Biography:
–
Moaen Shalabia, Born on 14 October 1958 in Maghar town – In the Galilee region.
Palestinian poet, One of the Arab Palestinian national minority who live in Israel.
Finished his studies at Haifa University – (Business Administration and Management).
Poet and prose writer, his writing career began in 1973, he published his poems in national local newspapers and in Arabic papers abroad.
He published seven poetry books and three prose.
His first-born was the first book of poetry in 1989.
He participated in many local and international festivals such as:
-International poetry festival– Maghar Galilee
-Cairo International Book Fair- Egypt
-Jerash festival- Jordan
-Palestine poetry meeting- Ramallah – Palestine
-Doha cultural festival- Qatar
-Istanbul International Book Fair- Turkey
-The Romania International Festival – Bucharest / Days and nights of literature
-Curtea de Argeş Poetry Nights – Romania
-Terranova festival- Roma – Italy
-Al-Quds 2009 capital of Arab culture – Palestine
-The Romanian International Festival – Tabăra Internațională Poezia Vie, Costinești.
-The Struga Poetry Evenings – Republic of Macedonia
-Sarajevo Days of Poetry – Bosnia
-The „Antares festival of poetry“ – Galati – Romania
-The international poetry Festival – poetry and win – Rahovec / Kosovo
– The international poetry festival / Tetova – Macedonia. Albania – Tirana, He won the prize of pest poetry at the festival. 2018
-Cultural Conference of the General Arab Writers Union – United Arab Emirates
(Abu Dhabi-Alshareqa-Dubai).
The Palestinian education ministry awarded him for his blessed efforts in enriching the national education and for his loyalty to the Palestinian issue and the principles of justice and freedom.
He was awarded by the „Arab intellectual’s forum“ – Jerusalem Al-Quds).
Besides, he has received many appreciations certificates a member of the union of Arab writers and the movement of world poets (Poetas del Mundo), and a Member of Mahmoud Darwish Foundation for Creativity.
His literary production was discussed and criticized in universities and in many sessions in the homeland and abroad.
Some of his poems were translated into many languages, like French, Turkish, English, Romanian, Polish, Macedonian, Italian, Hebrew, Bosnian, Albanian, Croatian, Russian, Portuguese, Bahasa Malaysia, and Serbian language.
His collection of poems was included in the national and international anthologies.
He recently won the prize of the Arab Writers Union of the year 2018 for poetry.
Some of the award of the prizes the poet has received:
„Al-Quds Prize“ – The big prize of the General Union of Arab Writers, for the year 2018.
„The Poetry Prize“ – International Poetry Festival “Ditët e Naimit”. Macedonia/Albania, Tetova e Poezisë „Ditët e Naimit“.
„Literature Award“ – (Euro-Asia-African Writers Union) in India.
„Appreciation Certificate“ – He was honored by the Palestinian Ministry of Culture (in appreciation of his blessed efforts in enriching the national culture and his loyalty to the cause of his people and the principles of justice and freedom – the source).
„Shield of the Martyr“ – He was honored by the Al-Quds Intellectuals Forum and received the Shield of the Martyr, Poet Abdel Rahim Mahmoud.
„Flag Medal“ – He was honored by the Romanian Writers’ Union and was awarded the „Flag“ Medal.
He received many Arab and international certificates of appreciation.
The poet’s publishing
Poetry:
1. The wave is return – 1989.
(Al-Aswar Palestinian Culture Quarterly_ Acre)
2. Between two butterflies – 1999.
(The Arab Modern Foundation Jerusalem Al-Quds)
3. The memory of senses – 2001.
(The Arab Modern Foundation _ Jerusalem Al-Quds)
4. Rituals of Solitude – 2004.
(Al-Aswar Palestinian Culture Quarterly_ Acre)
5. The immigration of the naked longings – 2008
(Al-Aswar Palestinian Culture Quarterly_ Acre)
6. Stuck poems – 2014
(„Culture“ for publishing and distribution – Tunisia)
7. By Azure Water – 2020
(Siirden Yayincilik – Turkey)
8. Like the scent of jasmine – 2020
(Siirden Yayincilik – Turkey)
Prose:
1. Meditations – 1992
(Renaissance Publishing and Distribution – Nazareth)
2. Narrow evening – 1995
(Abu Rahmon, printing and publishing – Acre)
3. Spirituality – 1998
(Albatof – printing, publishing, and distribution – Haifa
Night and wine and woman
My wooden home
has two windows opened to their limits
and shadow of a woman inflaming the distance
I look upon the sea on the wake of the evening
and upon a glass of wine
stirring the echoes.
My wooden home has the smell of dew
and the shape of a soul in the palm of a blur
in our wooden home, there is an aged jar
and a thirsty butterfly haunting me
into the futility of speech.
It is you?
and for a while, I’ve been looking in you for my death
here you are, and this taste is monstrous
exploding in me a volcano
and inflaming in me my sails.
Here you are
and in your eyes a storm of drunkenness
oh you hug and burn and fill and spill me
wine over my crematorium
so don’t ever change and be oh a woman
destroying all my kingdom
and embrace me as a bottle
that danced on the belt of a storm
thus the flame of its wine burns me into poetry
for an ultimate heat and a Kamasutra glass
cover all my questions…!!
My Foggy Window
Behind my foggy window,
The desire of revelation urges me
To uncover a planet that went deep into the clouds;
Remnants of a smell that scratch my body to go through,
Like a dreamer who goes through the mirrors of absence!
Behind my foggy window
I removed the secrets of our story from the glass stained with the scent of velvet sweat,
A space for the moon splits in front of me in the darkness,
Steals a glance at her rising specter from below the rain.
Behind my foggy window,
She moves in front of me like the glimpse of the ‘ah!’ in my chest;
The sea pants in me like a trans-lust horse,
While the eternal blue erases the shadows of the sand,
And I depart to wherever the words carry me into the elegies of memories.
Behind my foggy window
I collected the wood inside me and set fire to it;
I arranged my Persian carpet, some of my writings, my tobacco, my senses,
A handful of music and the fragrance of her clothes,
And ran my hand even over the walls.
Behind my foggy window,
A broken intuition that is stricken by distress, anxiety, fear, and longing befalls me
For someone who infiltrates towards the visible vague and rises till grief;
It looks over my Self but I soon imagine that I am No one, No one!
Behind my foggy window,
Snowflakes fall on the coats of my heart and loss pours down
The taste of rain intensifies; sorrows sail into my soul –
And I cry:
My lady, My lady! O woman who takes off everything, except her femininity;
The wind will fill my clothes and on the bed of love, the whoop of creativity will spring!
Behind my foggy window,
She comes to me from nothingness, carrying her fiery wound
To awaken „Tammuz“, who has never been absent, in me,
„Tammuz“, who will certainly return!
Translated by Dr. Nazih Kassis
Wave is return
Why I should forgive, friends?
Does any one of you carry the morning baggage?
Does there anyone who read the catastrophe in my grief,
And participate in the death of the night the suffering of the darkness,
And tearing an artery in my time’s entrails.
There was a flower which growing in my heart
There was a tulip which growing in my soul
My life has gone… I wish it does not.
A child was growing in my heart,
She was fidgeting in the womb of sorrow… suffering
A female was in my soul
Painting the wings of the sun and the remains of a smile
But arrows of those who I love
Were shut, in the morning, to my soul, and… it hit the target!
What I should do, friends?
Does there any one of you carry the worries of our nation?
Does there any one of you read the books of the sea,
And sip the remains of coal from the bottom of the cup?
The child says:
What I should do in order to turn me pregnant!?
What do I write, strangers?
Does there any one of you understand what I may write?
I, might write all your sins
And hug, at noon, my torments
Revolution,
Revolution,
Revolution…
What I should do, lovers?
Does any one of you know the taste of
A salty wound on the breasts of the kiss?
Does any one of you know how the love will be
On the bridge of return?
Does any one of you know
how the soul goes on the flank of the tent?
Does any one of you know
How the heart is hungry and how the passion suicide…?!
What I should do, my beloves?
It is a mirage. mirage
Continue your watery dreams
Continue the wife’s dream
Cause tomorrow you will hug these wave
Wave is returning,
Wave is returning,
Wave is returning.
Before I forget, write me down
O my lady
Before I forget, write me down
a lover like a river that loves jasmine
and raise me a flag over the mountains
then behind the sea a fire and embrace me
don’t be afraid of how the life has passed
without my years having passed.
Before I forget write me down
dreaming over the ruins of nostalgia
so, hold me a kiss on the lips
then warmth over the chest and have mercy on me
don’t tell us how narrow the road is for us
after my eyelids melted
do not fear how the heart shed embers
before my arts speak
write me a story for the people, keep it secret
my eyes exposed my story
my story is silence from sorrows
If my madness, tell it at night
remember me before we leave
beloved for thousands of years
he loves homelands and people
like the sad moon.
Before I forget, write me down
love rain like land
all the tears that hugged me traveled
and I was alone under the bored grille
so, excuse me if the dream collapses one day
and we carried travel tissues
and we drank a cup of sadness
from springs and dreams of numbness
don’t say how we left the moon
i stole the fire, my lady
and I left my heart to humans.
By azure water
I stood in front of the sea out of my control
Recalling the words, the inspiration and the vision
In excess of the available time
Because time is the history of longing prepared
To hold you together, to hug you waiting
for an indication from you might you
Lead as you have been
Like you are the first to cast his mind
Or to be the last poor.
I will mention secrets only
In the return of a wave in the wind
delirious in front of silence
might it have got frustrated or bored
because of a hyper of alliteration and metaphor.
I will believe vision
Because history has no effect or possibility
To dictate absence or attendance for it.
Both here or there I followed the same way
Nothing but the entire blue inside me
Behind the meanings and hidden signals that speech involves
It is my thirst desire to what I ignore
Like an anarchist toned sense
Or a touch of beauty
Inflamed the passion of the rhythm at form that
Has never been struck by a wind of doubt about the vision
By azure water
I view the olive tree of meaning
Not to lament it
But to guard its forgotten tears inside me
When it furnishes with the mirage of fright all the tales and novels
That her hands have got used to,
However, the dream in the sudden foreclosure
raises the sacred promise
and the olive tree that filled my soul
whenever it decorates its blue shawl
cheering for its returning leaves.