this diary is dedicated to all who suffer because of war
we love and support our troops, just as we love and support the Iraqi people – without exception, or precondition, or judgement.
image and poem below the fold
Associated Press photographer Bilal Hussein poses for a photo in Baghdad, Iraq in this April 8, 2005 file photo. The U.S. military in Iraq has imprisoned Bilal Hussein for five months, accusing him of being a security threat but never filing charges or permitting a public hearing. Military officials said Bilal Hussein, 35, an Iraqi citizen, was being held for ‘imperative reasons of security’ under United Nations resolutions. AP executives said the news cooperative’s review of Hussein’s work did not find anything to indicate inappropriate contact with insurgents, and any evidence against him should be brought to the Iraqi criminal justice system.
(AP Photo/Jim MacMillan, File)
Some Advice to Those Who Will Serve Time in Prison
by Nazim Hikmet
translated by Mutlu Konuk and Randy Blasing
If instead of being hanged by the neck
you’re thrown inside
for not giving up hope
in the world, your country, and people,
if you do ten or fifteen years
apart from the time you have left,
you won’t say,
“Better I had swung from the end of a rope
like a flag”–
you’ll put your foot down and live.
It may not be a pleasure exactly,
but it’s your solemn duty
to live one more day
to spite the enemy.
Part of you may live alone inside,
like a stone at the bottom of a well.
But the other part
must be so caught up
in the flurry of the world
that you shiver there inside
when outside, at forty days’ distance, a leaf moves.
To wait for letters inside,
to sing sad songs,
or to lie awake all night staring at the ceiling
is sweet but dangerous.
Look at your face from shave to shave,
forget your age,
watch out for lice
and for spring nights,
and always remember
to eat every last piece of bread–
also, don’t forget to laugh heartily.
And who knows,
the woman you love may stop loving you.
Don’t say it’s no big thing:
it’s like the snapping of a green branch
to the man inside.
To think of roses and gardens inside is bad,
to think of seas and mountains is good.
Read and write without rest,
and I also advise weaving
and making mirrors.
I mean, it’s not that you can’t pass
ten or fifteen years inside
and more–
you can,
as long as the jewel
on the left side of your chest doesn’t lose its luster!
– – –
about the poet
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