Winds that do not blow in the evening,and winds that do not blow at dawnhave burdened me with a book of boughs.I see my cry in the silence.Night descends, blue, between staircases and stars. I seeblue…

Soonall the rooms will be closed,and beginning with the basement,we will leave themoneby oneuntil we reach the gunson the roof.We will leave them too . . . like the roomsand go onto search in our bloodor…

We did not name it so that it would become a city.We came to it thirstystarvedlimping on blazing sands,blinded by sun glow.We cut the world from Mecca to the palace of Naaman.We cut the world with a sworduntil…

When I enter the earth’s nestcontentedand glad,my wings resting,I will free my eyelids so not to seethe trees swaying nearer.Do not cry over me.I said do not cry.If you wish, remember that my wingsare…

New Year, move on. There is the path / to lead your footsteps.

In war, nothing has meaning except escape or imprisonment.

This temporal and spatial here and there are interchangeable according to the power of the artist's passion and perseverance in making his art, as well as his eternal alliance with the higher power that he recognizes and his refusal to bow down to temporary…

The summer grew hotter and the war more voracious. It brought convoys of flags, medals of honor, and village youths in coffins back to us.

Why do we fear words? / If their thorns have once wounded us, / then they have also wrapped their arms around our necks / and shed their sweet scent upon our desires.

The wind gasps with the midday heat,         like a nightmare in the late afternoonAnd on the masts, it continues to fold, to spread for departureThe gulf is crowded with them–laborers…

Sherko Fatah writes of smugglers and minefields on the border with Turkey.

I remember as-Sayyab screaming into the Gulf in vain:Iraq, Iraq. Nothing but Iraq.And nothing but an echo repliesI remember as-Sayyab, in that Sumerian spaceA woman triumphed over the sterility of mistShe…

How can one explain that which goes beyond logic? In the dream I was asked to read something and I couldn't.

This interview appeared in slightly different form in Keys to the Garden: New Israeli Writing, edited and translated by Ammiel Alcalay (San Francisco: City Lights, 1996).Ammiel Alcalay: Starting with…