Balkans, Anatolia, Caucasus, Levant and other Middle East, Iran, Afghanistan, South Asia, occasional forays into southern Italy, Spain or eastern Europe, minorities, the nation-state and nationalism — and whatever other quirks or obsessions lurk inside my head.
“A June 2013 Gallup poll revealed that 70% of Americans hate their jobs or have “checked out” of them. Life may or may not suck any more than it did a generation ago, but our belief in “progress” has increased expectations that life should be more satisfying, resulting in mass disappointment. For many of us, society has become increasingly alienating, isolating and insane, and earning a buck means more degrees, compliance, ass-kissing, shit-eating, and inauthenticity. So, we want to rebel. However, many of us feel hopeless about the possibility of either our own escape from societal oppression or that political activism can create societal change. So, many of us, especially young Americans, rebel by what is commonly called mental illness.”
and:
“The reality is that with enough helplessness, hopelessness, passivity, boredom, fear, isolation, and dehumanization, we rebel and refuse to comply. Some of us rebel by becoming inattentive. Others become aggressive. In large numbers we eat, drink and gamble too much. Still others become addicted to drugs, illicit and prescription. Millions work slavishly at dissatisfying jobs, become depressed and passive aggressive, while no small number of us can’t cut it and become homeless and appear crazy. Feeling misunderstood and uncared about, millions of us ultimately rebel against societal demands, however, given our wherewithal, our rebellions are often passive and disorganized, and routinely futile and self-destructive.”
And, finally, the nail-it quote from writer and all-around Renaissance man, Lewis Mumford, written in 1951:
“The most deadly criticism one could make of modern civilization is that apart from its man-made crises and catastrophes, is not humanly interesting. . . . In the end, such a civilization can produce only a mass man: incapable of spontaneous, self-directed activities: at best patient, docile, disciplined to monotonous work to an almost pathetic degree. . . . Ultimately such a society produces only two groups of men: the conditioners and the conditioned, the active and passive barbarians.” —Lewis Mumford, 1951
From Washington Post: “The Middle East and North Africa suffer the world’s highest depression rates, according to a new study by researchers at Australia’s University of Queensland — and it’s costing people in the region years off their lives.”
Aside from the real conditions that might explain this — real conditions — there are some really big questions though on what depression means to people. Is ‘sadness’ or Freudian ‘melancholy’ a recognized cultural trait in these regions, a way of seeing life, even an aesthetic sensibility and not at all a debilitating force? perhaps even an empowering one? Because then we’re talking about an entirely different set of issues that I think this study may have missed.
An American will always tell you his life is going great, no? Meanwhile, we have Oum Kalthoum. And if you want to find a suite like her stunning “El Atlal” a marker of depression, you’ve got the whole culture/s wrong. And I did not use the word “empowerment” above lightly; when you’ve seen how the public reacts in footage like this, or at a South Asian or Afghan poetry session, or even in the ritualized grieving at a funeral in Epiros, you’ll see that the participants are not ‘debilitated’ or ‘depressed’ in the least by the emotional mood that’s generated — quite the opposite.
(Note: again, as with all this music, this is a suite, with a musical narrative structure essential to appreciating it; not a 2:30 CD track. When you have the time, give it a chance as a whole piece. And she was such a brilliant performer… Here’s a go-to site for translation of Arab music: Arabic Music Translation)
My heart, don’t ask where the love has gone It was a citadel of my imagination that has collapsed Pour me a drink and let us drink of its ruins And tell the story on my behalf as long as the tears flow Tell how that love became past news And became another story of passion I haven’t forgotten you And you seduced me with a sweetly-calling and tender tongue And a hand extending towards me like a hand stretched out through the waves to a drowning person You seduced me with the saliva (of a kiss) that a night traveler thirsts for But where is that light in your eyes? My darling, I visited your nest one day as a bird of desire singing my pain You’ve become self-important, spoiled and capricious And you inflict harm like a powerful tyrant And my longing for you cauterized my ribs (soul or insides) And the waiting was like embers in my blood Give me my freedom, release my hands Indeed, I’ve given you yours and did not try to retain anything Ah, your chains have bloodied my wrists I haven’t kept then nor have they spared me Why do I keep promises that you do not honor? When will this captivity end, when the world is before us? He is far away, my enchanting love Full of pride, majesty and delicacy Sure-footed walking like an angel with oppressive beauty and rapacious glory Redolent of charm like the breeze of the hills Pleasant to experience like the night’s dreams I’ve lost forever the charm of your company that radiated brilliantly I, wandering in love, a bewildered butterfly, approached you And between us, desire was a messenger and drinking companion that presented the cup to us Had love seen two as intoxicated as us? So much hope we had built up around us And we walked in the moonlit path, joy skipping along ahead of us And we laughed like two children together And we ran and raced our shadows And we became aware after the euphoria and woke up If only we did not awaken Wakefulness ruined the dreams of slumber The night came and the night became my only friend And then the light was an omen of the sunrise and the dawn was towering over like a conflagration And then the world was as we know it, with each lover in their own path Oh sleepless one who slumbers and remembers the promise when you wake up Know that if a wound begins to recover another wound crops up with the memory So learn to forget and learn to erase it My darling everything is fated It is not by our hands that we make our misfortune Perhaps one day our fates will cross when our desire to meet is strong enough For if one friend denies the other and we meet as strangers And if each of us follows his or her own way Don’t say it was by our own will But rather, the will of fate.
Al Atlal (الأطلال)
شعر: إبراهيم ناجي غناء: أم كلثوم ألحان: رياض السنباطي يا فؤادي لا تسل أين الهوى كان صرحاً من خيالٍ فهوى اسقني واشرب على أطلاله وأروي عني طالما الدمع روى كيف ذاك الحب أمسى خبراً وحديثاً من أحاديث الجوى
لست أنساك وقد أغريتني بفم عذب المناداة رقيق ويدٍ تمتد نحوي كيدٍ من خلال الموج مدت لغريق وبريق يظمأ الساري له أين في عينيك ذياك البريق
يا حبيباً زرت يوماً أيكه طائر الشوق أغني ألمي لك إبطاء المذل المنعم وتجلي القادر المحتكم وحنيني لك يكوي أضلعي والثواني جمرات في دمي
أعطني حريتي أطلق يديا إنني أعطيت ما استبقيت شيئا آه من قيدك معصمي لم أبقيه فما أبقى عليا ما احتفاظي بعهود لم تصنها وإلام الأسر والدنيا لديا
أين من عيني حبيبي ساحر فيه عزُ وجلال وحياء واثق الخطوة يمشي ملكاً ظالم الحسن شجي الكبرياء عبق السحر كأنفاس الربا تائه الطرف كأحلام المساء أين مني مجلسٌ أنت به فتنة…. س…وس.. ها أنا حب وقلب هائمٌ وفراشٌ حائرٌ….من كذا….
ومن الشوق رسولٌ بيننا ونديمٌ قدم الكاس لنا هل رأى الحب سكارى مثلنا كم بنينا من خيالٍ حولنا ومشينا في طريقٍ مقمرٍ تجد الفرحة فيه قبلنا وضحكنا ضحك طفلين معاً وعدونا فسبقنا ظلنا
وانتبهنا بعدما زال الرحيل وأفقنا ليت أنا لا نفيق يقظة طاحت بأحلام الكرى وتولى الليل والليل صديق وإذا النور نذير طالع وإذا الفجر مطلٌ كالحريق وإذا الدنيا كما نعرفها وإذا الأحباب كلٌ في طريق
أيها الساهر تغفو تذكر العهد وتصحو وإذا ما التئم جرح جد بالتذكار جرح فتعلم كيف تنسى وتعلم كيف تمحو
يا حبيبي كل شيء بقضاء ما بأيدينا خلقنا ضعفاء ربما تجمعنا أقدارنا ذات يوم بعدما عز اللقاء فإذا أنكر خلٌ خله وتلاقينا لقاء الغرباء ومضى كلٌ إلى غايته لا تقل شئنا فإن الحظ شاء فإن الحظ شاء فإن الحق شاء
Balkans, Anatolia, Caucasus, Levant and rest of ME, Iran, South Asia
Me, I'm Nicholas Bakos, a.k.a. "NikoBako." I'm Greek (Roman really, but when I say that in English some five people in the world today understand what I'm talking about, so I use "Greek" for shorthand). I'm from New York. I live all over the place these days. The rest should become obvious from the blog.
Money quotes:
Jadde: from Bosnia to Bengal 