Angela’s Luna and les Parisiens
There was a time when people wrote and declaimed their poems in our town. Botros (Peter) is the designated memory for our town poetry.
One of our elders died at the age of 93. One of his sons told be the first verse of one of his father’s poem and told me to visit Botros for the entire poem. I noted 3 samples of poems of what Botros remembers:
I love you too much, My darling I love you. 2albi elek 3etesh. Il faut que tu l’avoue. Wa enn eja 7ada 5ayri, ililo Etech, Wa a7ro2 deen abouh, Oumi ta na3mel Match, al3aab 5aramiyya
(And if someone else told you he loves you, tell him to go away. Get up and let’s have a game of making love)
Tal al 2amar min faw2 beit Ra7aal, Kif nouro sate3 3alayna, Koumi 7atta nekmsho Angelle, wa nfarfko bi kfouf 2edayna
(The moon rose behind the house of Rahaal. Angela, let’s us grab this shining moon and rub it in our palms)
Moush same3 bi beit al Comte? Elleh 3amleen 7alon Parisiens, elleh hawdi saakneen bi Nantes, wa rej3o sakanou bi Loubnan? Wa lamma betnadi ya tante, sherrefna ya mon cousin, eymata jito wa feen kont? Parole sharefna ce soir.
(A family that lived in France and returned to Lebanon and is behaving as French citizens)