ABDELLATIF LAÂBI

from Letter to My Friends Overseas

Kind friends

usually when I write

I barely have the time

to feel your warmth

and sit amongst you

(a cigarette in my lips, the same tune in my head)

and must leave you

before I’ve reached the end of the page

You see, here they ration out

even the stationery

The request form that I fill

only allows correspondence

between the prisoner

and his family

They’ll never understand

that family to me

doesn’t mean ancestry

or heredity

or villages or IDs

I’ve never been able to estimate

the size of my family

It stretches out

as far the sunrise in our eyes

as far as our newly born continent

tears down the walls erected inside us

Friends

I’ve got so much to tell you:

it’s just that usually

I keep my mouth shut not wanting to risk

the censors putting a stop

to these acts of presence

in fact I censor myself

fearing the briefness of my answers

might twist my thoughts

out of shape for you

or warp what this humble letter

this gradual rediscovery of ourselves

these simultaneously peaceful upsetting accounts

of the other through dialogue

have to say

Friends

I grow more convinced

that the poem

can only ever be

a dialogue

made of live flesh and sound

that stares you straight in the eyes

even if the poem has to cross

the cold wastes of distance

to finally reach you

in the creases created by absence

This is why

you no longer hear me speaking alone

in the trances of exorcism

in my tragic haemorrhages

as I extricate myself from this quagmire

and call out to the earthquake survivors

to heap my distress calls and curses on them

A long time ago

I wrote those poems

about the infernos of solitude

about my desperate climb back to my fellow human beings

and I’m not quite ready to disown them

those bitter fruits

of the murderous twilight

where I struggled

as I sought the roots

of a voice I knew was my own

of a human face that reflected

the exact image of my truth

Those violent poems were healthy

and without them

maybe my voice

would be empty today

devoid of what gave it

its vital intensity

But the problem

is that I can’t write like that any more

Nowadays

my life’s taken a different path

and so has my style

I’m not alone any more

My ordeal has placed me

on the road of encounters

My body has learned

to be pushed to the limits and curl up

like a scalding hot steel plate

to endure the lacerations

and to resist

to translate humiliation and pain

into their literal opposites

and inside this lead-sealed arena

where they condemned me to shuffle

for ten whole years

I have started to dig

entire tunnels

and underground passages

even into my veins

even into my mind’s vital parts

and I heard other people were digging

in all the directions towards which

I was piercing through my aphasia

until the day when the first hand broke through

and I felt the willowy vines of embraces

Translated from French by André Naffis-Sahely