Lay your head on my chest and listen
to the layers of ruins
behind the madrasah of Saladin
hear the houses sliced open
in the village of Lifta
hear the wrecked mill, the lessons and reading
on the mosque’s ground floor
hear the balcony lights
go out for the very last time
on the heights of Wadi Salib
hear the crowds drag their feet
and hear them returning
hear the bodies as they’re thrown, listen
to their breathing on the bed
of the Sea of Galilee
listen like a fish
in a lake guarded by an angel
hear the tales of the villagers, embroidered
like kaffiyehs in the poems
hear the singers growing old
hear their ageless voices
hear the women of Nazareth
as they cross the meadow
hear the camel driver
who never stops tormenting me
Hear it
and let us, together, remember
then let us, together, forget
all that we have heard
Lay your head on my chest:
I’m listening to the dirt
I’m listening to the grass
as it splits through my skin. . . .
We lost our heads in love
and have nothing more to lose
Hello and welcome to Words That Burn, the podcast taking a closer look at poetry. This week’s poem is Nothing More To Lose by Palestinian poet Najwan Darwish. The poem was translated into English by his longtime collaborator and translator, Kareem James Abu-Zeid (Darwish 2014).
As I’m sure you understood from the tone of the poem, Nothing More To Lose is a heart-breaking account of what has been lost by the Palestinian people in all senses of the word: physically, spiritually, and culturally. At the time of recording, the people Palestine have been the target of ethnic cleansing for well over 100 days since October 7th. This genocidal action has been undertaken by the Israeli government and military. This genocide is relentless and unyielding in its attempts to erase all traces of Palestine and its people. The Israeli government has targeted not only the lives of the Palestinian people but their culture and art as well.
At the time of recording, no universities remain in Gaza, and 94 prominent academics have been murdered. (“Israel Kills Dozens of Academics, Destroys Every University in the Gaza Strip [EN/AR]” n.d.). There is a concentrated effort being made to erase all traces of Palestinian identity. This is a tried-and-tested strategy for any colonising oppressor, as Najwan Darwish stated himself. In a recent interview, he said: ‘’For any colonial project, the main target is the land, but culture is also targeted." (Syed 2024)
If you’re appalled by this and can spare anything to go towards Gazan relief,. I’ve included links to the IPSC, or Ireland Palestine Solidarity Campaign, in the description for this episode. The work they do is vital in providing support for Palestine, and any donation is appreciated.
Perhaps the true tragedy of this poem is that it was published in 2014, nearly ten years before the events of October 7th started a chain reaction. It is heartbreaking to think that Najwan Darwish’s words could almost be a document of what’s currently happening in Gaza right now. Instead, it was originally Darwish’s prediction for what would occur if the Israeli occupation were to continue unchecked. The poet himself has voiced his misery about the relevance of his words today, in his own words:
‘’I am not happy when I see my poetry used in the war, in this genocide, because I wish this poetry would become invalid.'' (Syed 2024)
Unfortunately, not only are his words still valid, but they are vital as well.
Najwad Darwish was born in Jerusalem in 1978 (Syed 2024; Poetry Foundation 2024). Throughout his career, he has become known as one of the most important voices in Arabic poetry. (“Najwan Darwish” n.d.). It is also important to note that he bears no relation to arguably Palestine's most famous poet, Mahmoud Dawish. Though I have done an episode and his work, which I’ve linked in the description to this episode,.
His first book of poetry was published in 2000, but the poet writes over an extended period of time for each of his collections. This poem nothing more to lose comes from a collection sharing it’s name. It was written from 1998-2013 and so, is quite an undertaking.
When asked about this practice and how he achieves it,. Darwish said:
Usually I write on paper, and I carry a notebook with me wherever I go. I write poems in it as an everyday practice – like a diary. When I finish the pages of a notebook, I edit it and it becomes a poetry collection, a book. I realized early in life that the only thing I care about among my little belongings is my notebooks. I don’t care about any other belongings. When I travel, I carry them with me. (Underwood 2024)
His poems are all at once objective but haunting. His poems often focus on his homeland of Palestine and the violence so often inflicted against it. In his words are catalogues of places, names, cultural monuments, and moments intertwined with melancholy and vivid language. You might think this would become repetitive, even in a collection that spans over fourteen years, but this is what sets Najwan Darwish apart from most Palestinian poets; each of his poems is almost completely distinct, and he himself refuses a ‘’consistent poetic voice’’.
His translator, Kareem James Abu-Zeid, the man who deftly brings Darwish to English, put it best in his afterword to Nothing Left To Lose:
‘’Readers will quickly discover that there is no typical Darwish poem…As the translator of several different Arab poets and novelists, I have often faced the challenge of finding the right tone, of keeping the language consistent and unified as it is in the original. With Darwish’s work I’ve had to suppress this tendency and instead consider each poem as its own singular entity. I am not translating one poet, but many,.. I have come to realize that this wide range of voices is behind much of Darwish’s remarkable success as a poet: no Palestinian has ever written poetry quite like this before.’’(Kareem 2014.)
He goes on to explain how truly different Darwish is from other Palestinian poets, primarily in the way in which he resists the nationalistic glorification and deification of Palestine that is so common in much of its resistance writing. (Hamdi 2014.). As Kareem puts it:
‘’Nothing escapes Najwan Darwish’s relentless critical gaze—neither dictatorial Arab
regimes, nor the corruption of the political ruling class in Palestine, and
certainly not the violence-laden discourse of fundamentalist groups.’’(Kareem 2014)
It is perhaps this burning need to document Palestine, warts and all, as it were, that has led to Najwan Darwish becoming the country's most incisive voice. Of course, we don’t need collaborators and academics to tell us about the quality of his poetry; we just need some of his poetry itself.
For ease of analysis, I’ve split this poem into two sections. The first of which is made up of a mantra of sorts:Lay your head on my chest and listen
to the layers of ruins
behind the madrasah of Saladin
hear the houses sliced open
in the village of Lifta
hear the wrecked mill, the lessons and reading
on the mosque’s ground floor
hear the balcony lights
go out for the very last time
on the heights of Wadi Salib
hear the crowds drag their feet
and hear them returning
hear the bodies as they’re thrown, listen
to their breathing on the bed
of the Sea of Galilee
listen like a fish
in a lake guarded by an angel
hear the tales of the villagers, embroidered
like kaffiyehs in the poems
hear the singers growing old
hear their ageless voices
hear the women of Nazareth
as they cross the meadow
hear the camel driver
who never stops tormenting me
This is a poem of sound, or rather, the lack of it in certain places. Darwish employs the perspective of a speaker who almost seems disembodied. A presence that exists in several places at once, constantly listening to a cacophony of sounds that share only one common thread; conflict and violence.
The language of observing sound is a constant here. Verbs like hear and listen are used again and again, building a refrain or mantra that rings out to the reader. Darwish is asking us to bear witness to what has happened to his country. The first two lines give a little more form to his speaker: Lay your head on my chest and listen to the layers of ruins. It is Palestine itself that is addressing us. There is a clear connection established immediately; the closeness between ourselves and the speaker is solidified by one of the most intimate human actions; Listening to a heartbeat. What is notable here, however, is that there isn’t one, only ruin instead. Palestine is a living, breathing thing but, at the same time, a stone. Words like chest are not something we would associate with a country or city. Our disembodied speaker fuses the human and biological, with the ancient and architectural. We join that speaker in their roaming.
Then we join the speaker in their roaming. We walk through several locations in Palestine. Each has suffered in their own way:
behind the madrasah of Saladin
hear the houses sliced open
in the village of Lifta
hear the wrecked mill, the lessons and reading
on the mosque’s ground floor
hear the balcony lights
go out for the very last time
The geography that Darwish is invoking is helpfully explained by a notes section at the back of Nothing More To Lose. The madrasah of Saladin was a former center of learning founded by Saladin in Jerusalem (Darwish(Darwish and Kareem 2014). Saladin himself is famous for being the conqueror of Jerusalem. (ʻAzzām 2009)
Now it has clearly been destroyed. Darwish adds a visceral quality to his image with the words sliced open, never allowing his reader to forget that it is living, breathing people who are suffering in this relentless assault. As if to drive that idea home, he moves on to Lifta.
The village of Lifta was an Arab village that suffered early on in the Nakba; its inhabitants were forcibly displaced in 1948. What makes Lifta notable to quote the collection: ‘’Lifta is a rare example of a deserted Palestinian village that was not razed by the Israeli authorities. The empty houses are still standing, making it a particularly potent symbol of Palestinian loss.’’(Darwish and Kareem 2014)
That potent symbol takes on new layers in Darwish’s verse. The wrecked mill, once a source of food, harvest, and prosperity, lies silent. The lessons and prayers exist in a similar void now. Finally no one will hear the click of lights going out here again. For each of these things, we are asked to listen to silence.
For me, this forced recognition feels almost like a haunting. As I read the poem, I couldn’t shake the acute horror of this once teeming place of life made empty.
Once more, I feel it’s important to note that this poem was written over 10 years ago but its message remains as poignant today as it was then, if not even more so; it could have been written yesterday. This in itself is a remarkable testament to Darwish’s vision and poetry.
From there, our speaker moves us to the Wadi Salib, another displaced but standing village, literally translated to the valley of the cross (Darwish and Kareem n.d.).
The poet writes:
on the heights of Wadi Salib
hear the crowds drag their feet
and hear them returning
hear the bodies as they’re thrown, listen
to their breathing on the bed
of the Sea of Galilee
listen like a fish
in a lake guarded by an angel
Darwish once again conjures the sounds of conflict as a mass of people are violently ousted from their homes. Their resistance is documented in the dragging of their feet. They do return, but in a horribly macabre sense, as they are dead as they do so. hear the bodies as they’re thrown.
That haunting, lingering imagery returns as their bodies are dropped to the bottom of the sea, The sea of Galilee, which is famously not a sea but an exceptionally holy site.
Heare we are asked to listen like a fish in a lake guarded by an angel. The notion of stillness is again invoked by that protection. The irony, of course, is that it is filled with the dead and the executed who received no protection.
So far, Darwish’s speaker has documented the new found silence in Palestine, but in the next set of lines, he paints us a picture of a place teeming with life:
hear the tales of the villagers, embroidered
like kaffiyehs in the poems
hear the singers growing old
hear their ageless voices
hear the women of Nazareth
as they cross the meadow
hear the camel driver
who never stops tormenting me
There is a good deal of attention paid to the culture of Palestine, the tales of villages, and poems and songs of the place.
Darwish creates a beautiful refrain around singing here:
hear the singers growing old
hear their ageless voices
hear the women of Nazareth
His repetition of hear is an emphasis on the life and value of this place; words like ageless remind us of the ancestral ties of Palestinians to this land. He urges us to hear their music and their stories, and in doing so, he makes sure we see these people as living, breathing, fully alive beings, not a statistic on a news cycle. There is an even more tranquil image as they cross the meadow. This is a celebration of all things Palestinian, and it is shattered by the next dense metaphor.
hear the camel driver
who never stops tormenting me
Hear it
In the words tormenting me, the speaker reminds us that it is Palestine and that the sound of conflict is never far away. This camel driver is, of course, the one with the stick who pushes the animal endlessly forward, forcing it to travel even when it doesn’t want to. It’s not a stretch in interpretation to assume that Israel is the camel driver.
Darwish refuses to let us turn away from the destruction as a short line compels us to continuing observing: hear it
These sharp, painful lines take us out of the revelry we were in and remind us what is actually happening to this place. The picture just presented to us is no longer real; it’s been wiped out. It is just a lingering memory.
The final section seems to use this memory to bolster itself and create a sense of community.
and let us, together, remember
then let us, together, forget
all that we have heard
Lay your head on my chest:
I’m listening to the dirt
I’m listening to the grass
as it splits through my skin. . . .
We lost our heads in love
and have nothing more to lose
The inclusive language of the first lines your head comes back as the speaker turns from the singular I and me to the collective us. The speaker's language changes from words of command to an invitation in let us. It immediately slows down the pace of the poem. The previous repetition of words and changing of locations made our observations and travelling with the speaker feel rapid. Now, we pause.
Darwish is asking Palestinians and indeed us, his global readership, to both forget and remember at the same time. Palestinians should remember who they are, no matter how much cultural eradication might be brought against them. At the same time, he hopes they can one day move on from the misery of what they’ve experienced. There is another reading that is a little darker again. He hopes that they can forget the joys they once had so they might not be tortured by the memory of them.
The final lines of the poem mimic the first lay your head on my chest. We join with the speaker once more as they explain what they’re doing, and we realise the true horror of the situation:
I’m listening to the dirt
I’m listening to the grass
as it splits through my skin. . . .
The speaker is a body, another victim of Israeli oppression. They too are bearing witness, listening to the dirt and grass, because they simply have no other choice. The visceral language of the body makes a comeback in the sinister image of the grass splitting our speakers skin because they’ve been lying there so long. It is a nod, I think, to how long Palestine has been enduring this level of violence.
The final two lines are devastating:
We lost our heads in love
and have nothing more to lose
Our speaker could be any Palestinian now. As Kareem pointed out earlier, Darwish uses many voices in his poetry. The love they have lost to is the love of their country and their will to fight for it. Unfortunately, they have paid the ultimate price for that and have been murdered in their pursuit.
That ultimate price leaves them with nothing more to lose.
That final image, is a statement by the speaker as Palestine, as they survey the wreckage of their cities and villages. There is nothing left. But also a recognition of the price paid by those who would do anything to free Palestine.
He creates images and directions in his poetry that his readers cannot anticipate but, at the same time, cannot forget once they’ve experienced them. His writing has a much sharper quality than that of many other nationalist poets from Palestine. His imagery is always layered and sharp, waiting to cut into the mind of the reader. It is all at once filled with reverence but laced with despair.
When asked what the purpose of his poetry was, Najwan Darwish replied:
‘’I think of writing as a testimony for history. If one day in the future someone reads my poetry, I think, or I hope, they will be able to tell who is the colonizer, and who are the people of the land. Literature can sometimes reflect this better than any political speech.’’(Underwood 2024)
His testimony for history is more essential than ever. Nothing more to lose manages to capture the broad breadth of Palestinian identity and persecution, whilst at the same time relaying the absolute devastation of its loss.
As I’ve already stated at the time of recording, Palestine has been under assault with the goal of eradication since October 7th. The aim of the Israeli government and military is simple, erase Palestine from the planet.
We might ask ourselves why, on earth, that has to be their goal. To answer it better than I could, I turn to Arab journalist Omar Suleiman, who wrote:
‘’The simple truth is that the word “Palestine” is deeply damaging to Israel’s image on the international stage. The word “Palestine” carries with it so much universally recognised victimhood and so many stories of oppression, subjugation and genocide that when it is included in the conversation, Israel simply cannot dispute, however desperately it tries to, its crimes. The moral weight of Palestine is so heavy that every time the word is uttered, you can hear the deflating hiss from Israel’s PR bubble. No amount of beach resorts and tech unicorns can wipe the permanent stain of Palestinian blood off Israel’s hands.’’(Suleiman 2023)
This is the real truth. The works of poets like Najwan Darwish and other literary figures in Palestine act as witnesses to what has happened to Palestine; each piece of verse is a brick in a structure that remembers a people and a nation. A structure that no amount of shelling or murder can erase.
As I stated at the top of this episode, I’ve included a donation link to the Ireland Palestine Solidarity Campaign in the description for this episode. Every donation helps.
What did you think of the poem? As always, this is my interpretation, and I’d love to hear yours. If you’d like to get in touch with me there are a few ways to do so.
Citations
Darwish, and Kareem. n.d. “Notes.” Paperpile. Accessed January 24, 2024. https://paperpile.com/app/p/e067c6ee-386a-0aed-a015-1e7f8922bb3e.
Darwish, Najwan. 2014. Nothing More to Lose. New York Review Books.
Hamdi, Tahrir. n.d. “Yeats’s Ireland, Darwish's Palestine: The National in the Personal, Mystical, and Mythological.” Paperpile. Accessed January 23, 2024. https://paperpile.com/app/p/6b9414fc-af69-09c1-a7fa-be20ab9b258d.
ʻAzzām, ʻabd Al-Raḥmān. 2009. Saladin. Pearson Longman.
“Israel Kills Dozens of Academics, Destroys Every University in the Gaza Strip [EN/AR].” n.d. ReliefWeb. Accessed January 23, 2024. https://reliefweb.int/report/occupied-palestinian-territory/israel-kills-dozens-academics-destroys-every-university-gaza-strip-enar.
Kareem, J. A. n.d. “Translator’s Afterword.” Paperpile. Accessed January 23, 2024. https://paperpile.com/app/p/65bdc271-96a6-0e62-8783-b095ed96eced.
“Najwan Darwish.” n.d. New York Review Books. Accessed January 23, 2024. https://www.nyrb.com/collections/najwan-darwish.
Poetry Foundation. 2024. “Najwan Darwish.” Poetry Foundation. January 23, 2024. https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poets/najwan-darwish.
Suleiman, Omar. 2023. “Erasing Palestine.” Al Jazeera. October 19, 2023. https://www.aljazeera.com/opinions/2023/10/19/erasing-palestine-2.
Syed, Armani. 2024. “How Poetry Became a Tool of Resistance for Palestinians.” Time. January 11, 2024. https://time.com/6554381/poet-palestine-gaza-war/.
Underwood, Alexia. 2024. “Palestinian Poet Najwan Darwish: ‘We Can’t Begin to Comprehend the Loss of Art’.” The Guardian, January 4, 2024. https://www.theguardian.com/world/2024/jan/04/najwan-darwish-palestinian-poet-israel-gaza-war.