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Introduction | ||
Words | ||
In those days - I know now - words declaimed the wind | 5 | |
Words | 7 | |
Where do words come from? | 9 | |
How to find the name of the fisherman who hooked the first word | 11 | |
The prudent man looped his family to his belt | 13 | |
Language at that time opened fire on every noise | 15 | |
What do we know about the alphabets which didn't survive the rising of the waters | 17 | |
The words which spring up on the borders of lips retain their terrors | 19 | |
Words, she says, used to be wolves | 21 | |
Words, she says, are like the rain - everyone knows how to make them | 23 | |
It was there and nowhere else | 25 | |
The rain had few followers at that time | 27 | |
Guilty of repeated forgetfulness | 29 | |
There are words from poor peoples' gardens that crossbreed iron and thorns | 31 | |
She Says | ||
There were too many women for too few seasons | 35 | |
She says / dig there where a shadow can stand upright | 37 | |
The wind in the fig there quiets down when she speaks | 39 | |
She only opens her door to the winds | 41 | |
Between her two windows is a mirror | 43 | |
Without the wisteria | 45 | |
Drunken bread on the table | 47 | |
On the dark landing of her dreams | 49 | |
The frost that year shattered both the indoors and outdoors | 51 | |
He shakes her so she'll drop the words she stole | 53 | |
Her voice comes back to her from the canary's cage | 55 | |
In her dreams she thinks she is awake | 57 | |
Seated on her doorstep made of deaf stones | 59 | |
She lives in a high room next door to the clouds | 61 | |
Autumn preceded summer by one day | 63 | |
The dead she says | 65 | |
Spitting in the wind brings happiness she says | 67 | |
She carried her load of fog in all kinds of weather | 69 | |
There is winter in her sleep | 71 | |
She says / migrating birds won't replace the road | 73 | |
The dignitary who bent his servant backwards till the storm was extinguished | 75 | |
She says / there is a fire on the moon | 77 | |
She tells her dreams to the angels who inadvertently cross her bed | 79 | |
First / she kills the red hen that traces circles around her field | 81 | |
Her walls and her bones aged together | 83 | |
She puts her ear to the ground to listen to the buried voices clamor | 85 | |
She understands from the plane trees staring in shock at the countryside | 87 | |
She places her hands on the apple tree's hands | 89 | |
She says / the names of the months are closed up in books | 91 | |
Her house is a burial ground for mute objects | 93 | |
Winter is painful to her | 95 | |
It has snowed on her bed since her mirror contested the window | 97 | |
The old woman has the deafened mourning of those who live on stones | 99 | |
God will forgive me for having let the house wander away says the old woman | 101 | |
It took her years to understand the wind's behavior | 103 | |
At that time the earth was so high up | 105 | |
Someone is speaking within the walls | 107 | |
Stretched out close to the tree which breathes beside her | 109 | |
Plowing at night means one less loaf from each furrow she says | 111 | |
Once upon a time she had a book | 113 | |
Her laundry will soak all night beneath the moon which washes hilltops | 115 | |
Between twilight and crumbled bread | 117 | |
From rails buried beneath the rubble | 119 | |
A while odor of woman and declining summer stops them | 121 | |
She opens her door without hesitation to the elm leaf on her threshold | 123 | |
In the night of boxes they give up their linens | 125 | |
The old man who doesn't know how to count | 127 | |
The old man who left his shadow on the tracks | 129 | |
The fire which ravaged the last comet stretched out at the saint's shrine | 131 | |
They say / that he has blood under his fingernails | 133 | |
He told stories the way you peel a fruit | 135 | |
There were tree of them who emerged from the night | 137 | |
The wind she says is only good for tousling the broom-bushes | 139 | |
The children knocked on every door | 141 | |
She says / the earth is so vast | 143 | |
They come from the same slope not the same hill | 145 | |
It sometimes happens that the forest disperses itself | 147 | |
A man is not an island | 149 | |
Storks have been nesting in the church font | 151 | |
The caravan that left the old town of Manama disappeared | 153 | |
She prefers round years | 155 | |
One day she says | 157 | |
Why I Write in French | 159 |
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Add She Says, Award-winning American poet Marilyn Hacker offers the brilliance of Lebanese poet Vénus Khoury-Ghata in an exquisite translation She says the earth is so vast one can't help but be lost like water from a broken jug There is no fortress against, She Says to the inventory that you are selling on WonderClubX
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Add She Says, Award-winning American poet Marilyn Hacker offers the brilliance of Lebanese poet Vénus Khoury-Ghata in an exquisite translation She says the earth is so vast one can't help but be lost like water from a broken jug There is no fortress against, She Says to your collection on WonderClub |