THE POWER OF THE TITLE
WHY HAVE YOU LEFT THE HORSE ALONE
BY MAḤMŪD DARWĪSH
This article deals with various functions of the title of
Darwīsh’s collection Why Have You Left the Horse Alone in three different
contexts: as an independent and separate text; in relation to the poem in which
it originally appeared; and in relation to all the poems in the collection. Our
case discussion shows that the interpretation of the title means in fact a
discussion of the entire text, or rather of all these texts. It also shows that
the question/title has equally informative, rhetorical, provocative, and communicative facets,
and as such our discussion grants it great summarizing and
representational power. When all this power is given to the title as
pre-text, it in essence also makes the title a post-text.
The literary title
fills numerous and varied functions resulting from diverse considerations. One function is
identification. Beyond this, any literary title has a dimension of focusing,
summarizing, and representing.[1]
[67] Any
specific object that plays a special part in our lives carries important
meaning, and as such it merits a certain title that will somehow represent it.[2]
This basic assumption is important when we stress, on the one hand, the complex
relation between the title and the literary text it represents and, on the other, the relation between the title, the
text, and the reader. The title itself compels us to discuss such
relationships; moreover, the idiosyncrasy that it grants to its text allows us
to examine it and its text as against other titles and texts either by the same
author or by other authors. The true-title, the original one chosen by the
author himself,[3] was
presumably chosen after serious consideration, or more precisely the choice was
made after various elements and components had been pondered. This assumption
relies on the fact that the literary title is chosen by the author only after
completing the process of writing the text. In being chosen, the title is
subject to the same reflection as the text in the writing process.[4]
But the title demands additional considerations.[5]
If we may treat the text as a private statement or one with the potential for
some sort of specification, the title constitutes a summarized, representative, and concise statement.[6] And if the literary title is capable of
representing any text, or perhaps all the texts in the collection (as in our
case, as discussed later on), this obliges the reader to perform the arduous
labor of referring to a variety of data both within and outside the text. The
reader accordingly has to be highly informed and possess a wealth of
experience, knowledge, and analytical ability.
Every literary title
has some kind of reference potential. Three types of reference
are discussed in the following: (a) the title as a system of self-reference,
namely, a certain reference to the biography of the author; (b) the title as a
system of external reference, namely, some sort [68] of
reference to general history; (c) the title as a system of internal reference,
namely, some sort of reference to the body of the text itself.[7]
The first two types of reference may well be interrelated, as in our case.
Self-reference can be manifested in the intertextual relations between the
title and details from the personal biography of the author. When this
biography is also the biography of an entire people somehow represented by the
author, we are dealing with external reference, which may be discussed in
general historical terms. In such a case the reader must be informed and well
versed in the extratextual data, whether they
refer to the personal biography of the author or to general history or
both. The title can constitute a bridge between the text and the reality
outside it. It does not matter whether the reader crosses this bridge from
reality to the text, or the reverse, from the text to the exterior, as in our
case. Such a title strengthens the relation between literature and history. It
is generally thought that in every case the literary text includes certain
details from the biography of the author, but this does not automatically make
it an autobiography. A title with a potential
of self- and external reference, like the one we have here, is demanding, and
the reader cannot easily ignore the historical and biographical details to
which the title refers in the process of text interpretation.
In the case of every literary title we
may speak of some sort of inner reference. No
title of a literary text fails to refer in some way to the data of the text itself. Nor is any literary text completely
objective or neutral. The literary title
is generally a concentration and focusing of the author’s system of intentions,
so it may be discussed through the terminology of motif or leitmotiv, as will
be specified later on. The literary title is thus a kind of subtext that
encompasses the overall meaning of the text by various means of title design:
addition, summary, focusing, representation, irony, parody, opposition,
interpretation, metaphors, and so on. This encompassing by the literary title
is multi-directional. As the literary title can encompass central motifs
appearing in the body of the text, the text may also encompass the title, and
the reader may discern title elements scattered throughout it. The literary
title may also encompass various extratextual elements, from the author’s
biography and from history. Any profound discussion of the literary title
therefore bears a significant informative or hermeneutic character. Discussing
the title of a literary text means discussing the entire text, including all [69] aspects
that may aid in the process of interpretation.[8]
Since we may always speak of a bi-directional relation between the title and
the extratextual reality, we may also speak of a simultaneous reading of two
separate texts.
While dealing with the title of a
literary text, the reader should first be equipped with pre-textual knowledge
and information in diverse areas, and be capable of employing this accumulated
material. Secondly, he should possess the analytical ability to move between
the title and the body of the text in accordance with the demands of the
reading and interpretation process. Thirdly, he should be versed in the general
work of the author, to be able to draw general conclusions. In the following
sections of this article I shall try to demonstrate
the function of these three faculties, while introducing elements from
various domains. Anne Ferry suggested discussing the title of a poem in three
stages: the title as an independent, grammatical unit; the title in the context
of the text; the title in context or relationship with other texts. This model
certainly suits the discussion of assumptions and objectives set out in this
article.[9]
The title as an
independent text: First reading
In opening the discussion of the
dynamics of the title of a collection of poems, Li-mādhā tarakta
l-ḥiṣān waḥīdan (Why have you left the horse
alone) by Maḥmūd Darwīsh,[10]
we shall refer to the semantic status of each word composing the title.
li-mādhā. The
Arabic expression is an interrogative that inquires about cause (for what
reason). Important, namely, in this case is the reason behind the act embodied
in the question, and not the act itself or whether it has been completed or is
going to occur in the future. A question is usually a sentence referring to a
hidden or absent meaning. By definition, the hidden/absent is important to the
asker. The question li-mādhā refers to the act as a known and
familiar fact, whether it has actually happened or is about to happen, and [70] what
matters is the cause. This may be found in various places: it may lie with the
performer of the act (the father, whose identity is not known at this stage of reading), or with the horse that
experienced the leaving act (the object referred to in the question), or
it may be found in neither, but in some external factors. Whether the cause
lies with the father, the horse, or external factors, the father is the one
supposed to answer.
tarakta. Leaving is an act that carries an
obvious spatial meaning. We may claim that any verb/occurrence in language acquires
some sort of spatial meaning, but here the verb refers directly to a certain
space. The meaning of such an act seems to draw directly upon the type,
characteristics, and significance of the space. Leaving is the action of
transition from one space to the other. This transition may stem from various
desirable and undesirable, inner or outer, important or insignificant reasons.
Whatever the reasons for leaving, it is important for the reader to know what
is the first space left and what is the second space the characters have moved
to. Namely, the spaces related to the act of leaving are important to the
asker, even if they are not highlighted in the question itself, as will be
discussed later. The word tarakta according to various dictionaries and
sources and in everyday usage may have the connotation of abandonment. One of
its derivatives, tarīka, means a young girl who has been forsaken
unmarried in her parents’ house. There is also the meaning of a garden
neglected without care and tending. Accordingly, the
reference to leaving as presented in the title may be understood as an
expression of protest. The asker sounds as if he does not accept the leaving or
approve of this act. The leaving here is perceived as desertion. The question
asked is not neutral; it is
not the question of one who is objective and whose only wish is to know the
reasons as they stand. This feeling is strengthened when we pass on to the
subsequent words in the sequence of the question (title).
al-ḥiṣān. The horse has special significance in
the history of many peoples, and in the history of the Arabs in particular. The
horse in Arab culture fills two functions, one spiritual and one practical.
Without going into excessive detail, I wish to emphasize that the horse here
seems to fulfill both these functions even if only potentially, as we shall
see. I have mentioned the act of desertion in
spatial terminology, although what has been deserted is the horse and
not the space itself. More precisely, the act of leaving
is principally connected to one object in the entire space left, which is the
horse. Thus the horse appears here as a spatial sign, and this spatial
sign maintains a deep relationship with the space in which it is found and
which it represents, as will be clarified
later on. If we ask why the horse was chosen to represent the general
space, and not any other object, it turns out that the [71] horse is
the only thing in this space that requires some reference or treatment from the
asker’s viewpoint, as will also be explained later on.
waḥīdan. Our assumptions regarding the concern
for the horse are further reinforced when it
emerges that the horse is left on its own. In principle, leaving a horse alone, with no one to see to its food, drink, or
safety, is a matter for real concern: the concern felt in the tone of
the asker is entirely understandable. The word waḥīdan
appearing in the body of the title focuses and delimits the question. There is
a disparity between the question li-mādhā tarakta l-ḥisān?
and li-mādhā tarakta l-ḥisān waḥīdan?
It is as if the emphasis is shifted from the “horse” in the first question to
the word “alone” in the second question. Were we to penetrate deeper into the
consciousness of the asker we might find that from the asker’s viewpoint it is
permissible to leave the horse, but absolutely forbidden to leave it alone. The
word “alone” shows that the leaving act was inclusive, namely the leaver took
with him everything except the horse. The asker’s question thus becomes
understandable and convincing. Why the horse and nothing else? Why not leave
with it something else, some object or some other living creature?
At this stage of reading, the reader’s
first encounter with the text—the stage of expectations, guesses, sensations,
and presumptions—the reader cannot answer many of the questions triggered by
the title. The title, as presented here, sparks numerous questions,
reflections, sensations, expectations, and guesses which can find a consensual
answer only in the body of the text, or more precisely with the help of the
body of the text. The title is full of gaps that are a function of the lack of basic information, vital for the reader in order to interpret
the text. This information is not exactly missing but is delayed or postponed
till later, namely, to the body of the text (the single text from which the
title was taken, and the inclusive text of all the poems in the collection). The title, in the first reading,
provides a certain direction of interpretation
by means of various codes included in it. These codes are extremely
concise, so the title as presented at this stage constitutes a focus or concentration of textual data or outlines that
demands a shift to the body of the text to search for, or to create, the full
details and to fill in the various gaps opened as a result of the focal
character of the title.
In order to move to the next stage of
reading, the stage of examining the title in the context of the entire text, we
should first define what exists and what is missing in the title. On the one
hand, the first encounter with this title leaves many questions. For instance,
we have no details regarding the identity of the asker and the one asked.
Missing too are details of the act of leaving, the mode, the reasons for it,
and its significance. We do not have [72] details about the horse itself and the
importance of these for the act of leaving. Nor do we have details about
leaving the horse alone. On the other hand, the title gives the feeling that
something “serious” is going on. The feeling is that the asker does not just
ask for objective, dry information but that he somehow protests against the act
of leaving the horse alone. In other words, he
cannot understand or vindicate this act.
Some may ask, quite justifiably, whether
the emotions aroused in the reader by the title are based on the text. The
answer can be given only after contact with the body of the text has been made.
Then a more fundamental question arises: Are not these emotions of mine, as a
reader, affected by my reading of the text? As I write these pages I know the
entire text over which this title appears, and I also know the poet, so I may
have been affected by this acquaintance when referring to the title as an
independent text. Theoretically, this is true, even if these are my own
emotions as experienced in my first contact with the title, before reading the
entire poem or other poems in the compilation. First of all, recall that we are
dealing here with emotions and not with information, facts, or opinions.
Second, the emotions were created on the basis of both the linguistic sequence
of the title and of the educational load invested in reading. I have been
careful not to mix knowledge amassed through my reading of the body of the poem
and the entire compilation of poems in the discussion of the title at this
stage. The title is like a half-truth that determines the reading strategy and
interpretation; it is the direction and the guide. Generally speaking the title
is stingy on first contact, it has everything but gives little.[11]
There are stingy persons who have nothing and therefore give nothing, who even
if they did have something would give nothing. These are people who are stingy
by nature. And there are persons who are stingy in practice, who have something
to give, but who out of care for what they have and
wishing to keep it give nothing. The title is a stingy text both by its nature
and in fact. By its nature as a limited textual datum, semantically and
quantitatively, it cannot provide the reader with much information. By its
definition and role, to direct, guide, focus, and the like, it is at this stage
of reading restricted to providing limited
data in order to encourage the reader to search for the full and complete
details in the body of the text.
The title in the
context of the poem: Second reading
The question that became the
title of the entire collection is
in fact one line taken from the fifth poem, “Abad al-ṣubbār,” in the
first part, “´Iqūnāt min billawr al-makān.” This poem contains a
dialogue between a father and [73] his son. This title is a question the
son asks his father. It is phrased in the second person, which shows that the
communication between the asker and the respondent is direct.
In the opening of the poem the son asks
his father his first question: “Where are you taking me, father?” His father
replies immediately: “In the direction of the wind,
son . . .” (32). So already at the opening of the poem we are
dealing with an act of leaving in which the first (deserted) space is defined
regarding the asker and the asked, as well as the reader, while the space
headed to is unknown. The space abandoned is a house in one of the Arab
villages located east of
Thus, in reply to the son’s second
question at the time of leaving, “And who will live in our home, in our place,
father?” the father replies: “The house will remain as it is, son!” (33). The
father’s powerful belief that they [74] will return home is backed in the text
by two major data. First, he keeps the key to the
house and protects it with all its might, as one guards one’s most precious
possession. Second, he withstands great pressures, and nothing can change his
stance or his will, not even torture by the British, who crucified him for two
nights for something of which he was innocent (33). These two data
constitute two important messages, the first of which is transmitted to the son
by demonstration and the second by narration. This
is more or less the general summary of the text in the first part, before the
son asks his father the third question, which is also the most important and
decisive in this discussion: “Why have you left the horse alone?” (33), which, as we know, became the title of the entire
collection.
Towards the end of the poem,
the father asks his son to be strong and withstand difficulties for the sake of
returning home. Now the son
poses his fourth and last question: “When, father?” (34). Here as well, as in
the two previous questions, the son receives an immediate answer from his
father, and to a certain extent it is also safe and clear-cut: “Tomorrow, maybe
in two days, my son” (34). In the last stanza of the poem he reminds his son of
the destruction of the fortresses built by the Crusaders when they conquered
the country (35), and the inference is clear. In this part of the poem the
father asks his son always to be mindful of the
future, that is to say, not to despair as a result of what he has undergone and
what they have suffered. The fourth question addressed by the son to his
father primarily means that the son has not accommodated himself to his father’s
reassuring answers, and so he cannot remain calm and quiet.
I found it important to present all
these details in order to provide the overall context in which the
question/title appears in the text. It is essential to mention that the son in
this poem appears primarily as the addressee, while
the father is the addresser, who tries to teach his son a clear lesson by
various means. This lesson is mainly taught to the son as a result of
the questions addressed by the son to his father. Namely, the son here appears
as a consumer of information provided by the father that the father believes in
with all his heart. We are dealing here with a father who loves to give and a
son who loves to receive. The questions addressed by the son to the father
evince the strength of the communication between them. This communication
stresses both the connection and sequence between generations. It is vital for
the son to know and express a position/sensation, just as it is important for
the father to inculcate various values to his son that will assure inner
strength, power, belief, and optimism. This suggests
that the poet’s choice of the son to play the role of the asker shows his own
craving that the younger generation will continue
the protest and will cling to his will to [75] return home.
The four questions in the
poem relate to the following elements in this order: space, man, reason
(occurrence or event), time. These constitute the a priori conditions for any
human existence. And what is existence from the viewpoint of a human being? Existence,
for the purposes of our argument, can be defined as a specific act that
he performs in time and space. The four questions asked by the son refer to the
existence of the son. Naturally, the first
thing a child of this age cares about is his own physical existence,
whether consciously or not. The son, as a result of the acts of leaving that he
and his family were compelled to perform, feels threatened;
he is conscious of a certain danger that threatens his physical existence. His
dislocation from his home and its being abandoned to the whims of cruel destiny
constitute a true threat. The father strives to provide a life for his son, or
to establish some sense of a life, by means of strong belief,
encouragement, reinforcement, and optimism. These are in fact the only means
available to the father for achieving this purpose. The father cannot actually
prevent the dislocation, and what remains is
to believe with all his heart that he will return home.
The third question, which is also the
focus of our discussion, attains a special
position with respect to the three other questions. Before discussing this
position I would like to consider the
significance of this question and its relationship to the reply
following it. The answer to this question is made up of two clear and defined
lines:
To keep the home alive,
son,
Homes die if their
inhabitants leave. . . . (34)[13]
This answer demands an explanation. It
implies that the home requires care to keep away the feeling of emptiness; and
emptiness means death. According to this answer, the horse was left alone in
the house to keep it alive. In the condition of war, expulsion, destruction,
and killing, which prevails in the background of the text and the entire
collection, humans cannot be left behind, so they have left the horse, which
functions as the most vital sign of life capable of replacing man. The choice
of the horse—and not any other animal—shows
that it has been given a special status both for the father/respondent
and for the son/asker, as mentioned in the previous section. In addition, the choice of the horse, which possesses this special status,
points to the ultimate importance of the house itself. The very
importance of [76] the house made it essential to choose
the horse, with its particular status, to keep
the house alive. Because of this identification, the asker is not referring
only to the horse but also to the house, perhaps mainly to the house, even if
indirectly. The child most probably asked directly about the horse since by the
child’s logic it is a living creature with which one can communicate and which
requires direct and daily care. The father’s answer fills the gap, or more
precisely, stresses what is indirectly implied by the question.
Despite the great importance accorded to
the horse, and despite the essentiality accorded to the house, based on the
answer above man remains the most important
being, through which things like the horse and the house acquire their significance:
“Homes die if their inhabitants leave. . . .” The basic assumption is that guarding the house is a duty
based on human needs. The immediate need both of the asker and the asked is to
go back to the house as soon as possible. In order to go home to a living and
intact home they have to leave in it or near it a sign of life (the horse).
Leaving the horse near the home is an indication of their expectation and of
their belief that they will go back home one
day. Viewed from this perspective, leaving the horse at the house, in accordance with the father’s answer, is not to be interpreted as forsaking or
desertion, but quite the opposite. This act of forsaking was performed in
response to a powerful wish to live. By this logic, leaving the horse at the
house means leaving there something from one’s
life, from one’s heritage and memory, and from one’s identity, that will
necessitate going back. Leaving the horse at the house fulfills two functions
simultaneously. It expresses the wish to go back to the house, and it spurs and
catalyzes the return, that is, it ensures that this wish will come true. The
first function acquires a direct and explicit expression in the text itself in
a way that does not demand additional explanation. The second function, which
is more implied or embedded, is related to the choice of the horse to represent
life and the return home, and not any other animal that used to be bred in Arab
villages in that period (1948). In addition to the familiar role of the horse
as helper in agriculture, the animal was also a means of transport,
particularly in those times and conditions. If the horse had not been left at
the house, that is, if they had taken the horse with them, this might have had two explanations: either that they had left
on a long journey that required using the horse or that this was a final
desertion, with no option of returning, which meant taking all their
possessions, thus also requiring the work of the horse. These two explanations
are mutually related to highlight in effect one statement, namely, that
the act of leaving is only temporary and that they will return home sooner or
later.
Considering the father’s reply, how are
we to interpret the protest, previously [77] mentioned, underlying
the question asked by the son? First, in reference
to the question on the informative level, recall that the question
precedes the answer. The son wants to protest to his father because of his lack
of knowledge before he gets all the “convincing” explanations from his father. Otherwise the answer might take the punch
out of the question and neutralize it, the
answer eliminating the question. Second, if we treat this question as
rhetorical, no explanation, convincing as it may be, can eliminate the protest.
The son’s question protests against the act of leaving both the house and the
horse, even if this is a temporary departure and even if the return is assured. Taken in this sense the question remains pertinent even
after the answer is given. In both explanations the fundamental protest is
retained, even if the departure, as explained by the father, is temporary.
The son is allowed to protest whether he knows these explanations or not,
whether he accepts them or not. The son’s protest is a function of a
primary-sensory awareness of a certain danger
in the act of leaving.
The title in the
context of the collection: Third reading
Since the question asked by the son in
the poem “Abad al-ṣubbār” serves as the title of the entire collection,
it needs to be discussed in this context. In the title three main words appear
that constitute central motifs throughout the poems in the compilation:
leaving, the horse, and loneliness. Forms of the verb
taraka, to leave, appear thirty-two times in the collection, to
which we should add synonyms with identical or similar meaning. Synonyms such
as khallafa, to leave behind, naʾā, to go far away, sāfara,
to travel, haraba, to run away, hajara, to desert, ghāba,
to be absent, disappear, baʿuda, to go far off, ghādara,
to abandon, appear in the collection more than twenty times. Verbs indicating
the act of leaving thus appear more than fifty times, a large number. As
indicated in the previous section, these verbs point to a historical fact in
the private and collective biography of the Palestinian poet.[14]
The act of leaving is a personal trauma that has been imprinted deep in the
memory of the poet since childhood. The retention this trauma in the memory of
the poet as it is reflected in this collection stresses the past and the
history that is part of the poet’s mental and physical
being. Carrying the pain of the displacement caused by the act of leaving means
(a) to remember and remind, (b) to look for a “remedy.” In this collection the
poet, instead of weeping, seems to use the pain of the events as a cure. He
does not just maintain the [78] memory of the trauma and the
feeling of incessant pain but uses the memory and the pain in order to search
for some kind of answer or remedy. The
remedy he seeks is to return to his home from which he has been driven away.
This leads us to consider the motifs
that point to the craving of the poet to return.
I have examined all the poems and I have found that two verbs, rajaʿa
and ʿāda, both meaning to come back, to return, appear
about forty times, approaching the number of occurrences of the verbs
indicating leaving. The coming back motif is extremely powerful and conspicuous
in all the poems in the collection. The poet presents the problem and makes
explicit the solution required. The text poses a question and answers it. The
near parity of the act of coming back home and the act of leaving represents
the author’s outlook, based on expectation and
longing. Still, verbs indicating the act of leaving appear about fifteen
times more often than those denoting a return.
This difference, in my opinion, stems
from the intensity of the pain and trauma created by the act of leaving as
compared with cautious optimism concerning the possibility of going home. The
pain of the poet in the extratextual reality seems to surpass the possibility
of finding a suitable cure, and he expresses this clearly in all the poems of
the collection. These two opposites, leaving versus coming back, pain versus
relief, are the factors which feed the essence of the poet as reflected in this
collection, and in others as well. These contrasts, which seem to tear the poet’s
identity into two, require some sort of inner reconciliation and adjustment.
The employment of the verbs that indicate the act of going back home is meant
to balance the pain, or at least diminish its power, not to end it and overcome
it, because this is not practical and not possible. Thus the longing to go home,
and not the act of returning, becomes the medicine. “The dream as a substitute
for reality” is an expression that can well represent this assumption. Note
that there is no literature that does not
deal in one way or another with the condition of absence. Only a
condition of absence, lack, and insufficiency can impel the author to search
for and aspire to “perfection.” This paradoxical situation sounds absurd, but
the strong attachment of contrasts and oppositions is well known, and it
emerges in almost any field of life. One who follows the work of Darwīsh
has probably noticed not only the poet’s awareness of the fact that he cannot
attain his goal (go back to his horse and home) but also the fact that he tries
to build his life out of this state of lack or want. Darwīsh, like any
great writer, knows how to use this condition of lack optimally, and he
harnesses language to his need to “feel whole.”[15]
[79] The second
motif in the collection is the horse, which appears about thirty times. It appears in the earlier poems more than in
the later. This may be explained by the fact that the horse is still
fresh in the consciousness and recollection expressed in the earlier poems,
which refer more often to the trauma of leaving. The farther the poet gets, in
terms of time, from the events of leaving the house and the horse, the farther
back the horse is pushed in memory and consciousness, making room for new
things. In the last poem in the collection he goes back to the horse, which was abandoned at the opening of the collection, with
the words “Don’t forget the horse’s fear of airplanes” (165). If the horse had
been left there, by the house, to watch it and keep it alive, it would not have
been able to cope with the planes and fulfill what was expected of it.
This testifies to a more rational than to a romantic and dreamy outlook.
The third motif is loneliness, and it
appears about fifteen times in the collection. Loneliness is associated with
exile, alienation, and estrangement. All these meanings are a function of the
trauma of leaving, so the poet thinks about going back home, where he will feel
lonely and alienated, as if he were a stranger. These meanings are probably
based on the extratextual reality in the poet’s individual biography (he is
unmarried and has no children or family to assuage the exile). The exile, the
loneliness, the alienation, and the estrangement exist not just on the
collective Palestinian level but also on the personal level of the individual
poet.
Moving a question from its original
place in the sequence of the text and attaching it as a title to the entire
collection means depriving this sentence of its local meaning and granting it,
in exchange, new or additional meanings, as will be clarified later on. After
reading all the poems in the collection I go back to the title and observe that
it is in fact a question with a question mark, while the title on the cover of the collection appears without a question
mark. This change from being a specific and local question in one of the
poems to being the title of the entire collection no doubt stresses the poet’s
wish to give this question a deeper and additional meaning beyond the immediate
meaning of the naive question uttered by a child. Does the choice of this
question as the title of the entire collection mean that the answer that the child has received from his father to his question
is insufficient, so that it has to be asked yet again in the most conspicuous
place in the collection, namely in the title? If the title was originally a
naive question posed by a naive child,
in the title it appears as a philosophical problem of a mature [80] person. This assumption can hardly be justified
without reading the title as an independent text and without reading the poem,
the immediate context in which this title originally appeared. But only a
profound reading of all the poems in the collection can lead to such an
assumption.
Whether the question of the child—as it
appears originally—is an actual question or a rhetorical question of
fundamental protest, it acquires a new
meaning. Understood as a naive practical question, the reply the child received
from his father regarding their return home is found not to be true forty years
later. Therefore reading the poems in the collection shows that in his development from childhood to maturity the poet
moves from the stage of belief, security, and optimism to the stage of
realistic and rational thinking, from the stage of belief in deeds to the stage
of belief in words, words as a substitute for reality. Even as a statement of
protest the question goes through a certain transformation, and the protest in
the title differs from the protest in the original question in the poem in
which it appears. While the protest in the question was childlike, somewhat
impulsive, localized, and focused, the protest in the title has become
more rational and philosophical, and broader in
scope. Whoever reads the last poem in the collection, “ʿIndamā
yabtaʿid” (As he goes farther and farther away) (164–68), feels a “retreat”
from the poet’s clear-cut demand to go back and live in the house. All that is
left for him—in this poem, in which he addresses “enemies and strangers,”
referring to all those who replaced him and settled on the ruins of his home
and village[16]—is to
hope to visit his home (167). The protest here is more general.
While it is true that the child’s question has undergone
certain changes in its path to a new identity as a title chosen by the adult,
this adult is the same person as the child who asked the question. This child
is the persona of the entire collection, the poet himself, and the question
accompanies him even when he has become an adult, although it has undergone
significant changes. Thus he keeps the father’s
testament to cling to his dream and his wish to go back home. He goes on
asking, expressing now his mature, rational, and philosophical outlook.
Choosing the question for the title shows the poet’s intention to be both a
child and an adult. He maintains his childhood in his consciousness as a
grown-up. It is as if the reader hears two voices, the voice of the child and
the voice of the mature poet. This duality means connecting the past to the present, that is to say, to make an
attempt to connect what used to be to what is. And what is or will be
cannot ignore what used to be, [81] in the poet’s view, even if we are
dealing with a dream or words. The poet cannot
be otherwise; to retain both his identities is a function of the hard reality
that is forced on him. The child’s aspiration to go back to his horse, his
house, and his village has diminished in the course of time, but it has not
disappeared. It has acquired a new character of expectation, the expectation of getting back potentially, either in a dream or
in words, as mentioned before. Every one of us has had his own childhood
dreams and expectations that have disappeared in the course of time, but this
childhood expectation will probably never go away. It may change its identity
and character, since we are dealing here—as can be seen from all the poems in
the collection—with a question of life and
existence on both the physical and the spiritual level of the poet and
the people he represents.[17]
Conclusion
In the preceding pages the title of
Darwīsh’s collection has been discussed in three different contexts: as an
independent and separate text; in relation to the poem in which it originally
appeared; and in relation to all the poems in the collection. The direction goes from the narrow and specific to the open and general.
Each subsequent section of this study reinforces the theses of the
previous one and adds new data to it and updates it. Our case discussion shows
that the interpretation of the title means an interpretation of the single text
and the interpretation of all the poems in the collection. A discussion of the
title is in fact a discussion of the entire text.
The basic assumption is that when the
poet chooses a certain sentence from the text to be the title, this choice is
not arbitrary or random but the result of various considerations,
which we have attempted to identify in this article. The question—or
perhaps it should be called a statement—was chosen to represent the entire
collection, and this is not a simple role.[18]
This shift from the body of the text, from the local context of the question,
to the cover of the entire collection imparts to the question a representative
role in many respects—esthetically, stylistically, and formally, as well as in
relation to various aspects of the content and the
messages conveyed by the text. Formally and stylistically, we are
dealing with a deep question asked in two [82] voices, one that of the child and the
other that of the man. Any question demands an answer,
and we are therefore addressing a communicative title that demands the
participation of two people, the asker and the respondent. They are both
characters acting within the text itself, but the respondent may be an external addressee, including the reader. In addition, the title, in Arabic grammatical
analysis, is a verbal sentence and not a nominal sentence. As such, it
is full of action and arouses numerous questions, as detailed in the body of
the article. Regarding content and message, the title both summarizes and represents.
Its summarizing and representative power urges the reader to
search for complete details, both in the single poem in which the title originally appears and in all the poems in
the collection, and maybe even in the extratextual reality. The title,
as it were, wishes to document a certain historical reality, both to ponder it
and to protest against it.
Various considerations, then, must have led to the choice of this question
as the title of the collection and as representative of all the poems in it.
These can be arranged in the following five points.[19]
1. The title represents a difficult
historical fact from the poet’s viewpoint: the uprooting of the poet and of a
large portion of his people from their land of birth in 1948. Historical
documentation is some sort of quest to imprint
this fact deep in the collective memory of the
Palestinians. From this point of view the question in the title is considered
on the technical and immediate level, as an actual question about a real
happening.
2. Awareness of history means awareness
of the threats inherent in it, which will lead the
one to whom the question is directed to a condition of readiness to protest in
principle. That is, the question is not content to request information but
aspires to translating the information into some sort of protest. The
question in the title is perceived here as a rhetorical question that is
intended to give a clear and unambiguous message.
3. If the question arouses protest on
the level of principle, this protest will stimulate a search for the remedy or
a substitute, the latter being to find an alternative to a belief in “amending
history,” which would imply going back to the
land of birth. The question/title appears here as a potential cause for
defiance if we accept that we cannot interpret it as a textual datum detached
from the answer given to it, since the answer stresses that the act of leaving
is only temporary and that history will be amended.
[83] 4. The poet’s choice of a question to serve as title
indicates his longing for the title to fulfill a communicative function. This
communication between the asker and the respondent is a communication between
son and father, a communication between generations. It is very important for
preserving the belief in amending history. The father imprints this belief on
his son. As observed in the body of the article, the
reader is confronted with a father who loves to give and a son who loves
to receive. Since the son brought up the question, the issue seems to concern a
generation that wants to receive the legacy that the father wishes to pass on.
5. The third question out of the four in
the poem “Abad al-ṣubbār” was chosen as title because of the force with which it sums up and represents
the general meaning of its verbal components, and because it includes
the three main motifs recurring constantly throughout the collection. In
addition, this question includes elements relating to
the basic conditions of all human existence: space, time, person, and event.
All these five functions
fulfilled by Darwīsh’s title—namely, historical documentation, translating
historical knowledge into potential protest, stimulating the search for an
alternative remedy, reinforcing communication between generations and the
preservation of the belief in amending history, and the inclusion of the three
main motifs of the collection—grant this title great summarizing and representational power. When all this
power is given to the title as pre-text, the part which is the first to welcome
the reader and is separated from the body of the text,
it in essence also makes the title a post-text, namely, the last station
to which the reader returns after his contact with the body of the text. The title is what
opens the reading and interpretation process, and it is also what closes it.
Thus the title, as such, becomes the focus and
thereby demands a bi-directional movement from itself to the body of the text
and the reverse. The high concentration of information and meaning
within Darwīsh’s title takes it beyond the
minimal role of every title, which is identification. This title is the first
interpretative statement given by the poet to his collection of poems, and it
demonstrates clearly that the literary title can be a highly important tool of
textual self-interpretation.
[1] Owing
to the multi-functional power of the literary title, Levin treats the topic
using the generic term “titology.” See Harry Levin, “The Title as a Literary
Genre,” Modern Language Review 72 (1977): xxiii–xxxv. Genette, following
the works of Ch. Grivel and L. Hoek, distinguishes three major functions of the
title: designation, indication of the content, and seduction of the public. See
Gérard
Genette, “Structure and Functions of the Title in Literature,” Critical
Inquiry 14 (1988): 708. According to Fisher, titles “are names for a
purpose, but not merely for the purpose of identification and designation, in
spite of the important practical role which indexical names play in the
designative process. The unique purpose of titling is hermeneutical: titles are
names which function as guides to interpretation.” In sum “a title is not only
a name, it is a name for a purpose.” John Fisher, “Entitling,” Critical
Inquiry 11 (1984): 288, 289. Like Fisher,
[2] See
Fisher, 298–99.
[3] See
Adams, 9; Levinson, 33.
[4] Like the body of the text, titles “say something about the
work as well as the alleged sitter or the intention of
the artist.” Fisher, 292.
[5] Derrida
believes that “presumably by a real author, the title still is part of a
so-called literary fiction; but it does not play a role in the same fashion as
what is found inside the same fiction.” Jacques Derrida,
“Title (to be specified),” Sub-Stance 31 (1981): 14.
[6] Robert
Ricatte believes that “a title is needed, because the title is a sort of flag
toward which one directs oneself. The goal is then to explain the title.”
Quoted in Genette, 701.
[7] According
to Hollander “a title designates or at least directs certain forms of behavior
toward its holder.” John Hollander, Vision and Resonance: Two Senses of
Poetic Form (New York: Oxford University Press, 1975), 214. “Like any other
title of a work of art, the title of a poem provides us with a means of
referring to the poem.” E. A. Levenston, “The Significance of the Title in
Lyric Poetry,”
[8] According to Fisher (292), “titles do affect
interpretation. They tell us how to look at a work, how to listen.”
Genette (719) accepts Eco’s assumption that the title “is a key for
interpretation.” See also Steven Kellman, “Dropping Names: The Poetics of
Titles,” Criticism 17 (1975): 154; Levinson, 30.
[9] See
Anne Ferry, The Title to the Poem (Stanford, California: Stanford
University Press, 1996), 1. For a general examination of titling in modern
Arabic poetry based on these faculties, see Rashīd Yaḥyāwī,
al-Shiʿr al-ʿarabī al-ḥadīth: Dirāsa fī l-munjaz al-naṣṣī
(al-Dār al-Baydāʾ: Ifrīqiyā al-Sharq, 1998),
107–71.
[10] Mahmūd
Darwīsh, Li-mādhā tarakta l-ḥiṣān waḥīdan
(Why Have You Left the Horse Alone) (London: Riyād al-Rayyis
li-l-Kutub wa-l-Nashr, 1995).
[11] For
more details, see Ferry, 2–3.
[12] For
more details on the autobiographic nature of Why Have You Left the Horse
Alone, see Subḥī al-Ḥadīdī,
“Khiyār al-sīra wa-istrātījiyyāt al-taʿbīr,”
al-Qāhira 151 (1995): 26–36. For a similar discussion on the
autobiographic nature of Darwīsh’s Memory for Forgetfulness, see
Yves Gonzalez-Quijano, “The Territory of Autobiography: Maḥmūd
Darwīsh’s Memory for Forgetfulness,” in Robin Ostle, Ed De Moor,
and Stefan Wild, eds., Writing the Self: Autobiographical Writing in Modern
Arabic Literature (London: Saqi Books, 1998), 183–91. Use of the
third person does not detract from this collection’s autobiographic nature.
Darwīsh shows an obvious talent for mixing different persons (first,
second, third; singular and plural) in his writing. For more details see Terri
DeYoung, “Nasser and the Death of Elegy in Modern Arabic Poetry,” in Issa
Boullata and Terri DeYoung, eds., Tradition and Modernity in Arabic
Literature (Fayetteville: The University of Arkansas Press, 1997), 75–81.
One of the major features of the autobiography is the obvious use of explicit
and direct persons with no mask. For more details on the employment of the mask
in Darwīsh’s poetry, see Ali al-Allaq, “Tradition as a Factor of Arabic
Modernism: Darwīsh’s Application of a Mask,” in J. R. Smart, ed., Tradition
and Modernity in Arabic Language and Literature (Surrey, UK: Curzon Press,
1996), 18–26.
[13] Translation
mine.
[14] For
more details on the themes of “departure and strangeness” in Why Have You
Left the Horse Alone, see Ḥusayn Ḥammūda,
“Masār al-naʾy, madār al-ghiyāb,” al-Qāhira 151
(1995): 44–53.
[15] See
Fakhrī Sāliḥ, “Li-mādhā tarakta l-ḥiṣān
waḥīdan: ʿAn al-laḥza al-filasṭīniyya
al-multabisa,” Fuṣūl 15, no. 2 (1996): 242.
[16] For
more details on the interrelations between the “self” and the “other” in
Darwīsh’s poetry, see Kamāl Abū Deeb, “Conflicts, Oppositions,
Negations: Modern Arabic Poetry and the Fragmentation of Self/Text,” in
Boullata and DeYoung, 108–10, 121–24.
[17] See
Wāʾil Ghālī, “al-Hiṣān yaqtaḥim
al-ashbāḥ,” al-Qāhira 151 (1995): 154–64.
[18] This
statement reminds us of Ferry’s distinction between “title of the poem” and
“title about the poem.” Darwīsh’s title is both of the text and about it;
see Ferry, 211. Presumably, owing to its being an integral part of the text, it
greatly affects the interpretation process of the whole collection.
[19] When titles are questions “all are attempts at arranging
language in order to arrive at an overview, and all
direct us to think along certain lines. Titles in interrogatory form are like
those ‘questions for study’ that scholars and teachers are fond of employing in
order to call attention to important elements of a work of art.” Kellman, 156.