الأحلام ماهي إلا تلك الأفكار المشتتة في الشوارع الوعرة، أحلام بين عالم يجول بالطامحين وشوارع تضم الصامتين، ما الشوك في شوارع الأحلام إلا سلم النجاة
By Svetlana Alikevich/Translated by: Dr. Nizar Ayoun Al-Aswad
/ للحرب وجه أنثوي (نوبل للأداب 2015)-1717685539.jpg)
Thousands of wars took place, short and long. We knew the details of some of them, while other details were absent among the bodies of the victims. Many wrote, but men always wrote about men. Everything we knew about war, we knew through “the man’s voice.” We are all prisoners of “men’s” perceptions and feelings about war, prisoners of “men’s” words. As for women, they have always been silent. In World War II, approximately one million Soviet women participated in fighting on all fronts and in various tasks. Svetlana raises important questions about the role of women in the war: Why did women, who defended their land and took their place in an exclusive male world, not defend their history? Where are their words and where are their feelings? There is a whole hidden world. Their war remained unknown... In her book, “War Has No Female Face,” Svetlana writes the history of this war. Women's war.
أحمد شاعر حقيقي في زمن امتلأ بالشعارات الجوفاء الدهناء .. لم يكتب في أو يهتف ...
لا مكان إلا لجنونه حب دفعهم بأن يزدادوا عظمة حتى دفعتهم أحلامهم ليصبحوا غير قادرين على فعل شيء سوى اللجوء إلى محكمة الحب ماذا لو كانت هذه هي المحكمة أشد قسوة ؟
ل من الممكن أن تعشق الأرض مغتصبها يوماً؟ هل من الممكن أن تنهض الأرواح من تحت الركام، معلنة أنها تحب من سلبها حقها يوماً؟ هل هذا هو الحبّ الذي حلمت به "جوليا" بطلة، رنا اليسير وأحمد اليسير في رواية لَستُ قدّيسة وهي صغيرة، ومزقها وهي عروس ليلة خطبتها، وأحياها وهي مبعوثة سلام فوق هاوية الموت؟
I want a clear enemy who is fit to curse and curse And soldiers cheer for their return Defeated or victorious And martyrs, not victims And an anthem And a memorial... I want a place in the heart of the country to comment on A memorial photo of a family that did not survive death I leave the task of pinning medals of honor on the chest of the tyrant to war. I want a war that resembles a war And an enemy is the enemy, without a mask, from the clay of this earth And a poem I write in praise of the fighter Not in Venetian satire! I want to write grass, The grass that will grow on the iron of the cannons!
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