the last train

Mahmoud Darwish died today in a hospital in Texas. I'm reminded of the sadness we felt after Said's death--too soon, too young, still needed--and at such a bleak time for the dream of Palestine. He'll be taken back to Ramallah for burial; may he and his resting place both find peace.


The Last Train Has Stopped (from Fewer Roses, 1986)

The last train has stopped at the last platform. No one is there
to save the roses, no doves to alight on a woman made of words.
Time has ended. The ode fares no better than the foam.
Don't put faith in our trains, love. Don't wait for anyone in the crowd.
The last train has stopped at the last platform. But no one
can cast the reflection of Narcissus back on the mirrors of night.
Where can I write my latest account of the body's incarnation?
It's the end of what was bound to end! Where is that which ends?
Where can I free myself from the homeland of the body?
Don't put faith in our trains, love. The last dove flew away.
The last train has stopped at the last platform. And no one was there.

(translated by Munir Akash and Carolyn Forché)

update: see also these memorial posts, with more excerpts, at Cassandra Pages, Szerelem, Szerelem, and 3QD.