On Translating Nasser Rabah

In a recent piece about his writing during the war, Nasser Rabah wrote:

Writing on my cell phone diary was my window to look outward, beyond the war and the current moments, and reflect on the history of the conflict, shake off the dust of dense detail, and see the scene from different angles, the most important of which is that this war is a line in history that might be short or long but will inevitably end with the liberation of land and people, and so we shouldn’t dwell too much on the details, despite the pain and suffering.

Given the circumstances of the ongoing genocidal assault on Gaza by Israel, the circumstances of translating Nasser Rabah’s poetry was not an ordinary experience, limited to the literary task at hand. We worked with a sense of urgency, in touch with Nasser whenever and however possible, and our relationship to him and his family became that of extended kin. While we seldom burdened him with questions about specific meanings, along the way Nasser expressed both pity and wonder at our efforts: pity that anyone living in a more-or-less ordered society would trouble themselves with such poetic enigmas and wonder that we actually remained committed to carrying the work through. But, as he messaged us at some point: “All this fatigue with my poems will not be in vain. At least I’m getting through the war with my head held high and my heart at peace.”

Working with Nasser has sustained us as well, and, as translators, the idea that we might, somehow, be able to contribute to the poet’s own sense of himself and the import of his work, especially at such a critical time, is the highest and most meaningful recognition possible. Nasser Rabah’s poetry is important in ways we have yet to comprehend, and we are grateful to have the opportunity to present it to the widest audience possible.