalist, art critic and translator. He has published three books of poetry and short stories; translated two children’s books and co-authored three. Before fleeing Eritrea in 2009, Bizen has served in different capacities and positions, including as editorial board member of Hiwyet magazine from 1995 to 2001. He also served as editor in Hidri Publishers from 1996 to 2007; jury member in Eritrea’s highest literary award, Raimock, and various national literary contests. Since 2011 Bizen lives in Norway, where he was invited to come as ICORN guest writer. He is the current president of PEN Eritrea.
Ghirmai Negash is a professor of postcolonial studies and the director of the African Studies program in Ohio University. He was the president of PEN Eritrea, 2014-2015, and he is the current vice-president of the African Literature Association (2019-2020). He has written and edited several books and articles on the literatures of the Horn of Africa and South Africa, and translated African poetry and fiction into English. His translations include Who Needs a Story? (translated and co-edited with Charles Cantalupo, 2006), and his critically acclaimed translation of Gebreyesus Hailu’s 1927 novel The Conscript (Ohio University Press, 2012) from the Tigrinya language into English. Among numerous praises, The Conscript was described as a “novel of great irony and power [and] its translation into English [as] a gift to American readers” by Laila Lalami, the author of The Moor’s Account.