The experience of poetic schizophrenia extends for more than 40 years, and I knew it almost 30 years ago, followed his hair and evolution during these 30 years, and wrote several studies on his hair stream, the first of which was an introduction to his poetry group, which was labelled as a fourth of his cheerleading season.

This work, consisting of eight poetry groups, is almost a landmark in the process of renewal of the modern Arab poem, through its attraction to creative communication with the heritage, in exchange for another tendency to renovate the modern Arab poem in recent decades, and it is adopted by way of application or look at the flock with this heritage, and it may be in the interest of the Arab poems themselves to struggle.

The most important of these eighty-year-olds, a generation that enjoys a great deal of vigilance, independence and sorrow; especially because of the 70s who have lost their creativity as a result of the political and civilized circumstance, the unbridled attempt to extricate the morality of the national project and emigration of the world, and their experiences are only hybrid to bear.

This has necessitated the great harmony and consistency of the poem with its diverse audience, so they first had to provide a text close to the public without having to give up their own great beauty criteria, and, secondly, they had to open up the musical horizon with the home and activism, which some claimed to close, through the seizure of the rink.

These efforts have come to fruition, as we can now clearly hear the sound of this poem purely pure, both from these poets and from the next three generations, and this is not evidenced by the many contests and awards broadcast by screens and communicators with their programmes and series.

It was not only on the head of these poets, but it was before what we could call the juice of the poem, that is, presenting a contemporary poem in all its components. At the grass-roots level, we will adopt the idea of getting closer to the grasslands, using words and rhetoric on the public tongues, which are commonly exemplary.

This may leak from the delta to the builder. Our Shabish poet pays particular attention to artistic construction, intensification, logical interdependence and vertical growth of the poem, as illustrated by, for example, in its Diwan, entitled " Agreed " , in which our poet quoted the poem in the form of ancient and ancient heritage and narrative.

How does it go in and out of the hair?

It's the most spectacular question, which controls major poems, such as the House of Spirit, the Shahad, the Time, the Hair Worm, and the Lost of the Hair, and the Leap of the Worms, but it's a question that comes up in a hairy way, and dialogues with and around it, in a poetic way, and it's a blurry.

At the same level, its unique language on the part of its vast wings is shaped by the inspiration with its images and vocabulary, the lively transmission of what it was thought to be prone to ribism or penetration and, on the other hand, extends these wings to the language of daily reality in a stunning and consensual boldness, and the enlargement of the wings here confirms that those who are trying to solve their hordesclusions.

One of the fathers says the poem:

A language you know.

Every building has reached.

Referring to the relationship between the poet and his language, and to the same language as her lovers, after she realized that their souls had gone out with love and gloomy, she sought their secrets, on a journey that did not come to the discreet, nor to the delinquents, but when they received the wave that she knew, they realized that every one of them would be caught in the rain.

يُطوِّع الشاعر ثقافته القديمة والحديثة لشعره، ويثبت أن لحظة الإبداع إذا وصلت إلى درجة حرارة ملائمة تستطيع أن تصهر داخلها كل العناصر التى يوظِّفها الشاعر في بناء قصيدته، لتؤكد أنه لا يوجد عنصر شعري بطبيعته، وعنصر غير شعري بالضرورة، وإنما توجد موهِبَة ولحظة وبنيَة تصل إلى درجات متفاوتة من صهر العناصر، فيبدو معها قدر الانسجام والتوافق، أو الخلل والتنافر، فليس القمر والبحيرة والمساء عناصر شعرية دائمة، وليست المسطرة والبرجل عناصر خارجة بالضرورة عن نطاق الشاعر وهو يرسم بأدوات (المهندس) الملامح الرئيسية لسيرة شاعر:

مِنْ كُلِّ حُلْمٍ

كنتُ أصحو في يميني قطعةٌ أخرى

أُرَكِّبها بِهِ وأوَصِّلُ..

حتى غَدَا : قدماه “سِـنٌّ”

وانفراجُ يدَيْهِ ما غطَّى ضِياءً “برجَـلُ”

وهذه النـزعة “البرجلية” تترك آثارها الدقيقة على بنية القصيدة المُحْكمة في غالب الأحايين، فلا يحرمها التدفق الظاهري من الإحساس بإحكام نسج الخيوط الحريرية المتدرجة من قاعدتها إلى قمتها، نلحظ ذلك في قصيدة “منـزل الروح” التى يمكن أن تُقرأ من بعض الزوايا على أنها “سيرة ذاتية” لشاعر، شأنها في ذلك شأن قصيدة “الشهادة”. كما يمكن أن تُقرأ قصيدة “ندَّاهـة الشـعر” على أنـها “سيـرة غيـرية” لشاعر، شأنـها في ذلك شأن قصيدة “كم الوقت؟”. وفي كل الحالات يتضح التماسك الخفي الذى يوائم بين الامتداد الزمني واسترجاع تيار الوعي، وبين الصورة التفصيلية ولمسة الريشة العابرة، وبين الأبعاد المألوفة وخلخلة الأبعاد المتعمدة، تمهيدًا لوضع إطار غير عادي لحالة غير عادية.

في مفتتح قصيدة “الشهادة” يعمد الشاعر إلى خلخلة مفهوم الزمان والمكان والظاهر وما وراء الظاهر، ليمهد رسم ملامح الشخصية الشعرية:

كُنَّا على أرجوحةِ الوقتِ المُعَلَّقِ في انفساحِ مجرَّتين

البعضُ يصطادونَ في الأفقِ المقابلِ بعضَ أوتارِ الفراغ

والبعضُ يملأُ كوبَ طاقتِه هُلامَ رؤى

وينفخُها فقاقيعَ احتمالْ

وهذه الخلخلة تقود المتلقي إلى صورة فيها إيهام الواقع في صورة مَنْ أَخَذَتْ بكفِّه وأدخلته خِدْرَها، لكن هذه الصورة “الواقعية” ما تلبث أن تتحوَّل إلى إشعاعات تقترب بها إلى السياحة الصوفية، لتَهَبَ الإحساس بإفلات الشخصية الشعرية من ضحالة البُعد الواحد، والاقتراب من تركيبة الجوهرة المشِعَّة المتعددة الأبعاد والاحتمالات، والتى تضع المتلقِّي في قلب المناخ الشعري المُراد.

وهـذه التقـنية ذاتـها هـي التى تتبدَّى في مطلع قصيدة “كم الوقت؟”، حيث خلخلة مفاهيم الكم والكيف، وقياس الأشياء بالتراكم الكَمِّي لا بالأبعاد الشعورية، فعندما يُطرح السؤال “بكم؟” في لغة النثر فإنما يتوجَّه إلى أن يتجزأ ويُحسَب بالتراكم العددي، وتكون الإجابة عليه عشرة أو عشرين أو ثلاثين أو أكثر أو أقل، وعندما يُطرح السؤال “بكيف؟” فإنما يتوجه إلى الحالة التى لا تُجزَّأ ولا تُعَد وإنما تُوصَف، لكن الشاعر يهدم هذه الفواصل بين الكم والكيف من خلال طرح أربعة أسئلة تتصدرها “كم”: (كم الحزن يا سيّدي؟ – كم العمر يا سيدي؟ – كم اللون يا سيدي؟ – كم الوقت يا سيدي؟)، ولا يبدو من بينها مستجيبًا لشروط العُرف اللغوي (النثري) سوى سؤالين حول “العمر” و”الوقت”، وهما يشكِّلان ضفيرة مع السؤالين الآخرين: كم الحزن؟ وكم اللون؟ اللذين يشكِّلان “خروجًا” أو “مجاوزةً” لغوية مقصودة، واللافت للنظر أن إجابة الشاعر على الأسئلة “المعقولة” تبدو “غير معقولة”، فليس هناك عمر يشمل “ألف صيف” ويُضحي فيه بـ”مليون قلب”، وليس هنالك وقت بـ”قرب مشرق الشمس من الغرب”، و”قرب شتات الشتات”، فالخلخلة تحدث حتى من خلال الإيهام المعقول، وهي تحدث من باب أولى مع السؤالين الآخرين اللذين يطرقان مجال الحزن ومجال اللون لقياسهما بالكم، ومن خلال هذا تُمهِّد القصيدة لبناء المجال الذي تتحرك فيه في إطار رسم “سيرة غيرية” لأحد الشعراء، وكأنها تدين من خلال “النقيض المضاد” أعرافَ عالمٍ يرى الأشياء بتراكماتـها الكمية لا بأبعادها الشعورية ولا بقيمتها الذاتية.

إن سيطرة الشاعر اللافتة على أسرار الإيقاع الشعري، تبدو مثارًا للاهتمام والإعجاب في زمن التفلت من معظم ضوابط الإيقاع بحجة الانطلاق في الآفاق الشعرية، وهو انطلاق يبدو أن من الصعب تَحقُّقه في غياب هذه الضوابط ذاتها، ونحن نلتقي هنا باستخدامٍ سلِسٍ طَيِّعٍ لأبحُر الشعر المختلفة، سواء كانت من ذوات التفعيلة الواحدة مثل الكامل والمتقارب، أو من ذوات التفعيلة المزدوجة مثل البسيط والمديد والخفيف، مع انتقال رشيق بين صور التفعيلة الممكنة، وتساوي أو تنوُّع عدد مرَّات ورودها، وهو انتقالٌ يبدو في معظم الأحيان ملائمًا للحظة التى تصل إليها القصيدة في تطورها، مما يحتاج إلى دراسة مفصَّلة، ويمكن أن أشير هنا فقط إلى وجود هذه الظاهرة مع تفعيلة الكامل في قصيدة “الشهادة”، وتفعيلة المتقارب في قصيدة “كم الوقت”، ولا بد أن أشير أيضًا إلى الهيمنة الشعرية الجميلة في قصيدة “ندَّاهة الشِّعر” على قافية الجيم النادرة في بحر البسيط بإيقاعه التراثي المتموِّج، وما صاحب ذلك من التناص مع مستوى عريق جميل من اللغة التراثية.

لكن الذى يزيد من ذلك الإعجاب أن يتم ذلك الالتزام دون أن يُقيِّد حركة الشاعر في اللجوء إلى كثيرٍ من التقنيات الجيدة في بناء قصيدته، مثل اللجوء إلى الحوار، والمزج بين الامتداد الزمني وتيار الوعي، واستغلال كثيرٍ من الوسائل الفنية في بناء الصورة متعددة الأبعاد، واللجوء أحيانًا إلى الصورة المفصّلة المستوعبة، وحينًا إلى اللمسة الخاطفة، والجمع من وراء ذلك كله بين هموم الذات الفردية التى تنعكس عليها الصورة لدرجة الإيهام بأنها ترسمها وحدها، والاختراق إلى الذات الجماعية التى يمكن من خلالـها رؤية النفوس اللامتناهية في مرآة القصيدة إلى غير ذلك من التقنيات الكثيرة التى تحتاج إلى وقفات مفصلة، ويضيق المقام عنه في مجال تقديم العمل لقارئ ينبغي ألا يُحجَب كثيرًا عن اللقاء بالنصِّ الشعريِّ الذي هو مُقدِمٌ على قراءته والتمتع به، والذى قد يجد فيه من ألوان المتعة ما لم يخطر ببال الشاعر والناقد معًا.

It's New York, the brightest girl in the art of temptation, the call for reckless progress, the modern world order of its high-rises and its streets, which reach the horizon, as Abdul Bari says, when it's still a theme for a hot hair dialogue from the early 20th century to the hour.

This article tries to meditate in New York in one of these experiments, in the light of the above-mentioned great poetry experiment. A song to cross the river twice For the Sudanese poet, Mohamed Abd al-Bari, the lengthy poem he wrote during his stay in New York, and because the city, as we have said, inspired a great group of poets, this poem must be approached as a dialogue and a clash with previous writings, especially the writing of an African poet, as in the experience of Lopold Singer, the Greater Senegalese poet, Yusuf, or the Arab poet, and Muslimsah, as well as the Greenhouse.

The poet Muhammad Abd al-Bari opened his long-distance poem by leaving and searching, as if the whole poem was a discovery of the other side of the poet, considering that the other one is the mirror. New York is the mirror here where the poet rediscovers himself and writes his own.

Yay, New York.

Leaving with the scholar may end with you!

It's the bay on your south.

Opens the blue gate for me.

I'm begging no faces.

From the new horizon to the new horizon.

The spirit is Christmas.

And I'm making the lightning work progress towards the city of the world.

And my Wright intervened in the leak of flags coming under the glory of God.

This town.

My taste in the hot mix of you.

To try the meaning unit.

And I've got the white fireworks orbit in you.

To spare the ashes!

هنا يدخل الشاعر كجزءٍ من بانوراما أممية، رايات، وألوان، ونفوس، إلى مدينة الدنيا، ومقر الأمم المتحدة، وعولمة التجارة والاقتصاد الهائل، لكنه يجعل دخوله تحت رايات تعالت تحت مجد الله، في مدينة الدنيا والبهرج المعدني الغارق في دنويوته وماديته، غير أنه سرعان ما يلتقي بسلفه الإفريقي سنغور وهو يقول: ذوِّبيني في المزيج الحار منكِ. وكأنه يعيد مناشدة سنغور للمدينة -التي وصفها بالبرودة- بأن تدَعَ دماءَه السوداء تتدفَّق في دمائها في قصيدته المشهورة “إلى نيويورك”،هو الزنجي الداخل على مدينة يرى أنها تحتاجه، تحتاج أن تحتضن عنصره ودماءه الحارة كي تُكمِلَ بها النموذج الإنساني الذي عجزت عن تمثُّله الحضارة الغربية التي أنتجته. ولكن عبد الباري يمعن في الطلب على نحو لا يخلو من تناقض وهو يقول:

فيا مدينتي الجريئة

حرِّريني من قديمِ وجوهيَ الموروثةِ الأولى

ولو بجديد أقنعةِ السَّرابْ

*******

أريد من الغواية أن تزيحَ ستارةَ الصوفي عن جسدي

وفي المرآة من مِللي التي لا يمكن التحديق فيها مرتين:

أريد أن تتفجَّر الآن المسامُ من الإثارة في عروقي.

وهكذا ككثير ممن كتبوا عن نيويورك، وأصابتهم بوجهها الآلي العملاق وحداثتها المفرطة، يتحرك نص عبد الباري مراوَحَةً بين الهجاء والمدح، بين الرغبة والرهبة، فالشاعر يريد منها أن تخلع عنه جبة الصوفي أن يغرق في عالمها الدنيوي أن يتفجَّر إثارةً، وأن تُلبسه وجوهًا جديدةً ولو كانت سرابًا! وهنا يبرز التناقض من جديد فهو يطلبها ولكنه يرى فيها تطابقًا مع الجهة السالبة من أناه الممزقة، فكل ملامح المدينة تنقلب فجأةً تمثيلًا لبؤسه: مشاةٌ كأسباب خوفي/لافتاتٌ دعائيةٌ كملامِحِ وجهي أراها أماميَ تكذِبُ /تَكَاسٍ وصفراء صفراء مثل احتمالات موتي أراها خلال المكان تجوسُ.

إنها نيويورك.. بوابة الحيرة إنها الذهاب إلى الأقاصي من الجسد والأرض .

• هارلم

مثلما كانت نيويورك مثالًا للعولمة الصادمة، وما يصاحب هذا المصطلح من معاني انهيار الخصوصية الثقافية، حتى قبل أن تتجلى هذه المعالم والمصطلحات في واقعنا الحديث، ومثلما بهرت لوركا قبل تسعة عقود وكتب مجموعته الشهيرة “شاعر في نيويورك” التي استعرنا عنوانها للحديث عن تجربة عبد الباري، فإنها أيضًا فتحت نافذةَ “هارلم” أمام عينيه، هذا الحي الذي احتضن الاختلاف والزنوجة، وصارت مشهدًا أصيلًا في أعين الشعراء من بعده مثل سنغور في القصيدة المذكورة آنفًا:

رأيت هارلم تعجُّ بالأصوات والألوان الطقوسية
ورائِحة الفضوح —
في ساعة شرب الشاي المسائي، في منزلِ عامل توصيل الأدوية، رأيت مهرجان الليل يبدأ بانحسار النهار.
وأنا أعلن أن الليل أصدقُ من النهار.
إنه الساعة الطاهرة، إذ يبعث الله الحياة الأزلية في الشوارع،
******

هارلم، هارلم! ها قد رأيت هارلم، هارلم!
نسمة خضراء من الذرة تتصاعد من الأرصفة
بذَرَتْها أقدام راقصي “الدان” الحافية،
أردافٌ تتموج كالحرير، وصُدور شامخة كأعالي الرماح،
باليهات النيلوفر،

والأقنعة الخيالية الرائعة،
وثمار مانجو الحب وهي تتساقط مُتَدَحْرِجةً من المنازل المنخفضة.

كان سنغور يرى في “هارلم” إمكانات كامنة لفكرة الحداثة المشرقة التي تعج بالحياة والتي يتساوى فيها الناس، عالمًا ينصف الزنجي الأسود ويغسل عنه تاريخ الاستعباد، وهو يقرر أن الليل الأسود أصدق من النهار وأنه لحظة مقدسة يبذر فيها الله الحياة في االشوارع.

• لوركا

وقف لوركا ينادي:

أواه يا هارلم..

ليس هناك من أسىً يعادل عينيك المسحوقتين!

غير أن لوركا في فتنته السريالية كان يغني بمرارة وسخرية معًا، وبأمل يشتبك مع العجز بأسلوب الصورة المركبة التي تعول على السحر والأثر النفسي، كان يغني لأيقونة النهضة الزنجية “هارلم”، بارقة التحرر وفرصة الضمير الأبيض لاحتضان السواد واحترامه. ربما لم يقف عبد الباري طويلًا عند هارلم، ولكنه وقف وما كان له أن يتجاوزها أبدًا، يقول محمد عبد الباري:

هارلم

هلالٌ من الذهب المستحيل

أنا كالهلال أُصَلِّي

وأُمْسِكُ وحدي السموات

كي لا تميل!

كعادته أعادها إلى أفقه العربي الإسلامي هلالًا يقيم ميل السموات فهو منذ البداية دخل المدينة تحت مجد الله لم ينس أنه يمثِّل أفقًا آخر، وإن طلب إلى المدينة أن تخلع على مائه سرابَها، لم ينس محمد عبد الباري أن يحاكم المدينة ويكذِّبها ويكذِّب تاريخها الحضاري وهو يقول:

أنا في المدينة يكذب التاريخ

يكذب في المحيط الأطلسي غيابُ ماء الأبيض المتوسط

الآثارُ تكذبُ في المتاحف..

حتى يقول: ….. وتكذب في المسيح عيونه الزرقاء!

المسيح الآتي من الشرق وقد تحول في صور الكنائس إلى أوروبي بعيون زرقاء، لم يبتعد كثيرًا محمد عبد الباري في محاكمته المدينة عمَّن سبقه من الشعراء لكنه أبدع في تذكره للجذور، في عودته وفي سيرته التي عادت به من مدينة الدنيا كما سمَّاها إلى مدينة المناقل في السودان، حيث وُلِدَ: في النصف من أعمال برج الجدي جئتُ لوحشَةِ البشريّ فيمن جاؤوا/ ذاق الترابُ الماءَ شعَّتْ في المناقِلِ فكرتي الشفَّافةُ السمراءُ…! وإلى حواري الرياض حيث شبَّ وكبر، وكأنَّه يجر نيويورك من شَعْرِها إلى عالَمِه الشرقيّ ليقرأَ على مسامعها سيرةَ الشاعر وبحثِه القديم وحيرته في مواجهة العالم.

The poem of modernity in the Sultanate of Oman is a remarkable position, with the richest bamboo poets in the Arab poetry arena inside and outside Amman, with their masculine poems, which dig a special place among other poetry types.

I believe that Amman ' s poem is more profound and self-sustaining, on the one hand, and on the other, it has not been widely observed in romance, but it has been all about self-inflictedness in its various forms, and thus it represents a special self-help situation, a sense of self-help and knowledge in the movement of Arab modernity, and the notion that this colour is infinite.

• Poetry:

The modern Omani poet relies on religious heritage, which is based on a series of cultural advances that have contributed to its formation, and we therefore note that the modern Omani poem has relied on the multiplication of religious heritage, so we note the tale in the use of the Koranian text, which is reflected in the inspiration of the Prophet Yousssus story of peace in the poet of Hassan Al-Muruchi.

    And what was his brother's name?،
How Dad spoils him,
I didn't have them,
To suspect his mother with the deer.،
And what they think of the house...

In the previous section, the poet was employed for the Prophet Youssouf story of peace, by relying on the patriarchal pattern of religious heritage, where he remembered the love stories of the Prophet Yakub to his son Yusuf, which had led to the use of the prophet and the fact that the Yusuf ' s brothers had taken refuge in the al-Muqab, and had not been seen as a question of the ruqah al-Shusif al-Shusif ' idah al-Sud of the recent lus.

You're welcome to the old poets in the modern Omani poem, because they have a clear effect on the structure of the Arab poet from the ocean to the bay. The poem has been opened with the uterus of poetry with great influence on the Arab poetry.

I don't want to lie to anyone.

Or believe something.

I'll sleep filling my eyelids.

About the wars and the streets.

I'll take the poisoned dagger off my body.

I'll describe my soul from the memories.

To fly out of time and cities,

Light.

As a sailing spirit, he crossed the storm.!

You're welcome to see the image of the prophet in a syphilis poem by saying: I'm going to sleep filling my eyelids of wars and deserts, replacing the hair with the war and replacing the people around, saying:

I'm filling my eyelids out of her.

And the creation is made easier, and it's consumed.

You are welcome to retrieve the rebellion, which strikes in every mushroom with an arrow, to draw language battles around the poem and its encroachment, while it comes against the sword of my own descendants. The intention is to seek self-determination from life, despite wars, deserts, deaths, direct killings, infringements of freedoms and small battles between people in our Arab society.

The poet says the sky of Issa calling the position of the exile:

My shadow.
Exile stars.
The remains of our prophets.
We stayed.!

The image of inner exile appears to be clear in the hair of the sky of Issa, where it is a self-importation within the home, where it lives in a world that is not commensurate with what it dreams, but all it occupies is to feel the spirit of life and joy, but it finds itself bound by destitution, pain and restraint.

It's a palm land.

As Christ is among the Jews.
I'm in a nation of God.

Strange as good in Thomod!

Undoubtedly, a sense of alienity, internal exile and marginalization contributes to its demise and, in fact, to its death, as if it dies in its own home, in the face of its own wounds, so exile is the spirit that tends to be self-inflicted in exile.

The poet says the Stone Hill, calling the sound of the blade:

Good morning, sunshine.

You noble wicked.

Friend of wolves and daughters of Owe.

Mr. Al-Khafar, in the empty quarter.

The Prophet of the Revolution!

اتكأ الشاعر هلال الحجري في القصيدة السابقة على استدعاء سيرة الشنفرى أمير شعراء الصعاليك في التراث العربي، حيث يستمد من صوته معالم الثورة على المجتمع والرفض والتمرد على العادات والتقاليد، وبناء مركزية للمهمَّشين الذين يحاولون الحفر وراء هدم تقاليد وبناء أخرى، فقد يعتمد النص الشعري عند الحجري على أنساق ثقافية مضمرة ومعلنة من خلال حديثه عن (الشنفرى، الربع الخالي، بنات آوى، نبي الثورة، رسول الرؤيا) فتبدو لي هذه النسقية محمولة بشحنات تراثية وثقافية متنوعة فتبدو صورة الشنفرى، وما ترسمه عنه كتب الأخبار مع أصدقائه الصعاليك، تأبط شرا، وعروة بن الورد وغيرهم، وأنهم كانوا يقطعون الطرق في صحراء الربع الخالي ويأخذون من الأغنياء من أجل مساعدة الفقراء، كما حفلت القصيدة العربية الحديثة باستلهام أصوات الصعاليك في لحظات الثورة والتمرد، وانتشار الضيق وشظف العيش، وغياب العدالة الإنسانية. فقصيدة هلال الحجري تحمل رؤية اجتماعية شديدة الاقتراب من واقعنا العربي، حيث يأكل القوي الضعيف، وينتصر الحق على الباطل، مما أدى إلى بروز شعراء الصعاليك في متن القصيدة الحديثة بوصفهم رمزًا ضد النظام الاجتماعي البائس في الثقافة العربية.

• الموروث الشعبي:

تتجلى أصوات الموروث الشعبي في القصيدة العمانية الحديثة، لما يمثله التراث الشعبي من حضور لافت في بنية القصيدة الحديثة ومن ثم نلاحظ اعتماد الشاعر على الحكاية الشعبية من خلال الحديث عن القمر والنجوم والأساطير والخرافات الشعبية وغيرها، حيث صارت جزءًا من عناصر البناء الفني في القصيدة العربية الحديثة، حيث يمثل الموروث الشعبي المرجعية الأولى للثقافة الشعبية التي اتكأ عليها النقاد والباحثون في صياغة المفاهيم العلمية في شتى المجالات الإنسانية، وقد تجلَّى المورث الشعبي من خلال نسق الأسطورة الشعبية في شعر سماء عيسى، فيقول:

القمر أكثر صفاءً كحزن الأنبياء
وروحي التي حملها اللّه
على طيفٍ من النار
هل تعيدها إليَّ
عصافير البحر
أسمعها تناديني
كأرملة ذوى الدهر بها في الهجير!

يرتكز الشاعر سماء عيسى على بنية النسق الثقافي من خلال حضور الأسطورة الشعبية للقمر الذي يضيء الكون ليلًا، ففي قول الذات الشعبية وجهة كالبدر والقمر والطيف، وكأن القمر هو المحرك الأساس للأسطورة، فيمثل القمر في صفائه حزنًا كحزن الأنبياء والمرسلين الحزانى والمكلومين، حيث يصور الشاعر القمر بالروح التي حملها الله في جسد العاشق، وقد ربط بين القمر وعصافير البحر الهائمة التي تبحث عن ملجأ ومأوى، يحميها من هجير الصحراء وجبروتها وقسوتها التي تكشف عن صخبها في أوج الليل والنهار، ثم يستند على نسق المرأة التي جاءت في صورة أرملة تقاسي من جراء هزائم الزمن والنكبات، يبدو لنا أن الشاعر أضاء الروح باستدعائه من موروثنا الشعبي صورة القمر والعلائق الميثيولوجية بينه وبين المرأة والروح والأنبياء والموت.

الشاعر سيف الرحبي

الشاعر سماء عيسى

الشاعر هلال الحجري

الشاعر حسن المطروشي

In addition to the growing tropical forests, those silent questions that are commonly known and unspoken, and whose thorns expand to intersect with the truth and hurt all those who give their hands to them, as if they pose risks of penetration and detection, and the risk of searching for anonymous answers, but only one look at the scene -- when the phenomena are connected with some awareness-raising -- is enough to try to be creative.

Perhaps one of the most critical questions to be avoided is that of a feminist poet, with my reservation to the term and the need to use it. While the monetary code is stirred by many feminine poetry names, many of which are often swollen by comity or sympathy, these readings are often linked to certain experiences of certain causes and to other omissions. What are these phenomena?

I'll be back in memory for years when I was still at the beginning of my experience, when I accidentally took care of the opening of an old cultural magazine, which was occupying a group of great writers and critics, whose images were carefully painted in the first pages, as the most important, the better, and they were.

I'm not sure that the old magazine was rich in women's participation, but that the image I've been looking for wasn't on the regular list.

Then let's go back to the beginnings - quickly - and to the historical data on feminine hair, a term we will agree for logistical reasons to use in the following, to refer to poetry texts written by women - in the civilization of a riverine country, the name of the oldest known poet on the ground - and I'm not less here a poet - to confirm precedence over the sexes - Let's go. The daughter of King Serjun Alkadi, born in 2286 B.C., died after a young woman in 35, but during her short life, she left great traces and wrote immortal texts, which took a religious external form, but imagining her meanings, images and references, which led to her being just a mask, concealing the cravings of the oasis.

At the Arab level, in the ancient times, many names emerged, most of which were vocal and left with scattered fathers, such as the qualification of the Chebaan, the courageous personality, which, for an unknown reason, left many of the scholars of political significance, and whose poetry was simply sculptured. We must point out here the wrong information about the death of her four sons. The Muslim women are not the dead of their children, but the Negro.

We must point out something important here, namely, the phenomenon of maturity in the Galle era, and its specific association with women, which, in my opinion, simply stems from the fact that women at that time, in war, conflict and the cruelty of life, were not reaching the age of poetry, unless they were killed, widowed, damaged or lost a life, thus spreading the philosophy of death, and became the philosophy of life.

But it wasn't enough to mention any poetry in the book of "Princests", like, which was written between 764 and 787 years ago, and it was one of the first bloggers to preserve the throne, which included 67 poets and nearly 130 vocals, with the total absence of a woman's hair.

Entering illiterate, fratricidal and even Andalusian ages, there have been shifts in social life and the moral environment, and women ' s hair has become highly correlated with the surroundings, who used it as freedom of expression and as a means of disinformation.

Finally, in modern times, things have not changed much, since women ' s poetry has been excluded from the front lines of a big hairline that can only recognize the importance of their experiences and earnestly, and in return we can remember only a few names, the most important of which are those of the males, who have tried to open up the power of the young woman.

I am not trying here to condemn the convict scene, which we all know what and what it is, to the extent that I am trying to point to the place of disease to find medicine, to find a solution that requires first recognition of the existence of a great and obvious problem, to grow safely through times, to disrupt the development of Arab poetry, to destroy the experiences, so we must analyse the phenomenon more rationally, beyond the reach of differences and without ignoring it.

I'm one of those who started writing "the poet" on Facebook a decade ago, when the attack on this new phenomenon was seen by poets, critics and educators, and in the shape of the hardest and hardest, I'll never forget the kind of shame that my script was, and it's bound to say, despite pretending to be trustworthy.

You can imagine how a person who is ashamed of what he writes, spreads his script to one of the communicators, and then wishes to disappear from existence or break the earth and swallow it, despite his deep sense that what he wrote is good, I am also not a very small person, who has spent books and literature on a fair and self-determined basis.

But the poet is used to it, relying on it to the extent that a poet or jewellery is spreading, even if it is-- it's terrifying for him, not just that success, fame and high selling ratios are something that is incompatible with the essence and writing of the poet, which is often the way to the eternal rule: this is not a fierce, and it's not a poet.

When the media came, they changed everything, and this change is in fact only part of the nature of life that's always advanced, and if technology and digitality have gone on all aspects of life, then why would you rule out the poet?

That's how the hair exploded, it can't be counted or counted, and the poet came out of ordinary people, unknown or dedicated, just dreamed of writing it. This is a new poet, a police, not a literary culture, but a deep sense of people, things and attitudes, which may be found in a greenstorm on the corner, and no one who studied ten years in college, reads a thousand books, and here brings me what the French poet said. Paul Valerie. A century ago that: "There are poets who didn't write one poem in their lives, murderers who didn't break one drop of blood."

We moved from a time when poets were seen as distinctive artistic or intellectual voices, and part of the cultural elite, unavailable, to poets who were closer to influencers, called the Instapoiters, any instagram poets, who were in contact with their thieves or who were in direct and permanent interaction with their villagers, and who entered the business market (sale books, scripts, texting). Robbie Cor. Canadian poets of Indian origin, which emerged on Instagram by writing short-patterns with simple drawings, whose religion has achieved imaginary milk and honey. Lang Liv. New Zealand poets and artists of Cambodian origin, intensely active on sites such as Anstagram and Facebook, whose meditational and romantic poems were important to many translators around the world, including the Arab world, making them far with their texts, thanks to communicating sites and the unknown poet, the name of which is now visible.Atticus.As a metaphor, which added ambiguity to which the media audience was attracted, Atticus publishes mostly short-patterns in English on Instagram, relying on romance and streamlined presence, a simple, short-size-fixing method, whose texts have been transformed into the quotations of the world, which has succeeded in converting its digital texts into books.

But Instagram is not the only platform. Many Arab and world poets found in Facebook space for live interaction with their villagers, and Twitter is an area to try short poems or digital haeko in only 280 letters.

When the most important existential, philosophical and political issues were poetic, the poet today focused on personal and daily feelings, individual experiences, such as love, depression, anxiety and self-recovery, so the poet became an art very close to people, because he was touching them more.

The complex language of hard hair, deep scriptures, cultural and historical references, written in long or medium texts, is now an easy, simple and straightforward language for anyone, we are in short texts, closer to being quoted, which, despite its flaws, makes poet reading easier, accessible and free of charge.

Yeah, she returned platforms like Facebook, Instagram, Tech Tok, and others, resurrection of hair for a young man who was away from him, but is that all?

And to be objective, I will not deny what seems to be clear, that all these positives have not come without negatives on poets, poets and even readers.

The attraction of every person who makes digital content does not, of course, exclude poets. The image becomes necessary to accompany the script.

In the end, there is an unchanging fact, not time, and no change of reality and its media, that the hair is inherent in life, unleashing its skin, opening the windows of the soul to the world.

(BROAN WARING)

Brother... The war is over.

They took your tank to the iron smelter.

But your gun is still on the mountain.

And here comes the sand on your salad.

The peasant grows his field where I fell.

Because the trees you planted...

She died, too.

The mountain that you've robotized.

Don't spare him alive.

Enemies flow to the top.

And get off the face.

I saw you.

Every time.

Before your last fall.

The enemy takes your suit and your annulment.

And whatever you are, brother.

They were killing your body with bullets.

Even in your last death.

When the worm was falling out of your quarry,

And your big heart open.

They thought you were lying.

And you're still their nightmare.

Do it, brother. The war is over.

And there's the kids in the park.

And the balls you've been seeing.

From fire and metal,

I'm cold, and they're saving her.

In their feet.

Except the ball that fell near her.

That's the one that sent your body a shelf..

We're here in the village.

No war, no enemies.

A horizon of rare vibrations.

It just forms under our pillows.

We've forgotten some of our surgeons.

And we could feed some of our daggers.

Old.

But all we want.

That our dogs won't bark but a guest.

My mom's still in bed.

Talk about your height and your strong muscle.

It takes her a lot.

They didn't find shoes on your size.

She was asking me.

On which side did you sleep?

Scared me to tell her.

You haven't slept in seven years.

And the fragment that broke your ribs.

It was from a powerful gun.

And you left your whole life.

And I left the sun.

Strange on your names and dreams.

And I've been on my skin.

That's it.

And the distance between your life

And your death is six children.

*I'm sorry.

Student AbdelazizAn Iraqi poet working in hair, hair working for him, they both work hard to offer what's different to eye, hear, and other senses. "A color candy."

In 1993, he published his famous poem. (BROAN WARING)It is a legacy that he wrote when his brother quoted, and it made a sealed fusion in the audiences, that it was a form of polite against the idea of war, but in a roaming way, standing on the threshold of fear of the throne of the ruling regime, and the defamation that the poem was quoted. It is also one tongue of millions of communicators with their sons and brothers, which has made the poem spread as a blessed prayer, while the poem has not received monetary treatment that is commensurate with its importance when it comes out, as the inscription in its linguistic soil can lead the prospectors to find the poet ' s and those who are experimenting with the monetary analysis of the poem.

"It is indeed surprising that the poem has not been rejected by the sergeant that the State was putting in place to prevent the publication of anything that it deems incompatible with, although the poet strongly declares not only his rejection of the war, but his firm affirmation that this war was futile, and the indication of that is the title of the poem, as he wants to say that this war was my brother's war. So he lost his life because of her, while others came back to their normal lives because it wasn't their war, and that's a bitter irony that the poet even passed on the neck of print in that difficult and cruel era of Iraq's life."(1).

A poem. "My brother's war." It's deeply disastrous to carry her reading on a delicate journey through memory halls and the loss of war and the devastating effect on the breath, through a few arduous images, to reflect the deepest sorrow of his brother's departure, and despite the end of the war itself, the emotional effects of the war are the same.

The uniqueness of the poem is due to its excess of political or national affiliations; it is a rampant cry between different walls of cultures, in terms of addressing the trauma caused by violence and the sanctity of memory carried by lives, and the quiet devastation beyond the time of the alleged heroism.

The poem begins with an intel with a certain irony: Brother, the war is over.And that gives the advice of a sarcasm and arrogance to the waves, although the war may be over by definition of the geospace, it is not a time-control, but it's still pulse in memory and the remains of the bodies of the dead.

With the phrase They took your tank to the iron smelter. A deep indication of the dispossession of the tournament from its personal nature, the fact that the soldier's life, despite its appreciation, is ultimately reduced to a mere metal wreck, while the sentence says,But your gun is still on the mountain.With a symbolic reference to the abandonment of the task or duty which has not been completed, and may reflect the mountain ' s rejection of the violence generated by human beings, however, this abandonment itself remains inextricably linked to the devotion of the brother, deepening the meanings associated with sacrifice and human paradox.

Nature in the poem doesn't look negative or renovated; it's hurt and collusive. "And the sand has finally come to your salad, the crocodile is planting his field in which you fell, It suggests burial of the body and ideals by employing sand, which is a classic symbol of time and demise, heroism here swallows itself, and trees do the same. 'Cause the trees you planted, you died too, As a sign of the totality of the war against creatures.

Perhaps the most influential part of the poem lies in the disparity between the past that war and the post-war present, the children are now playing with what was previously death tools:

"and the balls you've been seeing from fire and metal,

I'm cold,

And they're throwing it in their feet."

This shift from weapons to games is both beautiful and terrifying, and it represents peace and steadfastness on the one hand, and on the other, reduces the brutality of war, seizing it to active beauty, breaking its slice in which it says.Except the ball you fell near, the one that turned your body around, In my hair description of death, borrowing the wings' job to describe the spirit's way to the sky.، While the mother represents the death scene, like the rest of the triangles, holding the memories and legends of her son: And it takes her so much that they didn't find shoes on your size..

I am proud of her son ' s uniqueness, and perhaps with the divine exception of being the artisanal and graphic martyr, bigger than the world, while re-importing the adjustment that the mothers who are eager to ask about the martyr as if they were alive: "She was asking me on any side you were sleeping، Scared me to tell her you haven't slept in seven years, This question and its conclusive response reflect the physical absence and an enduring peace that deprives both living and dead.

The poem's tone is lame, thin, bitter, and imaginative, with an earful of Arab poetic heritage, especially in repeating it, bringing it to the dead, blending it between natural images, body and passion, with no stringent rhythm or weight structure, reflecting the discomfortful state of the spokesperson, and sounding a precision.

This poem can be read in the context of any modern conflict - an Eastern European, Eastern European or African - but its strength lies in its universality, it does not call war, enemy or ideology, and this absence allows the poem to serve as a sign of history and trauma.

“My brother's war. A deep reflection of the remnants of violence and the value of sacrifices, and what makes this poem exceptional is to merge it between personal, political and rich, it doesn't add up to citation, but it doesn't heal it, it tends to make a human character to lose in a time that's often easier.

___________________

1 d. Bader Hassani's footsteps.

In the age of artificial intelligence, many of the concepts associated with this massive revolution in the world of digitization, informatics and automation, including the concept of the concept of the world of religion, information and automation, are infiltrated into our daily lives. «Avatar.» Avatar -- this digital representation of the same or the other -- until the front we deal with the world, and sometimes with ourselves in many social networking platforms, allows Facebook users to create a cartoon-like character, used in comments, estory, conversations, and switches to a three-dimensional representation that is used to surf within the virtual 20s.

In Greek myths, Pigmaloans loved a statue that he swept in his hands, and the gods survived, the story that was found in the Book of Transformation, in the statues of a great Cypriot woman named Biggalone, was obsessed with finding unsatisfactory uniforms in the mind of the feminist, and in the eclipse of a woman.

In our time, the user makes representations from hypothetical data and images, programmed to match it or to reflect a dream that it does not find in reality, but in Arab poetry, before humanity knows the digital revolution, camera, computer or virtual reality, Kass bin Mulu invented a unique form of avatar: Leila in his heart, not walking on the ground.

Received in part X of the bookThe songs."My father has a strange story about the news of a priest, quoting her that some of his friends wanted to cure him from his madness, and they came to him with a hidden elephant. «What I need is that Lily in my heart changed this.«And the same story comes in a slightly different version inEnd of the rabbit."for the Norwegian, then. «Tell him, "This is her, my heart is looking at her and says, "God, I'm giving you the evil of these."«I'm sorry.

This wasn't cruel, it was a spectacular poetry about the death of the body in front of the immortality of the image.

With this unique genius sentence, Kass Ben has breached the limits of the traditional concept of love, and founded on the idea that self may not relate directly to the other, but through a symbolic mediator created by fantasy, as if a priest had long before the advent of enhanced reality or techniques of hypothetical reality (Virtual reality), a man does not like the other, but rather as he imagines and wants it to be.

What we have done, and what a great deal of Arab poets have been after and before (in here we remember the story of the valley of genius and poetry demons, and the ability to compare this idea with hypothetical reality), is only an advanced formulation of what we call the avatars, but the fundamental difference is that Arab poetry frees the acets from the cold technical dimension of escaping and making them more irous.

On the other hand, the digital archaeology today, no matter how spectacular it may seem, is a delightful picture of a general night in a crazy fantasy: it is conditional on data, limited by preparation, and is in the user ' s mouth instead of opening up to it as a probability. «I like names like that. Her name's approved or was from him.

I'm counting nights after night, and I've lived a day.»I'm sorry.

Today, as we make smart statues, we talk and talk, and we wear digital faces that interact with symbols and imoys, we should reflect on the experience of a priest.

If we look more closely at the Arab poetic heritage, we will find another spectacular simulation of the story of Qis, the story of the orphan poem, which will be summarized as received by Judge Ali Bin Mohsen al-Tinukh and published by the Egyptian Red Crescent magazine (J3, 14, 1 December 1905, p. 174). «One of the daughters of a great prince named Naddd, was a great poet, with a nose, and her deceit from her father met a large group of princes who would not marry but a man who had a haircut and organized poem. He considered that the poem was the highest layer of his poem, and if it came to support his response to her speech. The Devil had to kill his own man and impersonate his poem, kill him, carry the poem until he came to find it, and he went down to that prince, tell him what he had to come. His accent was conceived that it was not an inspiration, but that during the intransigence of fathers, it had been heard that her organization was an abhorrent. She spelled her father "kill this, he fought Ali" and they arrested him, questioned him, confessed.»The story, my dear reader, may appear from the fabric of popular tales, but it has a deep intellectual glance that brings us back to the middle of the twentieth century, when the British mathematics world has formulated Alan Turing what is known today as »Torring test.«He's one of the most famous concepts in artificial intelligence.

If we look more closely at the Arab poetic heritage, we will find another spectacular simulation of the story of Qis, the story of the orphan poem, which will be summarized as received by Judge Ali Bin Mohsen al-Tinukh and published by the Egyptian Red Crescent magazine (J3, 14, 1 December 1905, p. 174). «One of the daughters of a great prince named Naddd, was a great poet, with a nose, and her deceit from her father met a large group of princes who would not marry but a man who had a haircut and organized poem. He considered that the poem was the highest layer of his poem, and if it came to support his response to her speech. The Devil had to kill his own man and impersonate his poem, kill him, carry the poem until he came to find it, and he went down to that prince, tell him what he had to come. His accent was conceived that it was not an inspiration, but that during the intransigence of fathers, it had been heard that her organization was an abhorrent. She spelled her father "kill this, he fought Ali" and they arrested him, questioned him, confessed.»The story, my dear reader, may appear from the fabric of popular tales, but it has a deep intellectual glance that brings us back to the middle of the twentieth century, when the British mathematics world has formulated Alan Turing what is known today as »Torring test.«He's one of the most famous concepts in artificial intelligence.

Here the genius of the picket shows: in the story of a cortex, we find an impulsive, lethal poet with a hairy voice that does not have. The human machine (fighter) fails to test and the princess shouts in the face of a false poet: " You're a murderer on me " , not because the poem is weak, but because it fails in the true enthusiasm of its owner, and the machine of artificial intelligence today fails to write one text near the spirit of the poetry prophet, or to paint a painting that touches its blue and yellow world.

As a supporter, she performed a primitive and natural version of the Toring test, without needing programming or algorithms, but relying on instinct, taste and precise knowledge of the context, which are the tools of true governance even in today ' s artificial intelligence world.

The great paradox in the story of support is that the machine is not made of silicon, but of lies and envy, a machine that has sounded, but has not improved the role until the end. Telligence: «Robots/when they gave us the land, they give us our old skulls, you idiots, how did you invent love/how did you describe the rose?»I'm sorry.