#abdulrahman munif

[panorama2024aaaa]

حين تغضب المرأة ..

على الرجُل أن يعمل كُل شيء

لأجل أرضاءها ، عليهِ أن يحتمل

نزواتها الوحشية ، تطرفها

حتى صمتها يكون قاتلاً إذا حاربت

به ، أما حين ترضى !!

فتكون بضعفها قوية ، فهي تستنزفهُ

من الداخل ، تحولهُ الى خرقة

الى وعاء مثقوب

وهو بدافع القوة الموهومة

لا يتوقف عن الأستجابة

يصبح سهل الأثارة حتى يسقط

وهذا ما تُريدهُ المرأة بكل الأحوال

When a woman gets angry, it is upon the man to do everything to satisfy her. He must endure her wild whims and her extremism, even to the point where her silence becomes deadly if he confronts her. But when she is pleased!! She becomes strong in her weakness. She drains him from within, turning him into a vessel full of holes. And out of the illusion of power, he does not cease to respond. He becomes easily provoked until he falls. And this is what a woman wants in all circumstances.

Kadın öfkelendiğinde...

Erkeğin her şeyi yapması gerekiyor

Onu memnun etmek için, vahşi hırçınlıklarını

ve aşırılıklarını tahammül etmesi gerekiyor

Susması bile ölümcül oluyor eğer ona karşı

savaşırsa. Ama o memnun olduğunda!

Zayıflığında güçlü oluyor, onu içten içe

tüketiyor, onu delik bir kaba dönüştürüyor

Ve güç illüzyonuyla durmaksızın yanıt veriyor

Kolayca tahrik ediliyor ve düşüyor

Ve bu, bir kadının her durumda istediği şey.

Abdulrahman Munif'in "Uzun Mesafe Yarışı" kitabından.

From the book "Long-Distance Race" by Abdulrahman Munif.

من كتاب( سباق المسافات الطويلة) / عبد الرحمن مُنيف

[arablit]

Origin Stories: Tracing Jabra and Munif’s childhoods in Bethlehem and Amman

Origin Stories: Tracing Jabra and Munif’s childhoods in Bethlehem and Amman

By Suja Sawafta On a sweltering July day in Amman, I left my friend’s apartment in Abdoun and made my way to Jabal Amman with nothing more than a set of vague coordinates plugged in to Google Maps to guide me. I was in search of Abdulrahman Munif’s childhood home. Over the years I had heard musings, here and there, about where exactly it was. Some of my friends, who had studied at Sijal Language…

[thetorrentrefugee]

لا تظن الهدوء الذي تراه في الوجوه يدل على الرضا .. لكل إنسان شيء في داخله يهزهُ ويعذبه Don’t mistake the calmness you see on faces for satisfaction; inside every human, there is a thing torturing him.

- Abdulrahman Munif (1933 - 2004) - A novelist born to a Saudi father & Iraqi Mother & brought up in Jordan.. best known for his trilogy “Cities of Salt” (via warag-3nb)

Guinevere Van Seenus in ‘Dreaming of Another World’ photographed by Tim Walker. 

Vogue Italia March 2011. Filmed by Guy Stephens.

[dead-tigris]

Is there a book that has left a special impression on you?

sorry for the late reply but: cities of salt by abdulrahman munif. its about the discovery of oil reserves in the arabian peninsula and how the ruling authorities had allowed the americans/british to essentially invade and demolish their homes in order to extract the oil from their lands, despite staunch opposition from the population. it shows the psychological effects of this neocolonialist project and its impacts on the natives and how their homes, cultures, and centuries-old civilisations were eventually destroyed and demolished by the americans. it shows the transition of the populations happy, pristine, simple and content life into a new and modern buzzing metropolis city which they hate and despise immensely. it shows how the americans have essentially stolen their lands, destroyed their societies and done what they want with it. / it was written about the modern arab-gulf countries, especially saudi arabia, and how the monarchial governments are merely puppet ones of the west. munif is half saudi and many of his books are banned in saudi arabia and his citizenship has been revoked due to his writings

[dubaization]

Leaving Transience.  An Elegy

[The following is excerpted from the introduction to my book “Temporary Cities: Resisting Transience in Arabia.”]

PDF Version (including “Transient Voices”)

As I write these words I look out my window. I see the Schuylkill river. In the background are trees defining Philadelphia’s Cynwyd trail. It is cold, leaves have fallen, trees are barren and empty. Winter is approaching. To my right is the S-shaped Manayunk bridge, built in 1918. Its stone arches are a reminder of a past age, glistening in the stark winter sun. I am in the former mill town of Manayunk; an old industrial center. It is comprised of aging buildings, bearing marks of time passage, use and decay. Its alleyways are narrow and dark, containing secrets of encounters past and present. As one passes through its steep roads newer buildings appear, reluctantly trying to fit in with their surroundings. The main street is gentrifying, but still has a mysterious charm, recalling past lives. The venerable architects Robert Venturi and Denise Scott-Brown office used to be nearby – but it relocated a few years ago replaced with a fancy establishment. As my gaze shifts to the trees I realize that in spite of the constant changes this is a place that is real, permanent and where the traces of one’s existence and presence remain. Somehow. It follows the rhythm of time, changing organically and incrementally. And as I continue to write I reflect on this book and the places I have described: those sites of resistance carved out by migrants in the midst of a hostile cityscape; they are in some sense very similar to what I am witnessing. It is an attempt to establish a sense of normalcy, to approximate an environment that bears the marks and scars of time. And while noting this, I am beginning to realize that Arabia has drifted into a distant memory. It may never have existed at all. 

Manayunk bridge crossing the mighty Schuylkill river (Left). Manayunk backstreets, under the light rail viaduct (Right) (Philadelphia. April 2019)

Writing this book has been a catharsis of sorts. I was trying to come to grips with leaving the UAE after more than twenty years. One would think that living for such a long time in a place would result in forming an attachment, or calling it home. None of that transpired. It never felt like home. At its core it was a transient and alienating place. Yet family circumstances necessitated staying. When these changed, it finally allowed me to become cognizant of my own precarious status – similar to so many other migrants in the Arab Gulf. I decided to depart to a place – notwithstanding all of its shortcomings – that was nevertheless ‘real.’ Real in the sense that the prospect of sustaining a home, of nurturing a sense of belonging is viable. Real in the sense that one is not forced to renew a residency visa every three years. A process that at its core entails proving that one does not pose a biological threat. I departed to a place that embodies a sense of history, and where cities are not just looked at as a disposable commodity. I departed to a place where freedom is a quality that still holds some meaning, however imperfect it maybe. It is not a slogan disguised under wooly words such as ‘tolerance’ and ‘happiness.’ And ultimately, there is only so much one can take gazing at glittering skyscrapers, or partake in consumerist delights of shopping malls. Eventually one must awake from what can very easily turn into a numbing and dull existence and face the real world. The illusion of permanence will then finally dissipate, like a grim cloud giving way to the rays of the sun.

Observing the looming spectacle. (Dubai. City Walk. 2o17)

In the back of my mind was always a desire to write a book about this fleeting and transient experience. It became blindingly obvious when I was appointed as a curator for the UAE Pavilion at the 16thVenice Architecture Biennale. Asked to represent a country to which I did not belong, nor did ever have any realistic prospect of being part of, I came to grasp that I have overstayed my welcome. Yet remarkably, and paradoxically, while delivering a world class exhibition, showing that the UAE was a place with a substantive architectural patrimony worthy of serious architectural discourse, I was under the illusion that I am part of this as well. Ultimately though I realized that this was not so. And it was at that moment, while the exhibition was being installed and finalized, that I decided to sever my ties to this place. I saw it as my swan song in a way, but also as a new beginning. My task was accomplished. My job was complete. ‘Thank you for all that you have done’ as I kept hearing over and over again, in a rehearsed and disengaged refrain, during my last days in the city.

This is not a book that engages in ‘Gulf bashing’ nor was this ever my intent. The book emanates from a good place – a true respect for the resilience, persistence and dedication of city dwellers in the region. This book, while at its core is a critique of the Arab Gulf City – specifically Dubai, Abu Dhabi and Doha – exposing its precarity and transience, is a tribute to its denizens – migrants and locals alike. It is those citizens and residents who hold the key for the survival of these urban centers. If a voice is offered to them, and they are able to have a stake and claim ownership, then such cities may avoid the fate of irrelevance and ridicule. What Saudi writer Abdulrahman Munif referred to as Cities of Salt – cities that will disappear and vanish from existence at the slightest sight of trouble. Like any other urban center in the world, cities in the Arab Gulf are not monolithic entities. They are complex organisms accommodating numerous layers and need to be approached with caution and nuance. Yet this should not detract us from pointing out its shortcomings, deficiencies and problems. Doing otherwise would be a disservice to scholarship and an abandonment of critical discourse. 

Workers occupying a sidewalk in central Abu Dhabi (Abu Dhabi. UAE. 2012)

In many ways what will unfold in these pages represents a cumulative effort as evidenced by the myriad individuals and organizations which I encountered while writing its chapters. I could go on working further to refine its arguments yet one must eventually stop. And here I take solace in the words of French poet Paul Valery, slightly paraphrased: “A book is never finished, it is abandoned.”

Yasser Elsheshtawy. Philadelphia, USA

26 November 2018

[awsleman]

Power never solves problems, it only delays their consequences

Abdulrahman Munif

[whispered-cries]

ستبقى السجون وسوف تتسع إذا ظلّ الناس في بلادنا يفخرون بصبرهم واحتمالهم ، وأن من يعاني أكثر في الدنيا لابد أن يجازى في الآخرة ، وإذا استمروا أيضاً ينتظرون طيور السماء لكي تنقذهم !. Prisons will be remaining and expending if the people of our country are still proud of their patience, sufferance, and whom ever suffer during lifetime will be rewarded in judgement day!. Also, the same will happen if they keep waiting for sky's birds to come and save them!.

عبد الرحمن منيف, رواية الآن...هنا Abdulrahman Munif. Now...Here; the novel

[arablit]

Friday Finds: 5 By and About Abdelrahman Munif

Friday Finds: 5 By and About Abdelrahman Munif

Abdelrahman Munif (1933-2004) haunts a strange place in the English-language canon:

Four of his books are translated — Cities of Salt, translated by Peter Theroux, Variations on Night and Day, tr. Theroux, The Trench, tr. Theroux, and Story of a City, tr. Samira Kawar — and the first has received tentative canonization, included in lists and curricula, often as much for “understanding events in…

[arablit]

Teaching with Arabic Literature in Translation: Abdelrahman Munif's 'Cities of Salt'

Teaching with Arabic Literature in Translation: Abdelrahman Munif’s ‘Cities of Salt’

ArabLit’s ongoing series on Teaching with Arabic Literature in Translation continues with a conversation between ArabLit’s editor and Layla Azmi Goushey, Associate Professor of English at St. Louis Community College, around teaching Abdelrahman Munif’s Cities of Salt, translated by Peter Theroux. This conversation works a bit differently, beginning with questions and ending with a description of…