What Sparks Poetry is a serialized feature in which we invite poets to explore experiences and ideas that spark new poems. In Language as Form, poets write about poetic language as patterned language—how words as sound, voice, sentence, and song become elements of form. Each Monday's delivery brings you a poem and an excerpt from the essay.
Philip Metres
***

in the dream, I wake
treading the underwater
in the black beneath I see

like horses galloping
the gloom of the sea
they wrestle the living salt

fight to rise to the shore of light
but their pockets and shoes are full
of the stones of grief

their mouths open
to no words

but stones

and why do I see them
from beneath


***

“Shipwreck off Libya”


I read the head
-line and the story
and you are
nowhere inside
you are among the 45
missing and presumed


 
***
 

Ya Abdel Wahad Yousif, I
                           call out to you

                                                  at the boundary of salt and sky
                                                  aching for echo

             I can’t fit the sea in the basin

                                                  between my ears

 
***

                                                  You are destined to go

you wrote, which, when it touches
our eyes and tongue, means our

                                           head rocked by the roaring waves,
                                           [our] body swaying in the water,
                                           like a perforated boat


                                                                                                         carrying dozens of

                                                                                                                              [of obscure origin]

                  sea                                                 missing and presumed

                                  capsizing

 
***
 
“From Darfur to Libya he scraped his way”

Ya Abdel, how could you see
and still climb into the boat
and not turn away

                                                  You’ll die at sea

                                                                                                                        the waters prevailed

                                                  You’ll die at sea

you wrote it was destiny
but isn’t destiny
another name
for
                                                                    dying:
                                                  Time. Language.
                                                  Screams. Dreams.
                                                  Songs. Love. Music.

 
***
 

forgive us our imperial
din
forgive us our doorless
borders

***
 

>قَالَ رَبِّ اغْفِرْ لِي وَهَبْ لِي مُلْكًا لَا يَنْبَغِي لِأَحَدٍ مِنْ بَعْدِي ۖ إِنَّكَ أَنْتَ الْوَهَّابُ
 
Lord, forgive me, and grant me
a kingdom

that no one
should follow after me

***

Ya Abdel,

I dreamt of you last night, holding
the sea in your arms like a lover, you
kissing its wet mouth, you
at last at rest in its endless bed, your heart
knocking me awake, as if
I could not

***

                                                                                                      why should the waters prevail
***

                                      it’s all in vain

you write,

                                       no flash of light
                                       to scare away the darkness

 
***

the jaws of the sea
waving
the only welcoming

 
***

may God grant you a kingdom beyond
                the kingdom of empires

and warlords beyond
                                  the kingdom of the sea beyond

the kingdom of the drowning stones beyond

the kingdom of the kingdom
                                                         beyond
                 the kingdom belonging to no one
because it belongs to everyone beyond
the doors of the sea

a floating place, a garden                                                                       the waters will veil

                                                  a garden of words
                                                  beyond words

                                  that rises
from the book FUGITIVE/REFUGE / Copper Canyon Press 
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Cover image of Philip Metres' book, Fugitive/Refuge
What Sparks Poetry: Philip Metres on "Qasida for Abdel Wahab Yousif"

"The qasida begins with human longing. The moderns didn’t invent it! It was in the human heart. This is the nasīb, which means 'fate,' the poet is in a nostalgic mood. Sometimes, pursuing the beloved, the poet will come upon the remains of a camp, the beloved’s caravan, causing a consideration of what has passed. If it begins with longing and its endless distances (thanks, Robert Hass), it doesn’t stay there, but rather moves into the trouble of the world." 
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Pastel illustration of poet, Fady Joudah

"How do you say […]? The title of Fady Joudah’s new book of poems is made up of two square brackets enclosing an ellipsis, an image that suggests modification—someone else’s words swapped out for those of the writer or speaker—and omission. Printed in large font on the cover, it looks a bit like a hieroglyph (derived from a Greek word meaning “sacred carving”) or perhaps a sigil, a magical representation calling invisible things into the material world."

viaTHE NEW YORK REVIEW OF BOOKS
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