{"id":3138,"date":"2019-09-18T15:18:24","date_gmt":"2019-09-18T15:18:24","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/www.iwabogdani.org\/?p=1434"},"modified":"2023-12-21T13:18:19","modified_gmt":"2023-12-21T13:18:19","slug":"ali-al-ameri-palestine-jordan","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/www.iwabogdani.org\/sq\/ali-al-ameri-palestine-jordan\/","title":{"rendered":"Ali Al Ameri, Palestine \/ Jordan"},"content":{"rendered":"

Ali Al Ameri,\u00a0<\/span><\/span>Palestine \/ Jordan<\/span><\/span><\/strong><\/p>\n

Member of IWA Bogdani<\/p>\n

Jordanian poet and painter of Palestinian origin. Born in a village called Waqqas; lived his childhood in a neighboring village called Qulaiat in Jordan Valley. He watched the mountains of Palestine from his land of birth, as his family was deported from the city of Beisan in the historical northern Palestine in 1948 by the Israeli occupation.<\/p>\n

He studied journalism and <\/span><\/span>Arabic Literature. <\/span><\/span>Recently<\/span><\/span>he is the Editorial Manager of Publisher Weekly<\/span><\/span>,<\/span><\/span>Arabic<\/span><\/span> edition of PW<\/span><\/span> magazine, published by Sharjah Book Authority in UAE. He was the<\/span><\/span> head of the cultural section at \u201cAl Arab Al <\/span><\/span>Youm<\/span><\/span>” Jordanian newspaper, and then moved to the \u201c<\/span><\/span>AlKhaleej<\/span><\/span>\u201d daily newspaper in Sharjah, UAE. He was the head of the culture and arts section at \u201c<\/span><\/span>Emarat<\/span><\/span> Al <\/span><\/span>Youm<\/span><\/span>” daily newspaper in Dubai for 11 years. <\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

He Participated at poetry festivals in Palestine, Jordan,<\/span><\/span>United Arab Emirates,<\/span><\/span> Yemen, Iraq, Syria, France, Spain, Costa Rica and <\/span><\/span>Tunis<\/span><\/span>ia<\/span><\/span>.<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

He took part in founding the \u201c<\/span><\/span>Ajras<\/span><\/span> Poetic Group” in Jordan in 1992 along with four other poets<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

Ali Al Ameri comes from a creative family of poets and artists, \u201ca family possessed with arts\u201d as he likes to define it.<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

He published three poetry books:<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cThese are my Intuitions.. \u00a0This is my Vague Hand\u201d, \u201cWhite Eclipse\u201d, and<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cEnchanted Thread\u201d<\/span><\/span> (<\/span><\/span>Two<\/span><\/span> Arabic <\/span><\/span>editions).<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

Many of his poems have been translated into English, German, Italian, Spanish<\/span><\/span>, Macedonian<\/span><\/span> and French. Some of these poems tackle the anthology of the Palestinian poetry. His poetry book \u201cEnchanted Thread\u201d has bee<\/span><\/span>n translated into Spanish, and <\/span><\/span>published in Costa Rica. <\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

He is a member of the Jordanian Writers\u2019 Association, Arab Writers\u2019 Union,<\/span><\/span> Jordanian Press Association<\/span><\/span>.<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

He participated in several group art exhibitions, s<\/span><\/span>ince 1985 in UAE, Kuwait, Egypt, Macedonia, Palestine, Romania <\/span><\/span>and U.S.A. <\/span><\/span>His first art exhibition was in Amman, Jordan 2015. <\/span><\/span>The Palestinian artist Ismail Shammout Mentioned to Al Ameri in his book \u201cArt in Palestine\u201d, Kuwait 1989. \u00a0He participated at international art symposiums in Greece, Macedonia, Georgia, Romania, Jordan, UAE and Egypt.<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

He was the founder and Art Director of Dubai International Art Symposium (DIAS).<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

POEMS<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

ALI AL AMERI <\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

The Bow<\/span><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

To the forest<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

descends<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

a rainbow<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

from above the branches.<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

It winds shadows around its hands.<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

It hangs lovers\u2019 names<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

on the nail of the past,<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

where clouds drop a stony title,<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

from the top of the blue to Friday.<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

I saw and so did the lilac.<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

I saw a shepherdess pouring<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

into the lyre a day<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

and a silvered paradise and singing.<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

But darkness remained in the bird\u2019s neck,<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

like the necklace of a widow<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

At the farthest end of the world.<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\/\/\/\/\/\/<\/span><\/span>\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/<\/span><\/span>\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/<\/span><\/span>\/\/\/\/<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Fool of the Hill<\/span><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Fool of the Hill, drying the light on the neighbors\u2019 clothesline, and writes whatever the shadows dictates. Dripping a song in the Wadi Zeqlab, escorting lemon trees, telling them about a war that burned the souls of all green and dry.<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

A barrel <\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

stuffed <\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

with sharp darkness<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

thrown <\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

by a blind pilot<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

flying a blind jet<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

on<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

a sleeping wheat field<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

in its greener form<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

The mud flew, the river flew, the Cypress trees flew, the field flew, the month of May flew, a shirt with a hole on the chest flew and a Lark flies from a Cider tree guarding a grave on top of the hill near Jordan River.<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Fool of the Hill, talking to trees,<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

Drawing with coal on white walls faces of harvesters, scythes shining among golden tufts, kids on wooden boards and horses pulling the lines of summer.<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Fool<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

of the Hill<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

mumming<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

a song<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

among Clay houses, drawing with coal, portraits of girls filling the morning light in tin buckets, and form tiaras from wild mint leaves. Their giggles echoing in the small streets while swaying slowly like Pomegranate trees. Gently coming back to their village \u201c<\/span><\/span>Qulaiat<\/span><\/span>\u201d, pouring nostalgia to their first houses in \u201c<\/span><\/span>Beisan<\/span><\/span>\u201d.<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Fool of the Hill wondering around in his black coat, in summer and winter, writing questions on a white wall: How can a desolated shadow survive? How can a soul go back to its origin? How can the desolated trees sleep? How can the ignored stone flow? How can the desolated shelf flitter? And how can the coffee pots whisper its secrets in October?<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

How<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

can the keys<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

sleep<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

without doors<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Fool of the Hill talking to a tied shadow on a canal, stuffing clouds inside the cracks of stone. He ties a thread around the unknown and walks away like a desolated light.<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\u201c<\/span><\/span>Beisan<\/span><\/span>\u201d is here, with a shawl of fields on her shoulders. Here is \u201c<\/span><\/span>Wadi \u00a0Al<\/span><\/span> Esha<\/span><\/span>\u201d. The plow line is here, and flower of bitter orange lighting the absent and the written. \u201c<\/span><\/span>Qulaiat<\/span><\/span>\u201d is here listening to the flirting of fire. A green shrine stands in \u201c<\/span><\/span>Waqqas<\/span><\/span>\u201d Village. The cloak of my grandfather Ibrahim is here with plucks of tears of light and a horse in the yard, while chamomile blooms on clay roofs.<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Fool of the Hill muttering the secret names of eternity, the first names of a desolated address and the redacted names on a scroll.<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

Lifts<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

a shadow<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

thrown <\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

in<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

the coffin,<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

and walks<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

towards<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

a sleepy orphan <\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

like a line<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

on an engraved stone<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Fool of the Hill <\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

goes<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

comes<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

observes <\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

an earthquake toying with the erased and threads <\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

observes <\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

shooting stars passes among mirrors \u00a0 <\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

observes <\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

the feather of a cock in the drag of Friday <\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

Fool of the Hill escorting lemon trees, telling them about a war and trenches, about kids running under death, about the history of fire and a cave dreaming of flying.<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

Fool of the Hill<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

hangs<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

beads<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

on the wall<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

goes to the desolated cave<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

to sculpted<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

the image of a Fool<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

on the deprivation stone.<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

\n

\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/<\/span><\/span>\/\/\/\/\/\/<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

The Milky Way<\/span><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Do the stars sleep like letters in time\u2019s box? \u00a0<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

Do they slide in <\/span><\/span>the evening?<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

like silk on lovely shoulders?<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

Do they open like lovers\u2019 words in the house\u2019s shade?<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

Do the stars meet like the lines of palms?<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

Do they embrace quickly:<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

two rivers after a long voyage?<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

And do they change places, as spirits between night and clouds? Do they compete up there, as pupils compete to draw their teacher\u2019s face? And do the stars gaze at their faces in mirrors of mist, as women in love stand before mirrors drawing kohl for their rendezvous?<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

I have seen the Milky Way<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

guarded by lightning<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

and I have seen<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

the songs rise<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

at the curve<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

and I saw<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

Eden<\/span><\/span> above the bed.<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\/\/\/\/\/\/\/<\/span><\/span>\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/<\/span><\/span>\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

My Heart Hosts You<\/span><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

My heart hosts you,<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

you bring enchantment to the stone of oblivion;<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

spread a turquoise carpet between my instincts.<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

My heart hosts tremors.<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

Your voice is sweet basil\u2019s fragrance on my bed,<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

the hearth is to my west<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

and lightning continues its high song.<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

You are here<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

so clouds are joyful on the terrace;<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

the line of love is dazzled by your light.<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

My heart hosts Eden, blooming melodies<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

and butterflies.<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

And I embrace you until<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

your silver necklace flowers.<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

I embrace you until water trembles.<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

My heart hosts your secret crescents<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

And I embrace you until<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

The etching on your silver necklace flowers<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

I embrace you until the water shakes<\/span><\/span>.<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

\n

\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Woman<\/span><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

A Woman from east of the heart,<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

grinding wheat on a stone,<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

singing for a lightning flowing between the music.<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

***<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

A Woman in a lunar house,<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

embossing lines of henna in the door,<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

igniting a wood of incense under the unseen,<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

and opens the secret of meaning.<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

***<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

A Woman swaying in front of the mirror.<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

At midnight, traveling to her first paradise.<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

Over the silk of the fire, butterflies hovering.<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

The woman pouring a light into the clay, <\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

and drawing two lines on the path.<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

***<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

A Woman from east of the spirit,<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

fluttering like a morning on the hilltop, <\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

anointing a blue pebble with oblivion,<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

and walking towards the remembrance.<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

***<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

A Woman from the heart of east,<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

lighting love before the arches.<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

In her ring the sapphire stone blossoms.<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

And when the shadow bends over a language,<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

the meaning of the meaning glows in her eyes.<\/span><\/span><\/p>","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

Ali Al Ameri,\u00a0Palestine \/ Jordan Member of IWA Bogdani Jordanian poet and painter of Palestinian origin. Born in a village called Waqqas; lived his childhood in a neighboring village called Qulaiat in Jordan Valley. He watched the mountains of Palestine from his land of birth, as his family was deported from the city of Beisan […]<\/p>","protected":false},"author":4,"featured_media":3712,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"_exactmetrics_skip_tracking":false,"_exactmetrics_sitenote_active":false,"_exactmetrics_sitenote_note":"","_exactmetrics_sitenote_category":0,"footnotes":""},"categories":[171,162],"tags":[],"book_author":[],"book_publisher":[],"acf":[],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.iwabogdani.org\/sq\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/3138"}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.iwabogdani.org\/sq\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.iwabogdani.org\/sq\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.iwabogdani.org\/sq\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/4"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.iwabogdani.org\/sq\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=3138"}],"version-history":[{"count":1,"href":"https:\/\/www.iwabogdani.org\/sq\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/3138\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":3711,"href":"https:\/\/www.iwabogdani.org\/sq\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/3138\/revisions\/3711"}],"wp:featuredmedia":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.iwabogdani.org\/sq\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media\/3712"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.iwabogdani.org\/sq\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=3138"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.iwabogdani.org\/sq\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=3138"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.iwabogdani.org\/sq\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=3138"},{"taxonomy":"book_author","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.iwabogdani.org\/sq\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/book_author?post=3138"},{"taxonomy":"book_publisher","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.iwabogdani.org\/sq\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/book_publisher?post=3138"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}