Fethi Sassi (Tunisia)

Fethi Sassi (Tunisia)

 
He was born on the 1st of June 1962 in Nabul (Tunisia ) .
He is a writer of prose poetry and short poems and haiku ; translator
of all his poems to English .
A member in the Tunisian Writers’ Union ; and in the Literature club
at the cultural center of Sousse .
1- first book entitled “A Seed of Love” was published in 2010.
2- ) I dream …. and I sign on birds the last words ) in 2013 .
3- ” A sky for a strange bird “ first edition in Egypt in 2016.
Second edition in September 2018 in Tunisia .
4- published in Egypt in march 2017(As lonely rose ..one a chair)
5- Poetic book in 2018 Egypt ( I used to hang my face behind the door)
 
TRANSLATION
 
1- Translated book is published in Canada 2017 ( and you are
2- Translated book was for the Turkish poetess H. Karahan
(poems to the shadows ) in 2017 .
3- Translated book to Arabic titled ( poems to Aphrodite ) for the poet
M. Algitakis published in Egypt in 2018.
4- Translated French book in HARMATTAN France for the third Arabic
book ( Ciel pour un oiseau étranger ) . sur fnac
5- Translated book of the American poet S.Bohen with 5 translators .
titled : god’s silence a lion’s roar .in 06.2018 .
K8VQT
6- Translated English short poetry book in Canada in 7.2018 titled
( wings and butterflies ) .
7- Translated English short poetry book in Zimbabwe in 07.2018
( I throw a star in wine glass ). On Amazon
On muse project
8- A short poetry book titled ( All the universe is the face of my beloved)
in three languages Arabic English and French in September 2018 .
9- My translation (I used to hang my face behind the door ) juillet2019
 
 
A song for the birds on the ground
 
That’s who I’m…
I forget my coffee on your eye brows every morning,
I sit on a chair as if I’m looking to your surprise-worthy, unusual legs…
Humble, like my grandmother’s fingers, I asked you what time it is
But you didn’t reply…
And you travel in your desired loneliness. I did not look at you although I had added the salt to the words…
It felt as if I asked the right question when I lit the holiness of superstition… and I looked for you in the brightness of the night.
And the moon is packing its luggage and leaving to fix his face in the settling night.
The wall clock attacks me with the surprise of the pale time and invites you for a glass of wine; a poem that never sleeps…
 
 
 
To crown the whole
 
I see that you are still skilled in the language of songs…
And you are lying on my veins, gently pushing the clouds, males and females.
You didn’t really have to leave your star in the beginning of the story.
You really shouldn’t have done that…
So don’t feel desperate and borrow a new song form mine to the birds…
Don’t leave the lumps on in the street of your hands so I can light my fingers .
As I’m, in the sky of telling, looking for a dose of life, for a single reason to exist so that I don’t fall in what’s next.
So let’s plant a single star in the sky of the poem… one star is enough for us to leave.
And take my letters…
Take all my letters… take a bucket from the early ancestors so I can rearrange the gods.
Put the mud in its right place so that I crown the whole, to stray alone in the language of the creation.
I’m still practicing my forgotten rituals like a god unable to create. When I saw your shiny hand immerged, I screamed to take the mud’s fingers away from your face and justify the first lie of the wind…
But did you really have to blow in the breaths of myths and sing the stories of the stars to the flute?
And what happened to the mud the moment of the blow so it got overwhelmed by the roughness of the naked body and the water escaping from the water.
So take it easy, those are my breaths organizing the names in the alphabets of the sand…
 
 
 
Mother, I became like this
 
Mother ,
You forgot to put a piece of sugar in the glass of milk .
You forgot my nice rituals
And you also forgot
to embroid on my pillow case a dove and a butterfly
For I do not sleep early anymore mother
I got rid of all my beautiful little things
I now smoke a pack of clouds all at once
And all the whores now know my night
And all the wine labels
I grew like this mother
I am no longer a child promising the sea a piece of candy
And counts the stars at sunset hours
On whose palms rest the clouds

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