COFFEE IN ALEPPO. HALEB, SYRIA. JUNE 2008. And a poem. Making Arabic Coffee The dark brown liquid, almost black, the color of hickory, bubbling up. I lift this small pot as water rises. Foam. Heat. Steam.— Lift it, away from the fire, until it settles down again. Let it boil once more---lift up— the same up and down bobbing above the fire, until the foam no longer rises. The water has taken in the flavor, color, taste of our ground coffee beans, and I remember quickly, the words in Arabic; my mother warned, Latt khaleeya’t foorr. Foorr. To overflow. To rise up. To foam. Still, I cannot find the English translation to suffice. I had not remembered this one Arabic word, foorr, until memory rose up like the water I color into coffee; the moment brought me back to that place, over the stove with my mother; her behind me warning, Latt khaleeya’t foorr. Ay, haykee. Yes, like this. And so she taught me not to let things overflow; and so she taught me the way things rise. Marian Haddad, 2010 This poem has been published in two anthologies: Poetry Calendar by Shafiq Naz (Brussels, Belgium), and in Poets For Palestine (edited by Rami Kanazi), and appears in various literary journals and online poetry venues, such as Todays Alternative News (hosted by Sam Hamod). My brother, Bryan/Braheem, is holding this cup, in an outdoor cafe, Aleppo, during our visit there a few years ago. Dakheel dayk, mahlahon...bless those beautiful hands, Ism Allah......
Posted on: Mon, 29 Sep 2014 14:32:31 +0000
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