هي قصيدة للشاعرة إليزابيث باريت براوننج، تتحدث القصيدة عن أم فقدت ابنيها في الحرب، تابع المزيد من القراءة لتتعرف على القصيدة عزيزي القارئ.
ما هي قصيدة Mother and Poet
.I
,Dead ! One of them shot by the sea in the east
.And one of them shot in the west by the sea
Dead ! both my boys ! When you sit at the feast
,And are wanting a great song for Italy free
!Let none look at me
.II
,Yet I was a poetess only last year
;And good at my art, for a woman, men said
,But this woman, this, who is agonized here
The east sea and west sea rhyme on in her head—
.For ever instead
.III
!What art can a woman be good at ? Oh, vain
What art is she good at, but hurting her breast
?With the milk-teeth of babes, and a smile at the pain
,Ah boys, how you hurt ! you were strong as you pressed
.And I proud, by that test
.IV
What art’s for a woman ? To hold on her knees
,Both darlings ! to feel all their arms round her throat
Cling, strangle a little ! to sew by degrees
;And ‘broider the long-clothes and neat little coat
.To dream and to doat
.V
To teach them … It stings there ! I made them indeed
,Speak plain the word country. I taught them, no doubt
.That a country’s a thing men should die for at need
I prated of liberty, rights, and about
.The tyrant cast out
VI.
…!And when their eyes flashed … O my beautiful eyes
I exulted ; nay, let them go forth at the wheels
Of the guns, and denied not. But then the surprise
!When one sits quite alone ! Then one weeps, then one kneels
!God, how the house feels
.VII
At first, happy news came, in gay letters moiled
With my kisses, — of camp-life and glory, and how
They both loved me ; and, soon coming home to be spoiled
In return would fan off every fly from my brow
.With their green laurel-bough
.VIII
‘!Then was triumph at Turin : Ancona was free
,And some one came out of the cheers in the street
.With a face pale as stone, to say something to me
,My Guido was dead ! I fell down at his feet
.While they cheered in the street
.IX
I bore it ; friends soothed me ; my grief looked sublime
As the ransom of Italy. One boy remained
To be leant on and walked with, recalling the time
When the first grew immortal, while both of us strained
.To the height he had gained
.X
,And letters still came, shorter, sadder, more strong
—,Writ now but in one hand, I was not to faint
:One loved me for two — would be with me ere long
,And Viva l’ Italia ! — he died for, our saint
“.Who forbids our complaint
XI.
My Nanni would add, he was safe, and aware
Of a presence that turned off the balls, — was imprest
,It was Guido himself, who knew what I could bear
,And how ’twas impossible, quite dispossessed
“.To live on for the rest
.XII
On which, without pause, up the telegraph line
.Swept smoothly the next news from Gaeta : — Shot
‘,Tell his mother. Ah, ah, his, ‘ their ‘ mother, — not mine
!No voice says “My mother” again to me. What
?You think Guido forgot
.XIII
,Are souls straight so happy that, dizzy with Heaven
?They drop earth’s affections, conceive not of woe
I think not. Themselves were too lately forgiven
Through THAT Love and Sorrow which reconciled so
.The Above and Below
.XIV
O Christ of the five wounds, who look’dst through the dark
,To the face of Thy mother ! consider, I pray
,How we common mothers stand desolate, mark
,Whose sons, not being Christs, die with eyes turned away
!And no last word to say
.XV
Both boys dead ? but that’s out of nature. We all
Have been patriots, yet each house must always keep one.
;Twere imbecile, hewing out roads to a wall ‘
And, when Italy ‘s made, for what end is it done
?If we have not a son
.XVI
?Ah, ah, ah ! when Gaeta’s taken, what then
When the fair wicked queen sits no more at her sport
?Of the fire-balls of death crashing souls out of men
When the guns of Cavalli with final retort
?Have cut the game short
XVII.
,When Venice and Rome keep their new jubilee
,When your flag takes all heaven for its white, green, and red
,When you have your country from mountain to sea
,When King Victor has Italy’s crown on his head
—(And I have my Dead)
.XVIII
,What then ? Do not mock me. Ah, ring your bells low
,And burn your lights faintly ! My country is there
:Above the star pricked by the last peak of snow
,My Italy ‘s THERE, with my brave civic Pair
!To disfranchise despair
.XIX
,Forgive me. Some women bear children in strength
;And bite back the cry of their pain in self-scorn
But the birth-pangs of nations will wring us at length
Into wail such as this — and we sit on forlorn
.When the man-child is born
.XX
,Dead ! One of them shot by the sea in the east
.And one of them shot in the west by the sea
Both ! both my boys ! If in keeping the feast
,You want a great song for your Italy free
!Let none look at me
ملخص قصيدة Mother and Poet
هي قصيدة اعترافية عن أم فقدت أبنائها في الحرب، هنا تندب الشخصية الشعرية الخسارة التي كانت على النقيض من ذلك مصدر السعادة في البلاد، قاتل جنديان شجاعان كانا أخوين حتى آخر مرة من أجل الوطن، أليست هذه مثالاً رائعاً على حب الوطن؟ لكن بالنسبة للأم فهو أكثر من ذلك بكثير، شيء عميق وحارق مثل الشمس في الصحراء القاحلة، يحصل الألم الذي تمر به المتحدثة على تجسيد حي في الشاعرة.
تشير القصيدة إلى أم حزينة ومضطربة على حد سواء بشأن وفاة ولديها، تم إطلاق النار على كلاهما من البحر خلال الحرب، كونها أماً لا يمكنها التفكير في أي شيء آخر مثل حب الوطن أو الحرية أو مجد الأمة، ما يؤلمها هو أن ابنيها لن يعودا أبدًا، ومع ذلك في القصيدة المتحدثة تفكر في الأيام الخوالي عندما كان طفلاها يداعبانها بالحب، لا تزال صورة طفولتهم خضراء في ذهنها، هي التي جعلتهم يدركون القيم التي يجب أن يتمتع بها الرجل، وتعتقد المتحدثة أن هذا التعليم المبكر لحب المرء لوطنه هو السبب الوحيد لوفاته، ربما يكون قد حرر إيطاليا لكنه حبس أمًا في حزن لمدى الحياة.
قالت المتحدثة أنّ كل شخص في البلاد كان سعيدًا بإنجاز أمته، لكن للأسف المتحدثة تقول لدي ميتى، في مثل هذه الحالة إذا طلبت الدولة بعض الأبيات الاحتفالية من المتحدثة، فلا يمكنها تقديم أي شيء سوى هذه المقطوعة الرثائية الخاصة بها.
هي عينة من الشعر الطائفي، المتحدثة هنا شاعرة وأم فقدت كل من ابنيها، وعشية الاحتفال بالحرية في إيطاليا، اعترفت للبلاد بعدم المطالبة بأي أغنية رائعة منها، أما حينها فإنّ قلبها لا يلد إلا المرثيات فقط، بصرف النظر عن ذلك فإنّ القصيدة هي مرثية أيضًا، بعد ذلك في هذه القصيدة المتكلم هو الأم فقط ويبدو أنّ المستمع هو البلد المجرد، ومن ثم فهي أيضًا مناجاة درامية، باستخدام أسلوب المناجاة، تعبر الأم عما تمر به بعد الخسارة المأساوية لأبنائها.
المصدر:
the jinn and other poems, by amira el-zein, copyright 2006 by amira el-zein, cover: hippocrene spring by gail boyajian.POEMS OF 1890 A SELECTION, TRANSLATED BY PAUL VINCENT, First published in 2015 by UCL Press, University College London, Gower Street, London WC1E 6BT.GOLDEN BOOK ON MODERN ENGLISH POETRY, by TH OMAS CALDWE LL, first published 1922, revised edition 1923.a text book for the study of poetry, by f.m.connell, copyright 1913
