It may not lead us far to argue for a definite schema to measure al-Baymtl’s
poetry. It is fair to say that until the 1970s, the image of the outcast and the
wanderer was paramount. Under changes in literary and cultural taste this
thematic imposition gave way to intertextual hosting. The dominating
speaking persona, and the author in al-Baymtl’s case, allows other texts to take
over. The emerging poem assumes its lineage within a larger subtext, usually
of Sufi and exilic belonging. However, exile is not a uniform whole in
al-Baymtl’s poetry, and its representations never assume clear-cut images or
pronouncements. It is separation and estrangement first, hence its gloom and
solitude. It never evokes a longing or culminates in a desire, for it is a reality
toward which the poet is driven against his will. It never concludes in physical
annihilation, for it gives way to transfigurations and forms that accommodate
Prometheus, Wa,,m.of Yemen,^94 Ibn cArabl, and al->allmj, along with his
exiled counterparts. Nevertheless, insisting on transcendence does not pre-
clude physical annihilation, nor does it overlook repression, mutilation, or
assassination. These are minimized and moved into the background, however,
as al-Baymtl’s poetics achieves its counteracting strategy through dominant
images of resurrection and endless renewal, which are in line with the poet’s
grounding in political optimism. Al-Baymtl’s images ostensibly build on an
idealistic vision that argues for the poet’s upper hand against enemies of
poetry. Acts of intimidation or murderous design only reveal how fearful
dictators are of the power of the word. Hence, a poem should originate in a
struggle of some sort, to defy and transgress the empirical and the temporal.
Even the image of physical termination is contained within an ongoing lively
process of rebirth that he cherishes in moments of rapture and joy. In
“Madlnat al-ward: Qaxldat .ubb ilmDimashq” (City of the Rose: A Love
Poem to Damascus), the speaker recapitulates his experience of exile:
As youth passed
I found myself lost, by myself
Bleeding in the night of exiles
And the oppressor dug into my grave
But I shouted from the pit: No
Defying those returning to murder me.^95The pit and the grave could be faces of exile; the terminus of the physical,
but their disconcerting presence is subsumed and lost within poetry as a
process that offers warmth, companionship, and joy. Indeed, the poet repeats
this vocational attribute whenever challenged by disconcerting experiences:
I haven’t found life and light
In the cities of loss and lack
My poetry was the fire to
Dispel the gloom of exile and frosty homes.^96ENVISIONING EXILE