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- Страна местожительства: Palestine
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Glimpse of his life
Poet Radi Abdul-Jawad was born on December 30, 1954, as a refugee in the Askar camp in the city of Nablus. He holds a BA in English and Education from the University of Jordan in Amman. He worked for 14 years as a teacher at Al-Rawda College for Vocational Sciences in Nablus and at the UNRWA Women’s College in Ramallah is known as Al-Tira College, and on the first day of 1994 he moved to live in the country of his ancestors and the birthplace of his parents and grandfathers, the “Lajonites” (relative to the abandoned village of Al-Lajjun) in Umm al-Fahm. He still works as a teacher, but in secondary schools at home, during his life in the West Bank, he was arrested five times by the occupation authorities, he served two military sentences, effectively three and a half years in prison.
His poetic works
He published his first poems on the literary page of Al-Fajr and Al-Sha`b newspapers in Jerusalem, and then in Al-Fajr literary magazine, as well as in Al-Ghad and Al-Jadid magazines, Al-Haifawi. He participated in the "First Palestinian Literature Festival in the Occupied Territories" in Jerusalem, and according to the critics supervising the festival, the writer Sobhi Shahrouri and Dr. Ibrahim Al-Alam was the author of the best poem read at the festival. His poems centered on the issue of the Palestinian people and on resisting the occupation and supporting the oppressed and the weak in the land. They were characterized by a non-fanatic human dimension and an open and progressive vision since the early nineties.
Diwan "Songs of the Sun and Olives"
It was published by the Jamahiriya House in Jerusalem in 1981. His poems focus on issues of freedom, justice and world peace, and on the suffering and heroism of the Palestinian people in particular. The poems of this book revolve around the suffering of the Palestinian people and their hopes for freedom, self-determination and living in peace. Its poems adhere to a comprehensive, open, non-chauvinistic humanitarian view that appears in most of his poems, including the poem “I am a human being” and “A message I found in the pocket of a dead soldier” and “By only seconds" and "relative and absolute". The poet announced the first Palestinian uprising in his printed book seven years before its launch, as it appears in many poems such as “Feast of the Dungeon” (below), “If compared to children” and “Just around the corner.”
From the poems of this Diwan
Good morning, mother
Why are your eyes sunken?
With the floods of black sadness and the sheikh calling for Eid?
What is wrong with your tongue?
Got stuck in your throat like a disease? Why did the iridescent swarms of hope escape from the eyes? And why did the hawk of sorrows erupt in your heart the falcon of sorrows?
sadness is a rosy road
You will inevitably lead to death, and your way is the brightest
I see your sadness from my prison
My eyes are passing birds
Pass the prison, the towers, the patrols
They cross the eyes of the slanderers drowned in a stagnant swamp and flutter over the souvenir-planted dippers.
For the revolution on the day it was born
You have grown up, my mother, the mermaid has spread like a roof over the living
Fresh grapes
Like the fingers of the children of the neighborhood burrowed behind its stones
My eyes are birds, my mother
In the lane cuddling children
- At the age of a bee, mother -
They caught up with the tank, and it was defeated
How beautiful it is to remain a child and chase the back of a tank!!!
This morning, a policeman came to the cell
Was he an Arab?, a Jew,? I do not know
They are all tired horses that pulled the rulers' chariots.
When the chariots and horses with the rulers collapse at the bottom of the valley, they die
We will cry horses, but we
We'll have a wedding, Bertolt*
The policeman came, as you said
He gave us from the National Associations grants a box of baklava
We did not reject it, we did not destroy it
We did the duty as follows
We hung medals of martyrs on the walls
So the olives grew on the walls and we stood for a moment of reverence
For the martyrs pouring out from “Al-Ahrash” to Beirut and from “Al-Rashrash” to Sakhnin
Good season, mom!
In a whiff, our publication said:
The level of Ghaith is two martyrs
The level may rise tonight, we don't know.
But we do not care and do not complain
The rain is the path of fruits, the revolution is the compass of the hungry, and the way back to home.
On this occasion we pledged,
We decided to refuse your visit
So that your rain may bear fruit, "Naffa", and we ate sweets, my mother
Why are you the other way around?
As long as we seek radiance, why?
We will pull a cloud to the sun???!!!!
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