AUC Literary Translation Course
AUC Literary Translation Course
LITERARY TRANSLATION
Student Handbook
All rights reserved. No part of this handbook may be reprinted or reproduced or utilized in any form or by any electronic, mechanical or other means, including photocopying
and recording, or in any information or retrieving system without permission in writing from the Arabic and Translation Studies Division, School of Continuing Education, The
American University in Cairo.
© 2007
Forward
The changes in the translation market have been given due focus in the
advanced courses such as Advanced Translation Problem-Solving Strategies
and Translation Portfolio and Project, which focus on topics such as translation
market and environment, project management in translation, code of ethics etc.
Learners in the Professional Diploma in Translation and the Professional
Diploma in Translation and Interpreting are nourished from day one on the
highest standards of professionalism of translation as an activity in the market
of service, of translation as a translator/client relationship and translation as a
mental process.
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The American University in Cairo
School of Continuing Education
Arabic and Translation Studies Division
Target Audience:
This course is designed for learners who have some knowledge and skills of translation but in need of
techniques for translating literary works.
Course Description:
This course is an intensive exposure to literary translation; it explores different techniques for
translating literary works with a focus on translating idiomatic and fixed expressions, and figures of
speech. Focusing on producing clear, easy-to-read and smooth language. The strategies learned in
this course are transferable to other text types.
Learning Outcomes:
By the end of this course, learners will be able to
1. translate fixed expressions in literary works into Arabic and English;
2. translate idiomatic expressions in literary works into Arabic and English;
3. translate figures of speech in literary works into Arabic and English;
4. translate collocations in literary works into Arabic and English; and
5. produce translated language which is clear, easy-to-read and smooth.
Instructional Materials:
1. Literary Translation. ATS Student Study Guide. (Updated Every Term)
2. Kenny, Dorothy. (2000). "Translators at play: exploitations of collocational norms in German-
English translation". Bill Dodd, ed. Working with German Corpora. Birmingham: University of
Birmingham Press. 143-160
3. Munday, J. (2008). Introducing translation studies: Theories and applications (2nd ed.). London:
Routlege Taylor and Francis Group.
4. Mihaela, V. & Liviu, D. (2008). The use of metaphors in teaching students of economics.
Retrieved from http://steconomice.uoradea.ro/anale/volume/2008/v1-international-
business-and-european-integration/118.pdf
5. Reynolds, Matthew (2011). The Poetry of Translation. London: Routlege.
6. Tonkin, Humphrey & Frank, Maria (2010). Translator as Mediator of Cultures. London:
Routlege.
1
Offered as customized; the number of CEUs depends on client's request.
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Syllabus / Training Outline:
Serial* Title/subtitle Assignment
1 Orientation and theoretical introduction Selected readings on theories of
literary translation
Quiz 3
12 Project discussion
*
Session: In this course one session equals 2.5 contact hours.
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Instructional Methods:
Learners will experience interactive, practice-based and skill-based learning.
For further information or Inquiries: Please see the Assistant Division Director for Regular Programs
in Room 617 SCE, or call 2797-6873, or email [email protected]
**
Exact dates will be announced in class two sessions before the quiz, exam, or project is due.
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Classroom Guidelines for SCE Learners
CLASSROOM GUIDELINES FOR SCE
إرشادات خاصة بالدارسين بكلية التعليم المستمر
LEARNERS
Attendance Policy: :سياسة الحضور
You must attend at least 75% of the class من عدد% 57 يجب أن تحضر نسبة ال تقل عن
sessions. Failure to do so will result in وفي حالة عدم.محاضرات المادة الدراسية
failing the course, although you will be
غير أنه، ستعتبر راسبًا في المادة،االلتزام بذلك
allowed to attend classes.
.سيُسمح لك بحضور المحاضرات
Punctuality Policy: :سياسة االنضباط في المواعيد
You are expected to arrive on time for all عليك مراعاة الحضور في الموعد المحدد لكل
scheduled classes and laboratory .المحاضرات والمعامل وف ًقا للجدول المحدد
sessions.
تعتبر متأخرً ا إذا دخلت الفصل في أي وقت بعد
You will be considered late if you enter the
class any time after the start of instruction. .بدء الدرس
You are allowed to be late twice without وسيتم. يُسمح لك بالتأخر مرتين دون محاسبة
penalty. All successive instances of اعتبار كل مرات التأخر التالية على أنها حاالت
tardiness will be counted as absences, غير أنه سيُسمح لك بحضور،غياب
although you will be allowed to attend the .المحاضرات
class.
Grading System: :نظام التقويم والتقديرات
Learners are assessed throughout the يتم تقويم الدارسين خالل الدورة الدراسية عن
term by tests, quizzes, assignments, أو، أو االمتحانات الموجزة،طريق االختبارات
projects or other means of evaluation.
أو أي وسائل أخرى، أو المشروعات،الواجبات
End-of-term achievement tests measure
learners’ overall performance in the وتقيس اختبارات التحصيل في نهاية.للتقويم
course. الفصل الدراسي األداء العام للدارسين خالل
The final grade in each course is based .الدورة
on learners’ performance on continual يعتمد التقدير النهائي في كل دورة على أداء
assessment measures and the final test. .الدارسين في التقويم المستمر واالختبار النهائي
Final course grades are NOT based on ال يعتمد تقدير نهاية الدورة على نسبة
attendance, since in accordance with فطب ًقا لسياسة الكلية يتعين على،""الحضور
SCE’s attendance policy, learners must
attend at least 75% of the class sessions
من عدد%57 جميع الدارسين حضور
in order to be allowed to take the final المحاضرات حتى يسمح لهم بحضوراختبار نهاية
examination. .الدورة
At the end of each term, final course ُتعلن تقديرات، في نهاية أي دورة دراسية
grades are posted on the divisional الدارسين على لوحة اإلعالنات الخاصة بكل
bulletin boards along with learners’ ID وليس بأسمائهم؛، مقرونة بأرقام الدارسين،قسم
numbers, NOT their names. Accordingly, وعليه فإن رقم الدارس ضروري لمعرفة نتيجة
the ID number is necessary to know your
.المادة الدراسية
course grade.
Incomplete Grade: :التقديرات غير المكتملة
An incomplete grade (I) for any scheduled “I”, ( يسمح بمنح تقدير غير مكتمل
course may be given at the discretion of ) وذلك بنا ًء على تقدير مدرسIncomplete
the course instructor only to learners who
وال يتم هذا اإلجراء إال مع الطلبة الذين.الدورة
have attended the course, but cannot sit
for the final examination or cannot انتظموا في الدورة لكنهم ال يستطيعون أداء
complete course requirements due to االختبار النهائي أو استكمال متطلبات الدورة
circumstances beyond their control. .لظروف خارجة عن إرادتهم
In order to record the final course grade, من أجل تسجيل التقدير النهائي للدورة ينبغي
all requirements should be completed استيفاء جميع المتطلبات قبل نهاية األسبوع الثاني
before the end of the second week of the وفي حالة عدم تغيير.من الفصل الدراسي التالي
following term. Failure to change an تقدير "غير مكتمل" سيتحول التقدير النهائي في
incomplete grade will result in the final
grade being recorded as "F". ."التسجيل إلى "راسب
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Learner Evaluation of Instruction: :تقويم الدارس لعملية التدريس
Learner evaluation of instruction is very فبنا ًء. إن تقويم الدارس لعملية التدريس هام للغاية
important. Based upon your response and يُمكن عمل التغييرات،على استجابتك وتعليقاتك
comments, changes can be made.
.الالزمة
Please take these evaluations seriously
and answer all the questions honestly. يُرجى مراعاة الجدية في عمليات التقويم واإلجابة
Remember that instructors are not تذ َّكر أنه ال يُس َمح.عن كل األسئلة بأمانة
permitted to see their evaluation results للمدرسين برؤية نتائج التقويم إال بعد إعالن
until after your grades are posted. .النتائج النهائية للدارسين
SCE values your input. تق ِّدر كلية التعليم المستمر مشاركتك في هذا
.التقويم
Learner Petitions and Grievances: :التماسات الدارسين وتظلماتهم
You may appeal to a division من حقك أن تتقدم بشكوى ألحد مديري األقسام
administrator in any aspect pertaining to تتعلق بأي من الجوانب الخاصة بالتدريس في
class instruction, learning environment, or
أو البيئة التعليمية أو اإلجراءات،الفصل
administration processes.
You may seek resolution at higher .اإلدارية
administrative levels if the matter is not يجوز لك اللجوء إلى مستويات إدارية أعلى إذا لم
resolved. The decision of the Associate ويكون قرار العميد المشارك.يتم حل المشكلة
Dean for Instructional Affairs is final. .للشئون التعليمية قرارً ا نهائيًا
Anonymous complaints or petitions will be سيتم تجاهل كل الشكاوى أو االلتماسات التي ال
completely disregarded. All petitions are و ُتعامل كل االلتماسات في،تتضمن اسم صاحبها
handled with discretion, protecting your .إطار من السرية وبما يخدم مصالح الدارسين
best interests.
Cheating: :الغش
Cheating is not acceptable in an institution الغش غير مقبول في أي من المؤسسات التي
dedicated to learning. Cheating includes ويشمل الغش إعطاء أو.تكرس جهودها للتعليم
giving or receiving information during an
واستخدام مواد،تلقي معلومات أثناء االختبار
examination, using unauthorized material
during an examination, and other acts of وصدور أي،يُحظـَر استخدامها أثناء االختبار
academic dishonesty, including بما في ذلك،أفعال تتصف بعدم األمانة األكاديمية
plagiarism. .سرقة اإلنتاج الفكري
If you are caught cheating on the final ضبط الدارس وهو يقوم بالغش في ِ في حال
examination, your final course grade will ُ
تسجَّ ل درجته النهائية لهذه،االختبار النهائي
be recorded as ‘F’. .)" (راسبًاF" المادة الدراسية بـ
The penalty for a second offense is عِ قاب الغش للمرة الثانية هو إيقاف الدارس تلقائيًا
automatic suspension from studying at
SCE for one 12-week term and failing the
من الدراسة في كلية التعليم المستمر لمدة فصل
course. أسبوعًا والرسوب في21 دراسي واحد مدته
In instances of a third offense, you will be .المادة الدراسية
permanently dismissed from SCE. سيتم فصل، وفي حالة تكرار الغش للمرة الثالثة
.الدارس نهائيًا من كلية التعليم المستمر
Harassment: :التحرش
SCE does not tolerate any form of ال تسمح كلية التعليم المستمر بأي شكل من
harassment, including sexual harassment. . بما في ذلك التحرش الجنسي،أشكال التحرش
Sexual harassment is any conduct of a التحرش الجنسي هو أي تصرف ذي طبيعة
sexual nature that significantly impairs a
person’s ability or opportunity to perform جنسية يُفسد بدرجة كبيرة قدرة الشخص أو
his or her job or educational pursuits. فرصته للقيام بأنشطته الخاصة بالعمل أو
SCE is committed to providing a secure .الدراسة
educational and work environment for its تلتزم كلية التعليم المستمر بتوفير بيئة آمنة للتعليم
learners, instructors, staff, and ، والعاملين بها، ومدرسيها،والعمل لدارسيها
administrators. .ومديريها
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Photocopying: :النسخ
Photocopying textbooks and original يُعد نسخ كتب المقررات الدراسية والمحتوى
content including computer software is a ، بما في ذلك نسخ برامج الحاسب اآللي،األصلي
violation of AUC copyright and
مخال ًفا لسياسات حقوق النشر والنسخ بالجامعة
photocopying policies and thus will not be
allowed in SCE classes. وبالتالي غير مسموح بذلك،األمريكية بالقاهرة
.في فصول كلية التعليم المستمر
Smoking: :التدخين
Smoking is not allowed in any SCE غير مسموح بالتدخين في أي مبنى من مباني
building, including classes, lounges, ،كلية التعليم المستمر بما في ذلك الفصول
workspaces, single-occupancy offices,
، واألماكن المخصصة للعمل،وقاعات االنتظار
balconies, stairwells, open-areas within
buildings, and outside the entrance of ،وحتى المكاتب التي يشغلها موظف واحد
buildings. والمساحات المفتوحة، وبئر السلم،والشـُرفات
. وخارج مداخل المباني،داخل المباني
Cellular / Mobile Phone: :استخدام الهاتف المحمول
SCE prohibits the use of cellular/mobile تمنع كلية التعليم المستمر استخدام الهواتف
phones in the classroom and during the ، وأثناء اختبارات القبول،المحمولة في الفصل
administration of entrance and end-of-
.واختبارات نهاية الفصل الدراسي
term testing sessions.
You should turn off your phone during any يجب إغالق الهاتف أثناء أي محاضرة أو أثناء
class time and/or testing session. .االختبارات
Misconduct: :إساءة التصرف
Acceptable adult behavior is expected of يُراعى من الدارسين بكلية التعليم المستمر التحلي
SCE learners in the classroom and on بسلوك ناضج ومقبول في الفصول وداخل حرم
university campuses.
.الجامعة ومبانيها
Breach of such behavior will be reported
by the instructor to the Division Director, وسيقوم مدرس الفصل بإبالغ أي سلوك مخالف
and learners involved will be referred to ويحول الدارسون المشتركون في،لمدير القسم
the Learner Disciplinary Committee. .هذا السلوك إلى لجنة تأديب
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Table of Contents
Session Number: One ................................................................................................................ 1
Idioms .................................................................................................................................... 2
What is a Fixed Expression? .................................................................................................. 3
Fixed Expressions Quiz ....................................................................................................... 13
Session Number: Two.............................................................................................................. 16
English Text 2.1 ................................................................................................................... 17
Arabic Text 2.1 .................................................................................................................... 18
Arabic Text 2.2 .................................................................................................................... 19
Session Number: Three............................................................................................................ 22
English Text 3.1 ................................................................................................................... 24
Arabic Text 3.1 .................................................................................................................... 25
Session Number: Four ............................................................................................................. 28
English Text 4.1 ................................................................................................................... 29
Arabic Text 4.1 .................................................................................................................... 31
Session Number: Five .............................................................................................................. 34
English Text 5.1 ................................................................................................................... 35
Arabic Text 5.1 .................................................................................................................... 36
Session Number: Six................................................................................................................ 38
English Text 6.1 ................................................................................................................... 39
Arabic Text 6.1 .................................................................................................................... 53
Session Number: Seven ........................................................................................................... 56
English Text 7.1 ................................................................................................................... 57
English Text 7.2 ................................................................................................................... 59
Arabic Text 7.1 .................................................................................................................... 65
Arabic Text 7.2 .................................................................................................................... 67
Arabic Text 7.3 .................................................................................................................... 69
Session Number: Eight ............................................................................................................ 76
English Text 8.1 ................................................................................................................... 77
Arabic Text 8.1 .................................................................................................................... 79
Session Number: Nine ............................................................................................................. 80
English Text 9.1 ................................................................................................................... 81
Arabic Text 9.1 .................................................................................................................... 91
Session Number: Ten ............................................................................................................... 94
English Text 10.1 ................................................................................................................. 95
Arabic Text 10.1 .................................................................................................................. 99
Session Number: Eleven ........................................................................................................ 146
English Text 11.1 ............................................................................................................... 147
Arabic Text 11.1 ................................................................................................................ 155
Session Number: Tweleve ..................................................................................................... 180
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Arabic and Translation Studies Division
This session provides students with the most important terms of literary translation
such as fixed expressions, idioms, etc.
Learning outcomes:
Material:
- Selected texts
- Baker, M. (1992). In Other Words: A Coursebook on Translation, New York:
Routledge
Assignments:
Idioms
Idiom: A group of words in a fixed order that have a particular meaning, that is different
from the meanings of each word understood on its own: To “have bitten off more
than you can chew” is an idiom that means you have tried to do something which is
too difficult for you.
Fixed Expressions
A fixed expression is a standard form of expressions that has taken on a more specific
meaning than the expression itself. It allows little or no variation in form. English uses a
number of fixed expressions in everyday conversations and writing2.
The term fixed expressions is a convenient umbrella term referring to different kinds of
holistic units of two or more words, such as collocations, proverbs, idioms, similes etc3.
Fixed expression can be confusing to non-native English speakers for the first time. It is a
phrase that has a very specific meaning that cannot be expressed any other way and also
cannot be deduced just by considering the sum of its parts.
Unlike idioms, fixed expressions typically offer neither folk wisdom nor an image. “Two
heads are better than one” creates a bizarre, yet effective, visual idea of one body that
operates with two heads, while the idiom’s meaning is that two people working on a
problem have a better chance of solving it than just a single thinker. Fixed expressions are
more often a collection of words with individual meaning that really have nothing to do
with one another4.
Examples are:
All of a sudden Come into mind
Come rain or shine To tell you the truth
Get out of my mind To top it all off.
For the first time On the other hand
Just in case Of course
Apparently At least
2
http://www.slideshare.net/irandyra/idiom-and-fixed-expression
3
http://cognitextes.revues.org/356
4
http://www.wisegeek.com/what-is-a-fixed-expression.htm
Collocations:
- A familiar grouping of words, especially words that habitually appear together and thereby
convey meaning by association5.
- A collocation is two or more words that often go together. These combinations just sound
"right" to native English speakers, who use them all the time. On the other hand, other
combinations may be unnatural and just sound "wrong"6. Examples are as follow:
fast train Not the quick train
fast food Not the quick food
a quick shower Not a quick shower
a quick meal Not a fast meal
Types of Collocations
There are several different types of collocation made from combinations of verb, noun,
adjective etc. Some of the most common types are:
5
http://grammar.about.com/od/c/g/collocationterm.htm
6
http://www.englishclub.com/vocabulary/collocations.htm
7
http://www.englishclub.com/vocabulary/collocations-lists.htm
Proverbs are short expressions of popular wisdom. Efforts to improve on the popular
definition have not led to a more precise definition. The wisdom is in the form of a general
observation about the world or a bit of advice, sometimes more nearly an attitude toward a
situation8.
Idioms:
- An idiom is a combination of words that has a meaning that is different from the meanings
of the individual words themselves. It can have a literal meaning in one situation and a
different idiomatic meaning in another situation. It is a phrase which does not always
follow the normal rules of meaning and grammar9. For example, in the sentence The
politician sat on the fence and would not clearly state his opinion about the tax issue the
idiomatic expression To sit on the fence does not literally mean that one is sitting on a
fence. However, the idiomatic meaning is to not clearly choose a side regarding some issue.
Figures of Speech
A figure of speech is any of the various ‘forms’ of expression, deviating from the normal
arrangement or use of words, which are adopted in order to give beauty, variety, or force to a
composition; e.g. simile, metaphor, etc.
A simile is a figure of speech that directly compares two things through some connective,
usually "like", "as", "than", or a verb such as "resembles".[
A metaphor is a figure of speech in which an implied comparison is made between two unlike
things that actually have something important in common. The word metaphor itself is a
metaphor, coming from a Greek word meaning to "transfer" or "carry across." Metaphors
"carry" meaning from one word, image, or idea to another.
8
http://en.wikiquote.org/wiki/English_proverbs_%28alphabetically_by_proverb%29
9
http://www.idiomconnection.com/whatis.html
By Saul Bellow
When it came to concealing his troubles, Tommy Wilhelm was not less capable than the next
fellow. So at least he thought, and there was a certain amount of evidence to back him up. He
had once been an actor—no, not quite, an extra—and he knew what acting should be. Also,
he was smoking a cigar, and when a man is smoking a cigar, wearing a hat, he has an
advantage; it is harder to find out how he feels. He came from the twenty-third floor down to
the lobby on the mezzanine to collect his mail before breakfast, and he believed—he hoped—
that he looked passably well: doing all right. It was a matter of sheer hope, because there was
not much that he could add to his present effort. On the fourteenth floor he looked for his
father to enter the elevator; they often met at this hour, on the way to breakfast. If he worried
about his appearance it was mainly for his old father’s sake. But there was no stop on the
fourteenth, and the elevator sank and sank. Then the smooth door opened and the great dark-
red uneven carpet that covered the lobby billowed toward Wilhelm’s feet. In the foreground
the lobby was dark, sleepy. French drapes like sails kept out the sun, but three high, narrow
windows were open, and in the blue air Wilhelm saw a pigeon about to light on the great
chain that supported the marquee of the movie house directly underneath the lobby. For one
moment he heard the wings beating strongly.
Exercise of collocations
1 have a relationship
2 break a habit
3 catch a cold
4 make room
5 do nothing
6 have a haircut
8 get lost
Exercises of proverbs
Exercises of idioms
1 Call It Off
2 Dead Heat
My cousin Grace has a mouth as big as a bus. She can never keep a secret. One day I told
Grace about a surprise birthday party my mom was throwing for her mom. Grace’s mom (my
aunt) is as nutty as a fruit cake but sweeter than apple pie. My mom decided to throw her
a party at the local zoo. Grace’s mom loves animals. The animals are like her friends. Of
course Grace told her mom about the party. Her mom was pleased as punch, but my mom
was mad as a hornet.
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http://esl.about.com/od/vocabularyquizzes/a/a_fequiz1.htm
حديقة الورد
حدث ذلك فى زمن مضى .ومما يذكر أن شيخ حارة حكاه لى ونحن جلوس فى حديقة الورد .فقد عثر
على حمزة قنديل بعد اختفاء طويل وهو جثة هامدة فى الخالء.
وجد مطعونا فى عنقه بآلة حادة .مخضب الجلباب والعباءة بالدم المتجمد ،عمامته مطروحة على مبعدة
يسيرة من الجثة ،أما ساعته ونقوده فلم تمس ،مما يقطع بأن الجريمة لم ترتكب من أجل السرقة .وتولت
الجهات الرسمية الفحص والتحقيق ،وانفجر الخبر فى الحارة وذاع بسرعة النار ونشارة الخشب.
وترامى الصوات من بيته وجاوبته الجارات بالمشاركة الواجبة وتبادل الناس النظرات ،وساد جو من
التوتر والرهبة ،ولم تخل بعض السرائر من ارتياح خفى ،وأيضا مما يشبه الشعور بالذنب ،وأفصح عن
شىء من ذلك عم دكرورى بياع اللبن حين همس إلمام الزاوية :
وسألت النيابة عن أعدائه ،فكشف السؤال عن جو متحفظ غامض .أرملته قالت أنها ال تعرف شيئا عن
عالقاته فى الخارج .ولم يشهد أحد بوجود عداوة بين القتيل وبين أحد من أهل حارته .بل لم يدل أحد
بشهادة نافعة .ونظر المأمور الى شيخ الحارة متسائال فقال :
ودلت التحريات على أن الخالء كان طريق ذهابه الى عمله فى التربيعة وعودته منه .ولم يكن يصحبه
أحد فى ذهابه أو إيابه .وأما السؤال التقليدى عما إذا كانوا يشكون فى أحد أجابوا بالنفى القاطع ،ولم يكن
أحد يصدق أحدا ،ولكن هكذا جرت األمور .ولكن لماذا لم يكن لحمزة قنديل صديق فى الحارة ؟ ..
وهو ما يرجح بأنها كانت تضمر له العداء ؟ قال شيخ الحارة أنه كان ممن سبقوا الى شيء من التعليم،
فكان يجلس فى المقهى يحدث الناس عن عجائب الدنيا التى يطلع عليها فى الصحف فيثير الدهشة
ويجذب االنتباه .هكذا صار قعر كل مجلس يكون فيه ،واتحل مركزا ال يراه الناس الئقا إال برجال
الحكومة أو الفتوات ،فحنقوا عليه وتابعوه بقلوب مليئة بالسخط والحسد .وبلغ األمر نهايته من التوتر
عندما تكلم ذات يوم عن القرافة كالما عد خارجا عن حدود العقل .وذلك عندما قال فى أثناء حديث له :
وغضب الناس غضبا ً لم يغضبوه من قبل وانهالوا عليه لوما وتعنيفا ،وذكروه بحرمة األموات وواجب
الوالء لهم ،وكان بيومى زلط على رأس الهائجين فحذره من العودة الى حديث القرافة وصرخ قائالً :
نحن نعيش فى بيوتنا سنين معدودة ونلبث فى قبورنا الى يوم يبعثون
بذلك أفتى زلط الذي لم يعرف كلمة واحدة عن الدين .ولم تكد المعركة تهدأ بعض الشيء حتى حمل
شيخ الحارة فى ذلك الوقت قراراً من المحافظة ينذر بإزالة القرافة بعد مهلة معينة داعيا الناس إلقامة
مقابر جديدة فى عمق الخالء...لم يكن ثمة عالقة بين كالم قنديل والقرار ،ولكن البعض ظن -وبعض
الظن اثم -واألكثرية قالت :ان قنديل أهون من أن يؤثر فى الحكومة ،ولكنه شؤم على أي حال ،ورغم
ذلك حمله الجميع تبعة ما حدث .وهو من ناحيته لم يخف سروره بالقرار .فضاعف من غيظ الناس
وحنقهم ،وتجمعوا أمام شيخ الحارة بين صياح الرجال وعويل النسوة وطالبوه بأن يبلغ الحكام بأن قرار
الحكومة باطل وحرام وضد الدين ضد كرامة األموات .وقال لهم شيخ الحارة أنه ال يقل عنهم غيرة
على كرامة األموات .ولكنهم سينتقلون من مكان إلى مكان مع المحافظة الكاملة على الحرمة والكرامة،
فقالوا فى إصرار :إن هذا يعنى أن اللعنة ستحيق بالحارة ومن فيها .وصارحهم الرجل بأن قرار
الحكومة نهائى وأن األولى بهم أن يتأهبوا للتنفيذ .وانصرف عنهم وزلط يقول بصوت كالنهيق:
ما سمعنا عن شىء مثل ذلك منذ عهد الكفار !!
واختلط السخط على الحكومة بالسخط على قنديل فصار سخطا واحدا .ورجع بيومى زلط من سهرة ذات
ليلة مخترقا طريق المقابر .وعند السبيل الصغير برز له هيكل عظمى متلفعا بكفن ،فتسمر زلط وطار ما
فى دماغه.
ورجع زلط الى الحارة وقد امتأل بهمسات الموت .والحق أنه لم يخف على أحد أنه قاتل قنديل .ولم
يبح بشره أحد خوفا وانحيازا .وقيل إن تلك الحقيقة ترامت الى مأمور القسم ،ولكنه كان أيضا ضد
نقل القرافة المدفون فيها أجداده ،وقيدت القضية ضد مجهول وراح دم قنديل هدرا.
ختم شيخ الحارة حديثه معي بنغمة آسفة ونحن جلوس فى حديقة الورد التى كانت ذات يوم قرافة.
This session focuses on fixed expressions between English and Arabic. The
suggested approach for handling fixed expressions in translation will be applied as
follows:
1- look for an equivalent fixed expression in the target language. Both meaning
and effect are conveyed, e.g. first of all ‘’بادئ ذي بدء
2- convey meaning at the expense of effect, ‘as a matter of fact’ ‘’في الحقيقة
Learning outcomes:
By the end of this session, students will be able to
1- identify fixed expression in Arabic and English;
2- explain the expression; and
3- find an equivalent in the target language.
Material:
- Selected texts
- Baker, M. (1992). Lu other words. New York: Routledge
Assignments:
Fixed Expressions
George Orwell
(1984)
For some reason, the telescreen in the living-room was in an unusual position.
Instead of being placed, as was normal, in the end wall, where it could command the
whole room, it was in the longer wall, opposite the window. To one side of it there was
a shallow alcove in which Winston was now sitting, and which, when the flats were
built, had probably been intended to hold bookshelves. By sitting in the alcove, and
keeping well back, Winston was able to remain outside the range of the telescreen, so
far as sight went. He could be heard, of course, but so long as he stayed in his present
position he could not be seen. It was partly the unusual geography of the room that had
suggested to him the thing that he was now about to do. But it had also been suggest
رواية كف مريم
تأليف :سعيد سالم
فكرة عن الكاتب:
سعيد سالم من أبرز كتاب القصة والرواية في مصر والعالم العربي حاصل على
جائزة الدولة التشجيعية في األدب عام 5991عن مجموعته القصصية "الموظفون" الصادرة
عن مطبوعات اتحاد الكتاب العرب في دمشق عام ،5995وعلى جائزة إحسان عبد القدوس
األولى في الرواية لعام 5991عن رواية "األزمنة" التي صدرت فيما بعد عن دار الهالل عام
،5991وأخيرا على جائزة اتحاد كتاب مصر لعام 1115عن روايته العاشرة "كف مريم".
يقوم بنشر إنتاجه القصصي الغزير في مختلف المجالت والجرائد المصرية والعربية
منذ ثالثين عاما.
يصف نجيب محفوظ روايته " بوابة مورو" بأنها من آيات البشري ببعث الحياة الثقافية
في مصر ،ويصفه "يوسف إدريس" بأنه دخل عالم األدب دخول العاصفة وأنه صاحب مدرسة
خاصة في الكتابة ،كما كتب عن أعماله أهم كبار النقاد في مصر والعالم العربي مثل الدكتور
على الراعي والدكتور سيد حامد النساج والدكتور صالح فضل والدكتور عبد العزيز الدسوقي
والدكتور مصطفي هداره.
يبلغ رصيده اإلبداعي 12كتابا منهم 51رواية و 9مجموعات قصصية ،كما كتب
العشرات من المسلسالت الدرامية اإلذاعية وبعض األعمال المسرحية والتليفزيونية والسينمائية.
تبدو الرواية مثيرة منذ صفحاتها األولى بحيث يستحيل على القارئ أن يتركها قبل أن
يصل إلى نهايتها ..هي رواية تحفل بالفكر ومناقشة العديد من القضايا الملتهبة المعاصرة مثلما
تحفل بالفن من خالل أسلوبها الشيق ولغتها الموسيقية الخالبة .ترى ماذا سيفعل كوبيد ببطليه؟
هذا سؤال تجيب عنه الرواية.
حليم صادق
1991
رغم عشقي للبحر والنوارس والورد والرقص والكتب والغناء ،ماتت أمي فجأة ..في
ذلك الصباح كانت تدعو لي بالفالح أما في المساء فكانوا يهيلون التراب على جسدها بال رحمة
لتختفي تحت األرض إلى يوم الدين.
في لحظة ذهب السكر وجاء الصحو .راحت النشوة وحضرت اإلفاقة ،فعلمت أنها لو
نشرت وأخبرتني بحقيقة الموت لما انتفعت بعيش وال لذت بنوم .اآلن ينكشف لحبيبتي ما لم
يكن مكشوفا لها في الحياة التي جاءت بي إليها ثم فارقتني عنها ،وفي المرتين لم يكن لي
خيار)...( .
أوكلنا – أنا وبسمة – شقيقنا األكبر "نزيه" بوثيقة رسمية ليتولى شئوننا المالية كاملة
فاستولى على الميراث وباع بعض الممتلكات وأدعى أنه ينشئ مشروعا ضخما في إحدى
البالد العربية التي كان يعمل بها مدرسا تخرج على يديه ثالثة أجيال من أبناء العرب العظماء،
وأنه سينتقل بنا جميعا من حياة اإلنسان العادي إلى حياة أخرى لم نحلم بها ..وهكذا هاجرت
بسمة ولم أرها حتى اليوم ،وبكيفية أخرى غاب نزيه ولم أره حتى اليوم ،لكنه يختلف عن
بسمة في أنه لم يفكر في مكاتبتي مرة أو في إرسال نفحة عابرة من نعيم الحياة األخرى التي
يرفل في خيرها اآلن..تلك الحياة التي قال إننا لم نحلم بها من قبل ،ولقد صدق فعال حتى أنه لم
يفكر في رد مستحقاتي األصلية من الميراث ،وكنت أتعجب في سرى من فعلته الشنعاء
فيمنعني الكبر من مطالبته بحقي وأترفع في إباء عن ذلك فكيف أتسول حقي من أخي؟
كنت أبعث بخواطري تلك إلى بسمة التي لم تكن تهتم مثلي بالمال ،ولكنها كانت تبعث
إليه برسائل قاسية جارحة تتهمه فيها بالبخل والطمع واالعتداء على حقوق الغير ولو كانوا
إخوة ..غير أن هذا كله لم يحرك فيه ساكنا ..ومازلت حتى هذه اللحظة غير قادر على فهم
األسباب التي تدفع نزيه إلى اتخاذ مثل هذا الموقف وانتهاج مثل هذا السلوك.
عندما تكرر المشهد الترابي أمام عيني للمرة الثانية خالل أيام قليلة شعرت بغربة
حقيقية في الحياة رغم حبي لزوجتي وأبنائي وإحساسي بأنهم يضفون عليها إحساسا عميقا
باألمان ..اليوم بات هذا األمان مهددا فما يدريني أن يكون الدور على زوجتي للردم عليها في
حفرة مشابهة بعد أيام أو ساعات قليلة؟ ..لقد بات واضحا أمامي أن أى شيء في هذه الحياة
غير قابل للثبات والبقاء مهما كان عنصره شريفا كريما ،فهو عرضة للزوال بين يوم وليلة
لسبب أو بال سبب ،ومما ضاعف من سيطرة إحساسي بتلك الغربة في حياتي ،إحساس خفي
بأني مغترب في وطني أيضا – وأكثر الناس غربة هم الغرباء في أوطانهم – ألن الغربة
خارج الوطن ميسور أمر القضاء عليها بالعودة وليكن ما يكون ،أما الغربة داخل الوطن فهي
تشعرني بأنه ال جدوى من مخالطة الناس والثقة بهم أو االعتماد عليهم.
هكذا تملكني شعور جارف بالحنين إلى قوة مجهولة أقوى بكثير من قوة حب امرأتي
وأوالدي لي أو حبي لهم ،قوة آنس إليها وتحتويني بحنانها الطاغي فأودعها سري ونجواي
وتكون سكني اآلمن أمانا أبديا ال خوف فيه .لكن ما زاد طينتي بلة هو طبيعة عملي ومصدر
رزقي الوحيد ،الذي أصابني بملل من نوع غريب تمتزج فيه الرتابة بالخوف من الحياة
والموت معا .فحديثي اليومي المعاد للسواح عن تلك التوابيت وعن أصحابها الذين ماتوا من
آالف السنين ..فالسفة وفنانون ومفكرون وعلماء راحوا في سبات نوم الزمن العميق منذ عهد
سحيق ،ال تبرر لقمة العيش محاولة بعثه كل يوم من جديد لمجموعة من خلق هللا القادمين من
آخر الدنيا ليعبروا فوق كلماتي إلى بالدهم مرة أخرى متحدثين بفخر عن حضارتهم القديمة
والحديثة والتي لست أرى من مظاهرها اآلن سوى البلطجة السياسية واالستعمار بأنواعه
وسفك الدماء والسيطرة والعنف والعنصرية والتبجح واالستعالء على مساكين الشرق.
والحق أني كنت في بداية األمر منبهرا بوظيفتي وكان فكر الغرب وفلسفته وعلمه
وفنه طاغيا على كياني حتى أن أبي كان يتعثر أحيانا في كتب اشتريتها ورصصتها فجأة في
أي مكان.ثم تكرر األمر في بيتي فامتألت مكتبتي وغرفة نومي ومساحات أخرى من الصالة
وغرفة الطعام بتلك الكلمات المرصوصة التي كنت ألتهمها بنهم مزمن منذ صباي وحتى عهد
قريب)...( .
قادتني المصادفة إلى كتاب عن العشق اإللهي فشدني إلى كتب عن التصوف ،ووجدت
نفسي أسبح في بحور العشق ومقامات الحب والوصل .حدث هذا كله بينما أمارس حياتي
الرتيبة دون أدنى تغيير سواء في البيت أو المتحف ..أما قلبي فقد اكتشفت أنه كان صحراء
جرداء مظلمة متعطشة إلى النور السماوي والحب اإللهي .كان جفافي الروحاني بحاجة إلى
ماء مقدس يبلل روحي ويرطبها بذلك الندى المعطر الذي ال يعرفه إال من كتب هللا لهم السعادة
الحقة في الدنيا واآلخرة)...( .
ومن الغريب أنني لجأت في تلك األيام للقراءة كثيرا في كتب الجن بدافع مازال
غامضا على حتى اآلن ،وأحمد هللا أنني تحررت من هذا األمر بعد إذ اكتفيت بالمعرفة اليقينية
أن هناك كائنات أخرى غير مرئية خلقها هللا تعيش بيننا وال نراها ،منها الطيب والخبيث ومنها
المؤمن والكافر وكفى هللا المؤمنين القتال.
ولقد آلمني خالل تلك الرحلة النورانية أن أرى أعضائي تتخاذل ووساوسي تزداد
ولساني يتكاسل عن الكالم فأكاد ألمس بقلبي سر األسرار وهو أن ما تلذذت به في حياتي فيما
انصرم من عمري حين أتأمله اليوم ما هو إال سراب ،ويكاد يكون ال شيء بالمرة .وكيف باهلل
أتوق إلى العودة إليه ساعيا بنفسي إلى األلم بدال من اللذة وإلى النقصان بدال من الكمال؟!()...
إني أعيش أيام استنارة أقف فيها وأدرك وأتدرب على عناد نفسي وعلى الخضوع
لصولة بديع السماوات واألرض وإرادته فأبرأ من حولي وقوتي – وهما الوهميان الهزيالن –
إلى حوله وقوته وهو الحق القوى العزيز.
Learning outcomes:
Material:
- Selected texts
- Baker, M. (1992). Lu other words. New York: Routledge
Assignments:
It was in the dog days of summer and I was going camping with my family and a
couple of my friends. We drove for about five hours in the car because my dad wanted
to go to the campground that he always went to when he was younger. He called it the
apple of his eye. My dad was really excited to get away from his office and have a
relaxing time because he was as busy as a bee at work. When we finally arrived at
Crystal lake campground and when we got out of the car everyone had ants in there
pants, because we had been in the car for so long. We set up campsite quick as a flash,
then we all threw on our swimsuits and headed to the lake. On the way my little brother
kept on bugging me about how his shoes were too tight. I finally told him to bug off and
leave me alone in a loud, mean voice . He got as angry as a bull and threw his sandles in
the bushes.
My mom asked what was wrong and he lied low. My mom believed his little lie
and told me that I had to sit out for ten minutes while everyone else went swimming. I
was really in hot water so I buried my head in the sand, and was as quiet as a mouse.
My sister is always bugging me and said ‘’what’s wrong cats got your tongue?. I got
really mad and threw a rock at her, it hit her in the arm and she started to bleed. My
mom saw me do it and she blew her top. She told me that I had to stay on the boulder
for an extra five minutes.
When I could finally get up everyone was ready to leave so I didn’t get to. The
hike back to the campsite seemed like it was big time. When we got back we roasted
hot dogs over the fire , then my friends and I went for a walk around the campground,
everybody looked like they were in seventh heaven sitting around their campfires
relaxing and telling stories. When we got back we got in our pajamas and snuggled up
in our sleeping bags and told scary stories.
Then my mom came in and said sleep tight, don’t let the bed bugs bite. After
that we zipped up the tent and slept like babies. The next morning we woke up to the
smell of bacon. Whenever we went ca ping my mom made bacon. My one friend
Natalie seamed like she was half awake so I said “wake up and smell the coffee.”
She acted like she didn’t hear me, sat down on the picnic table and laid her head on
her sweatshirt. We then got dressed and headed to the lake where the boat shack
was to rent a boat. My mom asked my dad if we should rent a kayak or a canoe and
my da said” whatever floats your boat.” So she decided on a kayak.
ولد الروائى فؤاد قنديل في 5أكتوبر 4411في مصر الجديدة بالقاهرة ألسرة تنتمى
إلى مدينة بنها ـ محافظة القليوبية حاصل على ليسانس اآلداب قسم الفلسفة وعلم النفس من
جامعة القاهرة وعمل منذ عام 4491في شركة مصر للتمثيل والسينما
كتب ست عشرة رواية ،وعشر مجموعات قصصية ،وعشر دراسات وتراجم وأربع
روايات ومجموعة قصصية للطفل.
روح محبات
1
عاد رشوان بعد الدفن فوجد ديكه الذي يماثله في الطول واقفا كالحارس خلف الباب .ابتهج قلبه
للمشهد .جال بخاطره أنه إذا كان قد خسر ما يزيد على ثالثين دجاجة وديكا هي هدية حماته
السنوية ,فقد ع َّوضه هللا بهذا الديك الذي أخلى له مكانا رحبا في قلبه ..حمد هللا على ما رزق
وأعطى .ربّت على ظهر الديك ,ثم مضى إلى بيته ...حكى لمحبات مصيبة الشيخ إبراهيم
والعبء الذي ورثه عن وفاة زوجته..تسعة أوالد في عين العدو.
سحبت الطبلية من تحت السرير وحطت عليها أطباق العشاء..الجبن والعسل ..البيض العائم في
السمن ..الجرجير والخيار.
استأنفا بعد العشاء حديثهما عن الشيخ إبراهيم وأوالده .كانت محبات ال تزال تصر على أنها
ليست مشكلة ,ويؤكد رشوان أنها مشكلة مادامت الزوجة قد رحلت وعلى الشيخ إبراهيم اليوم
وقبل الغد أن يتزوج ..والبد أن يتزوج أي امرأة لترعى وتخدم أوالده ..وربما ال ترعاهم وال
تخدمهم وتبدأ مشكلة قبولهم لها ..وحكايات ال تنتهي ومشاكل متجددة.
اكتشف رشوان فجأة أنه كان يخوض فيما ال طائل من ورائه ..نفذ القضاء ورحلت الزوجة
وبقي األوالد ولم يبك الشيخ إبراهيم على الراحلة ولكنه كان يبكي على..
قبل أن يدلف رشوان إلى السرير ,ألقى خالل النافذة نظرة على الدار وما حولها ..لمح الديك
يتمشى في الممر المحيط بالبيت ,تابعه لحظات وهو يرى فيه الخفير المنتظر ..كان الديك يرفع
رأسه بين الحين والحين ويطل من فوق السور على الطرقات والحقول التي غطتها خيمة الليل
المعتمة.
أسرع قائال :مؤكد ..واألهم من ذلك أنه لو كان مسخوطا سوف يبقى على حاله ,أما هذا فقد
جاءنا صغيرا ثم كبر أمامنا وتضخم..أليس كذلك؟
زلزل كالمه األخير قناعتها بأنه مسخوط ,لكنها تذكرت قول الدكتور رمزي إنه يقرأ أو يسمع
عن مثل هذا الديك ..أنبأها رشوان أن العمدة يود الحضور لرؤية الديك.
خامرتها بشائر لحالة من الزهو .إنها ليست ككل النساء وبيتها ليس ككل البيوت .حاولت أن
تتخيل منظر العمدة ورجال البلد وهم يطرقون بابها ويتجمعون في الفناء ,ومن خلفهم كل أهل
القرية)...(.
همست لنفسها وهي تغالب النوم :لو كان عندي عيل عمره حتى سنة لشعرت بالحماية وبأني
لست وحيدة.
تحدث إليها رشوان بعض الوقت إلى أن اكتشف أنها ال تسمعه .وأن السلطان صاحب األمر
والنهي على األجساد قد طواها وطوى كل ناس البلد)...(.
نزل أحد الصبية الكبار وتقدم إلى الباب الخشبي بهدوء وحذر..فتح الباب محاوال أن يدخل
ليقترب منه ويتعرف على مالمحه عن كثب .كانت بيده عصا ..لمحه الديك فتحرك في اتجاهه ,
كأنه يقول له :إال الباب.
وقف الولد في االنتظار ,ظن أن الديك لن يواصل الطريق نحوه ,إال أنه قفز بغتة قفزة خاطفة
فأصبح عند الباب ..بهت الولد ووقع ثم هب واقفا ومبتعدا ،وأخذ – حفظا لماء وجهه وتأكيدا
لجسارته −يطوح بالعصا في الهواء مهددا .مد الديك جناحه فأغلق الباب .
ظل األوالد يتزايدون ويحتشدون فوق السور .يواصلون معاكستهم للديك وظل هدوؤه محرضا
لهم على المزيد من المعابثة ,ورميه بالحصى واألغصان المهشمة ومختلف المهمالت ,حتى
فوجئوا به فوقهم باسطا جناحيه يوشك أن ينقض عليهم ,فذعروا كما لم يذعروا من قبل حتى في
أحالمهم ,وصرخوا بأعلى ما يستطيعون وهم يرونه عمالقا قويا ,بإمكانه أن يحيط بهم بل
ويحيط بالقرية كلها.
عاد الديك يتمشى بهدوء .يرفع ساقه باعتزاز كما يرفعها الجمل ,ثم يحط مخالبه برقة وحنان
على األرض .أشعة الشمس تسقط على ظهره فتتجلى روعة الريش وتداخل ألوانه في سيمفونية
من الجمال بديعة ,ويبدو من المنظور الجانبي حسن بناء جسده الرشيق وطلعته النبيلة ليشكل
ذلك مع الريش والعرف والذقن المزدوجة التي تهتز مع حركة رأسه ,هيكال غريبا .ومثيرا ال
تشبع من رؤيته العين)...(.
لم يعد لكل أهل القرية حديث إال عن الديك ..ديك رشوان في رواية ,وديك محبات في رواية ..
إذا ذكره الرجال قالوا :ديك رشوان وإذا ذكرته النساء قلن :ديك محبات ..وبعض الرجال يفضل
أن يقول :ديك محبات ,فذكر اسمها يمثل لهم متعة للسان والقلب ,ألن محبات تقريبا أجمل نساء
البلد ,ولطالما قال البعض :يدِّي الحلق للي بال ودان.
(النص 687كلمة)
Any of the various forms of expression, deviating from the normal arrangement or
use of words, which are adopted in order to give beauty, variety, or force to
composition; e.g. hyperbole, metaphor, simile etc.
This session focuses on the translation of figures of speech between English and
Arabic. Students look for figures of speech in the target language and convey the
appropriate meaning within a particular context.
Learning outcomes:
Material:
- Selected texts
Assignments:
Up and down the street poured the Saturday afternoon crowd; mothers
bent on finding perfect autumn overcoats, men in greasy tweed hats, bored
suburban girls bringing £9.99 bargains to show off to friends. From here I
could hear the familiar queasy mix of at least three buskers; that
interminable "Annie's Song" on flute, I thought, and the man with the
African drums, and a brass band. I watched the ground; the reddish bricks
disappeared and reappeared as the feet and coats rushed over them.
Minnie would definitely get a ticket now. I realized that I didn't care if she
got three tickets and was towed away. The sound of the flute lifted for a bar
or two above the clang of the brass band, and I was happy. Perversely,
incredulously, momentarily happy.
When it was gone and the wave had dropped my feet down hard against the
pavement, the crowd looked different to me. The shoppers were no more
likable, but they did have faces. It came into my head that everyone on this
street had either gone through a loss more or less equivalent to mine, or
would do so by the end of their life. Some would have it easier, some
worse, some over and over.
Imagine if a giant hand in the sky gestured us to stop, this minute, figures
frozen halfway through a stride or a sentence, all along Grafton Street. If
the hand gestured for us to tell what was really preoccupying us, then death
would be on every second mouth: "My mam's gone for more tests," one
would admit, and the next, "Well my uncle and my teacher went last year,"
and another, "Our first was stillborn," and another, "I've a feeling this
Christmas might be my last." I wanted to make everyone sit down on the
sun-warmed pavement, arranging their bags and bundles round them, and
turn to their neighbour to talk of this huge headline hanging over us. Who
have you lost to death, they would ask each other, who are you afraid of
losing, who were you glad to see taken, and when do you think death might
come for you? The brass band should be playing a triumphant funeral
march, and the sun should be making skeleton shadows of our bodies on
the gaps of pavement between the groups. The signs behind the polished
glass fronts should say, "How many shopping days left?" It made no sense
to be talking about anything else. And why did we pretend to be strangers
when we were all webbed together by the people we had lost and the short
future we had in common?
Through the crowd I saw a girl running down the street. Only the back of
her; all I could make out was a rusty head of hair, catching the light
whenever she emerged from a building's shadow. Probably running for a
bus, or twenty-five minutes late to meet a friend at Bewley's. She had
almost disappeared into the wide mouth of the crowd; I saw something
moving but wasn't sure if it was her. My eyes let her slip.
أرخص ليالي
تأليف :يوسف إدريس
بعد صالة العشاء كانت خراطيم من الشتائم تتدفق بغزارة فتصيب آباء القرية
وأمهاتها...
والحكاية أن عبدالكريم ما كاد يخطف األربع ركعات حتي تسلل من الجامع ومضي في
الزقاق الضيق وقد لف يده وراء ظهره وجعلها تطبق علي شقيقتها في ضيق وتبرم ،وأحني
صدره في تزمت شديد وكأن أكتافه تنوء بحمل (البشت ) الثقيل الذي غزله بيده من صوف
النعجة .ولم يكتف بهذا بل طوي رقبته في عناد وراح يشمشم بأنفه المقوس الطويل الذي كله
حفر سوداء صغيرة،
ويزوم ،وقد أطبق فمه فانكمش جلد وجهه النحاسي األصفر،ووازت أطراف شاربه قمم
حواجبه التي كانت ماتزال مبللة بماء الوضوء.
والذي بلبل كيانه ،أنه ما إن دخل إلي الزقاق حتي ضاعت منه ساقاه الغليظتان
المنفوختان ،ولم يعد يعرف موضع قدميه الكبيرتين المفلطحتين اللتين تشقق أسفلهما حتي يكاد
الشق يبلع المسمار فال يبين له رأس.
ارتبك الرجل رغم القسوة التي ضم بها نفسه ألن الزقاق كان يمتليء بصغار كالفتافيت
يلعبون ويصرخون ،ويتسربون بين رجليه ،ويسرح واحد من بعيد وينطحه ،ويشد آخر(البشت)
من ورائه ،ويصيبه شقي بصفيحة في أصبع قدمه الكبيرة النافرة عن بقية أصابعه .ولم يستطع
إزاء هذا كله إال أن يسلط عليهم لسانه ...يطمئن نفسه أن الغد كفيل بهم ،وأن الجوع المحالة
قاتلهم ،و(الكوريره) سرعان ما تجيء فتطيح بنصفهم...
وانبسط الظالم الكثير أمامه حيث تعشش البيوت المنخفضة الداكنة...،والشيء بقي يدل
علي األحياء المكدسين تحت السقوف إال مصابيح متناثرة في الدائرةالمظلمة الواسعة وكأنها
عيون جنيات رابضات يقدح منها الشرر! ،ويأتي نورها األحمر الداكن متبخترا من بعيد ليغرق
في سواد البركة.
وتشتت بصر عبدالكريم في الظالم الفاضي ،ودار برأسه هنا وهناك ،ورائحة الماء
الصديء في المستنقع تتلوي مع تقوس خياشيمه .وفي الحال شعر بالضيق يكتم فتات أنفه ،فشدد
من قبضة يده ،وزاد انحناءه،وكاد يرمي(بالبشت) علي حافة البركة.
وكان ما ضايقه وكتم أنفاسه شخير األرانب أهل بلده ،وهو يمتد مع انتشار الظالم،
ولحظتها كان ما يلهلب سخطه أكثر هو طنطاوي الخفير ،وكوب الشاي التي عزم عليه بها في
حبكة المغرب ،والتي لوال دناوته ،وجريان ريقه عليها ،ما ذاقها.
وتمشي عبدالكريم في الواسعة وأذنه التسمع حسا والحركة ،وال حتي صيحة فرخة،
وكأنه وسط جبانة وليس في رحاب بلدة فيها ما فيها من خلق هللا .وحين بلغ منتصف الواسعة
توقف .وكانت لوقفته حكمة ،فهو إذا أطاع ساقيه ومشي ،أصبح بعد خطوات قليلة في قلب بيته.
وإذا أغلق دونه باب الدار ،كان عليه أن يخمد أنفاسه وينام .
Learning outcomes:
Material:
- Selected texts
Assignments:
The Guests
A short story for Halloween
A young man and his wife were on a trip to visit his mother. Usually they arrived in
time for supper, but they had had a late start, and now it was getting dark, so they
decided to look for a place to stay overnight and drive on in the morning.
Just off the road, they saw a small house in the woods. "Maybe they rent rooms," the
wife said. So they stopped to ask. An elderly man and woman came to the door.
They didn't rent rooms, they said, but they would be glad to have them stay
overnight as their guests. They had plenty of room, and they would enjoy the
company. The old woman made coffee and brought out some cake, and the four of
them talked for a while. Then the young couple were taken to their room. They tried
to insist on paying for this, but the old man said he would not accept any money.
The young couple got up early the next morning, before their hosts had awakened.
They left an envelope with some money in it on a table near the front door, to pay
for the room. Then they went on to the next town. They stopped at a restaurant and
had breakfast. When they told the owner where they had stayed, he was shocked.
"That can't be," he said. "That house burned to the ground, and the man and the
woman who lived there died in the fire."
The young couple could not believe it. So they went back to the house. Only now
there was no house. All they found was a burnt-out shell. They stood staring at the
ruins trying to understand what had happened. Then the woman screamed: In the
rubble was a badly burned table, like the one they had seen by the front door and on
the table was the envelope they had left that very morning.
تبدأ تقاليد االحتفال بـ "السبوع" من خالل شراء ما يسمى بـ "البياتة" ،وهي عبارة عن
"إبريق" للمولود إذا كان ولدا ،و"قُلة" مزينة بالزهور إذا كانت "بنتا" ،باإلضافة إلى ما توزعه
األسرة على ضيوف "السبوع" من األطفال من مكسرات وحلوى وفيشار.
وتظل "كلمة السر" وراء شراء مستلزمات "السبوع" ،مهما بلغت درجة ثراء األسرة،
هي أسواق الموسكي ودرب البرابرة في القاهرة .فهذان هما المكانان الوحيدان المتخصصان
ببيع هذه المستلزمات "من اإلبرة للصاروخ" ،كما يقول المثل المصري.
ففي جنبات شوارع الموسكي ودرب البرابرة تنتشر محالت صناعة "السبوع" ولف
علب الحلوى.
ويوضع اإلبريق في صينية بها ماء تنقع فيه (سبع حبات) من الحبوب الجافة ،كالفول أو
األرز أو العدس أو الذرة أو الحمص أو القمح ،وترش على األم والمولود أثناء الزفة ،ويرش
ً
اعتقادا أنها الملح في كل مكان بالمنزل ،ويلقي (المعازيم) في الصينية بعض العمالت المعدنية
توسع رزق المولود.
والشمع جزء أساسي في (البياتة)؛ إذ يوضع في اإلبريق أو القلة حتى الصباح ،وتفضل
بعض األسر اليوم إنارة البياتة بالكهرباء ووضع الشمعة كحلية .وبجانب ذلك يشترى الغربال
ويزين بالتل والقماش الستان ،ليوضع فيه الطفل ،وتبدأ أكبر سيدة في العائلة في (دق الهون،
الهاون) النحاسي الذي ال يخلو منه أي (سبوع).
This session focuses on translating certain parts of a short story between English
and Arabic. The purpose of the session is to apply the previously studied
techniques such as ‘fixed expressions,’ ‘idiomatic structures,’ etc. during the
process of translating a short story.
Learning Outcomes:
Material:
- Selected texts
Assignments:
I went to the bar and got the beer and carried it outside and
wandered down the garden toward the pool.
It was a fine garden with lawns and beds of azaleas and tall coconut
palms, and the wind was blowing strongly through the tops of the
palm trees making the leaves hiss and crackle as though they were
on fire. I could see the clusters of big brown nuts handing down
underneath the leaves.
There were plenty of deck chairs around the swimming pool and
there were white tables and huge brightly colored umbrellas and
sunburned men and women sitting around in bathing suits. In the
pool itself there were three or four girls and about a dozen boys, all
splashing about and making a lot of noise and throwing a large
rubber ball at one another.
I stood watching them. The girls were English girls from the hotel.
The boys I didn't know about, but they sounded American and I
thought they were probably naval cadets who'd come ashore from
the U.S. naval training vessel which had arrived in the harbor that
morning.
I went over and sat down under a yellow umbrella where there
were four empty seats, and I poured my beer and settled back
comfortably with a cigarette.
It was very pleasant sitting there in the sunshine with beer and a
cigarette. It was pleasant to sit and watch the bathers splashing
about in the green water.
The American sailors were getting on nicely with the English girls.
They'd reached the stage where they were diving under the water
and tipping them up by their legs.
Just then I noticed a small, oldish man walking briskly around the
edge of the pool. He was immaculately dressed in a white suit and
he walked very quickly with little bouncing strides, pushing himself
high up onto his toes with each step. He had on a large creamy
Panama hat, and he came bouncing along the side of the pool,
looking at the people and the chairs.
"A fine evening," he said. "They are all evenings fine here in
Jamaica." I couldn't tell if the accent were Italian or Spanish, but I
felt fairly sure he was some sort of a South American. And old too,
when you saw him close. Probably around sixty-eight or seventy.
"And who, might I ask are all dese? Dese is no hotel people." He
was pointing at the bathers in the pool.
"No," I answered.
"Go ahead."
"Here, let me give you a light." The American boy held up his
lighter.
The little man removed his unlighted cigar from his mouth, cocked
his head on one side and looked at the boy.
The little man's head was still cocked over on one side and he was
still watching the boy. "Well, well. So you say dis famous lighter it
never fails. Iss dat you say?"
"One momint, pleess." The hand that held the cigar came up high,
palm outward, as though it were stopping traffic. "Now juss one
momint." He had a curiously soft, toneless voice and he kept
looking at the boy all the time.
The man paused and examined his cigar, and I must say I didn't
much like the way he was behaving. It seemed he was already
trying to make something out of this, and to embarrass the boy,
and at the same time I had the feeling he was relishing a private
little secret all his own.
He looked up again at the boy and said slowly, "I like to bet, too.
Why we don't have a good bet on dis ting? A good big bet?
"Now wait a minute," the boy said. "I can't do that. But I'll bet you
a dollar, or whatever it is over here-some shillings, I guess."
The little man waved his hand again. "Listen to me. Now we have
some fun. We make a bet. Den we go up to my room here in de
hotel where iss no wind and I bet you you cannot light dis famous
lighter of yours ten times running without missing once."
"No, no. I make you very good bet. I am rich man and I am
sporting man also. Listen to me. Outside de hotel iss my car. Iss
very fine car. American car from your country. Cadillac-"
"Hey, now. Wait a minute." The boy leaned back in his deck chair
and he laughed. "I can't put up that sort of property. This is crazy."
"Not crazy at all. You strike lighter successfully ten times running
and Cadillac is yours. You like to have dis Cadillac, yes?"
"Sure, I'd like to have a Cadillac." The boy was still grinning.
"The little man carefully removed the red band from his still
unlighted cigar. "I never ask you, my friend, to bet something you
cannot afford. You understand?"
"Some small ting you can afford to give away, and if you did
happen to lose it you would not feel too bad. Right?"
"Such as what?"
"Yes. Why not? You win, you take de car. You looss, I take de
finger."
"I don't get it. How d'you mean, you take the finger?"
The man leaned back, spread out his hands palms upward and gave
a tiny contemptuous shrug of the shoulders. "Well, well, well," he
said. "I do not understand. You say it lights but you will not bet.
Den we forget it, yes?"
The boy sat quite still, staring at the bathers in the pool. Then he
remembered suddenly he hadn't lighted his cigarette. He put it
between his lips, cupped his hands around the lighter and flipped
the wheel. The wick lighted and burned with a small, steady, yellow
flame and the way he held his hands the wind didn't get to it at all.
I held out my hand for the lighter, but he stood up and came over
to do it for me.
There was a silence then, and I could see that the little man has
succeeded in disturbing the boy with his absurd proposal. He was
sitting there very still, and it was obvious that a small tension was
beginning to build up inside him. Then he started shifting about in
his seat, and rubbing his chest, and stroking the back of his neck,
and finally he placed both hands on his knees and began tapping
his fingers against his knee-caps. Soon he was tapping with one of
his feet as well.
"Ah! How old? Yes. It is last year. Quite now car. But I see you are
not betting man. Americans never are."
The boy paused for just a moment and he glanced first at the
English girl, then at me. "Yes," he said sharply. "I'll bet you."
"Good!" The little man clapped his hands together quietly, once.
"Fine," he said. "We do it now. And you, sir," he turned to me, "you
would perhaps be good enough to, what you call it, to-to referee."
He had pale, almost colorless eyes with tiny bright black pupils.
"Well," I said. "I think it's a crazy bet. I don't think I like it very
much."
"Nor do I," said the English girl. It was the first time she'd spoken.
"I think it's a stupid, ridiculous bet."
"Are you serious about cutting off this boy's finger if he loses?" I
said.
"Certainly I am. Also about cutting off this boy's finger if he loses?"
I said.
"Certainly I am. Also about giving him Cadillac if he win. Come now.
We go to my room."
"No," the boy answered. "I'll come like this." Then he turned to me.
"I'd consider it a favor if you'd come along and referee."
"All right," I said. "I'll come along, but I don't like the bet."
"You come too," he said to the girl. "You come and watch.
The little man led the way back through the garden to the hotel. He
was animated now, and excited, and that seemed to make him
bounce up higher than ever on his toes as he walked along.
"I live in annex," he said. "You like to see car first? Iss just here."
The drinks were on a small table in the far corner, all ready to be
mixed, and there was a shaker and ice and plenty of glasses. He
began to make the Martini, but meanwhile he'd rung the bell and
now there was a knock on the door and a colored maid came in.
"Ah!" he said, putting down the bottle of gin, taking a wallet from
his pocket and pulling out a pound note. "You will do something for
me now, pleess." He gave the maid the pound.
"You keep dat," he said. "And now we are going to play a little
game in here and I want you to go off and find for me two-no three
tings. I want some nails; I want a hammer, and I want a chopping
knife, a butcher's chipping knife which you can borrow from de
kitchen. You can get, yes?"
"A chopping knife!" The maid opened her eyes wide and clasped her
hands in front of her. "You mean a real chopping knife?"
"Yes, yes, of course. Come on now, pleess. You can find dose tings
surely for me."
"Yes, sir, I'll try, sir. Surely I'll try to get them." And she went.
The little man handed round the Martinis. We stood there and
sipped them, the boy with the long freckled face and the pointed
nose, bare-bodied except for a pair of faded brown bathing shorts;
the English girl, a large-boned, fair-haired girl wearing a pale blue
bathing suit, who watched the boy over the top of her glass all the
time; the little man with the colorless eyes standing there in his
immaculate white suit drinking his Martini and looking at the girl in
her pale blue bathing dress. I didn't know what to make of it all.
The man seemed serious about the bet and he seemed serious
about the business of cutting off the finger. But hell, what if the boy
lost? Then we'd have to rush him to the hospital in the Cadillac that
he hadn't won. That would be a fine thing. Now wouldn't that be a
really find thing? It would be a damn silly unnecessary thing so far
as I could see.
"I think it's a fine bet," the boy answered. He had already downed
one large Martini.
"I think it's a stupid, ridiculous bet," the girl said. "What'll happen if
you lose?"
The little man smiled and picked up the shaker and refilled our
glasses.
Then the colored maid came in again. In one hand she carried a
small chopper, the kind used by butchers for chopping meat bones,
and in the other a hammer and a bag of nails.
"Good! You get dem all. Tank you, tank you. Now you can go." He
waited until the maid had closed the door, then he put the
implements on one of the beds and said, "Now we prepare
ourselves, yes?" And to the boy "Help me, pleess, with dis table.
We carry it out a little."
It was the usual kind of hotel writing desk, just a plain rectangular
table about four feet by three with a blotting pad, ink, pens and
paper. They carried it out into the room away from the wall, and
removed the writing things.
We stood there, the boy, the girl, and I, holding Martinis in out
hands, watching the little man at work. We watched him hammer
two nails into the table, about six inches apart. He didn't hammer
them right home; he allowed a small part of each one to stick up.
Then he tested them for firmness with his fingers.
Anyone would think the son of a bitch had done this before, I told
myself. He never hesitates. Table, nails, hammer, kitchen chopper.
He knows exactly what he needs and how to arrange it.
"Now place de left hand between dese two nails. De nails are only
so I can tie your hand in place. All right, good. Now I tie your hand
secure to de table-so,"
He wound the string around the boy's wrist, then several times
around the wide part of the hand, then he fastened it tight to the
nails. He made a good job of it and when he'd finished there wasn't
any question about the boy being able to draw his hand away. But
he could move his fingers.
"Now pleess, clench de fist, all except for de little finger. You must
leave de little finger sticking out, lying on de table."
"Ex-cellent! Ex-cellent! Now we are ready. Wid your right hand you
manipulate de lighter. But one momint, pleess."
"We are all ready?" he said. "Mister referee, you must say to
begin."
The English girl was standing there in her pale blue bathing
costume right behind the boy's chair. She was just standing there,
not saying anything. The boy was sitting quite still, holding the
lighter in his right hand, looking at the chopper. The little man was
looking at me.
"I'm ready."
"Quite ready," he said and he lifted the chopper up in the air and
held it there about two feet above the boy's finger, ready to chop.
The boy watched it, but he didn't flinch and his mouth didn't move
at all. He merely raised his eyebrows and frowned.
The boy said, "Will you please count aloud the number of times I
light it."
With his thumb he raised the top of the lighter, and again with the
thumb he gave the wheel a sharp flick. The flint sparked and the
wick caught fire and burned with a small yellow flame.
"One!" I called.
He didn't blow the flame out; he closed the top of the lighter on it
and he waited for perhaps five seconds before opening it again.
He flicked the wheel very strongly and once more there was a small
flame burning on the wick.
"Two!"
No one else said anything. The boy kept his eyes on the lighter. The
little man held the chipper up in the air and he too was watching
the lighter.
"Three!"
"Four!"
"Five!"
"Six!"
"Eight!" I said, and as I said it the door opened. We all turned and
we saw a woman standing in the doorway, a small, black-haired
woman, rather old, who stood there for about two seconds then
rushed forward shouting, "Carlos! Carlos!" She grabbed his wrist,
took the chopper from him, threw it on the bed, took hold of the
little man by the lapels of his white suit and began shaking him
very vigorously, talking to him fast and loud and fiercely all the
time in some Spanish-sounding language. She shook him so fast
you couldn't see him any more. He became a faint, misty, quickly
moving outline, like the spokes of a turning wheel.
Then she slowed down and the little man came into view again and
she hauled him across the room and pushed him backward onto
one of the beds. He sat on the edge of it blinking his eyes and
testing his head to see if it would still turn on his neck.
"I am so sorry," the woman said. "I am so terribly sorry that this
should happen." She spoke almost perfect English.
"It is too bad," she went on. "I suppose it is really my fault. For ten
minutes I leave him alone to go and have my hair washed and I
come back and he is at it again." She looked sorry and deeply
concerned.
The boy was untying his hand from the table. The English girl and I
stood there and said nothing.
"We were only having a little bet," mumbled the little man from the
bed.
"He has no car. It's mine. And that makes it worse," she said, "that
he should bet you when he has nothing to bet with. I am ashamed
and very sorry about it all." She seemed an awfully nice woman.
"Well," I said, "then here's the key of your car." I put it on the
table.
"We were only having a little bet," mumbled the little man.
"He hasn't anything left to bet with," the woman said. "He hasn't a
thing in the world. Not a thing. As a matter of fact I myself won it
all from him a long while ago. It took time, a lot of time, and it was
hard work, but I won it all in the end." She looked up at the boy
and she smiled, a slow sad smile, and she came over and put out a
hand to take the key from the table.
I can see it now, that hand of hers; it had only one finger on it, and
a thumb.
نـصـف يـوم
نجيب محفوظ
سرت إلى جانب أبى متعلقا بيمناه .جريت أللحق بخطاه الواسعة .مالبسى كلها جديدة ،الحذاء
األسود والمريلة الخضراء والطربوش األحمر .غير أنى لم أسعد بالمالبس الجديدة سعادة
صافية ،فيومى لم يكن يوم عيد ولكنه أول يوم يلقى بى فى المدرسة .وقفت أمى وراء النافذة
تراقب موكبنا الصغير فالتفت نحوها كالمستغيث بين حين وآخر تقدمنا فى شارع بين الجناين
تحف به من الجانبين حقول مترامية مزروعة بالخضر والتين الشوكى وأشجار الحناء وبعض
النخالت.
فقال ضاحكا :أنا ال أعاقبك ،المدرسة ليست عقابا ،ولكنها المصنع الذى يخلق من األوالد رجاال
نافعين ،أال تريد أن تصير مثل أبيك وأخوتك؟
لم أقتنع .لم أصدق أنه يوجد خير حقا فى انتزاعي من بيتى الحميم ورميى فى هذا المبنى القائم
في نهاية الطريق مثل حصن هائل شديد الجدية والصرامة عالي األسوار .ولما بلغنا البوابة
المفتوحة تراءى لنا الفناء واسعا ومكتظا باألوالد والبنات
وقال أبى :ادخل بنفسك وانضم إليهم ،ابسط وجهك وابتسم ،وكن مثاال طيبا.
ترددت وشددت أصابعى على راحته 1ولكنه دفعنى برفق وهو يقول :كن رجال ،اليوم تبدأ
الحياة حقا ،ستجدنى فى انتظارك وقت االنصراف.
مشيت خطوات ثم وقفت أنظر ،أنظر وال أرى .ثم أنظر فتلوح لى وجوه األوالد والبنات .ال
أعرف أحدا وال أحد يعرفنى ،شعرت بأننى غريب ضائع .ولكن ثمة نظرات اتجهت نحوى
بدافع من حب االستطالع.
فهمست :أبي
لم أدر ماذا أقول له .وأغلقت البوابة مرسلة صريرا مؤثرا .أجهش البعض بالبكاء .دق الجرس.
جاءت سيدة يتبعها نفر من الرجال .أخذ الرجال يرتبوننا صفوفا .انتظمنا شكال دقيقا فى فناء
واسع محاط من ثالث جهات بأبنية مرتفعة مكونة من طوابق ،وبكل طابق شرفة طويلة مسقوفة
بالخشب تطل علينا.
وقالت المرأة :هذا بيتكم الجديد ،هنا أيضا آباء وأمهات ،هنا كل شىء يسر أو يفيد من اللعب
إلى العلم إلى الدين ،جففوا الدموع واستقبلوا الحياة باألفراح.
استسلمنا للواقع .وسلمنا االستسالم إلى نوع من الرضا ..انجذبت أنفس إلى أنفس .ومنذ الدقائق
األولى صادق قلبى من األوالد من صادق ،وعشق من البنات من عشق ،حتى خيل إلى أن
هواجسى لم تقم على أساس .لم أتصور قط أن المدرسة تموج بهذا الثراء كله .ولعبنا شتى
األلعاب من أرجوحة وحصان وكرة .وفى غرفة الموسيقى ترنمنا بأول األناشيد .وتم أول
تعارف بيننا وبين اللغة .وشاهدنا الكرة األرضية وهى تدور عارضة القارات والبلدان .وطرقنا
باب العلم بادئين باألرقام .وتليت علينا قصة خالق األكوان بدنياه وأخرته ومثال من كالمه.
وتناولنا طعاما لذيذا .وغفونا قليال .وصحونا لنواصل الصداقة والحب واللعب والتعلم.
وأسفر الطريق عن وجهه كله فلم نجده صافيا كامل الصفاء والعذوبة كما توهمنا .وبما تدهمه
رياح صغيرة وحوادث غير متوقعة فهو يقتضى أن نكون على تمام اليقظة واالستعداد مع
التحلى بالصبر .المسألة ليست لهوا ولعبا .ثمة منافسة قد تورث ألما وكراهية أو تحدث مالحاة
وعراكا .والسيدة كما تبتسم أحيانا تقطب كثيرا وتزجر .ويعترضنا أكثر من تهديد باألذى
والتأديب .باإلضافة إلى ذلك فإن زمان التراجع قد مضى وانقضى وال عودة إلى جنة المأوى
أبدا .وليس أمامنا إال االجتهاد والكفاح والصبر ،وليقتنص من يقتنص ما يتاح له وسط الغيوم
من فرص الفوز والسرور.
ودق الجرس معلنا انقضاء النهار وانتهاء العمل .وتدفقت الجموع نحو البوابة التى فتحت من
جديد .ودعت األصدقاء ،واألحبة وعبرت عتبة البوابة .نظرت نظرة باحثة شاملة فلم أجد أثرا
ألبى كما وعد انتحيت جانبا أنتظر .طال االنتظار بال جدوى فقررت العودة إلى بيتى بمفردى.
وبعد خطوات مر بى كهل أدركت من أول نظرة أننى أعرفه .هو أيضا أقبل نحوى باسما
فصافحنى قائال :زمن طويل مضى منذ تقابلنا آخر مرة ،كيف حالك؟ فوافقته بانحناءة من
رأسى ..وسألته بدورى :وكيف حالك أنت …أجاب :كما ترى ،الحال من بعضه ،سبحان مالك
الملك ..وصافحنى مرة أخرى وذهب.
تقدمت خطوات ثم توقفت ذاهال .رباه . .أين شارع بين الجناين؟ أين اختفى؟ . .ماذا حصل
له؟ متى هجمت عليه جميع هذه المركبات؟ ! ومتى تالطمت فوق أديمه هذه الجموع من البشر؟
وكيف غطت جوانبه هذه التالل من القمامة؟ وأين الحقول على الجانبين؟ قامت مكانها مدن من
العمائر العالية ،واكتظت طرقاتها باألطفال والصبيان ،وارتج جوها باألصوات المزعجة .وفى
أماكن متفرقة وقف الحواة يعرضون ألعابهم ويبرزون من ساللهم الحيات والثعابين .وهذه فرقة
موسيقية تمضى معلنة عن افتتاح سيرك يتقدمها المهرجون وحاملو األثقال .وطابور من
سيارات جنود األمن المركزى يمر فى جالل وعلى مهل .وعربة مطافى تصرخ بسرينتها ال
تدرى كيف تشق طريقها إلطفاء حريق مندلع .ومعركة تدور بين سائق تاكسى وزبون على
حين راحت زوجة الزبون تستغيث وال مغيث .رباه ! ذهلت .دار رأسى .كدت أجن .كيف أمكن
أن يحدث هذا كله فى نصف يوم ،ما بين الصباح الباكر والمغيب؟ سأجد الجواب فى بيتى عند
والدى .ولكن أين بيتى؟ ال أرى إال عمائر وجموعا .وحثثت خطاى حتى تقاطع شارعى بين
الجناين وأبو خردة .كان على أن أعبر أبو خردة ألصل إلى موقع بيتى ،غير أن تيار السيارات
ال يريد أن ينقطع .وظلت سارينا المطافى تصرخ بأقصى قوتها وهى تتحرك كالسلحفاة ،فقلت :
لتهنأ النار بما تلتهم.
وتساءلت بضيق شديد :متى يمكننى العبور؟ وطال قرفى حتى اقترب منى صبى كواء يقوم
دكانه علي الناصية.
فمد إلى ذراعه قائال بشهامة :يا حاج . .دعنى أوصلك. .
This session focuses on translating extracts from a literary essay between English
and Arabic. The purpose of the session is to apply the previously studied
techniques such as ‘fixed expressions,’ ‘idiomatic structures,’ etc. during the
process of translating literary essays.
Learning outcomes:
Material:
- Selected texts
Assignments:
Literary Essay
An interesting note from class was the comment that The Yacoubian Building is too
simplified and straightforward in its style. Although I personally as a reader believe
that there should be some blending of elements and convolution of narrative to make
ideas less obvious to the reader I did greatly enjoy reading The Yacoubian Building.
I think that regardless of whether a narrative is easy to read or not the author makes
specific choices before he or she decides to publish a novel.
I think that especially in the case of The Yacoubian Building, which was translated
into English from its original Arabic version, some literary elements can be lost in
this translation. I had a similar experience in a Spanish Literature course I took in
high school. I had read One Hundred Years of Solitude for an English class and my
Spanish teacher had chosen the original version, Cien Anos de Soledad, for us to
read in our Spanish Literature class. I am a firm believer that all of the essence and
glory of writing is encapsulated in the original version. Although I understand that it
would be near impossible for everyone to be able to read all the original versions of
texts that are not in English I do think that the English versions of novels tend to lose
some of their luster after being translated.
I felt this way when I read Cien Anos de Soledad. Although it was difficult to get
through and pick up on all the narrative techniques and literary devices in Spanish I
enjoyed reading the original Spanish version far more than the English version. This
was primarily because the Spanish version kept true to the narrative form the author
had originally intended. I also think this is why some people may take issue with the
structure of Alaa-Al-Aswany’s novel. It is difficult to keep completely true to the
original narrative when translating into English because oftentimes there are words,
phrases, gestures, or devices in certain languages that cannot be translated directly or
properly into a different language.
What I especially liked, as well as some of my fellow classmates, was that the novel
itself was cut up into short stories and snippets. As a reader I tend to get distracted or
off track if I read long chapters about the same character. Although Aswany tends to
make the stories intersect multiple times throughout the novel or collide with each
other all together I think that having a bunch of small stories embedded in the novel
keeps the reader more focused. It is like in a movie when there are different scenes
that focus on different characters. I wouldn’t want to go see a movie where you were
focused on the same character the entire time. Regardless, I liked this style because it
not only gave me some insight into each character in the novel but also showed me
how, although all the characters are having different experiences, these experiences
unite them and bring them together in some unique and distinct way.
By Samia Mehrez
In 1959, Naguib Mahfouz published his controversial novel " Awlad Haratina "
(Children of Our Alley) on the pages of the Egyptian daily paper Al Ahram. This
work represented a clear departure from the historical and realistic modes that
dominated Mahfouz's earlier work until the completion of his "Trilogy" on the eve of
the 1952 revolution in Egypt . " Awlad Haratina " came after seven years of literary
silence most uncharacteristic of the disciplined and prolific Mahfouz. However, it
has been repeatedly argued that this silence should have been expected of a writer at
the high point of his career while he observed a turning point in the social and
political reality that he had been depicting through his novels.
The story of " Awlad Haratina " is told from the point of view of a narrator/writer,
himself one of the children of the alley. We first encounter him in the short but
intriguing opening section. The narrator is the man entrusted, by the alley, to put into
writing its rich history. Unlike all the other characters whose stories he tells, the
narrator remains nameless throughout. Given the symbolic nature of the entire work,
this opening section merits an attentive reading. Indeed, I will argue that the last two
paragraphs that close this iftitahiyya (opening) represent Mahfouz's reading of his
own position as a writer within the literary field in Egypt . This role continues to be
relevant, in fact, crucial for our understanding of the field today, 50 years after this
nameless narrator/writer so eloquently described it in " Awlad Haratina ." The
opening chapter closes: "I am the first in the alley to have made a profession of
writing, although it earned me a great deal of scorn and sarcasm. My job is to write
down the complaints of those who are oppressed or in need. Although many
unfortunate people come to me, I have been unable to raise myself above the general
level of our beggars; but I have gained a heart-breaking knowledge of many people's
secret sorrows. However, I am not writing about myself and my troubles, which is
nothing compared with those of the alley."
Not only does this passage encapsulate Mahfouz's own position and history within
the field but it also defines the very raison d'être of the writer as the consciousness of
the nation and the recorder of its collective memory and underground history. As the
scribe of the alley, one among the few who can write, and the first to make of
writing a profession, the narrator/author in the passage is entrusted with a formidable
task: to set down the story of the alley in a trustworthy book in order to counter the
storytellers who twist it in their own way. Not only will the narrator/writer supply
the written truth about the complaints of the oppressed but, more importantly, he will
be aided with secret information and stories of people's secret sorrows, the unwritten
history of the alley. Despite this formidable task, the scribe of the alley is unable to
raise himself above the level of its beggars and his chosen job as scribe earns him
only great scorn and sarcasm. As he himself admits, this economic and social under-
privilege is irrelevant, for the scribe's own troubles are nothing when he compares
them to those of the rest of the alley. His material loss is compensated by symbolic
gain: his written record is of benefit to the children of his alley.
Almost 50 years later, Mahfouz's opening passage in " Awlad Haratina " continues
to represent both the material and symbolic position that characterizes our "alley's"
scribes today. This is the hara (alley) that the American University in Cairo (AUC)
Press decided to walk into with its Naguib Mahfouz Award.
On December 11, 1996 , Naguib Mahfouz's 85th birthday, the AUC Press
inaugurated the Naguib Mahfouz Medal for Literature to "recognize an outstanding
contribution to Arabic writing" and to confirm "the AUC Press' continuing and
expanding commitment to bring the best Arabic literature to the attention of the
widest possible English language audience throughout the Middle East , Europe ,
and North America ." AUC's commitment to the translation of Arabic works into
English is not new: For the past 25 years the AUC Press has contributed quite
systematically to the growing number of titles available on the international market.
What is new however, is the decision to select one work and to declare it publicly, in
a ceremony publicized both nationally and regionally, as the best Arabic literature
has to offer.
This declaration of merit is further legitimated through the name of the scribe of the
alley, the Nobel Laureate himself. Even though Mahfouz does not attend the
ceremony in person, his yearly videotaped messages to the recipients and the
audience enforce his position as godfather of the Arabic novel. Further, Mrs.
Mahfouz's dedicated presence on this occasion certainly confers upon the evening
feelings of family and of genealogy. In its endeavor to select the best texts in Arab
literature, the AUC Press is aided by a permanent and distinguished panel of judges
who represent both AUC and other national universities and whose contribution to
the Arab literary field at large is uncontestable.
Though the award's monetary compensation is largely symbolic ($1000), the AUC
Mahfouz medal has become one of the most coveted in the region. The worldwide,
cumulative distribution figures of Mahfouz's works, announced yearly by the
director of the AUC Press (more than one million copies to date), have elicited
dreams of fame and fortune from the truly disadvantaged writers of the Arab World
who, since Mahfouz's own description of their status in " Awlad Haratina " almost
45 years ago, still have to contend with the alley's scorn and sarcasm. A glaring
example of this situation is the very well-attended award ceremony of 1999,
celebrating the decoration of the "phenomenal al-Kharrat," to use one of the jury's
descriptions of the renowned recipient, Edwar al-Kharrat.
That year, the AUC Press decided to celebrate the award around an elaborate
Ramadan iftar since Mahfouz's birthday coincided with the holy month. After the
ceremony, Al Ahram al-Arabi reported sarcastically that Egyptian intellectuals
flocked to "the banquet of the All-Merciful" ( ma'idat al-rahman ), now an
established tradition of a free iftar provided by the rich for the poor of Egypt during
Ramadan, much to the embarrassment of their AUC hosts who had not expected
such a large number of "scribes." To make things worse, the yearly guest of honor,
Minister of Culture Farouk Hosni, a great fidel to the Mahfouz award ceremony,
spent his congratulating words referring to the 75-year-old pioneer of the Egyptian
avant-garde as Edwar al-Khayyat rather than Edwar al-Kharrat ( three times) to the
embarrassment and dismay of al-Kharrat's fellow scribes.
Not only does the prize bear Naguib Mahfouz's name, but it also comes with the
unique opportunity of immediate translation. Given the catastrophic situation with
both private and state publishing, the retreat of the literary product, the undeniable
absence of readership, and the increased number of crises surrounding freedom of
expression, this golden promise of translation and worldwide distribution is both
economically and symbolically attractive. The one million copies of Mahfouz's
works that have been sold worldwide may not sound impressive in global market
terms; however, they are astronomical when compared to sales figures in the Arab
world which only in very rare cases exceed 5,000 copies. Somaya Ramadan, the
2001 recipient of the medal, succinctly describes this dismal situation in the
following terms: "The creative writer in our societies does not achieve material gain
from writing. Some private publishing houses ask the authors to pay for the
publication of their work. As for the state-run outlets, writers have to wait their turn,
often for four or five years. After all this hardship, they risk being labeled apostates."
Annual Debate
Since its establishment, the AUC award has steadily gained importance, edging
closer and closer to the center of the local literary scene and provoking a yearly
heated debate. Announcing the name of the winner has systematically become a
declaration of war within both the Egyptian and Arab cultural fields. The AUC
Mahfouz prize has become an important factor in fueling the schism within Egyptian
literary and critical circles and is accused of creating a generation of writers who
write with an eye on the West and an eye on translation. Even more contentious is
the fact that the AUC Press has assigned itself the duty of presenting the best Arabic
literature worldwide, a role that could be discouraging the representation of the
modern Arab literary field at large.
Moreover, the fact that the Mahfouz award is given to one work has generated a host
of questions concerning literary merit and aesthetic value. Literary awards in general
are of two kinds: ones that are given to a lifetime achievement (the Nobel, the
Faysal, the Sultan al-'Uways, the Egyptian State Merit Prize) and others that are
awarded to a single text (the Booker, the Goncourt, the State Encouragement Prize,
the Cairo International Book Fair Prize). Whereas the first category is given to
established or senior names in the field, the second is generally intended to draw
attention to new talents. The criteria used in the selection process for each type of
prize makes the latter a far more controversial one, always open to potential protests.
This is the fate of the Mahfouz award.
Conferring Legitimacy
By honoring one text, the Mahfouz Award panel of judges not only extended the
legitimacy of established writers in the field to the international level but it has
conferred legitimacy on new ones. In other words, AUC has taken on the role of
identifying and naming the best scribes of the alley. In this minefield, AUC has
consistently found itself subject to the rules of the alley and its few scorn-ridden
scribes and has recently been described as "represent[ing] a reality of its own
making," wrote Sayyed El-Bahrawi in Akhbar Al Adab. El-Bahrawi adds, it is thus
deemed "a great danger to the Arab novel" and to the "literary field in the Arab
World," indeed the "entire Arab future!"
The initial history of the AUC Mahfouz Award remains an unwritten one. The first
award was intended for Sonallah Ibrahim, one of the alley's most prominent and
"trustworthy" scribes, in recognition of his highly acclaimed novel " Zaat ." Ibrahim,
whose unique autonomous position within the field is an exceptional anomaly and
whose relationship with AUC as an American institution is, to say the least,
problematic, declined the award arguing that it should go to younger and less
established talents.
In the aftermath of the first ceremony, the first recipient, Ibrahim Abdel Maguid,
whose novel "The Other Place" was described as the narrative on "the season of
migration to the South," was accused of being a peddler who flirts with the West.
The distinguished Palestinian poet Mourid al-Barghouti was seen as an intruder into
a field already overpopulated with unrecognized scribes. Edwar al-Kharrat's
acceptance of the award was read as a betrayal to his life-time commitment to "the
new literary sensibility," whose marginal position he defended in the face of more
traditional forms represented by the Mahfouzian oeuvre. Huda Barakat's national
belonging was put to the test in a statement by four Egyptian intellectuals calling
upon her to boycott the Mahfouz award in solidarity with the Al-Aqsa Intifada! In all
of these instances, the award recipients are set up to fail Mahfouz's model of the
scribe: the trustworthy, selfless son of the alley, recorder of a collective underground
reality, whose record is of benefit not to himself, but to all the children of the alley.
Tellingly, the most ruthless attacks were reserved for Ahlam Mosteghanemi and
Somaya Ramadan, the most recent arrivals among the children of the alley, whose
rites of passage expose not only the sexual and textual battles among the scribes but
their class and nationalist defenses as well. Whereas critics declared that
Mosteghanemi's best-selling first novel "Memory in the Flesh" belonged to "the
popular literature of Mexican soap operas," Ramadan's initially well received
"Leaves of Narcissus" suddenly became, upon its nomination to the award, a
"national disaster," and the "death certificate of [Mahfouz's] prize!" Mosteghanemi
was accused of "falsifying history" by selling herself on the jacket of the book as the
first Algerian woman to write in Arabic while Ramadan was accused of writing an
"anti-Nasser," "anti-national" novel. Reviewers deemed Mosteghanemi's style
melodramatic and laden with antiquated clichés while they labeled Ramadan's text
"beginner's literature" replete with "grammatical mistakes" that massacre our
"beautiful Arabic language." Both were ostracized for their absences from the alley:
Mosteghanemi was made to pay for her life in exile away from Algeria, between
France and Beirut, and Ramadan for her years of study in Ireland .
But the onslaught does not stop at the recipients of the Mahfouz award. Members of
the panel of judges have also come under increased shelling in recent years. Their
role, in the scribes' minds, has come to resemble that of the futuwa ( the
chief/authority/bouncer) in Mahfouz's alley. Like the futuwa in " Awlad Haratina ,"
the panel of judges of the Mahfouz award are accused of unjust and unequal
distribution of thewaqf (estate) among the children of the alley.
The scribes have called for "transparency" in the selection process and made
accusations of "ineptitude" and "clientalism." They have demanded a change of the
panel of judges in order to ensure the representation of the alley's "indigenous"
aesthetic values instead of the values of hegemonic cultural institutions.
What seems to emerge as the core of the problem is the dominated situation of the
Egyptian literary field or "alley." Because the Egyptian literary field is dominated, it
is bound to seek recognition (both material and symbolic) in the "global village" or
"international republic of letters." At the same time, the literary field is bound to
define itself on a national/nationalist basis. This double bind is simply unsolvable so
long as the dominant position of the literary field persists.
محنة نجيب محفوظ مع القراء وتأويالتهم ،التي سنشير إليها ،تأتي من
اعتبار أعماله السردية التخيلية معبرة دائما عن نواياه الخاصة.واذا كانت هذه
أصحابه على أنه الفهم الوحيد
ُ نظر إليه
التأويالت قد أتت متعددة ،فإن كل تأويل َي ُ
الكاتب قوله في عمله ،نستثني من ذلك ما ندرك من الق ارءات الجادة
ُ لما كان يريد
التي أخذت تراعي الطبيعة الحوارية واالحتمالية لوجود المعاني في النصوص
األدبية ،بحيث ُينظر إلى البنيات والعبارات فيها باعتبارها« ِ
محاوَرة بطبعها أو سائلة
بطبعها ،فالعبارة تأخذ بقية وجودها من شيء محذوف وكل عبارة لها باطن
محذوف ،باطن يناوئ ،يركن إلى الظاهر في التعبير عن نفسه ،ويخفي نفسه في
ردائه أيضا.المحذوف هو جزء جوهري من كياننا ،كيان النص»
ويشير المشتغلون بعلم نفس القراءة إلى ثالثة عوامل تكون حاضرة ومؤثرة
في ناتج تفاعل القراء مع النصوص ،وهي على التوالي:
-سياق القراءة:وال يتحدث فيه هؤالء ،كما يفعل السوسيولوجيون عن الوسط
االجتماعي أو البيئي وانما يشيرون إلى عناصر مرتبطة بالنصوص ومؤطرة لها،
وأهمها ما يدعى عادة بهوامش النص أو النصوص الموازية:العنوان ،اإلشارات
التمهيدية ،الخواتم كلمة الغالف ،رسوم الغالف وجميع طرائق عرض النص
وتقديمه للقارئ .جميع هذه المعطيات السياقية المؤطرة يكون لها دور ملحوظ في
عملية توجيه القراءة نحو فهم أو تأويل محددين.
-خصائص النص:بما في ذلك خصائص معجم وعبارات وبناء النص.مع
مراعاة طبيعته الشكلية الخاصة؛ أي فيما إذا كان ينتمي إلى السرد أم الشعر أم
الحوار أم الوصف الخ باإلضافة إلى مستوى اإليحاء وامكانيات التدليل المتاحة في
النص.
( 093كلمة)
يتكون الكتاب من تقديم ،ثم مقدمة عامة؛ أما قلبه ،فجزآن األول ،نظرة عامة على
مظاهر تطور المرأة في مصر المعاصرة ،من خالل روايات نجيب محفوظ ( 1945
) 1967 -والثاني ،دراسة تحليلية موسعة لثالث شخصيات نسائية؛ هي " :نفيسة "
-بداية ونهاية1949 ،؛ و" نـــور " -اللص والكــالب1961 ،؛ و" زهـــرة " -
ميرامــار1967 ،
لقد كان ظهور نجيب محفوظ ،في األربعينيات من القرن العشرين ،نقلة مؤثرة في
تاريخ الرواية العربية ،إذ استطاع هذا الكاتب العبقري -خالل النصف الثاني من هذا
القرن العشرين -أن يخرج هذه الرواية من اإلقليمية إلى آفاق العالمية ،ألنه نجح في
نقل الواقع االجتماعي المصري ،دون أن يقلد تيارا خارجيا ،وإن كان استفاد كثيرا
بالتقانيات البنائية للرواية .لقد جعل محفوظ من الرواية سجال اجتماعيا لمصر
الحديثة ،إذ نقل -بصدق ،وبدرجة عالية من الفن -واقع الوعي المصري المعاصر،
وتفاصيل الحياة اليومية االعتيادية في حواري وأزقة القاهرة المعزية
وترصد المؤلفة البداية المبكرة الهتمام نجيب محفوظ بقضايا المرأة ،فتشير إلى مقالة
كتبها الروائي العربي الكبير في مجلة ( السياسة األسبوعية ) ،في العام ،1931وهو
بعد في التاسعة عشرة من عمره ،ويدعو فيها إلى ضرورة تعليم الفتاة ،بينما ينتقد
خروج المرأة للعمل في دواوين الحكومة ،ألن ذلك يؤدي إلى انحالل األخالقيات في
تلك الدواوين ،ويزيد من حدة مشكلة بطالة الشباب ،ويؤدي إلى تفكك األسرة.
والواضح أن الشاب نجيب محفوظ كان متأثرا في آرائه هذه بالفكر االجتماعي
المتحفظ الذي ساد تلك الفترة .كما تدلنا المؤلفة على مفتاح يجب وضعه في االعتبار
عند التعرض بالدراسة إلنتاج نجيب محفوظ ،بعامة ،يتمثل في ثالثة تواريخ هامة،
أثرت في محفوظ على نحو خاص ،وفي الشعب المصري عامة ،وهي :ثورة
،1919فمحفوظ هو ابن هذه الثورة ،التي أرضعته أساسيات الوعي السياسي
واالجتماعي؛ وثورة يوليو ،1952وهو من منتقدي هذه الثورة األشداء؛ ثم هزيمة
يونية ،1967وهي محطة أساسية ،ارتاد بعدها نجيب محفوظ آفاقا روائية مختلفة،
في مضامين رواياته وبنياتها ،على السواء.
كانت بعض ال شخصيات النسائية بمثابة المحور لمعظم روايات نجيب محفوظ ،مثل
(حميدة ) ،في " زقاق المدق "؛ و( نفيسة ) ،في " بداية ونهاية "؛ وهما شخصيتان
شاردتان ،خرجتا عن التقاليد وانحرفتا.
وينتهي تحليل المؤلفة للمسار الروائي لنفيسة ،بطلة ( بداية ونهاية ) ،إلى أنها أفضل
نم وذج روائي للمرأة المصرية ،من الطبقة المتوسطة ،يجسد حياة تلك الطبقة وأزمتها
االقتصادية الطاحنة ،في فترة ما بين الحربين العظميين
ديسمبر 1155
نجيب محفوظ والمشوار الطويل المصدر :األهرام اليومى بقلم :رجاء النقاش
مشوار طويل فى الفن والحياة .طوله بالسنوات 88عاما .وطوله باألعمال الفنية 19
عمال أدبيا بين رواية وقصة قصيرة ومسرحية .أما البطل فهو رجل متوسط الطول
نحيف جدا يعانى من مرض السكر وضعف السمع .ولكن قلبه ملئ بنور الحب وذكاء
المعرفة وقوة النبوغ .وهذا البطل رجل شديد التواضع ،صاحب نفس قوية ال تعرف
الجزع الشديد وال تعترف باألفراح الصاخبة ،ولكنها نفس تعف المواجهة الدافئة القوية
لكل األفراح واألحزان .بطل المشوار رجل ينظر إلى األمام ،فإذا وجد فى طريقه
طوبة ،انحنى وحملها بيديه وألقى بها فى هدوء إلى جانب الرصيف حتى ال تعوق
مسيرة اآلخرين .يحبه الجميع ،ألنه يحب الجميع ،وال يعرف قاموسه كلمة الكره.
تستطيع مع صاحب هذا المشوار أن تصافحه فى أى وقت ،وأن تمشى معه وتتحدث
إليه فى أى موضوع ،ولن يردك الرجل ،أو يرفض مودتك وصداقتك ،حتى لوكنتما
تلتقيان ألول مرة .يلبس مالبس نظيفة ،ولكنها غاية فى البساطة ،ويرفض طيلة حياته
أن يقيد نفسه بأى رباط عنق ..كان أمامه أن يكون صاحب جاه ومنصب ومال .ولكنه
آثر أن يكون صاحب قلب وقلم ،ورضى بأن تكون ثروته « الستر» و«احتفظ»
بابتسامة الرضا على شفتيه ،ودفء المشاعر الكريمة فى قلبه .يمشى على قدميه منذ
نصف قرن خمسة كيلو مترات كل يوم .ولم يغير هذه العادة فى أى يوم من األيام .
مشوار طويل ورائع.
صاحبه هو نجيب محفوظ .
ولد فى حى الحسين ووصل به مجده إلى جائزة نوبل فى استكهولم عاصمة السويد .
وكانت أول جائزة نالها هى جائزة صغيرة من وزارة المعارف المصرية فى
األربعينيات ،أما آخر الجوائز فهى جائزة نوبل التى نالها يوم الخميس 52أكتوبر
. 5977
وبين النقطة األولى والنقطة األخيرة مشوار له تاريخ .
وهذه لمحات من هذا المشوار.
مشوار طويل فى الفن والحياة ،ذلك هو المشوار الذى قطعه نجيب محفوظ منذ مولده
فى 55سبتمبر سنة 5955إلى يوم الخميس 52أكتوبر سنة ،5977وهو اليوم الذى
اعلنت فيه األكاديمية السويدية فى الساعة الثانية بعد الظهر بتوقيت القاهرة اختيار
Literary Translation Page 69
Arabic and Translation Studies Division
نجيب محفوظ من بين 511مرشحا لمنحه جائزة نوبل فى اآلداب ،وقيمتها المادية
292ألف دوالر ،وهى قيمة تتغير كل عام حسب قيمة األرباح التى تحققها األموال
التى رصدها « ألفريد نوبل» لجائزته التى بدأت سنة .5915
كان أول أجر تقاضاه نجيب محفوظ عن قصة قصيرة له نشرته له مجلة « الثقافة»
التى كان يرأس تحريرها الكاتب العربى الكبير أحمد أمين هو جنيها مصريا واحدا،
ومن هذا الجنيه الواحد إلى الثالثمائة وثالثة وتسعين ألف دوالر .يمتد المشوار الطويل
الباهر لنجيب محفوظ.
مشوار نجيب محفوظ واحد من هذه المشاوير المجيدة والبطولية ،وقد انتهى المشوار
الطويل بوقوفه على أعلى قمة أدبية وهى قمة نوبل ألول مرة فى تاريخ األدب العربى
منذ أن بدأت الجائزة إلى اآلن.
ولد نجيب محفوظ فى حى الجمالية وهو قلب القاهرة القديمة التى بناها جوهر الصقلى
منذ اكثر من ألف عام ،وفى هذا الحى األصيل يعيش أبناء الشعب جيال بعد جيل)...( ،
ومن حى الجمالية الذى ولد فيه نجيب محفوظ عرف الفنان العظيم تفاصيل الحياة
الشعبية التى انعكست على أدبه .وظل حريصا على استخدامها بصورة دائمة ،فى
معظم رواياته وقصصه...
ومن حى الجمالية أخذ نجيب محفوظ فكرة «الحارة» التى أصبحت عنده رمزا
للمجتمع وللعالم ،أى أصبح رمزا للحياة البشرية.
ومن حى الجمالية أخذ شخصية الفتوة التى تظهر كثيرا فى أدبه ،والفتوة عند محفوظ
هو رمز السلطة فى كل وجوهها وتقلباتها المختلفة بين العدل والظلم ،والسماحة
وضيق األفق ،والعنف واالعتدال ،والشهامة أحيانا ،وكسر رقاب الناس فى أحيان
أخري )...(.
وفى مرحلة أدبية أخرى تصبح الحارة أكبر من المجتمع نفسه ،وتتحول إلى صورة
العالم كامال وما فيه من أفكار ومصائر وأقدار وصراعات هائلة ،وهذا ما نجده
بوضوح فى روايتين من أهم روايات نجيب محفوظ ،هما «أوالد حارتنا» الممنوعة،
وياللعجب ،من النشر فى مصر حتى اآلن ،و«الحرافيش» التى اعتبرها كثير من النقاد
بحق ملحمة روائية بالغة العمق والقيمة والمتعة.
فى هاتين الروايتين« :أوالد حارتنا» ،و«الحرافيش» بحث فنى عميق وممتع حول
صراع اإلنسان من أجل المعرفة والعدالة والتوازن مع النفس والمجتمع والحياة.
وفى هاتين الروايتين أحداث مثيرة وفلسفة عميقة وشخصيات تقفز من شدة حيويتها فى
الصفحات ،وتتجسد أمامنا كأنها بشر نعرفهم ونراهم ونتعامل معهم كل يوم.
من حى الجمالية انتقل نجيب محفوظ إلى حى العباسية ،مع أسرته ،وقد انتقل كثيرون
من الجمالية إلى العباسية ،فقد كانت العباسية فى بدايات هذا القرن امتدادا عمرانيا
حديث النشأة لألحياء الشعبية المجاورة...وفى حى العباسية التقى نجيب بعدد من
زمالئه وأبناء جيله ،ومنهم «عبدالحميد جودة السحار» ،و«إحسان عبد القدوس»،
والدكتور «أدهم رجب» الذى أصبح أستاذا ورئيسا لقسم الطفيليات بكلية طب قصر
العيني...
وقد حصل نجيب محفوظ على البكالوريا ـ اسم الثانوية العامة وقتها ـ ودخل قسم
الفلسفة فى كلية اآلداب بجامعة القاهرة ،وكان اسمها قبل الثورة جامعة فؤاد األول،
وتخرج فيها سنة .5921
أخذ نجيب محفوظ عن سالمة موسى «أستاذه الثاني» نزعته التجديدية وتطلعه إلى
الحضارة الحديثة وحماسه لفكرة العدالة االجتماعية ،واهتمامه بالبحث عن أصول
الشخصية المصرية فى جذورها الفرعونية.
وأعتقد أن التكوين األساسى األول لنجيب محفوظ هو مزيج من مصطفى عبدالرازق
وسالمة موسي ،مزيج من النظرة المستنيرة إلى التراث العربى واإلسالمي ،والتطلع
إلى التجديد الحضاري ،والدعوة إلى العدالة االجتماعية ،ورد االعتبار إلى الجذور
القديمة للشخصية المصرية.
لقد امتزج األستاذان فى شخص نجيب محفوظ ،وخرجت من هذا االمتزاج شخصية
فكرية وأدبية مليئة بالحيوية واالستقالل والموهبة .
ً
مرتبطا وعندما تخرج نجيب محفوظ سنة 5921فى الجامعة عمل موظفا ،واستمر
بالوظائف الحكومية المختلفة حتى أحيل إلى المعاش فى ديسمبر ،5981ومن بين
الوظائف التى شغلها سكرتير برلمانى لوزير األوقاف ،وكان الذى اختاره لهذه
الوظيفة هو أستاذه األول مصطفى عبد الرازق عندما أصبح وزيرا لألوقاف ،إلى أن
انتقل سنة 5911إلى وزارة اإلرشاد القومي ،كما كانت تسمى فى ذلك الوقت ،وعندما
انقسمت هذه الوزارة إلى وزارة ثقافة ووزارة إعالم ،انتقل نجيب محفوظ إلى وزارة
الثقافة وظل فيها حتى نهاية عمله الوظيفي.
لن تجد فى مشوار حياة نجيب محفوظ أى طفرات مفاجئة ،فحياته تمشى بانتظام
هادئ ،وليس فيها أى مسحة من االستعجال أو االنفجارات ،أو األحداث الكبرى ،فقد
تميز نجيب منذ بداية وعيه ،بما يسميه هو نفسه الواقعية فى النظر لألمور ،فلم يكن
يخدع نفسه أبدا ،ولم يكن يتعلق على اإلطالق بأى أحالم صعبة أو طموحات مستحيلة،
وظل على الدوام محتفظا بصفاء ذهنه وسالمة قراراته الشخصية فيما يتصل بحياته
وأدبه.
ونستطيع هنا أن نشير إلى عدد من القرارات والمواقف المهمة واألساسية فى حياة
نجيب محفوظ.
من ذلك رفض طيلة حياته أن يعمل بالسياسة ،رغم أن كتاباته الروائية والقصصية
جميعها على التقريب قائمة على فهم عميق للسياسة ،ومتابعة دقيقة ألحداثها المختلفة،
فنجيب فى فنه كاتب سياسى من الدرجة األولي .
وسبب انصراف نجيب محفوظ عن السياسة العملية هو أنه حدد لنفسه بدقة دائرة
الحركة ،فقد اختار أن يكون « كاتبا وأديبا» وال شئ غير ذلك ،ومن خالل األدب
يستطيع أن يعبر عن مشاعره ومواقفه وأفكاره السياسية ،أما العمل السياسى المباشر،
فهو شىء آخر لم يقترب منه نجيب محفوظ قط ،ألنه كان كفيال بأن يجره إلى دوامة
عنيفة تعوق عمله األدبى الذى يحبه ويرى أنه قادر على أن ينجز فيه شيئا مثمرا إذا ما
أعطاه حقه من الجهد والتفرغ واإلخالص .وقد أعطاه الكثير من هذا كله.
ومن هذه القرارات الحاسمة فى حياة نجيب محفوظ أنه وضع خطا فاصال بين األدب
والصحافة ،فاختار األدب ،ورفض العمل بالصحافة رفضا قاطعا رغم اإلغراءات
الكثيرة التى قدمتها إليه مؤسسة صحفية كبرى ليترك وظيفته الحكومية ويتفرغ للعمل
الصحفي ،وقد رأى نجيب بحق أن العمل األدبى إذا ما فقد روح االستقالل وأصبح
مرتبطا بعجلة االنتاج الصحفى السريع المتالحق فإنه يتعرض لضرر كبير ،وعندما
ارتبط نجيب بصحيفة األهرام حوالى سنة 5919كان هذا االرتباط أدبيا وليس
صحفيا ،أى أنه لم يكن مرتبطا بالعمل الصحفى اليومى الدائم ،بل كان هذا االرتباط
قائما على أساس واحد ،وهو أن يقدم نجيب محفوظ أعماله األدبية التى ينجزها فى
الوقت المناسب له ،وذلك لنشرها فى الجريدة.
وتلك نقطة دقيقة قد اليلتفت إليها كثيرون ،ورغم أنها كانت سببا فى اضطراب عدد
من األدباء فى جيل نجيب محفوظ وبعد جيله ،ألن العمل الصحفى قد فرض نفسه على
أدبهم ،فكانت كتاباتهم القصصية والروائية قائمة على االستجابة لسرعة الصحافة،
وتوفير السهولة واإلثارة للعمل األدبى حتى يحقق النجاح الصحفى المنشود .
أما نجيب محفوظ فقد استطاع أن ينجو من هذه الدوامة التى ابتلعت عددا من األدباء
الموهوبين ،وإن لم يكن القرار سهال ،ألن إغراءات الصحافة كثيرة ،ولكن نجيب
محفوظ توصل إلى هذا القرار ولم يتردد فيه بسبب ما أشرت إليه من صفاء ذهنه ودقة
خطته فى الحياة.
وإذا أردنا أن نخرج من كل ذلك بمالمح عامة لشخصية نجيب محفوظ ،قلنا إنه شديد
الصبر ،صاحب بال طويل ،وصدر واسع ،وأنه بعيد عن أى طموح قائم على
الخياالت واألوهام والتسرع فى التقدير ،وهو يحرص على االجتهاد فى تقديم أفضل ما
لديه ،ثم يترك النتائج تأتى وحدها دون أن يجرى وراءها أو يرهق نفسه بما تحقق منها
وما لم يتحقق ،وهو يتمتع بنفسية شديدة التسامح واالستعداد للرضا بما تأتى به األيام،
وقد ساعده على ذلك كله والشك أنه ابن بلد خفيف الظل ،حاضر النكتة ،سريع البديهة.
ذلك هو نجيب محفوظ منذ صباه حتى اآلن ،ابن بلد حقيقى ،محب للضحك والحياة،
يستعين بالنكتة على مصاعب الدنيا ،يخفف بها ما يلقاه من منغصات واحباطات ،وال
شك فى أن الروح المرحة قد ساعدت على نجاح محفوظ فى تكوين درجة عالية من
االحتمال فى شخصيته.
بالطبع لم يعد نجيب محفوظ كما كان فى شبابه ـ صاحب نكتة مجلجلة وضحكة
صاخبة فقد أكسبته األيام ومرور السنين كثيرا من الرصانة .ولعل أحزان قلبه وأشجانه
قد زادت فأصبح شديد التحكم فى روح الفكاهة تمأل صفحات أدبه ،وإن كنا نجد أن هذه
الروح تمأل صفحات أدبه ويمكن ألى باحث أن يقدم دراسة واسعة للفكاهة فى أدب
نجيب محفوظ ،وسوف يجد فى هذا الموضوع مادة غنية وغزيرة )...(.
ووفاء نجيب محفوظ للحرافيش هو وفاء تضرب به األمثال ،فهو يحرص على اللقاء
األسبوعى معهم .
وقد يتصور البعض أن لقاء الحرافيش هو لقاء تدور فيه مناقشات فكرية دقيقة ومنظمة
وخاضعة للتخطيط الذهني ،وهذا غير صحيح ،فلقاء الحرافيش لقاء سهل يسير ،هو فى
جوهره جلسة أصدقاء يتبادلون الحديث الحر فى شئونهم الشخصية المختلفة.
ونجيب محفوظ فى مشوار حياته وفنه مرتبط بمصر أشد االرتباط ،وتستطيع أن تقول
أن كل رواياته وقصصه بغير استثناء مرتبطة بمصر ،وشعبها وتاريخها والصراعات
التى تعرضت لها والحاالت النفسية المختلفة التى مرت بها.
وال نخطئ إذا قلنا إن «مصر» هى البطل األول واألكبر فى أدب نجيب محفوظ.
فهى موجودة دائما فى الخلفية األساسية للشخصيات والموقف واألحداث والحوار الذى
يدور بين الناس ،وأفراحها وهمومها ومشاغلها ومصيرها ومستقبلها هى المادة
الرئيسية ألعمال نجيب محفوظ األدبية.
إنه عاشق لمصر ،كما لم يعشقها أحد من األدباء قبله أو بعده.
وهو فى أعماله الروائية والقصصية شاعر يتغنى بها ،وموسيقار يعزف ألحانها
الحقيقية :حزينة كانت أو فرحانة .
This session focuses on translating some parts of novels between English and
Arabic. The purpose of the session is to apply the previously studied techniques
such as ‘fixed expressions,’ ‘idiomatic structures,’ etc. during the process of
translating novels.
Learning outcomes:
Material:
- Selected texts
Assignments:
ROBISON CRUSOE
CHAPTER I - START IN LIFE
I was born in the year 1632, in the city of York, of a good family, though not of
that country, my father being a foreigner of Bremen, who settled first at Hull. He got
a good estate by merchandise, and leaving off his trade, lived afterwards at York,
from whence he had married my mother, whose relations were named Robinson, a
very good family in that country, and from whom I was called Robinson Kreutznaer;
but, by the usual corruption of words in England, we are now called - nay we call
ourselves and write our name - Crusoe; and so my companions always called me I
had two elder brothers, one of whom was lieutenant-colonel to an English regiment of
foot in Flanders, formerly commanded by the famous Colonel Lockhart, and was
killed at the battle near Dunkirk against the Spaniards. What became of my second
brother I never knew, any more than my father or mother knew what became of me.
Being the third son of the family and not bred to any trade, my head began to
be filled very early with rambling thoughts. My father, who was very ancient, had
given me a competent share of learning, as far as house-education and a country free
school generally go, and designed me for the law; but I would be satisfied with
nothing but going to sea; and my inclination to this led me so strongly against the
will, nay, the commands of my father, and against all the entreaties and persuasions
of my mother and other friends, that there seemed to be something fatal in that
propensity of nature, tending directly to the life of misery which was to befall me.
My father, a wise and grave man, gave me serious and excellent counsel
against what he foresaw was my design. He called me one morning into his chamber,
where he was confined by the gout, and expostulated very warmly with me upon this
subject. He asked me what reasons, more than a mere wandering inclination, I had for
leaving father’s house and my native country, where I might be well introduced, and
had a prospect of raising my fortune by application and industry, with a life of ease
and pleasure. He told me it was men of desperate fortunes on one hand, or of aspiring,
superior fortunes on the other, who went abroad upon adventures, to rise by
enterprise, and make themselves famous in undertakings of a nature out of the
common road; that these things were all either too far above me or too far below me;
that mine was the middle state, or what might be called the upper station of low life,
which he had found, by long experience, was the best state in the world, the most
suited to human happiness, not exposed to the miseries and hardships, the labour and
sufferings of the mechanic part of mankind, and not embarrassed with the pride,
luxury, ambition, and envy of the upper part of mankind. He told me I might judge of
the happiness of this state by this one thing - viz. that this was the state of life which
all other people envied; that kings have frequently lamented the miserable
consequence of being born to great things, and wished they had been placed in the
middle of the two extremes, between the mean and the great; that the wise man gave
his testimony to this, as the standard of felicity, when he prayed to have neither
poverty nor riches.
Features of Autobiographies:
Learning outcomes:
Material:
- Selected texts
Assignments:
Robert J. Sawyer
Autobiography
My father, John Arthur Sawyer, was born in Toronto in 1924; his ancestry is Scottish and
English. My mother, Virginia Kivley Peterson Sawyer, was born in Appleton, Minnesota, in
1925, but grew up in Berkeley, California. Her background is Swedish and Norwegian. They
were married at the University of Chicago in 1952, where they were both graduate students in
economics.
Shortly thereafter, they moved to Ottawa, Canada's capital, where my dad was employed by
what was then called the Dominion Bureau of Statistics and is now known as Statistics Canada.
I was born in Ottawa on April 29, 1960 — but my parents almost immediately moved again,
this time to Toronto, so that my father could take a teaching post at the University of Toronto
starting in the fall of 1960.
After a few years, my mother started teaching at the University of Toronto, as well, lecturing in
statistics. It was unusual, back then, having a mother who worked outside the home, and even
more so to have one who worked in an intellectually challenging field; my friends didn't quite
know what to make of it. Still, it had advantages: we were the first family on our street to have
two cars — one for my dad and one for my mom. These days, that's very common, but it wasn't
then, and I was very proud of both my parents.
I have two brothers, Peter Douglas Sawyer, who is six years older than me, and Alan Bruce
Sawyer, who is sixteen months younger. My parents had hoped to space their children more
evenly, but there were medical complications after my older brother was born. It's too bad: I've
never been as close to Peter as I would have liked, but of course no sixteen-year-old wants a
ten-year-old tagging along. And my relationship with Alan was strained during much of our
childhood; we were so close in age that a rivalry was inevitable. Still, I was very much the
traditional middle child, always trying to make peace and build bridges.
My mother had been a bona fide gifted child, graduating from the University of California at
Berkeley when she was 17, and my older brother had been accelerated (put ahead a grade)
twice at school. The teachers and my parents meant well in doing this, but Peter had a bunch of
troubles in his early years, in large measure because he was pushed ahead.
I was a bright kid, too, but, because of what happened to Peter, my parents resolutely kept me at
the grade appropriate for my age. It was probably for the best, but I remember being bored most
of the time in the classroom, and that led to me being somewhat disruptive there. But at the end
of every week, my father took me down to the Royal Ontario Museum's Saturday Morning
Club, where bright kids got to go behind the scenes in the museum's various departments and
learn all sorts of fascinating things; that was the intellectual highlight of my childhood.
I was a chubby kid, and lousy at sports. I'm sure this disappointed my dad, who was a big
baseball fan. I also had a coordination problem — and still do, to some degree — and couldn't
throw a ball well or get my body to do the things that my friends could do with ease.
(Ultimately, I think this problem had something to do with me becoming a writer. An athlete
has to get it right on the first try: if you're taking a shot at the goal, you don't get a second
chance to score a point. But a writer revises, and keeps going back until he or she is satisfied.)
So, instead of playing sports, I watched a lot of TV. There's never been much domestic
Canadian dramatic television. Instead, Canadian channels fill their prime-time schedules with
American programs. But, since 90 percent of all Canadians live within a hundred miles of the
U.S. border, we also receive American TV stations. Today, with almost all Canadians getting
their TV via cable, the cable operators simply delete the US signal and simultaneously
substitute the Canadian one — meaning we see the same episode of the same series, but with
Canadian, instead of American, commercials.
But in the 1960s and 1970s, things were different. Canadian stations had to entice us to watch
their broadcasts of the program (with the ads they'd sold), rather than the American ones. To do
that, they showed the American-made programs earlier in Canada.
When I was 12, in 1972, my favorite new series was called Search, starring Hugh O'Brian and
Burgess Meredith. It was an intricately plotted caper series, with high-tech agents, linked by
miniature cameras and radios to a mission-control center, working to recover missing objects.
In Toronto, we got the Canadian broadcast of the latest episode on Tuesdays at 8:00 p.m. on
local channel 9, and then, the next night, at 10:00 p.m., we got the American broadcast, spilling
over from the NBC station in Buffalo, New York.
I never missed an episode on Tuesday nights, but I wanted more. Every Wednesday night I had
a fight with my mom, because I wanted to stay up to watch Search again — the exact same
episode I'd seen the day before. It was an hour-long series, meaning it wasn't over until 11:00
p.m. — way too late, my mom felt, for a 12-year-old on a school night. But I whined and
wheedled, and she would usually give in.
Back then, I couldn't articulate why it was so important to me to watch the same episode a
second time — but I understand it perfectly now. I was learning how to write. On Tuesday
nights, I'd be surprised by the twists and turns the plots took — and on Wednesday nights,
knowing how the story turned out, I was able to see how the writer had developed the plot.
Now, television drama may not be the greatest form of literature — but the structure it uses is
wonderful for learning plotting. There was always something else on and, at every commercial
break, there was an opportunity for you to switch to another program, so TV writers had to end
every act — indeed, just about every scene except the last — with a little cliffhanger, to keep
you in suspense, to keep you from turning away.
(Today, of course, there are videocassette recorders and DVD players; no one has to go through
the difficulties I did to see the same program twice in rapid succession. Still, I think watching a
program twice — or reading a book twice — is a great way to see exactly how the writer
accomplished what he or she had set out to do.)
Search wasn't the only TV program that had an impact on me. The original Star Trek — the
one with Kirk, Spock, and McCoy — was also a huge influence. I only saw one episode in first
run: "The Devil in the Dark," the one with the Horta. That had been a special treat; my parents
didn't approve of me watching violent TV shows (the spy program The Man from UNCLE was
banned in our house); nor did they ever buy us toy guns (although we did receive a few as
presents from neighborhood kids over the years, over my parents' objections). Those bans
certainly had an effect on me; I consider myself a pacifist today, and most of the characters I
write about go out of their way to avoid a fight — not out of cowardice, but out of principle.
Anyway, there was a book published in 1968, while Star Trek was still in first run, called The
Making of Star Trek. It was the first book of its kind, and I found it absolutely fascinating. The
edition I have has "The book on how to write for TV!" emblazoned above the title. The authors
were Stephen E. Whitfield and Gene Roddenberry (the latter the creator of Star Trek), and it
contained all sorts of materials: blueprints of the starship Enterprise, close-up photos of props,
character sketches of the ship's crew, and dozens of memos sent between various people
involved in the production arguing about every little background detail, from what powered the
starship to what sorts of family names Vulcans might have.
These days, many DVD releases come with commentary by the screenwriter or director, but
back then this sort of insight into the creative process was completely unprecedented. I'm sure I
would have loved Star Trek regardless, but I learned an enormous amount watching the 79
original episodes re-run over and over again, once the show was in syndication, because of the
background in that book. One of the key skills for an SF writer is "world building" — creating a
convincing alternate reality, and giving the audience insights into it through well-chosen
background details. There's no doubt I learned this skill through Star Trek.
Of course, my earliest stories didn't have much in the way of world building — but I do think
it's interesting that from day one, I was writing from non-human perspectives. The very first
story I ever wrote, when I was six or seven, was called "Bobby Bug." Ironically, at that time, I
had no idea that "Bobby" was a form of my own name, Robert.
(Actually, I was called "Robin" as a child. That was what my mother wanted to give me as my
legal name, but my father thought it would be better to have a more masculine name; also, he
had a great fondness for his Scottish heritage, and so my given names, Robert James, are after
historic kings of Scotland. But I was registered at school as Robin Sawyer, and the local Parks
and Recreation Department, guessing my gender by my name, kept sending me invitations to
join girl's ice-skating teams and similar things. When I was ten, I rebelled against the name
Robin, and have used Robert (or Rob) ever since. I actually regret it now; Robin is a great name
for a writer.)
In 1968, when I was eight years old, my father took me to see the then-new movie 2001: A
Space Odyssey. It was my introduction to the work of Arthur C. Clarke, then and now my
favorite science-fiction writer, and I ultimately saw 2001 a total of 25 times on the big screen.
Part of the appeal was the fact that the movie had that year in its title. One of the nice things
about being born in a year that ends in zero is that it makes math simple. Even as a kid, I knew I
would be 41 in 2001, and my father, sitting next to me in Toronto's Glendale Theatre, was then
43 — meaning I'd be younger than my dad was then when the wonders of giant space stations
and cities on the moon and thinking computers would supposedly be a reality.
Also an important part of my childhood was the Apollo program, which really did put human
beings on the moon. I was absolutely fascinated by it, and my parents used to let me stay home
from school to watch important mission events on TV.
Still, I mostly enjoyed school — except for a few bullies. I hadn't really shown a profound
interest in writing by the time I was in grade four, but my teacher, Peter Moroz, let me indulge
my interest in space.
By the time I got into grade five, though, I was very much intrigued by writing. My teacher,
Patricia Matthews, greatly encouraged me in that. This was back in the days before photocopies
were common, and there was no such thing as a word processor. She used to ask me for copies
of my stories, so she could keep them for herself — my first fan — and I dutifully wrote out
duplicates of them by hand for her.
Multiculturalism has always been part of my life. Toronto, where I live, has been recognized by
the UN as the most multicultural city in the world. The original Star Trek, with its multiracial
crew, certainly underscored that, and even as a kid, I never allowed other kids to get away with
racist, or anti-Semitic, remarks in my presence.
Indeed, I remember one of the few times I was ashamed to be a Canadian was while watching
the opening ceremonies on TV for Expo 70 in Osaka, Japan. Canada's participation was a series
of female dancers — and every one of them was white with brunette hair. Even as a ten-year-
old, I knew that was wrong. There should have been people of all races represented. I've always
tried to do just that in my writing.
Now that I'm older, I realize the enormous racism that was going on in the southern U.S. during
my childhood. When I'm asked who my heroes are, people expect me to name scientists or
writers. No; indeed, one of the great shocks of my life was discovering that one of my
childhood heroes, the American paleontologist Roy Chapman Andrews, who died the year I
was born, had been a racist. My heroes today are Martin Luther King and Mahatma Gandhi —
people who struggled nonviolently to change the world. I'm an idealist at heart, and the two
most moving experiences I've had as a tourist were visiting the United Nations Headquarters in
New York City, and the Civil Rights Museum in Tennessee.
In public school (Kindergarten through Grade 6), I didn't really have many friends who were as
bright as me, and that was emotionally quite hard. In Junior High (Grades 7 through 9), I had
one close friend who was quite bright, and we spent a lot of time together talking about space
and science fiction. It wasn't until high school, though, that I really found a group of friends
who were as intelligent as I was, and my high-school years were some of the best of my life.
In October 1975, when I was beginning Grade 10, I made friends with a guy named Rick
Gotlib, who was in my Latin class (yes, Latin was an oddball choice — but I thought it would
help me to understand scientific terms; I was planning on becoming a scientist). We both had
an interest in science fiction, and spent one lunch period trying to stump each other with trivia
questions. Rick and I figured there had to be other science-fiction fans in the school, and so
decided to start a science-fiction club: the Northview Association for Science Fiction Addicts,
or NASFA (Afsan, the main character in my novels Far-Seer, Fossil Hunter, and Foreigner, is
NASFA spelled backwards).
The first meeting was a great success, and, to our surprise and delight, a large number of pretty
girls joined the club — an unexpected bonus. I'd never really had female friends prior to this —
the street I'd grown up on was filled with boys — but suddenly I did. Most of the people who
joined the club were older than Rick and I were (back then, Ontario High School went to Grade
13, meaning some of our members were eighteen at the beginning of the year, and nineteen by
the time it ended).
And then a miracle occurred: the teachers went on strike. For months, Northview Heights
Secondary School — and all the other high schools in Ontario — were closed. But we decided
to keep holding NASFA meetings anyway during that period, once a week at different people's
houses.
It was an unusual situation: a couple of Grade 10 boys hanging out with boys and girls in
Grades 11, 12, and even 13. But since there were no classes to worry about during the strike,
we were treated as equals; all that mattered was how clever or funny we could be. Indeed, to
my astonishment, I soon found myself dating a gorgeous girl named Lorian Fraser who was two
grades ahead of me — quite a heady experience for a guy who, in junior high, had been very
awkward around girls.
I'd hung around with some bad kids in junior high, but had avoided getting entangled in the
smoking, drinking, and drugs they were experimenting with. There's always been something in
me that was averse to peer-group pressure: when bell-bottomed pants came into style in the late
1960s, I refused to wear them, making my mother drive me all over town looking for stores that
still had straight legs. And, until I was in my 20s, I never wore blue jeans, despite the fact — or
more precisely, because of the fact — that everybody else was wearing them.
But the science-fiction crowd in high school never got into trouble. Not one of us smoked, no
one was using drugs, and only a few occasionally drank. (Robert Charles Wilson, another SF
writer and one of my closest friends, noted recently that I've never developed adult vices: to this
day, I don't drive and I don't drink, but I've got a real fondness for chocolate milk, potato chips,
and pizza.)
Still, we members of NASFA had incredible amounts of fun, and I felt intellectually stimulated
all the time. Several members of the club talked about wanting to write science fiction, but it
seemed clear that I was the only one who was really serious about it, and in the summer after
grade ten, I made my first-ever submission to a science-fiction magazine. The story, quite
rightly, was rejected, but I wasn't discouraged. On the contrary, I was rather impressed by the
simplicity of the process: anyone, anywhere, could send in a story, and it would be seriously
considered for publication.
Incredible as it seems today, with the fifth Star Trek TV series currently in first-run, back in
1977, when I was 17, it had been eight years since the original Star Trek went off the air, and it
looked like there would never be any more. So some friends and I set about shaping a series of
audio dramas — there was no way we could afford to do TV! — that would be the new Star
Trek.
I was the driving creative force, and the first proposal I came up with as the basis of our series
was something I called Creator Quest: in the 21st century (which seemed a long way off then!),
scientific evidence points to a guiding intelligence for our universe, and a starship sets off to
find this God. Aided by my brother Alan, we produced a mock opening credits sequence for the
show, with music and ominous narration. I don't remember much of it, except the last words
were "... the astral quest for our creator!"
Anyway, my friends looked at me like I was nuts after I played the Creator Quest demo tape,
and so I decided to start over. I proposed a format very similar to Star Trek. Instead of a United
Federation of Planets, it had a Commonwealth of Planets (Canada, of course, is part of the
Commonwealth of Nations, the alliance of countries formerly under British control). But my
parents' pacifism had had an affect on me. I completely rejected the military background of Star
Trek, and came up with a democratic, socialist structure based on that of a university (the
university-like setting was also, I'm sure, my parents' influence; remember, they both taught at
the University of Toronto).
Our series ended up being named Star Station Terra (because our little SF club that had spun
off from NASFA, pulling in a few people who had never gone to Northview and others who
had already graduated, was called the Society for Speculative Thinking, and we wanted it to
have the same initials). Contributing in major ways to fleshing out the series were my friends
Tom Nadas, Carolyn Clink, Ariel Reich, and Do-Ming Lum, but still the core concept was mine
— including the presence of dolphins aboard our starship. At that time, American biologist
John C. Lilly was talking a lot about his theory that dolphins might be as intelligent as humans.
That notion fascinated me, so I threw in a dolphin named Bobo.
We wrote a bunch of scripts, and put them through many drafts, but never got around to
producing the audio dramas. That was fine by me — it was really the writing, not the
production, that I was interested in. All in all, it was a great experience.
In 1974, my parents bought a vacation home on Canandaigua Lake, one of Upstate New York's
Finger Lakes, and we made frequent trips there. The nearest city was Rochester, New York,
and my parents became members of the Rochester Museum & Science Center. In the summer
of 1979, the Strasenburgh Planetarium, which was part of the RMSC, announced a contest to be
judged by science-fiction greatIsaac Asimov: write a short story that could be made into a
dramatic planetarium star show.
I decided to dust off one of my old Star Station Terra ideas, and wrote it up in prose. I stripped
out any parts of the background that I myself had not made up, added new stuff to cover what
was missing, and submitted the story. I thought there might be a prejudice against a Canadian
entering an American contest, so I put the address of my family's US vacation home on the
submission.
In January of 1980, Isaac Asimov's pick was announced — and it wasn't me. Still, the
planetarium was having a reception for everyone who had entered the contest, and my mother
agreed to drive me down, along with Carolyn Clink, two years older than me, a member of the
Society for Speculative Thinking, and now, after four years of friendship, my new girlfriend.
As soon as we arrived at the reception, the planetarium's director came running over to me.
"We were hoping you would come!" he said. "We've been trying to reach you for weeks!" It
turned out that the story Asimov had liked best really only had enough meat on it for a ten-
minute starshow, and so the planetarium staff had decided to buy rights to two additional stories
— and one of them was mine!
Of course, they'd only had the US phone number of the vacation home, which had been vacant
since the summer — so they hadn't been able to contact me. I was absolutely stunned — it was
completely unexpected.
The planetarium didn't have much money in its budget, but they paid me US$85 for the rights
to make a starshow from my story — and that worked out, almost exactly, at the then-current
exchange rate, to Cdn$100. For years, I had a photocopy of the check framed in my bedroom
with the words "First Sale" beneath it.
(Twenty years later, the Rochester Museum & Science Center was soliciting funds for an
improvement campaign. Donors who gave a certain amount of money got to have a brick
embedded in a sidewalk in front of the museum, with an inscription on it. Most of them say "In
memory of ..." and give a person's name. My mother made the required donation, and her brick
says, simply, "My son's career started here.")
The short story I sold to the planetarium was called "Motive." It was just 5,000 words long, but
contained many of the elements that went on to be major parts of my fiction. The
spaceship Star Station Terra had become Starplex, which I thought was a way cool term
(imagine my embarrassment decades later to find out that Starplex was also the name of a
company that makes urine-specimen containers for doctors' offices). Fifteen years later, I wrote
a novel called Starplex, set aboard a very similar vessel.
In "Motive," Starplex was controlled by a master computer, patterned after Hal in 2001: A
Space Odyssey, and like Hal, that computer committed a murder; my first novel, Golden
Fleece, also dealt with a homicidal computer, and many of my works have continued this
pattern of combining science fiction and mystery.
"Motive" also featured dinosaur-like aliens called Quintaglios, and I went on to write three
novels about them (Far-Seer, Fossil Hunter, and Foreigner).
The starshow that was made up of the three short stories ran for 192 performances in the
summer of 1980 under the umbrella title "Futurescapes." I saw it several times. Although some
liberties that weren't improvements were taken with my original story, it was still a fabulous
experience, and I was determined to continue writing science fiction.
As I said earlier, the province of Ontario, where I lived then and now, used to be unique in
North America in that it had an extra year of high school — grade 13. That was phased out in
2003, which in some ways is too bad. Grade 13 was one of the best years of my life, and I
studied all sorts of fascinating topics, including a cinema course, two courses in Latin, and an
independent biology course, where I got to choose my own subject matter: I studied dinosaurs
and dolphins.
Indeed, dinosaurs had been a life-long passion of mine, and I had thought for sure that I'd go on
to university to become a vertebrate paleontologist specializing in the study of dinosaurs. But in
grade 13, I started looking at the actual paleontological job prospects, and I was astonished to
find them quite dim. Back then, there were only 24 dinosaurian paleontologists in the entire
world, and only three in Canada ... and it didn't seem likely that one of those three was going to
volunteer to retire just because I had arrived on the scene.
I'd always sort of assumed I'd go to the University of Toronto — not only was it local, but my
father still taught there, and that meant his children were entitled to free tuition. But, suddenly, I
had no idea what I was going to do for my future.
Fortunately, a new direction fell into my lap in November 1978. We were allowed to take a day
off school to go to a "Tour and Discussion Day" at Toronto's Ryerson Polytechnical Institute,
which offered bachelor degree-programs in applied arts and technology. I was thinking of
maybe studying journalism — I had been founder and editor of my school's newspaper, The
Northview Post, and thought that a journalism degree might let me write for a living
(writing fiction for a living seemed like a ridiculous dream). Ryerson was the only place in
Toronto to offer a journalism degree, so I signed up to tour that department — but you could
stay away from school for the whole day if you signed up to tour two departments, so, on a
whim, I selected Radio and Television Arts for my second tour, because that book The Making
of Star Trek had fascinated me so much.
The tour was spectacular — all that wonderful television equipment! The dimly lit control
rooms reminded me of the mission control center from the TV series Search.
I was told this was a very competitive program — only one in five applicants got accepted for it
— but I decided to try, and, lo and behold, I got in. I started my studies there in September
1979, and I had my first piece of fiction published at the end of my first year, in Ryerson's
literary annual, White Wall Review.
From the start, my fiction was full of Canadian content, and that was in direct response to what
I'd grown up watching on TV. In the 1960s and 1970s, most Canadian-made episodic television
was lousy. CTV — Canada's only commercial television network at the time — had precisely
one Canadian drama, a cop show called Police Surgeon, and one Canadian sitcom, a
completely unfunny long-suffering-husband-and-daffy-wife show called The Trouble With
Tracy. Even as a kid, I was infuriated by these programs, because although they were made in
Canada, they were set in the United States. I remember being appalled when one episode
of Police Surgeon was filmed at my beloved Royal Ontario Museum, but they called it by
another name and had raised the Stars and Stripes on the flagpole out front.
Still, this was part of the Canadian psyche back then: a belief that the only way to succeed on
the international stage was to disguise the fact that you were Canadian. Indeed, when I was
starting off writing, people kept telling me not to set my stories in Canada if I wanted them to
be published in the States.
Ever the rationalist, I wondered where this pervasive belief had come from and started looking
for quality modern works by Canadians that were set in Canada and published in the U.S. I
expected there to be a list of failed books, movies, and TV shows that had formed the basis of
this belief — but there was nothing. It seemed everyone had just assumed that this would be
Well, when I did start publishing, I decided to test it, being flagrantly Canadian in my work. I
just couldn't believe that Americans could be so provincial (if you'll forgive the pun) to reject a
book just because of its setting. Lo and behold, I turned out to be correct. I've never once had an
American editor, reviewer, bookseller, or reader complain about the Canadian content in my
books.
Many writers have long resumes, listing all the odd jobs they did to support their craft. Not me;
I've only ever had two jobs since graduating in 1982. Ryerson hired me to return for the
following academic year to help teach television studio production techniques to second- and
third-year students. I'd applied for this job for three reasons. First, 1982 was the middle of a
recession in Canada, and for the first time in its history, the Canadian Broadcasting Corporation
— Canada's giant state-owned radio and TV factory — was laying off people. Normally,
Ryerson grads waltzed into entry-level positions at Canadian studios, but that year we were all
competing with seasoned veterans from the CBC who were also looking for work.
Second, the job at Ryerson paid well, by the standards of what entry-level broadcasting
positions offer: Cdn$14,000 a year. It seems like peanuts today, and it wasn't very much back
then, but, according to a salary survey done by Ryerson it made me the third-highest-paid
Radio and Television Arts grad in my year.
Third, and most important, my girlfriend — and now fiancée — Carolyn was also studying at
Ryerson (Graphic Arts Management — a business course for the printing industry); she had one
more year to go, and I wanted to be close to her.
Still, I graduated in April 1982, and the job at Ryerson didn't begin until September — meaning
I had four months off with nothing to do. I'd moved away from home after my second year at
Ryerson, and had bills to pay.
Enter John Rose, the elfin proprietor of Bakka, Toronto's science-fiction specialty bookstore. I'd
been a regular customer of the store for eight years by this point, and John offered me a
summer job. The pay was just $4.25 an hour; I probably could have found something somewhat
more lucrative, but the chance to work in a science-fiction store was too appealing to pass up.
I worked the cash desk, shelved books, and counted inventory — but there was one part of the
job I managed to avoid. Books go into bookstores on a returnable basis, meaning if they don't
sell, the retailer can return them to the publisher and owe nothing. But for paperback books —
the format back then that most science fiction was published in — only the covers of the books
are returned. They're ripped from the body of the book, and the store destroys what's left. The
other clerks, who were long-term employees, all had to do this, but I managed not to have to do
it; I said — only half-kidding — that I thought it would scar me for life.
I really didn't end up making any money at Bakka. As an employee, I was entitled to a 40%
discount on everything in the store, and I spent almost my entire earnings buying books.
Still, in June of that year, John Rose did something remarkable. He took me to the annual
convention of the Canadian Booksellers Association. It was, in many ways, a crazy thing to do
— John had to (a) pay me my wages for the day I attended, and (b) pay a fee to get me in. But
John knew I wanted to be a writer, and he thought I should really see how the retailing industry
works. The CBA convention — now called BookExpo Canada — is where publishers come to
show retailers their upcoming books, and where big-name authors sign copies of their new
books for retailers (the comparable American event is, not surprisingly, called BookExpo
America).
That summer was an incredibly eye-opening experience for me. Many of my writing colleagues
are astonished about how savvy I am about the business of publishing; well, the seeds of that
came from that summer working in a bookstore, and that day at the CBA.
Learning outcomes:
Material:
- Selected texts
Assignments:
"He's very small," Mum said as she peered at the tiny water snail. "Just a black
dot."
"He'll grow," said Abby and pulled her pyjama bottoms up again before she got
into bed. They were always falling down.
In the morning Abby jumped out of bed and switched on the light in her fish tank.
Gerry, the fat orange goldfish, was dozing inside the stone archway. Jaws was
already awake, swimming along the front of the tank with his white tail floating
and twitching. It took Abby a while to find Mr. Sticky because he was clinging to
the glass near the bottom, right next to the gravel.
At school that day she wrote about the mysterious Mr. Sticky who was so small
you could mistake him for a piece of gravel. Some of the girls in her class said he
seemed an ideal pet for her and kept giggling about it.
That night Abby turned on the light to find Mr. Sticky clinging to the very
tiniest, waviest tip of the pond weed. It was near the water filter so he was bobbing
about in the air bubbles.
"That looks fun," Abby said. She tried to imagine what it must be like to have
to hang on to things all day and decided it was probably very tiring. She fed the
fish then lay on her bed and watched them chase each other round and round the
archway. When they stopped Gerry began nibbling at the pond weed with his big
pouty lips. He sucked Mr. Sticky into his mouth then blew him back out again in a
stream of water. The snail floated down to the bottom of the tank among the
coloured gravel.
"I think he's grown a bit," Abby told her Mum at breakfast the next day.
< 2 >
"Just as well if he's going to be gobbled up like that," her Mum said, trying to
put on her coat and eat toast at the same time.
"But I don't want him to get too big or he won't be cute anymore. Small things
are cute aren't they?"
"Yes they are. But big things can be cute too. Now hurry up, I'm going to miss
my train."
At school that day, Abby drew an elephant. She needed two pieces of expensive
paper to do both ends but the teacher didn't mind because she was pleased with the
drawing and wanted it on the wall. They sellotaped them together, right across the
elephant's middle. In the corner of the picture, Abby wrote her full name, Abigail,
and drew tiny snails for the dots on the 'i's The teacher said that was very creative.
At the weekend they cleaned out the tank. "There's a lot of algae on the sides,"
Mum said. "I'm not sure Mr. Sticky's quite up to the job yet."
They scooped the fish out and put them in a bowl while they emptied some of
the water. Mr. Sticky stayed out of the way, clinging to the glass while Mum used
the special 'vacuum cleaner' to clean the gravel. Abby trimmed the new pieces of
pond weed down to size and scrubbed the archway and the filter tube. Mum poured
new water into the tank.
"On the side," Mum said. She was busy concentrating on the water. "Don't
worry I was careful."
Abby looked on all sides of the tank. There was no sign of the water snail.
"He's probably in the gravel then," her mum said. "Come on let's get this
finished. I've got work to do." She plopped the fish back in the clean water where
they swam round and round, looking puzzled.
< 3 >
That evening Abby went up to her bedroom to check the tank. The water had
settled and looked lovely and clear but there was no sign of Mr. Sticky. She lay on
her bed and did some exercises, stretching out her legs and feet and pointing her
toes. Stretching was good for your muscles and made you look tall a model had
said on the t.v. and she looked enormous. When Abby had finished, she kneeled
down to have another look in the tank but there was still no sign of Mr. Sticky. She
went downstairs.
Her mum was in the study surrounded by papers. She had her glasses on and her
hair was all over the place where she'd been running her hands through it. She
looked impatient when she saw Abby in the doorway and even more impatient
when she heard the bad news.
"He'll turn up." was all she said. "Now off to bed Abby. I've got masses of work
to catch up on."
Abby felt her face go hot and red. It always happened when she was angry or
upset.
"You've hoovered him up haven't you," she said. You were in such a rush you
hoovered him up."
The door to the bedroom opened and Mum's face appeared around the crack. Abby
tried to ignore her but it was hard when she walked over to the bed and sat next to
her. She was holding her glasses in her hand. She waved them at Abby.
"These are my new pair," she said. "Extra powerful, for snail hunting." She
smiled at Abby. Abby tried not to smile back.
< 4 >
"And I've got a magnifying glass," Abby suddenly remembered and rushed off
to find it.
They sat beside each other on the floor. On their knees they shuffled around the
tank, peering into the corners among the big pebbles, at the gravel and the
pondweed.
"What?" Abby moved her magnifying glass to where her mum was pointing.
There, tucked in the curve of the archway, perfectly hidden against the dark
stone, sat Mr. Sticky. And right next to him was another water snail, even smaller
than him.
"Mrs Sticky!" Abby breathed. "But where did she come from?"
They both laughed and climbed into Abby's bed together, cuddling down under
the duvet. It was cozy but a bit of a squeeze.
"Budge up," Mum said, giving Abby a push with her bottom.
"My goodness you've grown then. When did that happen? You could have put
an elephant in here last time we did this."
This session focuses on translating samples of theatre script between English and
Arabic. The purpose of the session is to apply the previously studied techniques
such as ‘fixed expressions,’ ‘idiomatic structures,’ etc. during the process of
translating such samples.
Learning outcomes:
Material:
- Selected texts
Assignments:
ENEMIES
A play in one-act
Neith Boyce Hapgood (March 21, 1872 - Franklin, Indiana – December 2, 1951 - Richmond, New Hampshire)
was a U.S. novelist and playwright. She married Hutchins Hapgood on June 22, 1899. Together with Susan
Glaspell, George Cram Cook, and others, they founded the Provincetown Players.
HE: Oh, nothing. [She turns the page, continues reading with interest.] This is an infernal lamp!
HE: I've asked you a thousand times to have some order in the house, some regularity, some system!
The lamps never have oil, the wicks are never cut, the chimneys are always smoked! And yet you
wonder that I don't work more! How can a man work without light?
SHE: [glancing critically at the lamp] This lamp seems to me to be all right. It obviously has oil in it or it
would not burn, and the chimney is not smoked. As to the wick, I trimmed it myself today.
HE: [irritated] But our time is too valuable for these ever-recurring jobs! Why don't you train Theresa,
as I've asked you so often?
SHE: It would take all my time for a thousand years to train Theresa.
HE: Oh, I know! All you want to do is to lie in bed for breakfast, smoke cigarettes, write your high
literary stuff, make love to other men, talk cleverly when you go out to dinner and never say a word to
me at home! No wonder you have no time to train Theresa!
HE: Who wouldn't be, to live with a cold-blooded person that you have to hit with a gridiron to get a
rise out of?
SHE: I wish you would read your paper quietly and let me alone.
HE: Why have you lived with me for fifteen years if you want to be let alone?
SHE: [with a sigh] I have always hoped you would settle down.
HE: By settling down you mean cease bothering about household matters, about the children, cease
wanting to be with you, cease expecting you to have any interest in me.
SHE: No, I only meant it would be nice to have a peaceful evening sometimes. But[laying book
down] I see you want to quarrel--so what shall we quarrel about? Choose your own subject, my dear.
HE: When you're with Hank you don't want a peaceful evening!
HE: Oh, I've seen you with him and others and I know the difference. When you're with them you're
alert and interested. You keep your unsociability for me. [Pause.] Of course, I know why.
SHE: One reason is that "they" don't talk about lamp-wicks and so forth. They talk about higher
things.
HE: Yes, I know you think those things more interesting than household and children and husband.
SHE: Oh, only occasionally, you know--just for a change. You like a change yourself sometimes.
HE: Yes, sometimes. But I am excited, and interested and keen whenever I am with you. It is not only
cigarettes and flirtation that excite me.
SHE: Well, you are an excitable person. You get excited about nothing at all.
SHE: There are other things. But you, Deacon, are like the skylark--
"Type of the wise who soar but do not roam--
True to the kindred points of heaven and home."
HE: You are cheaply cynical! You ought not to insult Wordsworth. He meant what he said.
SHE: He was a good man.... But to get back to our original quarrel. You're quite mistaken. I'm more
social with you than with anyone else. Hank, for instance, hates to talk--even more than I do. He and I
spend hours together looking at the sea--each of us absorbed in our own thoughts--without saying a
word. What could be more peaceful than that?
SHE: It is--marvelous. I wish you were more like that. What beautiful evenings we could have
together!
HE: [bitterly] Most of our evenings are silent enough--unless we are quarreling!
SHE: Yes, if you're not talking, it's because you're sulking. You are never sweetly silent--never really
quiet.
HE: That's true--with you--I am rarely quiet with you--because you rarely express anything to me. I
would be more quiet if you were less so--less expressive if you were more so.
SHE: [pensively] The same old quarrel. Just the same for fifteen years! And all because you are you
and I am I! And I suppose it will go on forever--I shall go on being silent, and you--
HE: I suppose I shall go on talking--but it really doesn't matter--the silence or the talk--if we had
something to be silent about or to talk about--something in common--that's the point!
SHE: Do you really think we have nothing in common? We both like Dostoyevsky and prefer
Burgundy to champagne.
HE: Our tastes and our vices are remarkably congenial, but our souls do not touch.
HE: Yes, but doesn't want to be. The soul desires to find something into which to fuse and so lose its
loneliness. This hope to lose the soul's loneliness by union--is love. It is the essence of love as it is of
religion.
SHE: Deacon, you are growing more holy every day. You will drive me to drink.
SHE: Well, then I suppose we may be more congenial--for in spite of what you say, our vices haven't
exactly matched. You're ahead of me on the drink.
HE: Yes, and you on some other things. But perhaps I can catch up, too--
SHE: Perhaps--if you really give all your time to it, as you did last winter, for instance. But I doubt if I
can ever equal your record in potations.
HE: [bitterly] I can never equal your record in the soul's infidelities.
SHE: Well, do you expect my soul to be faithful when you keep hitting it with a gridiron?
HE: No, I do not expect it of you! I have about given up the hope that you will ever respond either to
my ideas about household and children or about our personal relations. You seem to want as little as
possible of the things that I want much. I harass you by insisting. You anger and exasperate me by
retreating. We were fools not to have separated long ago.
HE: Yes, I am very weak. In spite of my better judgment I have loved you. But this time I mean it!
SHE: I don't believe you do. You never mean half the things you say.
HE: I do this time. This affair of yours with Hank is on my nerves. It is real spiritual infidelity. When you
are interested in him you lose all interest in the household, the children and me. It is my duty to
separate.
SHE: Oh, nonsense! I didn't separate from you when you were running after the widow last winter--
spending hours with her every day, dining with her and leaving me alone, and telling me she was the
only woman who had ever understood you.
HE: I didn't run after the widow, or any other woman except you. They ran after me.
SHE: Oh, of course! Just the same since Adam--not one of you has spirit enough to go after the apple
himself! "They ran after you"--but you didn't run away very fast, did you?
HE: Why should I, when I wanted them to take possession if they could? I think I showed splendid
spirit in running after you! Not more than a dozen other men have shown the same spirit. It is true, as
you say, that other women understand and sympathize with me. They all do except you. I've never
been able to be essentially unfaithful, more's the pity. You are abler in that regard.
SHE: I don't think so. I may have liked other people, but I never dreamed of marryinganyone
but you.... No, and I never thought any of them understood me, either. I took very good care they
shouldn't.
HE: Why, it was only the other day that you said Hank understood you better than I ever could. You
said I was too virtuous, and that if I were worse you might see me!
SHE: AS usual, you misquote me. What I said was that Hank and I were more alike, and that you are
a virtuous stranger--a sort of wandering John the Baptist, preaching in the wilderness!
HE: Well, I know I am as vicious as man can be. You would see that if you loved me. I am fully as bad
as Hank.
SHE: Hank doesn't pretend to be virtuous, so perhaps you're worse. But I think you ought to make up
your mind whether you're virtuous or vicious, and not assume to be both.
HE: I am both as a matter of fact, like everybody else. I am not a hypocrite. I love the virtuous and
also the vicious. But I don't like to be left out in the cold when you are having an affair. When you are
interested in the other, you are not in me.
SHE: Why do you pretend to fuss about lamps and such things when you are simply jealous? I call
that hypocritical. I wish it were possible for a man to play fair. But what you want is to censor and
control me, while you feel perfectly free to amuse yourself in every possible way.
HE: I am never jealous without cause, and you are. You object to my friendly and physical intimacies
and then expect me not to be jealous of your soul's infidelities, when you lose all feeling for me. I am
tired of it. It is a fundamental misunderstanding, and we ought to separate at once!
SHE: Oh, very well, if you're so keen on it. But remember, you suggest it. I never said I wanted to
separate from you--if I had, I wouldn't be here now.
HE: No, because I've given all I had to you. I have nourished you with my love. You have harassed
and destroyed me. I am no good because of you. You have made me work over you to the degree
that I have no real life. You have enslaved me, and your method is cool aloofness. You want to keep
on being cruel. You are the devil, who never really meant any harm, but who sneers at desires and
never wants to satisfy. Let us separate--you are my only enemy!
HE: I have done my full duty in that respect. People we love are the only ones who can hurt us.
The are our enemies, unless they love us in return.
SHE: "A man's enemies are those of his own household"--yes, especially if they love. You, on account
of your love for me, have tyrannized over me, bothered me, badgered me, nagged me, for fifteen
years. You have interfered with me, taken my time and strength, and prevented me from
accomplishing great works for the good of humanity. You have crushed my soul, which longs for
serenity and peace, with your perpetual complaining!
SHE: Yes, of course. But you see, my dear, I am more philosophical than you, and I recognize all this
as necessity. Men and women are natural enemies, like cat and dog--only more so. They are forced
to live together for a time, or this wonderful race couldn't go on. In addition, in order to have the best
children, men and women of totally opposite temperaments must live together. The shock and flame
of two hostile temperaments meeting is what produces fine children. Well, we have fulfilled our fate
and produced our children, and they are good ones. But really--to expect also to live in peace
together--we as different as fire and water, or sea and land--that's too much!
HE: If your philosophy is correct, that is another argument for separation. If we have done our job
together, let's go on our ways and try to do something else separately.
HE: Almost as commonplace as your conventional attitude toward husbands--that they are
necessarily uninteresting--mon bete de mari--as the typical Frenchwoman of fiction says. I find divorce
no more commonplace than real infidelity.
SHE: Both are matters of every day. But I see no reason for divorce unless one of the spouses wants
to marry again. I shall never divorce you. But men can always have children, and so they are
perpetually under the sway of the great illusion. If you want to marry again, you can divorce me.
HE: As usual, you want to see me as a brute. I don't accept your philosophy. Children are the results
of love, not because of it, and love should go on. It does go on, if once there has been the right
relations. It is not re-marrying or the unconscious desire for further propagation that moves me--but
the eternal need of that peculiar sympathy which has never been satisfied--to die without that is failure
of what most appeals to the imagination of human beings.
SHE: But that is precisely the great illusion. That is the unattainable that lures us on, and that will lead
you, I foresee, if you leave me, into the arms of some other woman.
HE: Illusion! Precisely what is, you call illusion. Only there do we find Truth. And certainly I am bitten
badly with illusion or truth, whichever it is. It is Truth to me. But I fear it may be too late. I fear the other
woman is impossible.
SHE: [pensively] "I cannot comprehend this wild swooning desire to wallow in unbridled unity." [He
makes angry gesture, she goes on quickly.] I was quoting your favorite philosopher. But as to being
too late--no, no--you're more attractive than you ever were, and that shows your ingratitude to me, for
I'm sure I have been a liberal education to you. You will easily find someone to adore you and console
you for all your sufferings with me. But do be careful this time--get a good housekeeper.
HE: And you are more attractive than you ever were. I can see that others see that. I have been a
liberal education to you, too.
SHE: Alas--yes! [With feeling.] I saw you as something very beautiful--very fine, sensitive--with more
understanding than anyone I've ever known--more feeling--I still see you that way--but from a great--
distance.
SHE: Don't you feel how far away from one another we are?
HE: I have felt it, as you know--more and more so--that you were pushing me more and more away
and seeking more and more somebody--something else. But this is the first time you have admitted
feeling it.
SHE: Yes--I didn't want to admit it. But now I see it has gone very far. It is as though we were on
opposite banks of a stream that grows wider--separating us more and more.
HE: Yes--
SHE: You have gone your own way, and I mine--and there is a gulf between us.
SHE: Yes, that we ought to separate--that we are separated--and yet I love you.
HE: Two people may love intensely, and yet not be able to live together. It is too painful, for you, for
me--
SHE: I don't understand it--how we have come to this--after our long life together. Have you forgotten
all that? What wonderful companions we were? How gayly we took life with both hands--how we
played with it and with one another! At least, we have the past.
HE: The past is always judged by the present. Dante said, the worst hell is in present misery to
remember former happiness--
SHE: Dante was a man and a poet, and so ungrateful to life. [Pause with feeling] Our past to me is
wonderful and will remain so, no matter what happens--full of color and life--complete!
HE: That is because our life together has been for you an episode.
SHE: No, it is because I take life as it is, not asking too much of it--not asking that any person or any
relation be perfect. But you are an idealist--you can never be content with what it-- You have the
poison, the longing for perfection in your soul.
HE: No, not for perfection, but for union. That is not demanding the impossible. Many people have it
who do not love as much as we do. No work of art is right, no matter how wonderful the materials and
the parts, if the whole, the unity, is not there.
SHE: That's just what I mean. You have wanted to treat our relation, and me, as clay, and model it
into the form you saw in your imagination. You have been a passionate artist. But life is not a plastic
material. It models us.
HE: You are right. I have had the egotism of the artist, directed to a material that cannot be formed. I
must let go of you, and satisfy my need of union, of marriage, otherwise than with you.
SHE: Yes, but you cannot do that by seeking another woman. You would experience the same
illusion--the same disillusion.
SHE: That is between you and your God--whom I know nothing about.
HE: If I could have stripped you of divinity and sought it elsewhere--in religion, in work--with the same
intensity I sought it in you--we would not have needed this separation.
SHE: Exactly. The only sensible way for two fully grown people to be together--and that is wonderful,
too--think! To have lived together for fifteen years and never to have bored one another! To be still for
one another the most interesting persons in the world! How many married people can say that? I've
never bored you, have I, Deacon?
HE: You have harassed, plagued, maddened, tortured me! Bored me? No, never, you bewitching
devil! [Moving toward her.]
SHE: I've always adored the poet and mystic in you, though you've almost driven me crazy, you Man
of God!
HE: I've always adored the woman in you, the mysterious, the beckoning and flying, that I cannot
possess!
SHE: Can't you forget God for a while, and come away with me?
SHE: Faithful to the end! A truce then, shall it be? [Opening her arms.] An armed truce?
الفصل األول
المنظر األول
القاعة الكبرى في قصر سلطان نعمان . .وهو يحادث وزيره. .
السلطان :قلت دبرني ياوزيري! . .
الوزير :التدابير هلل يا موالنا السلطان! . .
السلطان :سمعتها منك عشرين مرة ! طبعا التدابير هلل ! . .لكنك أنت وزيري . .وهذه وظيفتك :
تفكر معي وتدبر لي . .هل تريد أن تقبض أنت المرتب ،وتترك العمل يتواله عنك هللا! . .
الوزير :وهل سبق لي أن تخليت عن عملي! . .
السلطان :كثيرا . .العمل السهل تقوم به . .والعمل الصعب تتخلى عنه هلل تعالى! . .
الوزير :أي بأس أن أسأل هللا المعونة ؟. .
السلطان :ولماذا ال أسأله مباشرة ،وأوفر المرتب ؟. .
الوزير :مرتبي على كل حال ليس بالمبلغ الباهظ!
السلطان :أعرف ذلك . .ولكني ال أتكلم عن المرتب الرسمي! . .
الوزير :لست أنا وحدي يا موالي. .
السلطان :أعرف ذلك أيضا . .الجميع. .
الوزير :المملكة كلها . .من كبار وصغار . .وأنت يا موالي أردت ذلك. .
السلطان :أردت ماذا ؟. .
الوزير :قلت :هذه هي المرتبات الرسمية . .وبعد ذلك كل واحد وشطارته. .
السلطان :كل واحد وشطارته ليس معناها . .ومع ذلك الشطارة زادت كثيرا! . .
الوزير :الكل اليوم يريد الحياة الممتعة.
السلطان :حقا . .إال ابنتي المغفلة ! . .وأنت يا وزيري ال تريد أن تفكر في حل هذه المشكلة! . .
الوزير :أنت تعرف يا موالي طباع األميرة . .ما من شيء يقف ضد إرادتها. .
السلطان :وهل من الصواب أن نلبي لها مثل هذه اإلرادة الغريبة ؟. .
الوزير :وماذا في يدنا يا موالي ؟ . .لقد تمسكنا بموقفنا فازدادت هي تمسكا بموقفها !
السلطان :في أي ليلة نحس ولدت هذه البنت ؟ . .األعوام تمر وهي ال تريد أن تتزوج . .لقد
تزوجت أختاها كما تتزوج بنات الملوك . .من خيرة األمراء وأغنى السالطين . .إال هي .
.ال يغريها مال وال جاه . .ولست أدري ما الذي يغريها إذن في الحياة ؟
الوزير :منذ الصغر واألميرة شمس النهار هكذا يا موالي ! . .عجيبة فريدة من نوعها . .برعت
في ركوب الخيل واللعب بالسيف وقراءة الكتب وإطالة التأمل والزهد فيما يعجب ويبهر. .
السلطان :كل هذا محتمل إال إرادتها تلك .إال ذلك الشرط الذي وضعته للزواج. .
الوزير :عندي فكرة يا موالي! . .
السلطان :أخيرا ! . .قل وأسرع! . .
الوزير :نقبل الشرط. .
السلطان :أهذه هي الفكرة! . .
الوزير :نقبل الشرط مع التعديل. .
السلطان :أي تعديل؟ إن الشرط هو أن يمر الناس كلهم تحت شباكها وهي تختار من بينهم بدون
تمييز ! الوزير :نلبي ذلك . .مع تحفظ بسيط :هو أن تسمح لنا بإجراء فرز مبدئي . .
وبذلك نستعبد كل من ليس جديرا بها.
السلطان :أصبت . .نعم . .وربما استطعنا التحايل ،فدسسنا بعض األمراء ،وحصرنا االختيار فيهم
.
الوزير :هذا هو غرضي. .
السلطان :ال بأس بالفكرة . .فلنستدع إذن شمس النهار ونقنعها بهذا التحفظ البسيط. .
الوزير :البسيط جداً. .
( يتجه الوزير نحو الباب ويسر كالما إلحدى الوصيفات ،ثم يعود إلى السلطان )
الوزير :األميرة آتية ..لكن ..هل يحسن بي أن أبقي ؟..
السلطان :بالطبع . .إن الفكرة فكرتك . .وعليك أنت أن تتولى عرضها. .
الوزير :أنا ؟ . .إني. .
السلطان :أتريد أن تتخلى عن عملك مرة أخرى . .إن فكرتك لن يكون لها قيمة إال إذا اقتنعت هي
بها
الوزير :أمرك يا موالي! . .
(ستار(









