Jojo Jajan
غرفة العتمة
من العتمة أنا،
وطني فراشة عجوز
صلاتي الصحراء
أغتسل بلعاب المطر
في دعائي ترقص الشمس
على أطراف أصابعها.
*
إلهي على حافةِ موت
إنه تحت بنفسجة الصدى
إنه عاصفة
تجيد الثرثرة
*
ولدت بعيبٍ خلقي
فكنت من توأمين:
أنا والوحدة
سأمنحكم قلباً حزيناً،
عيناً مفقوءة،
رِجلاً بعشرين إصبع
وأعضاء أخرى
تركها لدي صديقي الوقت
*
تبرعم والدي بين زخات مطر مهدور
بين لحظتي صمت
خلفتهما السماء بعد ترملها
حين قبلت به أباً
صنع لي ملائكة من ورق
أستطيع بسهولة الفوز عليهم
في لعبة "الغميضة" .
*
كان أبي أول بركان على الأرض
وشُرفتُنا نقطة دوران المطر
في بداية نهار عيد،
شرفتنا زورق دمع
يغرق أحياناً في شغب الأطفال،
شرفتنا حياة هجرت المدينة
و سكنت في حوض خيال
....
....
في بيتنا الجديد
لا توجد شرفة
*
رأيت إكسسواراتٍ جديدة
ترتديها الأرض
ورأيت البيوت تتخلى عن أبوابها
كي لا تتورط
في فراق الأحبة.
*
رأيت مدناً تهجر سكانها،
تصر سكك القطارات
على ظهرها،
و تذرف النهرَ وداعاً..
*
أشعر بتصعلك الدم
في عروقي،
أشعر بحمامات تلعب الورق
فوق منارة رأسي
*
تحتاج الكلمات
لمن يفركها بالصابون،
تحتاج لملابسٍ أوسع
وعابر لا يطالبها بابتسامة
*
في الضوءِ:
أرى العتمة،
أرى إلهي،
أرى الوقت،
أراكَ..
....
....
...
لكنني لا أراني
-Mona Kareem
I come from darkness
My homeland, an old butterfly,
My prayer, an endless desert.
I bathe in the saliva of rain.
In my prayers, the sun dances
On the tips of her fingers.
*
My God stands on the edge of death
Beneath the violet of an echo
A storm skilled in whispers
*
I was born with a flaw,
One of twins:
Me and loneliness
I offer you a grieving heart,
A plucked out eye
A leg with twenty toes
And other parts
That time my friend, forgot with me
*
My father bloomed between wasted rain showers
Between two silent moments
Left by the widowed sky
When I welcomed him as my father
He crafted paper angels for me
I could always beat him at hide-and-seek
*
My father was the first volcano on Earth.
Our balcony, a turning point for the rain
On holiday mornings
Our balcony, a boat of tears
Sometimes sinking in children’s laughter
Our balcony
a life that fled the city
and settled in a basin of imagination.
...
...
There is no balcony
in our new house.
I saw the Earth
try on new accessories.
I saw houses
abandon their doors
so they wouldn’t be guilty
of parting lovers.
I saw cities
leave their people behind.
Train tracks clung
to her back
and the river shed a farewell.
I feel vagabond blood
pulsing in my veins.
I feel pigeons
playing cards
atop the lighthouse of my head.
Words
they need someone
to scrub them clean with soap,
to dress them in wider clothes,
to pass by
without asking for a smile.
In the light,
I see darkness.
I see God.
I see time.
I see you.
...
...
...
But I do not see myself.
-Translated from Arabic by Jojo Jajan
I was born from shadow.
My country?
An aging butterfly,
my prayers dry in desert winds
Rain spits on my skin
still in prayer,
the sun pirouettes
on the tips of her own fingers
God sways at death’s edge.
He sleeps beneath the echo’s violet hush
a storm
that never stops whispering
I arrived broken
a twin not of flesh
but of solitude
I’ll leave you with
a mourning heart,
an eye already gone,
a foot with twenty toes
and other fragments
Time forgot to reclaim
My father bloomed
in rain no one wanted
between two silences
the widowed sky abandoned
When I called him father
he folded paper angels for me.
They were so easy to outwit
in hide-and-seek
He was the earth’s first volcano.
Our balcony
a turning axis for rainfall
at the break of holiday mornings.
It became
a teardrop boat
sometimes lost in the noise of children.
It became
a life
that left the city
to live inside a bowl of dreams
...
...
There is no balcony now
not in our new home.
I saw Earth dressing up
jewelry of sorrow and change.
Houses gave up their doors,
refusing to be accomplices
to farewells
I saw cities
abandoning their people
Railway tracks
etched their weight
on her back.
The river cried goodbye
I feel my blood
roaming wild
I feel doves
gambling above me,
on the lighthouse
of my head.
Words need washing.
They need looser clothes
And strangers
who don’t demand a smile
In the light,
I see only darkness.
I see God.
I see Time.
I see you.
...
...
...
But I cannot find myself.
-Translated from Arabic by Jojo Jajan
My Heritage
(An erasure poem from my interview with my mother)
Kurdish, Arabic.
Fathers, mothers,
trading, shopping,
around the world.
Muslim community.
Language of Islam.
Culture
Customs,
Not really spoken
Very well spoken.
—Jojo Jajan
Translator’s Statement
Mona Kareem was born in 1987 in Kuwait, and she is known for her bold and lyrical poetry that centers on identity and exile. Kareen is part of the Bedoon (stateless) community in Kuwait, which has deeply influenced her writing (“Mona Kareem”). She pursued higher education with support “from a charitable family” (“Mona Kareem”), eventually earning a Ph.D. in Comparative Literature in the United States. Her academic work focuses on Arab women writers, feminism, and translation (“Mona Kareem”). Kareem started publishing poetry at a very young age, with her first book coming out when she was just 14 years old. She writes in both Arabic and English, and uses powerful imagery to communicate emotional and political ideas (“Mona Kareem”). She often writes about themes like migration, solitude, and resistance using a clear but vivid language to challenge political systems (“Mona Kareem”)
Mona Kareem’s “The Room of Darkness” was published in 2016. Kareem writes from a place of marginalization and exile. She was denied entry to Kuwait and told she could face imprisonment (“Mona Kareem”), which shows how she has been forced to live in exile. Her work often shows themes of identity, loneliness and survival. At the time this poem was written, there were ongoing struggles around citizenship, freedom of speech and human rights specifically for the Bedoon community, who are denied legal rights and face discrimination (“Without Citizenship”). Kareem’s work often speaks to these issues through her own personal lens showing how large political problems affect everyday life and emotions, showing how big political problems can make people feel scared to talk and left out of their own country.
The poem has no set rhyme or rhythm, which gives it a free flowing feel. Some lines are short and direct, while others are longer and more abstract. The speaker shifts between different tones, sometimes it feels like a quiet conversation and other times more like a prayer. Kareem uses strong imagery especially around darkness, light, and body, and dreams. These features help express the speaker’s sense of being lost, searching for meaning and trying to understand their own story.
Translating this poem was a long process. I started by working closely with my mom, who speaks fluent Arabic. She helped me understand the literal meaning of each line, but some things didn't translate directly. Sometimes the words felt too heavy or too light in English. I also felt a connection to my heritage through this project. As my mom explained the meaning behind certain lines, I thought about how Arabic has shaped who we are. This project helped me appreciate that language is more than just words, it holds memories and ways of thinking. Even though I don’t speak the language perfectly fluently, this made me feel closer to it because I understand more about its meaning, importance, and role it plays in my family.. The quote “A man who has a language consequently possesses the world expressed and implied by that language” (“Many hands lighten the load”). This reminded me that translation is not just about finding the exact words, but about keeping the feelings, culture, and point of view behind the original language, and making sure the presence of the poem is still there even when the words change.
For my first translation, I focused on clear pictures in the poem like “old butterfly” and “paper angels”. I tried to keep the calm and sad feeling of the original poem in my translation. I kept the structure of the poem similar to the original, breaking it into short stanzas to keep the flow. I wanted to keep the smilies in the poem, like when I translated “My homeland is an old butterfly” instead of changing it to something more common. I wanted to keep the original meaning and feeling of the poem even if some images seem unusual or strange in English. In the second version, I tried to make the motions easier to understand, like sadness and loss. I also used symbols like the butterfly and the balcony to show ideas about change and memory. I tried to make the feelings more direct, like changing “I will grant you a sad heart” to “I’ll leave you with a mourning heart.” One challenge was that some Arabic phrases didn’t make sense in English, so I had to be creative but careful. For example, “the saliva of rain” felt odd in English, but I kept it in the first version to respect the imagery. Another challenge was trying to carry the sadness and emptiness through both versions. This process changed how I see translation. I used to think a good translation just needed to be accurate, but now I see that it also needs to carry voice, emotion, and memory. Like Don Mee Choi said, “Translation is not neutral, it’s political.” (Choi). This means translation affects how people understand culture. A good translation keeps these details so the original meanings and feelings are not changed or lost.
Interviewing my mom was a relaxed and easy experience. It felt more like a normal conversation than an interview. She answered the questions in a calm way, and I got to learn more about our language and culture without it feeling forced. I liked hearing about how Arabic and Kurdish were part of her life and the lives of our ancestors. It made me think more about where we come from.
When I made my erasure poem, I focused on the theme of identity and connection. I chose words that showed how Kurdish and Arabic are more than just languages, they are part of who we are. They connect us to our parents, our religion, and our everyday lives. I wanted the poem to show pride in our culture and how language keeps us tied to it, even when things change or get difficult.
Works Cited
Wikipedia Contributors. “Mona Kareem.” Wikipedia, Wikimedia Foundation, 7 Nov. 2024.
Sciences, Arts . “Mona Kareem.” Arts & Sciences, 10 July 2023, artsci.washu.edu/faculty-staff/mona-kareem.
Caspani, Maria. “Stateless in New York: A Woman’s Life as a “Legal Ghost.”” Newsweek, 18 Sept. 2014, www.newsweek.com/stateless-new-york-womans-life-legal-ghost-271559.
“Without Citizenship: Statelessness, Discrimination, and Repression in Kuwait.” www.justiceinitiative.org, www.justiceinitiative.org/publications/without-citizenship-statelessness-discrimination-and-repression-kuwait.