Bassam Hajjar

Bassam Hajjar Poems

Bassam Hajjar Biography

Bassam Hajjar was born in Tyr, Lebanon in August 13 of 1955. poet, fiction writer, literary critic, translator, Publisher and journalist. He made studies of philosophy at The University of Lebanon and t The Sorbonne of Paris. Investigations, articles, literary critic and translations of his have been published between 1978 and 2002 in magazines Dutch such as “Al Fikr al Arabi al Muassir” “Nizwa” “Abwab” and in the newspaper “Al Nida” in Beirut. He was cofounder and editor in chief of “Al Mulhak”, weekly literary supplement of the newspaper “Assafir”, Beirut and since 1999 up to now editor of “Nawafiz” , weekly cultural literary supplement of the newspaper “Al Mustakbal”, in the same city. He has participated from several poetry readings and conferences in Asia and Europe. Part of his work has been translated into French, English, Italian and German.)

The Best Poem Of Bassam Hajjar

The Interpretation Of Marble

I don't mind,
when I look,
absent-mindedly,
from the edge of fifty -
the commotion of pedestrians on a wide street,
down there,
where the shops are,
the taxicabs,
a bunch of students and workers and the unemployed,
policemen,
fathers who are looking for a safe place
in which to keep the pleasures of seeking,
the hardships of seeking,
day by day,
until the seeking day is over,
and the shortest among them,
the most short-lived,
finds refuge in a night of doubts and suspicion.

I don't mind,
at sunset,
men who drag the disappointments of hardships into lit houses
with the fever of hope
alone
if there is any hope left

And I don't mind -
when I look,
absent-mindedly -
days I should have lived,
or the shadow I used to be should have lived,
or the person who was for years in my company

And years elapse
like a silent dialogue
like a speeding bus
ahead of me
filled with those who live without me, here
or there

As if these were the memories of the person
I've always wanted to be
As if these were memories I've read in a book
which I then lost
a book borrowed by a friend then lost
or
maybe I sold it to a book peddler
a basket weaver
who will carry it to the end of the world
and barter it for a loaf of bread
a drink
a warm cup of soup

And I don't mind
when I look
absent-mindedly
at me
the one who doesn't mind

For I don't care what happens metres away
miles away
cities
and seas
and tales
away from the gate of my absent-mindedness

Translated by Anton Shammas

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