Inside the flower by Youssef Rzouga (reading a book TXT) 📕

Word

… Youssef Rzouga as we know always, takes his inspiration from his next poem, ridding the burning giraffe of Salvador Dali, carrying his rainy clouds by which he irrigates the poetry desert…
… Since his first poetic work Distinguished from you by my grieves with which he appeared one day during the far years 1979, we noticed that this « sad man without lamenting » was holding between his forfinger and thub a crazy pen, either it would down him or turn him into a poetic figure.
Since that appearance, this poet has not settled.. getting up, in the morning and finding the same face in the mirror appearing with the same traits and intentions, made him sad…
He is poet who hates the habit and repetition and embraced the religion of being different. He believes that escaping from the slaggish self is the first way to shape the creative self. Some years ago, this poet burst in the tunisian, arab, international cultura field. In fact, you could find him in media field (TV, radio, newspapers..), national and international poetry festivals and even in plastic art galleries and cultural centres. He is always surrounded by young buds which grow rapidly to appear, in their turn, in one of the greatest poetry forum…
He is still, till now, operating the expression stipping her of the old and holly grown and dressing it of freedom.
When you sit down at him, you lose all your expectations : he is a man who tells you about the last scientific inventions, teachers you lessons about computer’s webs… He is a poet who talks about Globalization with a scholar mind …then in a flash, he surprises you by a poem or almost a poem.
The word’s magic, images, originality, expression’s recency and worlds’ madness, which contain all those knowledges, troubles and grieves, make you confused.

Kamel Riahi


In the margin

For Youssef

I’m not ashamed when I confess
That you dwell in the memory’s corners
If they ask me
I won’t be ashamed when I confess
That you settle in the poem arteries
And in those of worried expressions …
I won’t be ashamed..
But they dind’t ask me !

Khadija El Gharssali

I’ll only say Youssef Rzouga(..) a poet that built himself by his own. Patient and enduring, he built his distinction and created his celebrity which was shaping day by day then established in 2003 (…)
Youssef Rzouga had predicted in March 2000 what happened in the world and within us. He burstthe lies of this world’s governors and (shouted at) these huger variables aiming at putting an end to all the values which were the man adornment.

Mohamed Ben Rjab (Essabah 17/10/2003)

… we are not complimenting Youssef Rzouga when declaring that he is among few of the Arab poets who represented in their work of art a vision which, from one work of art to another, has a more developed pressure and more exposed purpose.

Hatem Nagati (Emergency Case Declaration of Youssef Rzouga or the Resurrection Book)

Youssef Rzouga
I see you
And when I see you
I see my town drawing my road as ships and space
I see them :
From the first Creation Oxide
To the Universe dioxide
To the third Being oxide
In the erased ink
In the transparent paper
And in the dry insomnia
-Ten towns shouted and wedded a crown in Carthage

Elias Lahhoud (Lebanon poet)
(From “The Purple Scenario”)

(*) If you ever asked me who is the Arab poet that deserves to occupy the poetry throne during the first years of 21 century. I would say Youssef Rzouga since he brought us ruin and suffering…

Outside the rock, inside the flower

Then why don’t
We get involved a bit,
Go into fear’s darkness a bit,
Go out –fully naked- from the shade’s circle a bit,
And forget that we are ourselves a bit ?
Then why not
To spread our wings
Go for a walk outside the rock
And relax, a bit, inside the flower ?
There’s nothing left to us but a little time
So, why don’t we enjoy it a bit ?
Open to the birds inside us the dream’s holes
And fly a bit ?
Then why don’t
We – at dawn-fall as two stars ?

Manifesto

The world is a woman
The fact of thinking of stripping her
Off the right to be..
Is a crime against her.

It’s not time to cry

Close the window..
It’s not time to cry..
It’s not the right time
To trigger off a war against what happened and will..
What will I do ? ..
Since it’s snowing inside me ? ..
- A wake the fire…
And hide in the book pleats..
Winter will leave…

Another woman

Sometimes,
I dream of another woman
Snowering me of another dilemma…
When I come near to her.
She gives me thorns
When I cover her of longing.
She covers me of hard approach…

Sometimes, I feel time passes
While I’m in the same point..
Dreaming of another woman
Who come on time.
Specially to tell those around me:
This man(and she points at me)…
A century or more passed.
And he hasn’t changed :
Dreaming of another woman…

Sometimes, I see her in the street.
(shewing her worry)

I hurry up, teasing her
So she escapes to the other side
And I remain in the same point…
Waiting for another woman…

The mew of the insides

To Picasso in the colour kingdom

Dryness outside the soul
Inside, it’s raining
The colour dove into the sheet desert
So, the spring and trees broke out
He was soul-trembeling like the tornado
He put the final touches on the painting..
And relaxed..
He opened the door, wind opposed to him:
- Where do you go ?
He refuted the question several times..
And went..
To the “Four Cats” pub…

Florida

Florida !
Florida !
Is the little money enough
To him to occupy the dream island in his head..
This evening ?
He has the sky which he spread in the night: his grievance..
He has God..
He should borrow, this night, the blue Crystal..
Let him sail on the flat floor.
Spelling what stars hide
And he won’t win
Without the rattle of the pray caller or the rooster crow
In the opposite building, at dawn which is not a dawn,
The doors of his beautiful neighbour were closed
He’s no longer privileged with her service
He was feeling a spring
- When she invited him to massage her legs-
Rushing to come..
He no longer obtained anything from her hands
The candy melted when the sun rose..
And he came back to the aunt’s sidewalk:his exile
Florida !
Florida !
He saw him
So he (deviated) to the crowded side and disappeared
- With the chlorophyll strips in his hand-
When his friend moved away
-His (classmate and old city friend)-
He cried long time
Then he held the « You You » cake
And choke when (putting in its sweetness)
The bitterness of the child who became
- Just after his puberty-
An old man..
Walking slowly, with a bleu blue, in his largest desert !

A story

The dove is injured
The story is open to analyses and hypothises
*Who fired in the night
And hurt the dove in its quiet nest ?…
The night passed.
The child was asking his things…
The dove was touching its feathers with its beck
And moaning.
***
In the morning
- It was a dark morning-
People saw a child flying high…
The dove setteled in his back
……………………………….
The story is open to analyses and hypothises
Oh ! My friend (…)

… Peace on the earth

…Then the mine in the heart
And fire around the heart..
So silent that …. it speaks
Oh ! My friend we have now
To say water or hope water
But the sky…
Rained-and still-blood
We have now
To shout together..till madness :
Poetry curse on darkness
And peace on the earth..

Poems selected from « Emergency case declaration »
2024

Naked in the spider web
You open the heart to the « Big Brother » camera
Defeated and you cry :
Echelon ! Echelon !
Which universe have I finally ?
Which colour ?
My movements,
My calmness,
The mulberry leaves,
The fever of the night end,
The desire steps in the intents’lobby…
All of them
-Now-
Are under control

Here’s the « Big Brother » invades
The fort of the stage spokesman !

You’re the innocent
So you’re accused !

Look, your old « magnetized card »,
The electronic trace-of which you’re accused-hasn’t been erased
From its traces so that you escape from a future which isn’t yours
I won’t ask you !..
About a house you dwell in with an eye of a spy who has been
Retired suddenly …
I won’t ask you !…
What’s the secret of this evil in your eyes ?
What’s the secret of your shifting
From..
To… ?
I won’t ask you !..
How have you finished to be
- As you’re the Samurai of all the great suicides-
The saddest of the cowards ?

Obvious lying !

On the cellular phone screen
Now, I see your voice
Apple – shaped …
Which has started after ten minutes of revealing..
Shrinking in size
To witness that you lie,
You lie,
You lie.

The poets’ carnation

Where are the finger prints ?
Who raped the green " Poets’ Carnation "
The poet starts analysing the throns’AND,
Opening an investigation of what is happening
And what happens to flowers.

The Lazer mew

Here you’re worried..
Once you click on the mouse
The computer gets nervous
Lazer mews :
Doors, doors, doors…
The digital studio of Bill Gates
Welcomes you with millions of images, portraits :
De Vinci adores his Mona Lisa …
Einstein drowns in the Relativity of what is appearing
And extends a tongue in the world’s face
You’re still worried :
Visit « Odigo » web site
And chat with visitors
Maybe you feel reassured…
Or dive into a library full of programs
In order to escape from the desert swelter.
Doors ! Doors !…
You’re still worried
Put your personal web site on the « Web »
And tell the millions of visitors :
Come and devour me !
You’re still worried
Tell your beloved : I love you !
And build a wall
Rather a fort
In order to protect your beloved…
From the raidding virus creeping !

Nostalgia

(I give you my blood
I give you chocolate and Coca Cola
And the hidden