In memory of the Palestinian poet whose story we must tell…
“But finally!
Now everyone knows that
a long time ago
– and before anyone else in our crippled years.
accepted
kill
poets.”
Thus ends the poem written by Nikos Engonopoulos about the assassination of Federico García Lorca during the Spanish Civil War.
This text came to mind when I saw the news of the death of Refaat Alarir, a Palestinian poet from Gaza who died in an Israeli bombing at the age of 44.
Refaat Alarir belonged to a new generation of Palestinian poets. Fluent in English, he was a professor of English literature at the Islamic University of Gaza (which was also bombed and its faculty among the casualties) and encouraged other young authors to write in English so they could more easily communicate with a wider audience.
Since the start of the war, Refaat Alarir has used X (formerly Twitter) as often as possible to constantly post messages and give interviews about the situation.
In his posts and interviews, Alarir spoke angrily and sadly about what was happening in his place, about the people who were dying, about how the reality of what was happening in Gaza was often distorted.
“The pen is mightier than the sword” – the famous saying is true, but although it can defeat the essence of death, conquering its fear and sometimes granting immortality to the one who holds it, it does not act as a shield when poets get in the way. And they are killed. Sometimes as collateral damage in a military conflict, the victims of which are mainly civilians and children. For cruelty is never the answer. Be it the one that was recorded on October 7 in Israel, or the one that has since unfolded in Gaza.
Refaat Alarir himself was well aware that he, like all residents of Gaza, was a target for the Israeli army.
And he was able to write a poem that emphasizes the need to tell his story.
If I must die, let it be a tale. #FreePalestine #Gaza pic.twitter.com/ODPx3TiH1a
— Refaat in Gaza 🇵🇸 (@itranslate123) November 1, 2023
He titled it “If I Should Die” and posted it on November 1st.
“If I must die,
you must live.
tell my story
sell your things
buy a piece of fabric
and a few stripes
(make it white with a long tail).
to have a child somewhere in Gaza
looking into the face of the heavens.
was waiting for his dad, who went into the flames –
and didn’t say goodbye to anyone.
even with your own flesh.
even with myself –
watching the kite, my kite, my kite that you made, fly high.
and for a moment thinks there is an angel there.
returning love.
If I die
May this bring hope.
Let it be a fairy tale.”
From the editor: I wouldn’t be surprised if Google, Facebook and the like hit us again for this publication. This has already become a tradition. But I consider it beneath my dignity to remain silent about this.
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