Song of Adapa
Collection of poetry of Khireddine Mourad published at Hatier and published in….Work received price ACCT of French-speaking poetry.
Structure of work
The Song of Adapa is composed of three spouted out poems of the same source of inspiration: song of Adapa , song of Deserted Gilgamesh and .
Song of Adapa
If the Song of Adapa gives its title to the collection, undoubtedly this is largely insofar as Adapa is there indeed in the center: first designed and written, the poem evokes the legend of the Wise one which, in the myths of ancient Mésopotamie, `receives' humanity with death, and starts the process of civilization. But it is also presented in the form of a metaphor of the man.
Song of Gilgamesh
The Song of Gilgamesh finds the oldest known legend of humanity. The poem deciphers there not only the childhood of civilization but also the youth of the man with his impetuous friendships, its furies, its routs and its dramas - the discovery of finitude.
Finally Déserts said the advance of the man in nature and these cultures born around the Mediterranean cradle, their displacements, their conquests as well territorial as spiritual, voyage which inaugurates in this first nomad which is the love.
Their rate/rhythm spell-binding carries the history in wandering and the man in exile, being built in transhumance. Because the adventure to be it is that of the cultures, but also the wandering mobility of the deserts, sand and the wind, pollen, water, the love: the exodus of all things and the men.
Song of Adapa
I wandered in the stray meanders of time,
To seize the burst flowers of the days.
On spaces oceans hemmed of scum,
I let my glance traverse the wrinkle navy.
Adapa is my name, me the being of Ea,
Elsewhere the direction of my destiny resides.
In my memory there does not remain any more,
As any more the intentions left in volutes do not remain
With the continuation of the gods who engraved them in the stone.
Wandering I am, me which was king and fishing.
Adapa obscure, the silent one deserted. (p. 34)
Of a country the other I cross time,
From a continent the other on standby.
The oceans of my dreams are made more pits.
Birds of my thirsts increasingly more impatient,
As if they had bequeathed me their wounded wings,
To discuss me elsewhere than in the nests. (…)
The surface of the rollers of its love with the sea
Given symmetry forever to be it.
Always I saw between water and water
Elsewhere of intoxication and rout.
Always between the tree and the tree I ran
The way of the saps torn off with the forest. (p. 49)
Song of Gilgamesh
The wandering takes to me by the cracks of the fear,
Concern unbends me and misleads me in time.
Enkidou with the body exiled in elsewhere agatized
Breaks up, becoming similar to mud.
And me? Will it be necessary one day for me to lay down me like him?
I will be me also struck absence in my glance and my body?
Ocean, say to me, how your untiring waves
Do they unceasingly sing the same return of your scum?
And you, deserted, why, with the side of your dunes,
In secrecy your grasses of misery push? (p. 21)
I walk at the infernal rate/rhythm of my cells, the obscure voice and the malicious word.
I walk out of the limits, in spaces of fog or plugging glare.
I walk shelling my songs like a turbulence océane. And everywhere the men plunge, with the approach of my shade, in the ponds of deafness, where the noise does not shock the wave.
I walk with the polychrome multitude like an arc in cursed sky. (p. 32)
Sand, sand, unceasingly sand with the wind and still the wind…
We here towards desert sublimates by the ridiculous one,
Oublieux of the star where our steps walk on without guessing the figure.
Us here reverse of sand and dune hardly incipient,
In the quiet turbulence of the galaxies. (…)
Sand, sand, unceasingly the wind and still the wind,
Nomad, you continue your desert of stars and mixed sands.
Your wives spin wool to the nostalgic scents,
And you lead time to the divisions and the common searches.
Desert! Desert! always celebrated for what you are not,
Space exoduses, exiles, dreams turned towards the stone.
Far from the cities of north threatened of uniformity,
Where the man begs the identity outlining his phantoms for hatred.
But I come today to speak about the other nomad… (p. 60 and 61)
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