Who would visit the grapevines? Who would fill the baskets?
Who would pick the grape leaves?
After us, will the stars descend, to play on the hills,
in the middle of the calm nights?
At our foothill in the "erzal,"
the branches of the trees are surrounding my secrets...
And the yard with the shadows is covered by a gentle beautiful scent...
Our land is here, and our stream. It is where we roamed,
and where we felt drunk with happiness
Its magic is ours, and our dreams, so if we left... and passed....
(and then the song repeats... as in, if we left and passed...
who would visit the grapevines
Erzal Is something that has no translation.
It is a very specific kind of a tree house, that is also used as a bed.
Sculpture
In honor of Lynn Simmons
Our Village
This piece was made based on my own memories of my grandmother’s house in a village near Palmyra, and my father’s poem reflecting on his own memories of the same village. An excerpt of the poem has been translated into English:
Our village longs for ecstasy
Flaunts with sweet dreams
The universe is fields of
yearnings
Wheat stalks of gilded desires
Our village and the green moon
And the path takes a nap.
Like a myth, like a tale,
Flowers tell it to my heart; like a
fairy
- Mohi Aldeen Al-Jurdi
FireFlies
Under a pale moon
Fireflies illuminate
The night's brilliant blues
- Maya Asbridge
(With a special thanks to Lauren Monroe)