The Rebel's Silhouette: Selected Poems (Google eBook)

Front Cover
Univ of Massachusetts Press, 1991 - Poetry - 102 pages
9 Reviews
Born in India and considered the leading poet on the South Asian subcontinent, Faiz Ahmed Faiz (1911-1984) was a two-time Nobel nominee and winner of the 1962 Lenin Peace Prize. His evening readings in Hindi/Urdu-speaking regions drew thousands of listeners. Associated with the Communist party in his youth, Faiz became an outspoken poet in opposition to the Pakistani government. He was also a professor of English literature, a distinguished editor and a major figure in the Afro-Asian writer's movement. This volume offers a selection of Faiz's poetry in a bilingual Urdu/English edition with a new introduction by poet and translator Agha Shahid Ali.
  

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Review: The Rebel's Silhouette: Selected Poems

User Review  - Faheem Memon - Goodreads

Wonderful sample of poems from Faiz Ahmed Faiz's work. Excellent prelude and translation by Agha Shahid Ali. Read full review

Review: The Rebel's Silhouette: Selected Poems

User Review  - Cymbalrush - Goodreads

"Nostalgia for friends and wine: to crush that sorrow, we'll allow memory nothing, neither the moon nor the rain." Read full review

Selected pages

Contents

Last Night
xviii
Dont Ask Me for That Love Again
xx
Ghazal
xxii
Solitude
xxiv
Ghazal
xxvi
Ghazal
2
August 1952
6
Ghazal
24
Two Elegies
42
In Search of Vanished Blood
52
The City from Here
54
Black Out
56
Let Me Think
58
The Heart Gives Up
62
Stay Away from Me Bangladesh I
64
Desire
68

We Who Were Executed
28
Evening
32
Solitary Confinement
34
A Letter from Prison
80
A Night in the Desert
84
Copyright

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Page xxiii - I, too, am a translated man. I have been borne across. It is generally believed that something is always lost in translation; I cling to the notion and use, in evidence, the success of Fitzgerald-Khayyam that something can also be gained.
Page xxv - And just before the lights did flood her again, melting the frost of her diamond into rays, it was, like this turning dark of fog, a moment when only a lost sea can be heard, a time to recollect every shadow, everything the earth was losing, a time to think of everything the earth and I had lost, of all that I would lose, of all that I was losing.
Page xxv - Lost, is it, buried? One more missing piece? But nothing's lost. Or else: all is translation And every bit of us is lost in it (Or found I wander through the ruin of S Now and then, wondering at the peacefulness...
Page x - ... old lime at the end! All our writing is silent, the dance of the hand, So that what it comes down to's all mime, at the end. Dust and ashes? How dainty and dry! we decay To our messy primordial slime at the end. Two frail arms of your delicate form I pursue. Inaccessible, vibrant, sublime at the end. You gathered all manner of flowers all day, But your hands were most fragrant of thyme, at the end.
Page xiii - ... masnavi, qita) and transform them before his readers rather than break from the old forms. You could hear old and new together. His purity and precision were astonishing, and you must imagine therefore a poet whose poetry combined the sensuousness of Yeats with the power of Neruda. He was, I think, one of the greatest poets of this century, and was honored as such throughout the major part of Asia and Africa.
Page xv - The rediscovery of the lost rudiments of poetry may help to solve the question of theme: if they still have validity they confirm the intuition of the Welsh poet Alun Lewis who wrote just before his death in Burma, in March 1944, of "the single poetic theme of Life and Death . . . the question of what survives of the beloved.
Page xxiii - Omar Khayyam's position as a poet is curious. He was never very popular in his native Persia; and he exists in the West in a...
Page xii - I made, at twenty, in a poem: call me a poet dear editor they call this my alien language i am a dealer in words that mix cultures and leave me rootless (Lines 1-6, "Dear Editor,

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