The Egyptian playwright, poet and dramaturgist Naguib Surur died 30 years ago this week at the young age of 46. Known throughout his life for his antagonism towards what he saw as the country's official culture, Surur nevertheless established himself as a poet and playwright of genius, as well as a critically acclaimed actor and director. "The term 'charisma' invariably comes up in any discussion of Surur," wrote Mahmoud El-Lozy in a review of his work that appeared in the Weekly in 1998. While he could be deliberately cutting towards those whom he saw as spokesmen for the cultural establishment, there was never any doubt that in his own work Surur was committed to exploring new modes of expression, both in his poetry and his plays, that would help connect the arts with the widest possible audiences. In his plays from the 1960s such as Yasin wa Bahiya (Yasin and Bahiya) and Ya Bahiya wa khabbarini (Tell us Bayhiya), for example, Surur pioneered an entirely new form of drama and one that looked to poetic tales and popular forms for inspiration. In his poetry he produced streams of invective and lyricism that seem to emerge directly from the poet's subconscious. Opposite, we present excerpts from one of Surur's poems from Faris Akhir Zaman (A Knight of our Time), a late poetry collection published posthumously in the Complete Works of Naguib Surur, vol. 4, Cairo: General Egyptian Book Organisation, 1997. Drink Delirium By Naguib Surur Before the deluge, There will be anger. And we will be among the drowned. But we will take the devil with us down To the deepest depth: Our end will be his... But slowly... What will be said Of us when they look back on it all? What will be said Of us after the deluge, After the coming drowning, after the coming anger, What will be said of us poets and writers? Were we men in truth, Half-men Or mere shadows? Fear, Fear of the sword, Made of us something unspeakable -- Except in the vulgar tongue. [...] What will be said? Will it be said we chose silence For fear of death? The letter, with an edge like a sword Can turn against its speaker. [...] What will be said? Will it be said that we chose to speak in symbols, Whispers, silent gestures, In all the arts of coded speech? We said it all -- in vino veritas, But people Had other concerns: Their daily bread, A kilo of meat. [...] Maqrizi, You who always come after the deluge: A plague is a plague -- It always comes on the tail of a famine. It snatched your daughter, and many other daughters As the wolf was standing guard. [...] I hereby solemnly swear, Maqrizi, Not to leave this world Without scandal. I ask no one for justice: True justice is not to be begged. Our judges are high priests, Our high priests are distant And all are traitors. Let someone else write poetry, I am writing the Chronicles of Maqrizi. [...] I drink, day And night, I drink. Sinking... I sink into my depths. There I see him, In my heart a holy pearl, Unbreakable, Even if a giant mountain falls upon it. When I sober up, I float to the surface, lose my pearl. Was it lost? No. It was me who was lost -- When I sobered up I floated to the surface. For sure the pearl is down there in the depths... No. It is between two thighs, trampled under feet Shod in military or civilian boots, Under the wheels of petro-dollar cars. [...] Usually I drink from two glasses... My comrade in the madhouse died. He used to share my drink And share my grief. We had no time for joy: He used to share my past anger, And present anger -- and that to come. Usually I drink from two glasses, The second to toast him. But tonight I drink from one glass: It seems my friend, upon his death, Had given up drinking; Or maybe it was me who gave up. Then let me drink to giving up drinking Until the last of all the Noahs' arks has left With all those who will be saved from the coming deluge. [...] I sink and sink And see in my glass Monkey fornicating with rat Or rat fornicating with wolf Or wolf with owl. [...] Maqrizi's daughter is lost In the plague And the plague always comes on the tail of a famine, When prices are measured against a kilo of meat, Even the price of writers, novelists, poets, Artists and scientists, When the stuff of the dreams of the poor is meat; And fuul beans, Fruit for the masters. [...] I recall a poet's saying: I shall sleep not to see My country being bought and sold. [...] Then drink from two glasses, Or, if you wish, drink from one. If my death cannot be driven away, Then let me engage with it With what I have at hand. Translated by Mona Anis and Nur Elmesseiri
