Moaen Shalabia (Palestina)

 
Moaen Shalabia (Palestina)
 
Moaen Shalabia, Born on 14 October 1958 in Maghar town – In the Galilee region.
Palestinian poet, one of the Arab Palestinian national minority who lives in Israel.
Finished his studies in Haifa University – (Business Administration and management).
Poet and prose writer, his writing career began in 1973, he published his poems in national local newspapers and in Arabic papers abroad.
He published six poetry books and three prose.
His first-born was the first book of poetry in 1989.
 
He participated in many local and international festivals such as:
 
-International poetry festival– Maghar Galilee
-Cairo International Book Fair- Egypt
-Jarash festival- Jordan
-Palestine poetry meeting- Palestine
-Doha cultural festival- Qatar
-Istanbul International Book Fair- Turkey
-The Romania International Festival – Days and nights of literature
-Curtea de Arges Poetry Nights – Romania
-Teranova festival- Roma – Italy
-Alquds 2009 capital of Arab culture – Palestine
-The Romanian International Festival – Days and Nights
-The Struga Poetry Evenings – Republic of Macedonia
-Sarajevo Days of Poetry – Bosnia
-The “Antares festival of poetry” – Galati – Romania
-The international poetry Festival – poetry and win – Kosovo
– The international poetry festival / Tetova – Macedonia . Albania \ He won the prize of the pest poetry at the festival. 2018
 
-Cultural Conference of the General Arab Writers Union – United Arab Emirates
(Abu Dhabi-Alshareqa-Dubai).
 
– The international poetry Festival – TABARA ROMANIA.
The Palestinian education ministry awarded him for his blessed efforts in enriching the national education and for his loyalty to the Palestinian issue and the Principles of justice and freedom.
He was awarded by the “Arab intellectual’s forum” – Jerusalem Alquds).
Besides, he has received many appreciation certificates a member in the union of Arab writers and the movement of world poets (Poetas del mundo) and Member of Mahmoud Darwish Foundation for Creativity.
His literary production was discussed and criticized in universities and in many sessions in homeland and abroad.
Some of my poems were translated into many languages, like French, Turkish, English, Romanian, Polish, Macedonian, Italian, Hebrew, Bosnian, Albanian, Croatian, and Bahasa Malaysia language.
His collection of poems was included in the national and international anthologies.
He recently won the prize of the Arab Writers Union and of the year 2018 for poetry.
 
The poet’s publishing
 
Poetry:
 
The wave is return – 1989.
(Al-Aswar Palestinian Culture Quarterly_ Acre)
Between two butterflies – 1999.
(The Arab Modern Foundation Jerusalem Alquds)
The memory of senses – 2001.
(The Arab Modern Foundation _ Jerusalem Alquds)
Rituals of Solitude – 2004.
(Al-Aswar Palestinian Culture Quarterly_ Acre)
The immigration of the naked longings – 2008
(Al-Aswar Palestinian Culture Quarterly_ Acre)
Stuck poems – 2014
(“Culture” for publishing and distribution – Tunisia)
By Azure Water – 2020
(Siirden Yayincilik – Turkey)
 
Prose:
 
Meditations – 1992
(Renaissance Publishing and Distribution – Nazareth)
Narrow evening – 1995
(Abu Rahmoun, printing and publishing – Acre)
Spirituality – 1998
(Albatof – printing, publishing and distribution)
 
 
The departure of the spirit
 
I saw you painting the dream
between the fire and the night,
And moons above the night,
And grief behind the spirit,
And the color of grief likes the twilight.
 
I saw you carrying the sea in your eyes expatriate,
And plates of faith and disbelief,
I asked the sea if it know its carrier,
The sea replies waves of tiredness.
 
I saw you silent dumping the grief in your lips,
You don’t ask now about my drown?
You said: “yes”,
Why the river doesn’t flow as we like,
We don’t want to pass the love like leafs.
 
I saw you hugging the thorn,
And the thorn is wounding,
Then I said: enough
The thorn’s wounds in the worriedly.
 
I saw you behind my grief and in it,
Can you stand the grief in journeys?
I’m tiered of grief, I don’t know
Whether the spirit departure until neck
Erase the grief.
 
 
 
Night and wine and woman
 
My wooden home
has two windows opened to their limits
and shadow of a woman inflaming the distance
I look upon the sea on the wake of the evening
and upon a glass of wine
stirring the echoes.
 
My wooden home has the smell of dew
and the shape of a soul in the palm of a blur
in our wooden home there is an aged jar
and a thirsty butterfly haunting me
into the futility of speech.
 
It is you..
and for a while I’ve been looking in you for my death
here you are, and this taste is monstrous
exploding in me a volcano
and inflaming in me my sails.
 
Here you are
and in your eyes a storm of drunkenness
oh you hug and burn and fill and spill me
wine over my crematorium
so don’t ever change and be oh a woman
destroying all my kingdom
and embrace me as a bottle
that danced on the belt of a storm
thus the flame of its wine burns me into poetry
for an ultimate heat and a Kama Sutra glass
cover all my questions…!!
 
 
 
My Foggy Window
 
Behind my foggy window,
The desire of revelation urges me
To uncover a planet that went deep into the clouds;
Remnants of a smell that scratch my body to go through,
Like a dreamer who goes through the mirrors of absence!
 
Behind my foggy window
A space for the moon splits in front of me in the darkness,
Steals a glance at her rising specter from below the rain.
 
Behind my foggy window,
She moves in front of me like the glimpse of the ‘ah!’ in my chest;
The sea pants in me like a trans-lust horse,
While the eternal blue erases the shadows of the sand,
And I depart to wherever the words carry me into the elegies of memories.
 
Behind my foggy window
I collected the wood inside me and set fire to it;
I arranged my Persian carpet, some of my writings, my tobacco, my senses,
A handful of music and the fragrance of her clothes,
And ran my hand even over the walls.
 
Behind my foggy window,
A broken intuition that is stricken by distress, anxiety, fear, and longing befalls me
For someone who infiltrates towards the visible vague and rises till grief;
It looks over my Self but I soon imagine that I am No one, No one!
 
Behind my foggy window,
Snowflakes fall on the coats of my heart and loss pours down
The taste of rain intensifies; sorrows sail into my soul –
And I cry:
My lady, My lady! O woman who takes off everything, except her femininity;
The wind will fill my clothes and on the bed of love, the whoop of creativity will spring!
 
Behind my foggy window,
She comes to me from nothingness, carrying her fiery wound
To awaken “Tammuz”, who has never been absent, in me,
“Tammuz”, who will certainly return!
 

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