Selections

Samer Abu Hawwash
That isn't the way to make pizza

A poem,

translated by Raphael Cohen

THAT ISN’T THE WAY TO MAKE PIZZA

What matters is the dough
then add whatever toppings you like,
said one of us all of a sudden
I don’t remember who now,
perhaps we had heard it on a cookery programme
or from a friend
or maybe we shouted it out together
in a moment of total despair.

In front of an unfortunate grey lump
I stand stunned, nonplussed, stupid
like a soldier who’s failed to carry out orders.
You come into the kitchen
give one look at the dough
and sigh, “Tut, tut.
That isn’t the way to make pizza.”
Then you go out laughing.

I try to fix it
I add a dash of water
a dash of flour
a dash of hope.
I try again
but as usual
my prayers let me down
and my swearing gives me away.

I hear a voice speaking to me from the ceiling
or maybe from my life history:
“Man,
hasn’t anyone ever told you:
‘That isn’t the way to make pizza’?”

Dear God,
at this time
in this life
I’m not asking you for
more than one base
in the shape of a circle.

You come into the kitchen
look with pity at the dough
now shaped like a dying animal.
You look at my hands
then my face
trying to stifle your laugher.

“I know . . . That isn’t the way to make pizza,”
I tell you,
trying to stifle my tears.
Finally,
I throw the dough in the bin
and leave the kitchen.

At night in bed
in the pale light
coming from the balcony,
terrified, I look deep into your eyes.
Apologetically, you look deep into mine
and sigh
as if to say:
“Never mind,
we’ll try again next time.”

I sigh
as if to say:
“Only if
you don’t give up
so fast.”

But, my darling,
what if there isn’t
another time?

Selected from poems by Samer Abu Hawwash published in Banipal 66 – Travels.

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