Writer of the world. Ahlam Bsharat, Palestine. Встречаем писателя мира Ahlam Bsharat из Палестины

Ahlam Bsharat, Palestine
Is a Palestinian novelist, poet, and children's author, as well as a teacher of creative writing. She is a prominent and highly regarded author of YA novels in the Arab world, and her books have met with great success at the local and international levels. They have been included in IBBY lists, shortlisted for the Palestine Book Award (UK) and Etisalat Award for Children's Literature (UAE). She has presented twice, and run creative writing workshops at the Emirates Literature Festival in Dubai, and participated in numerous creative writing forums in Europe.

Two of her novels, Code Name: Butterfly and Trees for the Absentees, have been translated into English and her most celebrated recent Arabic YA novels are: “مريم سيدة الإسطرلاب ” ,“جنجر” and “مصنع الذكريات ”. Her latest publication, "اسم الطائر ", is a collection of poetry rooted in her peasant origins. She tells of village life with a rawness and directness in these poems, and without the usual romanticization of this subject matter. Her next book to be published, “طعم فمي”, tells of her evocative memories of food whilst growing up in the Palestinian valleys. She is currently working on a book that chronicles her personal experience living in the region.

Ahlam Bsharat, Palestine
Палестинский писатель, поэт и детский писатель, а также учитель творческого письма. Она является известным и уважаемым автором романов YA в арабском мире, и ее книги пользуются большим успехом на местном и международном уровнях. Они были включены в списки IBBY, номинированы на премию Палестинской книги (Великобритания) и премии Etisalat в области детской литературы (ОАЭ). Она дважды выступала и проводила семинары по творческому письму на литературном фестивале Эмирейтс в Дубае, а также участвовала в многочисленных форумах по творческому письму в Европе.
Obeidah the Cow*



We had a cow, Obeidah the cow.



She had big wide eyes

but the whole herd had big wide eyes.



She was dappled

but the rest of them were dappled.



She had two large udders

that daily gave two or three buckets of milk

but every other cow in the herd had full udders

my mom milked for the same amount.



Most of the time Obeidah had snot running down her nose

and that was disgusting

and pervasive in the herd we owned,

their nostrils were snot-filled.



And whenever we took her calf away from under her

Obeidah used to shed tears like human tears

and that was the case for the rest of the cows

whenever we took their calves away from them

they cried like humans might.



Obeidah used to suffer longing.

And would low a painful moo.

The whole herd could do this

and rip our heart cords apart, send us

into hiding under blankets

as if taking cover

from a night monster until daybreak.



At daybreak we’d declare our safe presence

by taking a piss out in the open

one after the other

a natural rite of passage

as the sun recited her hymns overhead.



Then into the plains we, kids, would go

unafraid of being lost

where we’d been in a previous life.

We knew even the smallest rocks,

the yellow snakes, their crossing time,



and in our mouths

we held a piece of bread each,

and in each hand a thin stick

off the corpse of the poppy plant

we used to call the bitter orange bush.



We would run brandishing our sticks

with Obeidah and the entire herd ahead of us



and alongside them

our dog, Camel.



A poem by Ahlam of Bsharat

Translated by Fady Joudah

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