Passage to Dawn

Introduction

By Aonghas Macneacail
Scottish Writer of the Year 1997

Being a member of a linguistic community marginalised to the brink of extinction by the policies of govemments for over a century, I have long since lived with the sense that writing in my native language is itself a political act. The 70,000 speakers of Scots Gaelic are, in my view, entitled to the full range of cultural provisions, including education, literature and broadcasting services, taken for granted by the wider community. We are so few in number only because government conspired to educate us out of our linguistic identities.

And, maybe, because we are so few in number, and not perceived as any kind of threat to social order, we do now receive some support from government, which permits five or Six hours of daily radio broadcasts in Gaelic, a more sporadic television service, some support for the arts, and Gaelic-medium education, in certain circumstances where parental demand is persistent enough. It s not enough, but at least, we are recognised as having some rights.

In such circumstances, I was astonished and shocked when. I learned that it was possible for an entire nation, numbered not in the tens of thousands but in the tens of millions, to be denied its right to exist, to be denied the right to govern itself, its lands carved up and occupied by four alien governments. But for me, the most shocking aspect of all is the attempt by governments to proscribe the language, history and cultural practices (music, dress, etc.) by which individuals define themselves, as individuals and as members of a wider community.

Government knows that if it can destroy a sense of particular identity it will eventually assimilate and neutralise those who would wish to be different.

Kamal Mirawdeli is the best kind of proof that such stratagems cannot succeed against a people determined to retain its identity, to survive, in the longer term to triumph. As long as poets can make their words sing, in the language of their ancestors, the people have a thread of light to guide them. Here we have a bright cord of flame that illuminates the suffering and defiance of a nation which may be in chains but will not be defeated.

Here, time and time again, we have apt, vivid and inventive language which draws us into the surprise of the poem. Death is a. recurring motif in this poetry, the death that occurs in struggle, yet the driving force in every line is an affirmation of life.

Love is the controlling energy that animates these poems, Love of land and liberty, Love of people as individuals and as all anonymous humanity. There is a distinctive spirituality to the poetry of Kamal Mirawdeli, which creates a sense of roots that reach into something deeper than earth itself. He belongs no just in the land and language which gave him birth and identity but in every living being and inanimate object that populates the world of his poetry.

Kamal Mirawdeli is admirably ambitious as a poet, yet he-can describe his relationship with the prosodic art with humour: I woo the words, I wound the words, I alienate them ...% , he says, and then poetry is born: odd, abnormal, asymmetric, insane: .. %, but what characterises this poet is how eminently sane. And wonderfully lyrical his vision has remained in a callous and uncaring world which leaves himself and his entire people on the margins of existence. - Poetry should not have to preach anything other than its own compelling reason to happen, as an essence of sound and meaning that startles us into looking at its subject anew; It is to be hoped that Kamal Mirawdeli s work reaches the widest possible audience as a means of persuading us that Kurdish culture and society must be recognised, celebrated - and liberated. But, with its rhythmic variety, its range of subject matter and its richness of detail, Passage to Dawn is a book to be savoured, enjoyed and returned to again and again.

Kamal is a poet of sharp intellect and even sharper senses. I was pleased when he asked me to review his translated poems and to write a short preface to his book.

I have known Kamal for many years during which I have had the opportunity of engaging him in many discussions and intense analytical arguments, about our people and country, all of which have been consistently friendly and constructive. Kamal is a poet of great talent. His poetry, when read in its original Kurdish, is powerful enougii1 to touch the very depth of humanity. He is a highly educated, well-read man, always caring for his nation and ever anxious to try out anything as long as there is a remote chance of success in serving his people.

As a life-long patriot, Kamal sees his entire private and public lives as part of the national struggle for survival. He lives the tragedy of the Kurdish people everywhere and feels every pain, every treacherous act and every disaster which befall them. Those who know him in a superficial way may be forgiven for thinking that he is of no fixed political or social inclination, but the truth is: He is of one mind at all times; a highly sensitive person who is thrown this way and that by the winds of the storm that is Kurdish existence.

Kamal has been aware of and living the pain of statelessness which is a situation far worse than homelessness. In my opinion, he is unable to enjoy life as do others, and, although he takes pleasure in small doses, from the scent of a beautiful rose, or the kiss or a lively and pretty woman, he quickly denies himself the persistence of that pleasure because of his melancholic and sorrowful thoughts, which are always by his people's side. As a matter of fact, I do not know many Kurds who are able to lead a semblance of normal life.

The poetry in this book will make you understand Kamal, the Kurdish tragedy and perhaps a little more of yourself. Of particular beauty are those pieces in which he addresses his' mother, his lover or his country.

One cannot read this book without tasting the Kurdish tragedy on one's tongue, experiencing the ecstasy and beauty of love and feel the pains of a human-being cut off from his natural environment, like a fish out of water, far away from his people and loved ones.