Arabic Poetry Quotes & Sayings

"Who Remembers the Armenians?"

I remember them
and I ride the nightmare bus with them
each night
and my coffee, this morning
I'm drinking it with them

You, murderer -
Who remembers you? — Najwan Darwish

You keep the title of 'president' even if you served only one term. The same goes for rapists. — Christy Leigh Stewart

because you are die surface of my sky.
My body is the land,
the place for you...
the pigeons fly
the pigeons come down... — Mahmoud Darwish

Armenian Cognac

A bottle of cognac from Yerevan
is on my kitchen table
as closed as that history
and as silent
If I broke it down I'd lose a hundred years
of love
and if I opened it the ancestors
hanging here in black and white
would come down from the walls
to have a glass with me
I know a history that's been forgotten
and I know why that bottle of cognac
stands with such singular pride....

If I broke it now I'd lose a hundred years
of my people's history — Najwan Darwish

Later, when his desires had been satisfied, he slept in an odorous whorehouse, snoring lustily next to an insomniac tart, and dreamed. He could dream in seven languages: Italian, Spanic, Arabic, Persian, Russian, English and Portughese. He had picked up languages the way most sailors picked up diseases; languages were his gonorrhea, his syphilis, his scurvy, his ague,his plague. As soon as he fell asleep half the world started babbling in his brain, telling wondrous travelers' tales. In this half-discovered world every day brought news of fresh enchantments. The visionary, revelatory dream-poetry of the quotidian had not yet been crushed by blinkered, prosy fact. Himself a teller of tales, he had been driven out of his door by stories of wonder, and by one in particular, a story which could make his fortune or else cost him his life. — Salman Rushdie

There is an Arabic writer who wrote philosophy and poetry and who brought all religions and all the world together. — Salma Hayek

The explanation of this perennial quality of Arabic is to be found simply in the conserving role of nomadism. It is in towns that languages decay, by becoming worn out, the things and institutions they designate. Nomads, who live to some extent outside time, conserve their language better; it is, moreover, the only treasure they can carry around with them in their pastoral existence; the nomad is a jealous guardian of his linguistic heritage, his poetry and his rhetorical art. On the other hand, his inheritance in the way of visual art cannot be rich; architecture presupposes stability, and the same is broadly true of sculpture and painting. — Titus Burckhardt

Depending on what they are, our habits will either make us or break us. We become what we repeatedly do. — Sean Covey

My uncle read me Omar Khayyam. In Arabic. Not Turkish or even English. I tried so hard to understand it. I would ask him what it all meant but he always said the pleasure was in the finding out... the discovery. He said you can keep some poems by you your whole life and they will only reveal parts of themselves to you when you are ready to hear them. (Ottmar) — Miranda Emmerson

No greater love hath a man than he lay down his life for his brother. Not for millions, not for glory, not for fame. For one person, in the dark where no one will ever know or see. — J. Michael Straczynski

There was a widespread rumor that there was an attempt to absorb an Arab youth movement into the kibbutz. It seemed that the attempt failed. Perhaps Muhammad and Nazmi were the remnants of that Arab youth movement. They may have belonged to the Arab youth movement pioneers. The movement succeeded in establishing a number of cores, and one of its training groups was in Shomrat. It was not talked about often in the kibbutz, but rumors always reached us, and Mohammed and Nazmi had ties to this movement. Muhammad loved to read Arabic poetry and occasionally enjoyed translating the words into Hebrew for us. It always amazed me how he sat, he never needed a chair. — Nahum Sivan

I actually chafe at describing myself as masculine. For one thing, masculinity itself is such an expansive territory, encompassing boundaries of nationality, race, and class. Most importantly, individuals blaze their own trails across this landscape. And it's hard for me to label the intricate matrix of my gender as simply masculine.

To me, branding individual self-expression as simply feminine or masculine is like asking poets: Do you write in English or Spanish? The question leaves out the possibilities that the poetry is woven in Cantonese or Ladino, Swahili or Arabic. The question deals only with the system of language that the poet has been taught. It ignores the words each writer hauls up, hand over hand, from a common well. The music words make when finding themselves next to each other for the first time. The silences echoing in the space between ideas. The powerful winds of passion and belief that move the poet to write. — Leslie Feinberg

Just like you, my country cannot hear me:
She's made of bronze
and I
can no longer reach her heart

(from Thoughts on the Statue of Talaat Harb) — Najwan Darwish

Poetry is practically the only intellectual pursuit which we can be positive was highly developed and much practiced in pre-Islamic Arabia. It seems certain that the Arabic word for poet, shair, meant originally "one who knows," and the word for poetry, shir, "knowledge". — Franz Rosenthal

Eight centuries have passed
like a nap in the late afternoon
my throat is choked
with words I cannot speak


(from The Last Soldier's Words to Saladin) — Najwan Darwish

An Opera for Kamal Boullata

If I were one of those musicians
who penned grand Italian operas
where the notes, like clogs
strike all the chords
of Mediterraneans like us
I would compose one
and dedicate it to you

Yet sadly these shrill words
are all I have for you — Najwan Darwish

Katsa and Po had their arms around each other. It was difficult to tell if they were still wrestling or if the kissing had begun. — Kristin Cashore

I Will Rise One Day

I will rise one day and speak it
I, the Kurd, will rise one day
and speak it
I, the Amazigh, your voice
will rise one day
I, the Arab you know
will rise one day
and speak it:
They've gone now, Saladin — Najwan Darwish

This is what everybody's forgetting about [Barak] Obama and his immigration law and his executive action and his amnesty on it, the Supreme Court decision. Immigration law is settled. — Rush Limbaugh

screen filled with symbols, only this time it was Arabic letters that meant nothing to him. He assumed they meant nothing to Raj as well, and was therefore surprised when Raj pointed out a short sequence. "This is the word for 'person' or 'human being'." Daniel stared at Raj. "You know Arabic?" "No, not really. I have read Nizar Qabbani in translation, and this word is a particularly beautiful shape, is it not?" "Still waters run deep, Raj. So you read Arabic love poetry. I wouldn't have ever guessed." Raj blushed. "Sushma is more woman than I can handle without help," he admitted. "Qabbani writes more than just love poetry. It is quite erotic. — J.C. Ryan