Palestinian poet, artist, and curator Ashraf Fayadh is currently imprisoned in Saudi Arabia on charges of renouncing Islam. Words Without Borders spoke with Mona Kareem, whose translation of Ashraf’s poetry collection Instructions Within will be published this fall as a part of The Operating System’s Glossarium: Unsilenced Texts and Modern Translations series.
Publisher Lynne DeSilva-Johnson describes the series as “an effort to recover silenced texts outside and beyond the familiar poetic canon . . . in particular those under siege by restrictive regimes and silencing practices in their home (or adopted) country.”
Words Without Borders (WWB): What ties together the poems in Instructions Within—thematically, aesthetically, or otherwise?
Mona Kareem (MK): I was able to finalize the translation Instructions Within this month. I can tell you that this is a unique work in the context of Arabic poetry. First, it is the only work of its kind to explore the experience of refugees and displacement with such poetic intimacy. It overcomes nationalist sentiments, revolutionary agitation, and linear collective narratives. Although Ashraf identifies as a “Palestinian poet,” his work is not at all familiar to the literature produced by others on displacement. He is specifically dedicated to unveiling the violence done to an individual like himself under the petro-capitalist theocracy that he was born in. This is crucial because for Ashraf, he is not dreaming of a certain homeland, and he is not losing one home, because loss and absence are persistently active in his life.
This brings me to his use of Quranic language and style. Such practice is totally familiar in Arabic poetry. Yet it becomes controversial in his work as it unveils the hypocrisy of this theocracy at subject. He consciously subverts the reference texts deployed by an authoritarian regime, so that they become words of sorrow and protest and desire. Some of the poems use a different diction, of Arabic pop culture or even ancient characters, to speak of his ontology, which he often symbolizes in the figure of a crow—dark and rejected, with wings but incapable of flying.





