The frozen water
in my eyes,
which was scratched
by a cat of time
is changing the spring
I desire,
my vinegary dreams,
and the songs that love me
into a one-...
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People
Raed Al-Jishi
Raed Anis Al-JISHI (poet, translator; Saudi Arabia) has published one novel, seven volumes of poems in Arabic and one, Bleeding Gull: Look, Feel, Fly, in English. Alongside a career as a writer, he teaches high school chemistry in his native city of Qateef. He is a feminist and human rights activist, and works on issues involving children and literacy.
Find Raed's Arabic social media (YouTube, Twitter, Facebook) at rabdaljishi. Below are links to his English accounts.
Author's Gallery:
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My body regularly erupts and it hurts when it does but it terrifies me with its painful time delay. My legs don’t tremble my back doesn’t groan, and I don’t distort my... media_text
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I roll up. I smoke the pulse of the minute. I inject my hand with heroin of love. No one can shut me up. My flying poems hide themselves in the pack of hearts, ... media_text
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Like a dervish I am flattered by poems, emotions, spitting the coffee in the longing coffee. From the east, the last gate of escape, I looked upon us in the froth.... media_text
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Our cotton didn’t take the sun’s side anymore. The wrung-out sweat was not injected inside us as if a shiver of a poem’s smoke. We are the shaved-off sugar top And the... media_text
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There is a holy spot bher eyes where angels burn their feathers And lose their faith. Do not blame me. media_text
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And I see peasants singing along the milky road alongside a bull that didn’t know what a plow looks like. And beggars, desert sharpeners like a flock of cheating... media_text
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It is my right to love as she wants it, to get ripped by desire when her necklace scatters the tears of pearls. It is a riot, and it is my right to love and die ... media_text
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In the beginning love was a gift from God. Its law melts as words. Its eve was the tone of the letters. Adam was not there but a sheet containing the fate of all... media_text
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I am gambling in the Beirut night. I need two numbers melded together. I never asked any dice about its color, where it was made, or about its birthday in... media_text
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Their identikits are a mystery. I couldn’t recognize them by the reflection of the wind Nor by the sensors On my blind stick. They walked by me with sympathy. ... media_text
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The language of love is spontaneous,like me, like a painting of a child. I used to draw my house on the left side of the paper. My house was so small, neither doors nor... media_text
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