Marcel Khalife/Accusation/Elmaz Abinader

I N THE COUNTRY OF MY DREAMS...
For Marcel Khalife & Khalil Gibran
By Elmaz Abinader

To Believers,

When I first wrote a poem about Lebanon, In the Country of My Dreams in 1995, I tried to imagine both a Lebanon of myth and a Lebanon of reality. The Lebanon of myth is the country of compassion and understanding, diversity and joy. I thought of a country rich in the arts, in faith, in language, and in a kind of transcendent relationship to those inside and outside of it. This is the Lebanon I was raised to believe in. In my parents' stories of their home, there was no better place to live and breathe. I grew up with that Lebanon like a song in my head that I couldn't forget.

The Lebanon of reality was the Lebanon that burst forth in 1975 during the Civil War. This was a Lebanon of self destruction and intolerance, one that was reluctant to solve problems-one where religion and nationality made a difference and allowed questions.

When I saw that Lebanon, I felt betrayed by the myth as many of us do. So I sought the things that allowed a bridge between the myth and the reality: the poets, the artists and the musicians. They became the bridges between the beauty of Lebanon and its beast. Among those inspirations is Marcel Khalife whose song and music have the soul of the myth and address the reality. He and the poets whose words he joins with his own music and lyrics have put to rest the fear and the sorrow of those feeling dispossessed and lost.

The current court case against Marcel Khalife for the song of Joseph discounts the relevance of this story to the reality of Lebanon and to other places in the region and in the world. Many are lost and in turmoil, not recognizing that their enemies may live in their own home as Joseph had in the story and song. This is a song of sorrow and of hope. Why would anyone want to deny this consolation to millions of listeners who need to know they are not alone?

In the Country of My Dreams is about the dream of Lebanon, but also about the music of Marcel Khalife-a miracle of healing and resilience. And an inspiration.

I am saddened by the current action against this stellar artist and hope to see it disappear forever.

In The Country of My Dreams...
For Marcel Khalife & Khalil Gibran

The tales my mother and father told me
are true: the apricots are as big
as oranges and as bright as the sun.
Grapes sag on the vine from the wealth
of wine already inside them. The figs burst
as you walk through the groves,
begging for you to hold one
and admire the milk cracking their skin.

In the country of my dreams, my sixth grade
geography book explained: Long haired sheep
roam the rocky terrain of Mt. Lebanon
and Mt. Sannin. Oranges in huge bundles
are thrown onto carts pulled by donkeys
to travel west from the Bekka Valley.
Silk spins on spools and every woman's
fingers are blistered from piercing
her intricately embroidered fabric.

A 1945 National Geographic described it as
a small country bordered by Palestine
to the south, Syria to the north
and east. Peopled by Arabs, Christians,
Muslims, Jews, Druse, Kurds, Armenians,
Bedouins, Europeans, everyone is welcome.
A tourist economy with a multi-lingual population.
Christ once walked its hillsides.

In the country of my dreams, the guide books
tell me, the ancients left their treasures
at Sidon and Tyre, that the Romans landed
their temples in Ba'albek, that the sea
is the color of the finest jewels, lapis
and turquoise. Gold can be found
in the shops, on the arms of women,
in the teeth of men, hanging from the tiny
lobes of daughters, like pieces of stars.

Now the newspapers say, a fire burns
in the country of my dreams, wicked and consuming.
flying from the hands of soldiers, from the mouths
of children who have been raised by war. Smoldering
on the lips of mothers, heads bent praying
to God, to Allah, to anyone who will listen.
That we cannot travel freely and sanctioned.
We are dangerous to ourselves
and our friends.

But they are not listening. In the country
of my dreams, no one plots invasions with
armies of soldiers. From the edge
of the sea, it's our poets who set sail,
mouths full of music, our painters and musicians,
artists and philosophers. Armed
with a infantry of voices, people rise
and sing, clap their hands and whirl
in circles and stomp, shouting their name,
their country, signifying their cause.

At the beginning of the century, it is you,
Khalil, who wracks our bodies
so completely, generations clutch
your words to steady their bosoms, year
after year, whisper your phrases at their weddings,
and cultivate gardens to commemorate you name
and no other's. At the end of the century, it is you,
Marcel, who makes them leap up shouting in gospel,
clutching the hands of their children, dancing
with abandon, and calling out listen, we
are not alone, we do not forge.

To produce such warriors as these:
Gibran and Khalife, takes a soil luscious
and fertile. A fact the books overlooked:
the newspapers failed to see. What we have
to fear from this country is the note held strong
the stroke of the painter, the string of the oud,
the beat of the drum, hand on skin, fingers
on flute, bells, language that sears our temples,
and shakes the silence of memory: agitates
the stillness of history. And we have heroes,
whose instruments are aimed directly
at our hearts, who do not kill us,
but keep us alive.

Elmaz Abinader is an Arab American poet, author and performance artist. Her most recent book is a collection of poetry, In the Country of My Dreams... She has published a book of prose, Children of the Roojme, A Family's Journey from Lebanon and has performed throughout the world with her storytelling performance, Country of Origin. Recently a Fulbright Scholar to Egypt, Elmaz teaches at Mills College and lives in Oakland, CA.

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NEW ACCUSATION ECHOES OLD