This is one of the duets that Farid was speaking about,
the bilingual poems.
I disagree with myself now.
I don't think they should be called duets.
I don't know what to call them, but to call them duets
implies a harmony, and I feel like, yes, there is harmony,
but there's also lots of discord.
So I'm just disagreeing with my younger self.
[MAN LAUGHS]
This is a duet that's an ode to the Mediterranean Sea,
specifically in Beirut and in Tripoli, Lebanon, which
is my hometown, where--
but in Beirut, more so.
The sea is everywhere, but also the sea
is surrounded by concrete and super privatized
and inaccessible.
So this is blue أزرق.
نرى البحر ولا نراه إلا في المنام
A patch, a glimpse among the antennas
أو من بين الأشرطة على الأسطح
How to brave this blue?
لا بحر لنا هنا ولا قوّة
Sometimes I forget the sea is this close
لنا حبٌّ قديمٌ يريد أن يحفِر لك في الإسمنت شاطئاً
And my love, I want to dig a beach for you
out of this cement.
لنا مطرٌ محمّلٌ تارةً بِعطش الأرض وتارةً بعفن الشارع
Old faith and new.
Oh, time of wells and time of satellite dishes
لنا الحرّ والرقص على ظهور المباني
(قد نرى بقعة بحرٍ من هناك)
Are the fish still edible?
Our nets are full of plastic and trash.
لنا كأسْ تجري فينا كنبع صغير ننسُج فيه سماءً وغروباً ونجوماً
وتراتيلا
My parents, they threw me in the sea when I was two.
And I floated.
They called me little fish.
My parents trusted the sea.
إلهنا الأزرق لم نعد نعبده وما زلنا نحبّه
Oh, blue God we no longer worship, but still love.
لِمَ لا نتذكِّر البحر إلَّا عندما تموت العصافير على الشرفات
Over breakfast, I had to convince a friend Beirut
was still on the Mediterranean.
لمن ندوّن أحلامنا كلّ صباح
Are you sure he asked?
Is it a deep, bluest blue?
ما أجمل الموت بلا ضرائح!
Yes, I said.
No, I said.
إرفعني على كتفيك قبل أن نحرق المدينة
Lift me on your shoulders.
Roll in the tires.
Light them up.
Oh, city we no longer love, but still worship.
لقد أقسمنا أن نُقلع عن عبادة هذه المدينة
[AUDIENCE CLAPPING]