IT WAS AFTERNOON¹

It was afternoon
the sky dressed as spring.
One moment more
and it would have conducted
the dance of death in the city.
It was afternoon.
In no hurry the children
went down the street.
Like gazelles
they came and went
in twos
in threes.
They part
they mix
happily.

It was afternoon.
Oppressive clouds of death
descend on the city
18 minutes
earthquake
fear, silence.
Bodies red with blood
reshape flowerbeds.

¹ This is from The Song of the Slaughtered City, which city is Halabja in Iraqi Kurdistan. On 16 and 17 March 1988 that city was bombed with chemical bombs by the Iraqi air force and later destroyed with dynamite.

Agirê Evîndarî (The Fire of Love)

Night has completely passed, yet you lie awake here,
I cannot sleep—when will I sleep without you?
The home has turned into a prison where I suffer,
Until dawn, darkness and sorrow surround me. 

Your presence—once a single heartbeat in mine—
Oh heart, does no one compare to that one?
Why constantly does my heart return to the yearning for them?
At times I felt their hands upon my head—
So many dreams and visions came with that closeness. 

And I stayed awake, oh heart—why did the night vanish?
Did I kill them, oh heart—why did the night vanish?
Get up quickly, oh heart, bring them back,
We embraced—oh heart, why did the night vanish?

--- Cigerxwîn

Answer

After Halabja* suffocated,
I wrote a long complaint to God
Before everyone,
I read it to a tree.
The tree cried.

From one side, a bird, a postman,
Said, “All right, who will deliver it?
If you are expecting me to take it,
I won’t reach Gods throne.

Late that night,
My angelic poem, dressed for mourning,
Said, “Don’t worry.

I will take it to the heights
Of the atmosphere.
But I won’t promise

He will take the letter Himself.
You know, the Great God
Who can see Him?

I said, “Thank you. Fly.”
My angelic inspiration flew
With my complaint.

The next day, it was returned.
God’s fourth secretary down,
A man by the name of Obaid,
At the bottom

Of the very same complaint,
Wrote to me in Arabic:
“Idiot, make it Arabic.

People here don’t know Kurdish.
They won’t take it to God.”

--- Sherko Bekas

translated by Alana Marie Levinson-LaBrosse & Halo Fariq

*Translator’s note: On March 16, 1988, as part of Anfal, Saddam Hussein’s military campaign against the Kurds of Iraq, Halabja withstood a chemical-weapons attack. The largest directed against a civilian population in history, it has been recognized as an act of genocide by the Iraqi High Criminal Court.

Veil (1941)

I heard a girl's lament - yesterday she howled 
Like a prisoner and so passionate, it melted the heart

Such voice and shape no one has heard or seen before
she tore at the depths of the heart's old scab

She said: This veil has not only covered our face, 
Against us, no rights, forgotten names

Never have we had a day when we freely demanded our right
for our own fate, gone to the battlefield

From beginning to end, this black veil was wrong 
It became our obstacle, disabled us from entering the community of men

Pull it off, please tear it away, throw it into the furnace of fire
It's a pity that at the light of day, you drag yourselves down into the darkness of night

The oppression of these traitors, it left no just judgement
They put our sex under the spell of men's pleas

Why did our lot become a shroud, both in life and in judgement?
Here black, there white, it’s sewn unto our bodies 

Want to know, ask your elders, those who came before you
Who ever saw veil over Kurdistan's woman’s face

When did the veil become a symbol of the virtue of the tender body?
the heart is the arrow of the denier of God, who take no responsibility over faith

Tare it off, put it among you and surround it 
I hope to see it with my own eyes, with my wandering soul

Take it away please, throw it away, throw it into the furnace of fire
It is a pity that at the light of day, you drag yourselves down into the darkness of night

Let a circle gather round it, say farewell to it 
Let its name go with this April flood

Put it in a coffin, let it be carried over the shoulders of longing 
Put it in a grave, on top of the ‘Saywan’ hill

Forgive us, O God - to bury it is not right
Put it in a deep hole, over the hill of ‘Gawran’

Arrange a sad memorial, where each of you
come to his ceremony, with joy and smiling lips

Don't believe that this lament is "Nuri's" idea, nor his poem
It belongs to the girl with a beautiful voice, who said it with tears in her eyes

Take it away please, throw it away, throw it in the furnace of fire
It's a pity that the light of day, you drag yourselves into the darkness of night

--- Nuri Sheikh Salih Sheikh Ghani Barzinji

What I know of the sea

What I know of the sea is so little
yet all I want to do is swim!
Without leaning too long on reality
I'd like to view all my memories
one by one; leisurely.

I'd like to go, for example, to your dream world
where you open the window and walk 

where you rise and weave
your fingers into unkempt hair.

Rains wander your face, the gentleness of dew is in your voice.
Let each and every spring be yours!
May all mountains tire and arrive here!
Here at the place where stars have spilled you
where waters flow; the place where you say
Curl up on my lap and let birds take flight
In the place where we collected questions
such as 'what was before words?'

What I know of love is so little!
Yet I'm constantly thinking of you!

- İlhan Sami Çomak
Translated by Caroline Stockford

Part of the sorrows and suffering of Kurdish girls (1941)

The sorrow and suffering of Kurdish girls
cannot be told in a hundred stories

From the ranks of humanity, they have been driven away
lower than animals, weak and incurable

Until the age of fifteen, just like a servant 
They are forced to toil on the plains and the outdoors

Then when it is time for the demands of marriage
Quickly she is betrothed according to the terms of Sharia

Either she is conquered in exchange for much property 
Or she is captured, exchanged, woman for woman

she is given away to a filthy or old man
without opportunity, she is forced and hastily given away

her nineteenth century is pitiful 
Though in Sharia law she is said to be free

Those who so disobey 
in heart's sorrow they become mad and filled with fury

As long as they are girls, they are flawless and blameless
When married, they become subhuman

For every girl who suffers wrongdoing 
Let the responsibility lie with father and brother

Whoever marries her, again
persecutes her until the day of judgement

- Mufti Penjweni

Sweet memories (1974)

The happy day of Kurdish youth is still hidden by a heavy black cloud
until the face of the city´s daughter is hidden from the eyes

Your veil does not let your beautiful eyebrows be seen 
Alas for the filthy cloud, preventing a gaze at the moon

How can a people be free, when its girl is shackled
Is that not enough of slavery-girls and shackled to their

Your father has closed the door for you, but has no door himself
To close the door for you, is to close the door of hope

Scandalous, it's death, how will they tell you
"You may not go out”, where is the right to life? Woman

Remove your black veil, let your shining cheek be seen
For in this, the 20th century, this veiling is filled with shame

Other people's girls build atomic bombs, but you 
Only know the words like (barbecue tongs), (potholder) and
(breadboard).

Thanks to her education, she learnt science and art
You (knit yarn) for us, such sweet memories

She flew across the sky, travelled the world, dived under the sea
My grief, and your only chore is to sit inside

Boy is successful, learning, working, making art
But your art is knitting socks, I rejoice for you

your grandmother never saw the veil, the shawl and the shroud
Those meaningless rags are the enemy's gift

Let us have a thousand clear sea like (Ze), (Gader), (Lawen) 
Until the woman is free, for the fountain of life is muddy

Slavery is not common anymore, beloved Kurdish girl
Go to battle, wake up, now is not a time for sleeping

Smash the door, tear the veil, run to school
The cure for Kurdish pain is education, only education

It is the educated mother who sends a strong son to the fight
I said it, you must understand: (the water never reaches the sea)

Your gold earrings are of no use, hear my words
Worthy of your ears, my love, is (Hemn's) simple poem

--- Hemin Mukriani

Picture - Kurdish Poem

Four children

a Turk, a Persian

an Arab and a Kurd were collectively drawing the picture of a man.

The first drew his head

The second drew his hands and upper limbs

The third drew his legs and torso

The fourth drew a gun on his shoulder

--- Sherko Bekas [1979]

I am Kurdish ( أنا كردي )

I challenge poverty, privation, pain. 

I resist times of oppression with strength.
I have courage.
I do not love angel eyes, skin white as marble.
I love the rocks, the hills, the peaks lost among the clouds.
I challenge misfortune, misery, solitude 

And I shall never be a slave of the enemy, never grant him treaty!

I challenge batons, chains, torture. 

And even if my body lies torn in pieces,
With all my strength 

I shall scream: I am Kurdish.

--- Hemin Mukriyani

Kurds are an ethnic group indigenous to a region called Kurdistan spanning parts of Turkey, Iraq, Iran, and Syria. They have long sought the creation of an independent Kurdish nation due to historic repression and the denial of autonomy. Despite partial autonomy in Iraq and Syria, the demand for a separate nation remains unresolved, with Kurdish nationalism still actively suppressed in several countries

BORDERS

Adored land, my country,

a love that I had lost..

if you had been remote 

in an inaccessible sky

or at a summit of the world

I would have known 

how to run to you 

even with iron shoes.

But a narrow distance 

separates you from me..

The invader calls it a border.

--- Hemin Mukriyani

Kurds are an ethnic group indigenous to a region called Kurdistan spanning parts of Turkey, Iraq, Iran, and Syria. They have long sought the creation of an independent Kurdish nation due to historic repression and the denial of autonom. Despite partial autonomy in Iraq and Syria, the demand for a separate nation remains unresolved, with Kurdish nationalism still actively suppressed in several countries.