Iyad Hayatleh, a Palestinian refugee poet, was born and grew up in a Palestinian refugee camp in Syria in 1960. He started writing poetry early and published his work in Arabic magazines, giving many readings in Syria, Lebanon and Yemen. He has lived in Glasgow since 2000. He is now an active member of Scottish PEN and Artists In Exile Glasgow and has taken part in many events and translation and poetry workshops giving many readings in Glasgow, Inverness, Belfast, Wigtown, Aberdeen, and the Edinburgh International Book Festival, and published some of his poems in magazines and collective pamphlets in Scotland.
His first collection, 'Beyond all measure'. is published by Survivor's Press. Recently he co-led two poetry workshops in Glasgow and Inverness sponsored by Scottish Poetry Library and Oxfam. He is putting together a book of verse for publication later this winter will be published in Arabic in Damascus. This translation of 'My Mother' was published in Poetry Scotland.
Hazel Frew who collaborated with Iyad in the translation of this poem was born in Baillieston in 1968. She grew up on the east coast of Scotland in Broughty Ferry and graduated from Glasgow University in 1991. Her first poem was published in 1995 and since then she has had many poems published in magazines and anthologies including 'The Rialto', 'Orbis' and 'New Writing Scotland'. A pamphlet, 'Clockwork Scorpion' was published in 2007 and her first poetry collection, 'Seahorses' was published by Shearsman Books in 2008.
My Mother
My guide if I get lost
Ammunition for time's betrayal
A sword that never blunts,
guarding my soul, when I come,
when I go, when I leave.
Throne of compassion
Abundant harvest of love
A crown of grey hair
like cotton blossoming in autumn
Her bright forehead
the poetry of lovers
and incoming dawn.
Lines of worry on her cheeks
map the camps, alleyways,
Java Coast and Galilee
Her smiling eyes convert
ruins to paradise
Shining star
Glistening dew.
When she speaks the sky is covered with doves
and roses bloom in the heart
Her warm voice drips honey
breaking the darkness
A sunrise on violets longing for bees.
To see my happiness makes her joyful as a child
To see my sorrow makes tears flood from her eyes
raising her trembling hands
Her face a mournful moon
with prayers flowing into songs
bringing me serenity.
Mother,
However old I grow
I will remain a child
Your arms are my cradle
You are the cedar tree
in whose shade I sit.
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