Beirut
Beirut looks, to me, like
A beautiful young girl,
Full of life,
Full of mirth,
Who made no mistake,
Who can not be blamed,
For being created
So cheerful,
Jealousy not love
Has surrounded
Beirut since birth,
Yet all traps and tricks
To destroy innocent
Beirut failed,
And Beirut will be Beirut,
Until Dooms Day.
poem by Nadia Abduljabbar
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Honeymoon In Beirut
I wake up every night (to the sound)
To the sound of breaking glass
Got troops in the bed
And tanks in the hall
I kidnapped and held for ransom (the one in me)
The one in me that you loved
We wait for the fall
And put emotional bullet holes in the wall
And we both, keep sending signals all is well
Wish you were here
Honeymoon in beirut
Although I keep on sending postcards
From heaven (tell me)
Why do I stay (I dont know)
Honeymoon in beirut
And we still keep pretending
Sixes are sevens (tell me)
Why cant we say
There is no honeymoon
This is no honeymoon, no
This is no honeymoon
There is no honeymoon, no
Honeymoon in beirut
There are no peace talks pending
No quarter given (theres just)
Blood on the bed, where there used to be love
Strategy and maneuvers (have replaced)
Any love that was here
We have dinner in silence
And bullets with beer
I dont know what you want (my defeat)
Or complete surrender
Or peace in our time
While in bed we draw the battle line
And we sit, out in the rain
Writing cards to friends back home
The weather is fine
Honeymoon in beirut
Although I keep on sending postcards
From heaven (tell me)
Why do I stay (I dont know)
Honeymoon in beirut
And we still keep pretending
Sixes are sevens (tell me)
Why cant we say
There is no honeymoon
This is no honeymoon, no
This is no honeymoon
There is no honeymoon, no
And we stand out in the rain
Smiling as we sink like a stone
And hope for the end (whatever it is)
Honeymoon in beirut
Although I keep on sending postcards
From heaven (tell me)
Why do I stay (I dont know)
Honeymoon in beirut
And we still keep pretending
Sixes are sevens (tell me)
Why cant we say
There is no honeymoon
This is no honeymoon, no
This is no honeymoon
There is no honeymoon, no
song performed by by Rick Springfield
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Lebanon: Mountains, Meadows, Springs and Sea In The Same Sphere
And you ask me ' why
Do you love Beirut,
And Lebanon as a whole'?
Well, it is a requited kind of love,
For Lebanon love s me as well,
I can only reply
Saying can't you see
How it could heal
My physical
And psychological
Scars and wounds;
Is there a place
Like Beirut,
I wonder.
Now I am in Iowa,
But Lebanon sent Maria,
For me,
Maria is a Lebanese virgin
All of Lebanon is embodied in
The beauty of her face:
Her hair ‘s colour is like Al-Bekaa' s hay
Her white complexion
I s like Al-Arz' snow
And all the beauty
All the anger and calmness;
All the sadness
And tears
Of the Mediterranean waves
Are reflected in the shade
Of Maria's dark
Blue eyes
Is there a place
On this earth
Like Beirut,
I wonder!
The LADY of the whole World,
As Nizar says and Magda sings,
Could awake
My love for life;
My vitality
How can I not love her.
Is there a spot
That combines all
Contradictions in a smooth smart way
Like Lebanon
I wander!
Lebanon is my small cosmos,
It is God's Paradise on earth,
As Wadee' enchanting
Melody says;
The Whole world can be found
In this metropolitan fantastic place,
If I miss Saltsburg's blue mountains
I go to the Lebanese mountains and hills
If I miss birds of the English countryside,
I go to Al Bekaa's landscape
If I want to shop,
If I want good books,
If I want good food,
If I want to enjoy both
City and scenery
I go to Beirut,
If I want to drink spring water
I go to the city of many wills;
This is the meaning of Beirut's name;
Wills used to nourish old Beirut
And still
Just as it nourishes my sight, my heart
And will
It irrigates me
Just like a spring
That irrigates forests
In the wilderness.
poem by Nadia Abduljabbar
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In the Tavernas
I wallow in the tavernas and brothels of Beirut.
I didn't want to stay
in Alexandria. Tamides left me;
he went off with the Prefect's son to earn himself
a villa on the Nile, a mansion in the city.
It wouldn't have been right for me to stay in Alexandria.
I wallow in the tavernas and brothels of Beirut.
I live a vile life, devoted to cheap debauchery.
The one thing that saves me,
like durable beauty, like perfume
that goes on clinging to my flesh, is this: Tamides,
most exquisite of young men, was mine for two years,
and mine not for a house or a villa on the Nile.
poem by Constantine P. Cavafy
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I was actually lost in Beirut on the way home.
quote by Kelly Preston
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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To the stern student of affairs, Beirut is a phenomenon, beguiling perhaps, but quite, quite impossible.
quote by Jan Morris
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Ojos As
Ayer conoc un cielo sin sol
Y un hombre sin suelo
Un santo en prisin
Y una cancin triste sin dueo
Ya he ya he ya la he
Y conoc tus ojos negros
Ya he ya he ya la he
Y ahora s que no
Puedo vivir sin ellos yo
Le pido al cielo slo un deseo
Que en tus ojos yo pueda vivir
He recorrido ya el mundo entero
Y una cosa te vengo a decir
Viaje de bahrein hasta beirut
Fui desde el norte hasta el polo sur
Y no encontr ojos as
Como los que tienes t
Rabboussamai fikarrajaii
Fi ainaiha aralhayati
Ati ilaika min haza ikaaouni
Arjouka labbi labbi nidai
Viaje de bahrein hasta beirut
Fu desde el norte hasta el polo sur
Y no encontr ojos as
Como los que tienes t
Ayer vi pasar una mujer
Debajo de su camello
Un ro de sal un barco
Abandonado en el desierto
Ya he ya he ya la he
Y vi pasar tus ojos negros
Ya he ya he ya la he
Y ahora s que no
Puedo vivir sin ellos yo
Le pido al cielo slo un deseo
Que en tus ojos yo pueda vivir
He recorrido ya el mundo entero
Y una cosa te vengo a decir
Viaj de bahrein hasta beirut
Fu desde el norte hasta el polo sur
Y no encontr ojos as
Como los que tienes t
Le pido al cielo slo un deseo
Que en tus ojos yo pueda vivir
He recorrido ya el mundo entero
Y una cosa te vengo a decir
Viaje de bahrein hasta beirut
Fu desde el norte hasta el polo sur
Y no encontr ojos as
Como los que tienes t
song performed by by Shakira
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Ojos Asi
ayer conoci un cielo sin sol
y un hombre sin suelo
un santo en prision
y una cancion triste sin dueno
ya he ya he ya la he
y conoci tus ojos negros
ya he ya he ya la he
y ahora si que no
puedo vivir sin ellos yo
le pido al cielo solo un deseo
que en tus ojos yo pueda vivir
he recorrido ya el mundo entero
y una cosa te vengo a decir
viaje de Bahrein hasta Beirut
fui desde el Norte hasta el polo sur
y no encontre ojos asi
como los que tienes tu
rabboussamai fikarrajaii
fi ainaiha aralhayati
ati ilaika min haza lkaaouni
arjouka labbi labbi nidai
viaje de Bahrein hasta Beirut
fui desde el Norte hasta el polo sur
y no encontre ojos asi
como los que tienes tu
ayer vi pasar una mujer
debajo de su camello
un rio de sal un barco
abandonado en el desierto
ya he ya he ya la he
y vi pasar tus ojos negros
ya he ya he ya la he
y ahora si que no
puedo vivir sin ellos yo
le pido al cielo solo un deseo
que en tus ojos yo pueda vivir
he recorrido ya el mundo entero
y una cosa te vengo a decir
viaje de Bahrein hasta Beirut
fui desde el Norte hasta el polo sur
y no encontre ojos asi
como los que tienes tu
le pido al cielo solo un deseo
que en tus ojos yo pueda vivir
he recorrido ya el mundo entero
y una cosa te vengo a decir
viaje de Bahrein hasta Beirut
fui desde el Norte hasta el polo sur
y no encontre ojos asi
como los que tienes tu
song performed by by Shakira from Donde Estan Los Ladrones
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Hair is also a problem. I remember once, when I was reporting from Beirut at the height of the civil war, someone wrote in to the BBC complaining about my appearance.
Our fumbling government's response since Beirut - during both Republican and Democratic administrations - has been to cut and run, or to flat ignore this growing threat, apparently hoping it would go away.
quote by David Hackworth
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Beirut
Rosamund Pike, Jon Hamm, Shea Whigham, Dean Norris, Jon Hamm, Mark Pellegrino, Kate Fleetwood, Jonny Coyne, Leïla Bekhti
by Tony Gilroy from Beirut (2018)
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Tomb of the Grammarian Lysias
In the Beirut library, just to the right as you go in,
we buried wise Lysias, the grammarian.
The spot is beautifully chosen.
We put him near those things of his
that he remembers maybe even there:
notes, texts, commentaries, variants,
voluminous studies of Greek idioms.
Also, this way, as we go to the books,
we'll see, we'll honour his tomb.
poem by Constantine P. Cavafy
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The Grave of the Grammarian Lysias
Very close to you, as you enter on the right, in the Beirut
library, we buried the sage Lysias,
the grammarian. The spot is beautifully right.
We placed him near those things of his that he perhaps
remembers even there -- scholia, texts, grammars,
scriptures, numerous commentaries in tomes on hellenisms.
This way, his grave will also be seen and honored
by us, when we pass among the books.
poem by Constantine P. Cavafy
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Battle Cup
Three miles off the coast of beirut
New jerseys guns get ready to shoot
Take a walk down the firing room
Fire one its shakedown cruise
Battle ship battle ship
See the sailor boys dressed in blue
Cheer the change to make the news
Send the shell down the spiral groove
Bombs away its a shakedown cruise yeah
Battle ship battle ship
song performed by by Red Hot Chili Peppers
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Battle Ship
Three miles off the coast of Beirut
New Jersey's guns get ready to shoot
Take a walk down the firing room
Fire one it's shakedown cruise
Battle ship battle ship
See the sailor boys dressed in blue
Cheer the change to make the news
Send the shell down the spiral groove
Bombs away it's a shakedown cruise Yeah
Battle ship battle ship
song performed by by Red Hot Chili Peppers from Freaky Styley
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Poem #031, Sonnet #12: Je-June?
Now that the morbid days of May are spent-
With no bloom noted, no recovery-
June sets in, and he’s truly vehement
To keep it up: the tragic travesty.
Now does he promise that he’ll make amends,
And flaunts his numbers, warranting some joy,
But how my sickened spirit comprehends
His baleful bearing, his pernicious ploy.
Thus, knowing that his courses are jejune
I challenge him to generosity
Demanding that he grants a rural boon:
My friends, the Valley, Nature… Deity!
Hence giving, I will laud his affluence,
Or else… farewell him with malevolence!
Beirut
June 1st 1988
poem by Samer Madbak
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Poem #017, Sonnet #6: I, The Pagan
The world has fallen through, a stunning fall,
And sick humanity cannot arise
But, I the pagan, who has raised a wall,
‘Tween God and me, how can I agonize?
The world is sunken deep in phantom faiths
Pathetic people magnify their fear
But I, the pagan, idolize no wraiths
Of man's crippled conception, foul and queer,
The world is locked in doctrines pitiable
And man is glad in gilded slavery
Yet I, the pagan, ne'er lamentable,
Delight in freedom, bask in blasphemy
Because it's me whom I am keen to laud
Self-worship, and my self my only god!
Beirut
October 11th 1987
poem by Samer Madbak
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Herodis Attikos
What glory, this, for Herodis Attikos!
Alexander of Selefkia, one of our better sophists,
on reaching Athens to lecture
finds the city deserted
because Herodis was in the country and all the young men
had followed him there to hear him.
This makes sophist Alexander
write Herodis a letter
begging him to send the Greeks back.
And the tactful Herodis answers at once:
'Along with the Greeks, I'm coming too.'
How many young men now in Alexandria,
in Antioch or Beirut
(being trained by Hellenism as its future orators),
meeting at choice banquets
where the talk is sometimes about fine sophistry,
sometimes about their exquisite love affairs,
suddenly find their attention wandering and fall silent?
Their glasses untouched,
they think about Herodis' fortune-
what other sophist has been given this kind of honour?
Whatever his wish, whatever he does,
the Greeks (the Greeks!) follow him,
not to criticize or debate,
not even to choose any longer,
only to follow.
poem by Constantine P. Cavafy
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Poem #008: Crime And Requiem
So doleful
So woeful
So sad!
I stand in sweeping scare,
Clad
In sorry weeds,
Forced to stare
At this murder before my eyes
As my music bleeds
And dies!
The mourner, the crier
The weeper I'll be
I'll raise my moaning higher
My grievous elegy
The dirge is my song
Niobe's my queen
Let all the world lament along
And all creation keen!
So rueful
So woeful
So sore
I stand before the crucifixion
Of tuneful rime
Struck at core
Staring at this hideous crime
As my music bears the infliction
And vanishes at her prime
Beirut
February 6th 1987
poem by Samer Madbak
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Long Walk Home
If you see liberty tell her I will
Buy her windows on the hill
Laud her flowers on the sill
Till they grow higher and higher.
If liberty was a little girl
Watching all the flags unfurl
Standing at the big parade
How would she like us now?
We balance the power
From hour to hour
Giant guns rage
Its such a long walk home
Its such a long walk home
Its such a long walk home.
From vietnam to old beirut
If we are searching for the truth
Why do we feel that double-edged blade
Cutting through our hand.
America, america
Where have we gone?
Its such a long walk home
Its such a long walk home
Its such a long walk home.
We balance the power
From hour to hour
Giant guns rage
Its such a long walk home
Its such a long walk home
Its such a long walk home.
song performed by by Neil Young
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Simeon
Yes, I know his new poems;
all Beirut is raving about them.
I'll study them some other day.
I can't today because I'm rather upset.
Certainly he's more learned in Greek than Libanius.
A better poet than Meleager though? I wouldn't say so.
But Mebis, why talk about Libanius
and books and all these trivialities?
Mebis, yesterday (it happened by chance)
I found myself under Simeon's pillar.
I slipped in among the Christians
praying and worshipping in silence there,
revering him. Not being a Christian myself
I couldn't share their spiritual peace-
I trembled all over and suffered;
I shuddered, disturbed, completely caught up.
Please don't smile; for thirty-five years -think of it-
winter and summer, night and day, for thirty-five years
he's been living, suffering, on top of a pillar.
Before either of us was born (I'm twenty-nine,
you must be younger than me),
before we were born, just imagine it,
Simeon climbed up his pillar
and has stayed there ever since facing God.
I'm in no mood for work today-
but Mebis, I think it better that you tell them this:
whatever the other sophists may say,
I at least recognize Lamon
as Syria's leading poet.
poem by Constantine P. Cavafy
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