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A kind of poetry originates from the second of three sequels of Jila Mossaed's new collection of poems What I Missed Here : "A Small Lamp / Piece / Less Than Its shadow // The man is alone / Alone she sits / on an old chair / and fantasy ". Everything we imagine necessary for poetry is not present? A place to sit, a light to sign and the solitude that requires the free movement of the mind? Certainly, but here is a small detail that complicates the question: a shadow greater than the space that contains it
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The shadow is recognized by the ancient poetry collections of Mossaed; In Every night I kiss the feet of the ground From 2011, it was said that "the shadows were curving in the contours of the other", which "have their own voices "and that poetry experiences" removes "me. In Mossaed's poetry, this shadow is closely associated with the experience of exile: "When you leave your cradle / travel far / never to return / you become a shadow of yourself". Exile makes a distinction between me and myself, between the body and its image.
But here, as in previous poetry collections, we find an attempt to overcome this place. Partly by rebuilding a line of sister and maternity over generations, partly by extracting from nature and everyday objects a myth-religious vision of heavenly existence: "The spells of carpets / are condemned to silence / resemble promised paradise / lack of entry
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In a much more compressed form, and with more sensitive introspection than before, Mossaed now contradicts this attempt to reconcile a self-resolution linked to the consciousness of death. It's a desire to "crawl under the field of a field / under the map of an unknown country", after "time without words" and "garden of silence", looking for & A life before the borders that she has crossed and crossed.
What I missed here is a collection of strong poems, perhaps the best of Mossaed, and the memory of life to be preserved resolved in an unknown landscape casts dark shadows on our time
19659010] Jila Mossaed
What I missed here
Lejd
