Contemporary Arab writers. Arabic literature

Fates Arab women and men have long fascinated grateful readers. We offer you to read 10 magnificent and the most interesting novels about such a mysterious and closed Arab world.

1. Reshad Nuri Guntekin - “The Kinglet is a songbird”

A novel that became for Turkish literature approximately the same as “Jane Eyre” is for English literature, “Gone with the Wind” is for American literature, and “Page of Love” is for French. History is before you female destiny, is both deeply lyrical and highly significant. A story in which the apparent poetic simplicity of which hides very, very much...

2. Kurban Said - “Ali and Nino”

This novel was shrouded in secrecy, like probably no other novel of the 20th century. “Ali and Nino” was first published in German exactly seventy years ago. The manuscript of the novel disappeared without a trace, and scientists from different countries are still scratching their heads over the question of who is hiding under the mysterious pseudonym “Kurban Said.” However, no matter who the author of the novel is, one thing is clear: before us is a brilliant and inspired story romantic story, the action of which takes place in the Caucasus and Iran against the background dramatic events first quarter of the last century. Released in pre-war Germany, the novel “Ali and Nino” has already become a world bestseller today and received enthusiastic responses from readers.

3. Salman Rushdie - “Shame”

The novel “Shame” is one of the most famous works of Salman Rushdie. This book is based on true events in the recent history of Pakistan, but the author himself calls it “something of a fairy tale in new way" If we subtract shame from our lives, the writer claims, what remains is only unbridled freedom, freedom from all the shackles and ties that connect people with each other, and the past with the present.

4. Robert Irwin - “Arabian Nightmare”

Robert Irvine (born 1946), famous English writer, medievalist historian, Oxford graduate, specialist in the history of the Middle Ages in the Arab and Middle East.
This volume of the first collected works of the writer in Russia consists of the novels “The Arabian Nightmare” (1983), which brought the author worldwide fame and translated into all European languages, and The Flesh of Prayer Pillows (1997). This is a book about dreams, nightmares and the magic of the East.

5. Jean-Marie Gustave Leclezio - “Goldfish”

Novel " gold fish” is the story of an Arab girl whose life is full of adventures. A brothel in Morocco, Spanish slums, Parisian bohemia, and finally a trip to America, where her dream of becoming a singer comes true.

6. Orhan Pamuk - “My name is Red”

The prose of Orhan Pamuk - the “Turkish Umberto Eco”, as the writer is called in the West - is rightfully considered the most striking phenomenon of Turkish literature throughout its existence. Amazing ethnographic details, complex narration from a person different characters, give the novel “My Name is Red” a unique oriental charm.

7. Jean P. Sasson - “Memoirs of a Princess”

What do you picture when you think of a princess from Saudi Arabia? That's right - sparkling jewelry, gold, luxury everywhere. But, as it turns out, not everything is so nice and beautiful. The story of Princess Sultana is the story of the difficult, powerless life of the women of Arabia. And only a few of them are able to escape from the prison called “home,” Sultana was able to.

8. Mahbod Seraji - “Rooftops of Tehran”

Seventeen-year-old Pasha Shahed lives in a non-poor quarter of the huge capital, and he spends the summer of 1973 mainly on the roof, in the company of his best friend Akhmeta; the young men joke, discuss the books they have read, and make plans for the future. Pasha likes his neighbor, the beautiful Zari, and although she was promised as a wife to another in infancy, timid friendship little by little turns into desperate love. But one night Pasha does a favor for the Shah's secret police. The consequences of this involuntary act are monstrous, and it is no longer possible to live as before, looking at the world through rose-colored glasses - fate pushes the young man and his friends onto a deadly path...

9. Suleiman Addonia - “Burnt by Passion”

Under the hot Arabian sun, the streets of Jeddah look like scenes from a black-and-white movie: the white tunics of men are interspersed with the long black shadows of female figures. From the mosques, muezzins call on believers to serve the commandments of Allah, and Nasser, as usual, is bored alone after work, sitting under his favorite palm tree.
Another woman, muffled up to her eyes, passes by and suddenly a note falls into his lap - not believing his eyes, Nasser reads the lines of a declaration of love! Is she crazy? Yes, for this alone, both of them are entitled to the death penalty...

10. Naguib Mahfouz - “The Thief and the Dogs”

The collection of the famous Egyptian prose writer, classic of Arabic literature, Nobel Prize laureate in 1988 includes the novels “Tales of Our Street” and “The Path” published for the first time in Russian, as well as the novel “The Thief and the Dogs” already known to the Soviet reader, in which the writer explores the stages of the spiritual history of mankind, trying to determine what each of them meant for the salvation of people from social injustice and political tyranny.

The Arabist has many discoveries to make. They occur along its path, perhaps more often than in other areas that are more developed and attract more researchers. One should not think that these discoveries are connected only with manuscripts, and one should not be upset, like one young Turkmenist who sadly told me that they do not have old manuscripts, since literature itself is young. After all, the closer we get to our time, the more often the role of the manuscript passes to the book, which also brings discoveries; This must be said even more about such invaluable eyewitnesses of our time as letters.

Sometimes you don’t know what to do with all sorts of discoveries - there are so many of them. And it has always been incomprehensible to me how one can look for a topic or ask to indicate it when they surround a person from all sides from the first steps of his scientific life. The tragedy of our region is that there are too many topics. With a strict methodology, it would be necessary to focus on a narrower area, and the results would then be deeper. However, you do not always have control over yourself, especially when you need to keep in your field of vision both old and new literature, which you cannot now pass by, locked in the scientific egoism of the classic Arabist. Here life itself gives great discoveries, and happy is the one who can observe new literature at its birthplace with his own eyes.

It wasn't meant to be for me. I visited the East only once, and, as always, the first trip could essentially only be a preliminary reconnaissance, which was to be followed by real, thoughtful expeditions. This did not happen, and at first I was quite upset because of my youth. However, even here life taught me that for good understanding It is not at all necessary for a person to know him directly: books, letters, photographs reveal him no worse, and sometimes even more spontaneously, than personal communication. I had to study modern literature almost exclusively “at a distance,” and managed to make a lot of discoveries.

Western colleagues, whose frequent trips to the Arabs I sometimes envied, recognized this. Nevertheless, with a slightly bitter feeling, I argued in 1930 with a venerable German scientist, an expert on the living Arab East, when in one of his works he wanted to make a portrait of me Arabic inscription- “the first to engage in new Arabic literature in the West.” I argued that before me there were scientists who approached the same questions; he was persistent and, in response to my protests, agreed to insert only one word - “the first who systematically studied...” Five years later, on a random occasion, I received an elegant Arabic letter from the largest Arabist in modern England, familiar with Egypt and other Arab countries, thanks to multiple trips, no worse than with your homeland. I would probably be unfair if I attributed his words entirely to Arabic stylization. “You opened the gates of new Arabic literature for me,” he wrote, “and showed me many secrets of ancient Arabic literature... You elevated me with your condescension and my little star shines only with the rays of your sun.”

Thus, third-party evidence confirmed my subjective feeling that modern literature can be studied away from it, discoveries can be made from books and letters. With a special sense of satisfaction I remember now how lucky I was to “discover” some modern writers even at a time when almost no one knew them - of course, not in Europe, where at that time they did not know new Arabic literature at all, but also in their homeland. Now they are all classics, recognized by the entire Arab world.

I met only one of them, the eldest, for the only time in Beirut. This was in the spring of 1910, shortly before my return to Russia. By chance, in the editorial office of a small newspaper, I saw Amin Reyhani, who had recently returned from America. His appearance and great thoughtfulness, which showed through even in an insignificant conversation, stopped my attention, and my thoughts often turned to the figure, unusual for Arabs, of the future leader of the “Syro-American school” of new literature; I immediately felt in him great strength, towering over the frequent, sometimes popular, journalist-speakers of Syria and Lebanon that were well known to me in that era.

The first, still instinctive, feeling did not deceive me: just around this time, a two-volume collection of his articles and poems in prose was published. The latter represented great news for Arabic literature, and I wanted to introduce Russian readers to the author. My book of translations appeared in difficult times - two weeks before October revolution, and for some of the newspaper figures it sounded like untimely dissonance. The Arabist received a stern rebuke in the press, but a man with such a broad horizon as N.Ya. Marr, in a special magazine, was not afraid to highlight the significance of the writer against the backdrop of our then reality.

It didn’t take long for my book to reach the author, but I finally found him. This was after I returned to his prose poems in the Vostok magazine, founded by Gorky. And Gorky treated the author and translator differently than the harsh but short-sighted critics of 1917-1918. Information about Reyhani also came to the West through us: in one lecture intended for Uppsala University, in response to an invitation to come, I tried to characterize the entire “Syro-American” school of new Arabic literature. It was this that served as the “gate” that the English Arabist wrote about. In the Arabic anthology published in Leningrad, excerpts from Reyhani's works of both early and later times appeared. Translations from this anthology began to be published wherever Arabic was read, from America to Ukraine.

I was very touched when, already in 1928, I received a letter from Reyhani from that Freiki valley in Lebanon, which the Arabs forever associate with his name. In his very original handwriting, following a long tradition, he wrote: “I am writing to you from the Freiki Valley, for which in your heart there was something that is in mine. And at times the echo is more wonderful and beautiful than the sound itself. This distant echo is a deep and lasting love. And it is surprising that among those sons of my homeland who criticize books and writers, even the most subtle in feelings and the most deeply thinking did not understand, as you understood, the essence of nature and its secret images, some of which I tried to convey to my readers in what I wrote. And you depicted in what you wrote about me and about this love the very essence of this love and its inner appearance, rather a spiritual appearance. Furthermore, I see that you penetrate to the very heart and even into it and read on its secret individual tablet what even those closest to me could not read. This further confirms my confidence and strengthens the conviction that spiritual kinship is the closest and truest... Hello, more fragrant than the lily of the valley these days, and more tender than mountain cyclamens! And this flower from there will bring you my love and greetings.” The dry flower enclosed in the letter still reminds me of the Freiku Valley and its philosopher.

Amin Reyhani (1879-1940)

Four years have passed. After nearly 20 years of work, I managed to publish Abul-Al’s subtle satire “The Message of the Angels.” One of the first people I remembered was Reyhani: at one time, in several English books, he introduced European readers to a wise, blind skeptic, the author of the collection of poems “The Obligation of the Optional,” “Epistle on Forgiveness,” and “Epistle about Angels.” No one responded to my publication so wittily as the “hermit of the Freiki Valley.” He wrote: “You, gentlemen, Orientalists, amazing people: You are the closest to that divine power that “gives life to the bones even when they have decayed.” I definitely see al-Maarri Abu-l-Ala; he learned about his decayed work, which you revived, and so he says modestly: “We did not think, we swear by Allah, that it would surpass our age! But it outlived us by almost a thousand years. His fate is amazing: we imagined him as “angelic” for the exaltation of the Arabic language among the brothers Gabriel, a friend of our envoy - peace be upon them both! We said: enough is enough if it is spread there, that is, in heaven. We did not imagine that a hot breath from the north would touch it, even after a thousand years, and breathe earthly life into it, so that it would speak a second time, in human speech, in the language of the Arabs, with pearls of the Russian language in between. May Allah revive you, my venerable Russian brother! “Message of Angels” falls to its knees in front of you and kisses the ground. Then he asks your permission and says: “My author had a desire to spread his linguistic, literary, philosophical, heretical mission among people, genies and angels. He chose a special scripture and style for everyone. He dedicated the “Message of Forgiveness” to people, then he wrote the “Message of Angels.” Then he began to write “The Message about Satan” especially for the genies. I saw him draw the title and he probably wrote it and finished. I think it's in the same state today as I was yesterday. Shouldn't you, beloved of Allah, look for him? And, if Allah wishes, you will find him and revive him, just as you revived me. Are you thinking of ending your favor to me and looking for my “satanic” brother and uniting us after this great separation?! On my own behalf and on behalf of my comrade, the author of “The Obligation of the Optional,” the Lord of the Three Epistles, I thank you and wish you a prosperous stay in this transitory world.” And so, the writer of these lines, a friend of al-Maarri in Freik, welcomes a friend of al-Maarri in Leningrad and wishes him health and happiness, constant success in research and research in the service of Arabic and Russian literature, to strengthen the ties of brotherhood and peace among peoples.” .

And each of his letters, sometimes serious with a slight touch of romance, sometimes elegantly ironic with a tinge of sadness, was always built on some kind of “nukta” - a subtlety, so dear to the Arabs, a play on words, images or allusions, not translated into another language, felt only in original. In 1935, regretting that illness delayed him at the mineral waters of Palestine and did not allow him to respond in a timely manner to one anniversary, he added: “I was always thinking of writing you at least two lines with two roses from two flower beds - mind and heart... but also I am still in a state of ill health and dissatisfaction. Nevertheless, I adjusted my weakness in the name of love, and today she stood up obediently and said: “May Allah protect Professor Krachkovsky and always grant him health and prosperity, and strengthen his condition with a long life and success.” – Having received from London the “Book of the Marvelous”, the first Arabic poetics of the “one-day-old caliph” Ibn al-Mutazz (son of the Exalted One), from London, he reported: “Here comes a book from London - this book is marvelous with its seal, commentary, and index, and with its English introduction, “The Book of the Marvelous” by Ibn al-Mu'tazz. And the author has the right, even if he is in the heavenly palaces of heaven, to “exalt himself” with the knowledge, love, and jealousy you poured out on him. May Allah keep you as a bright lamp for science, and for the Arabs as a friend and protector.”

With sadness, I saw from these letters how Reyhani’s hand was weakening: it was felt that the mineral waters of Palestine, which had supported him for many years, were no longer powerless to weaken the movement of the disease. In the autumn of 1940, I received from his brother a printed notice with a mournful angle, informing the “Arab world at home and in exile” that the “philosopher Freiki” had died on September 13th. This was 30 years after we met in Beirut. He died in his native Freika, which he loved so much, from where he sent more than one dried flower to Leningrad.

The epigraph of his first collection was the motto: “Say your word and go.” He managed to say this word, and for forty years it sounded in soft, sometimes threatening, accusatory tones both in the Arab world and in America. On his ring there was an inscription: “Truth has power, but truth does not die.” And his words will not die, because there was a lot of truth in them.

We knew each other well and closely, but in thirty years of wandering around the world we met only once.

At a small suburban station I waited for the train back to Cairo. My excursion was unsuccessful. I wanted to get acquainted with the library of Teymur Pasha, about which I was told a lot, usually, however, by rumor, adding that the owner willingly shows his rare manuscripts to people who understand. The library was located on his estate not far from the station. One morning, shortly before I left Cairo, I got ready to visit her.

Unfortunately, the owner was away, somewhere in upper Egypt, and was supposed to return only in a week. The venerable "bauwab" - the gatekeeper who guarded the house, treated me to coffee according to his invariable custom and was ready to show me all the rooms, but I was only interested in the library, and it was locked. After sitting and talking a little with the bauwab about the inevitable politics, I left my card with a request to give to the pasha when he returned, and headed back to the station.

The train had recently passed, and we had to wait quite a long time. On the platform, besides me, loomed only a small bootblack, one of the countless who, in their blue robes-shirts, which often constitute their only attire, scurry throughout Egypt, sometimes appearing in the most unexpected places, and are superbly knowledgeable about everything in the area. Having finished the business part - putting our dusty boots in order, we continued the conversation while waiting for the train, when some other client might turn up. The boy, with a businesslike air, inquired about the purpose of my visit and, hearing the name Teimur Pasha, somehow perked up.

“I know, I know, he lives here all year round, reads all the books, and he has such books that there are none in Cairo itself; Even sheikhs from al-Awhar come to see him. And I know his children; real fellahs!

- How so? – I asked in amazement.

- Of course! As soon as they arrive in the summer - now they are studying in the city, now they will come running to my grandfather, and he is a watchman at the village “furna” - you know, the ovens where the fellahs from all over the village bake bread and, if no one is there, they ask to tell all his tales. And when the women gather, they bring the dough to bake, they listen to the songs, they like it. They sit quietly; Everyone will treat them to them, as they are accustomed to their children, with fresh flatbread. And when in the evening our boys get ready to play ball at the threshing floor, they will come running again, running around with them, shouting. Real fellahs! – with some pride, he finished categorically.

Having satisfied his curiosity about the purpose of my trip, the boy inquired why I wouldn’t come again when the pasha was there.

– It’s time to return home, to Russia, I’m Russian. The boy looked at me seriously for a minute, and then burst out laughing.

- Well, you can’t fool me! I know all the Franks, a lot of them come here and see Mary’s tree and the ostrich nursery - I distinguish them all. That’s what you’re from Syria, not Egypt, I recognized that right away by the language, you can’t fool me with a hat - what a Russian you are!

The train was approaching, I had to hurry into the carriage, but the boy jumped to the window and shouted: “Peace!” Bow to Damascus!” He winked slyly, as if he wanted to add once again: “You can’t fool me!”

I will not hide that this unexpected and unfeigned compliment entertained me, showing that during my two years in the East I had nevertheless learned to “sell”, and not just “buy,” which was so difficult for me at first.

Returning to Russia, after some time I received a note sent from Cairo from Teimur Pasha, upset that I did not find him, asking me to visit the library on occasion. This opportunity did not arise, but I never thought at the time that fifteen years later I would still have to become closely acquainted not only with him, but also with one of his sons - the “fellahi”, about whom the little bootblack spoke so colorfully.

First World War with subsequent events cut me off from the Arab world for a long time. I greedily caught all sorts of news about literature and gradually discovered that great changes had taken place in it in ten years. Not only did new names appear, among which the name of some blind professor in Cairo who graduated from the Sorbonne began to appear. I could feel the emergence of new genres that did not yet exist during my stay in the East. Mentions began to slip in about the everyday theater, one of the leaders and creators of which was called Muhammad Teymur, who died young in 1921. The coincidence of the name made me involuntarily remember little son pasha - “fellaha”, but all this flashed in very vague outlines.

Meanwhile, in 1924, an article by Teimur Pasha about Sheikh Tantawi, who was once a professor of Arabic at our University, appeared in the Izvestia of the Arab Academy of Sciences in Damascus. At that time I was also collecting materials for his biography, and I wanted to please the pasha by sending him, with some additions to the article, a photograph from the portrait of the sheikh and a photograph of his grave at the Volkov cemetery. Speaking about my interest in modern literature, I cautiously inquired about Muhammad Teymur, who is called the founder of the new theater, but we do not know any of whose works to date.

The answer came quickly. Pasha was very pleased with the materials sent, published a new article about them, reprinted my letter, and our correspondence began; it was interrupted only by the death of Pasha on April 26, 1930. We were united by diverse interests and topics. Sheikh Tantawi gave only the first impetus to them. In 1926, they were supplemented by a discussion various issues about the “Message of the Angels” by the blind man from al-Maarra, which also greatly fascinated the Pasha. I was amazed at the attention to detail that was evident in every letter he wrote. On every occasion, he found time to make a number of comparisons and references in the priceless manuscripts of his collection, which he knew perfectly. Always with an even and clear handwriting, he filled out quarters of paper of the same size, and it seemed that at the moment he was occupied only with this topic. But he had many correspondents like me.

In the first letter, he responded with restraint that the late Muhammad Teymur was his son and his brother Mahmud would tell me details about his works. It was clear that my question touched on a painful, unhealed wound.

Indeed, after some time I received not only a letter, but also three volumes of a recently published posthumous full meeting works of the young playwright, which was published through his works younger brother, obviously the second of the “fellahs” about whom the boy once spoke at the station. This publication immediately introduced me to the biography of the untimely deceased writer and all his creative activities. I felt that it was ripening before my eyes new stage literature. I was amazed not only dramatic works- in fact, the first experiments in everyday theater, original even in the language, which often switched to a colloquial dialect, which until then had rarely appeared on the theatrical stage. I was struck by his earlier attempts to create an everyday or psychological Arabic short story, which literature in Egypt until then, one might say, did not have. The identity of the second brother Mahmoud who sent me this generous gift, remained then, of course, in the shadows for me.

Therefore, I was quite surprised when, less than a year later, in June 1925, I received two volumes of his stories with an inscription from Mahmud Teymur. And they immediately felt that the pursuit of literature for the author is not amateurishness or fun, but a serious matter, on which one must work systematically and thoroughly. Thoughtful introductory articles spoke about the great demands that the writer sets for himself, about the thorough literary school that he considers obligatory for himself. In the stories themselves, I immediately caught the living breath of the entire Egyptian environment, both urban and that fellah, which the writer knew and felt just as well. In literary style, I noticed with considerable satisfaction the influence not only of Maupassant, but also of Chekhov. Just as a year ago I hastily devoured three large volumes of the works of Muhammad Teymur, so now, as if choking, I read without stopping two volumes of Mahmud Teymur. I could not resist and at the very first lecture at the University, interrupting the presentation that was going on the program, I declared that Arabic literature had created its own original novella and, if I am not too mistaken, Mahmud Teimur would play a prominent role in its development. We immediately included one of his stories in the anthology of new Arabic literature that we were preparing, and from the end of the 20s, students usually began their acquaintance with modern literature with him. I did not hide my impression from the author. In a long letter, I supported his aspirations in every possible way on his chosen path: apparently, it worked, and when about a year later the third collection of stories arrived from him, in the appendix to it I saw almost my entire letter printed.

From that time on, once or twice a year I received a new volume of his stories: before the Second World War, I already had fourteen books on my shelf, not counting re-editions. I was happy to see how his talent grew stronger, how through hard work his own individual appearance emerged more and more clearly. His activities gradually created a school in the literary life of not only Egypt, but also other countries. Both Syria and Iraq began to listen to his voice: more and more often, with full right, he was called the head modern novella. His works began to penetrate into Europe, appearing occasionally in translations into Western languages. I felt that I was not mistaken in my assessment at first glance.

Our connection was maintained not only by his works. He generously sent me new literature, rejoicing at my responses to the works of his fellow countrymen and their rapid progress in various fields. Gradually we got used to bothering him on all sorts of questions - when it was necessary to explain a difficulty encountered while working on a dictionary of a new literary language or to find out about some translations of Gorky’s works into Arabic. Like his father in his time, Mahmud Teymur answered everything carefully and seriously, sparing no labor; the only difference was that new times took their toll and often letters were written not by hand, but by typewriter.

Sometimes between the lines I felt that our sympathy was mutual, that we, having never seen each other, found that inner kinship that Reyhani wrote about, that we were not strangers to each other. I felt this especially touchingly in 1935, when an issue of a Cairo magazine came into my hands, where I suddenly saw an article by Teymur about himself. I would like to cite an excerpt from it, as I cited the end of a conversation with a bootblack, - not in order to “glorify myself,” but in order, as the dervishes put it, to “tell about mercy,” to talk about the happiness that sometimes befalls a person in human estimation, even in a distant country, among a foreign people, where, it seems, the people are different.

Teymur wrote: “Ten years ago, in the evening, I went to visit my late father, as I always did, in his separate house in the Zamalek quarter, where he lived alone among books, withdrawing from the world. I entered his work room and found him at the table among a pile of books and notebooks, as always, as usual, looking through and writing something down. Sensing my arrival, he raised his head, took off his work glasses and asked me to sit down. My gaze fell on a photograph of some Muslim grave, which lay among the mass of sheets piled up on his table. I asked him about this. He smiled and said: “This is a photograph of the grave of Sheikh Tantawi, buried in Russia.” I was surprised at this native of our Tanta, who chose a cemetery for himself in the country of the Rus, and asked my father to explain the circumstances. He began to tell me about this Egyptian scientist who went far away to Russia in the last century to teach Arabic language and literature at St. Petersburg University, as it was called then. He lived there until death came to him, and was buried there. And now there is one among Orientalist professors who has thought about this Egyptian scientist, is researching his biography and writing a work about him in order to perpetuate his memory.

“From that moment I fell in love with Professor Krachkovsky and felt in the depths of my heart that he was not a stranger to me. Later I saw his photograph. I was struck by the imprint of seriousness reflected on his face, and some amazing light flowing from his eyes, the light of kindness and sincerity. Through correspondence I met the professor and found in him a man of persistent character, strong will and broad culture. He devoted more than thirty years of his life to the service of the Arabic language and literature. He did not weaken or waver, but worked hard and labored until he mastered the science and went deep into it. He became a peak firmly established among its peaks, and a force among its mighty forces.“

“I will not forget the first letter that came to me from the professor. I looked at him in confusion and confusion. The handwriting is Arabic, beautiful and clean, in its clarity and symmetry reminiscent of a typewriter font. He is controlled subtle soul with sound taste in expression, simplicity and calm; all with amazing consistency and rare clarity. “I was overcome by a quiet feeling with a certain amount of pride that we have such a great friend – the Arabs – in distant countries, who gave his life in the service of our literature in order to elevate our authority.”

“My connection with the professor intensified, and the correspondence between us continued. He gave me many of his works in Russian. The years passed, and my acquaintance with the professor expanded. And every time I learned something new about him, my love for him grew stronger and my respect grew...”

"I am writing this short word in connection with honoring the professor in Russia. I send him my most sincere greetings, expressing the feelings of friendship and gratitude that the entire Arab world, and in particular the people of Egypt, have for him. After all, the man who devoted his entire life to introducing the Western world to Arab culture, who opened the way for us to take our place among the world's literatures, is worthy of the highest rank in our hearts.”

It seems to me that only with such benevolence and good will, which shines through in these lines, is it possible to strengthen the “ties of brotherhood and peace among peoples,” about which the “philosopher of the Freiki Valley” – Reyhani – once wrote.

The Second World War tore me away from the Arabs and Arabic literature, just as the first did thirty years ago. From the occasional newspapers and reviews I knew that Teymur was still working tirelessly and even, like his brother, began to successfully try his hand at the dramatic field. The information that reached us said that he had become a beloved and generally recognized classic of our native modern literature. One of the first books that fell into my hands after the war told me about this even more clearly - a large monograph from 1944 about his work as a young Arab critic. Already running through it for the first acquaintance, I immediately came across one place that I could not help but pause over. The author wrote: “There is no doubt that the class to which Teimur’s love is most inclined is the fellahs... He is helped in this by his close connection with the village and the memories of his childhood, which he spent “in places where fellahs gather, listening to their conversations.” , rejoiced at their songs and played ball on the threshing floor. Teymur the aristocrat retained an irresistible love for this humiliated class of the Egyptian people - the only Egyptian in its essence...”

And I involuntarily thought about these words of a highly cultural critic with his methodical analysis. How right the little bootblack was, then, when 35 years ago he assured me at a station near Cairo that the children of Teimur Pasha are “real fellahins!”

During my two-year wanderings in Syria, I really loved visiting the schools of the Russian Palestinian Society. It is probably difficult for anyone who has not lived outside Russia for a long time to imagine to what extent one can sometimes suffer without the Russian language. My melancholy at times took on some morbidly comic forms. I remember just in winter in Beirut I had a painful desire for a cab driver passing along the street to swear in Russian. He, to my chagrin, of course, could not do this and, hurrying somewhere, having caught up with me, he urged his horses with the usual, far from abusive Arab exclamation: “Yalla!” (Oh, Allah!).

When I got to some village in Lebanon, I first of all inquired whether there was a “Moskobiye Madrasah” - a Russian school - in the neighborhood - and quickly tried to visit there. I knew well that I would not meet Russian teachers - they usually lived only in big cities - Beirut, Tripoli, Nazareth. It was very rare to see Arab teachers who had been to Russia, but I knew that if the kids accidentally walked into the classroom, they would stand up and chant, “edra-avstvo!” I knew that, having heard about my origin, I would now they will be surrounded, a little wildly at first, by black-eyed teachers and there will be no end to the questioning, especially when it turns out that I do not represent any official authorities. The braver ones sometimes switched to Russian, which sounded with some kind of touching accent in lips accustomed from childhood to a different phonetics. I often met, however, teachers who were so fluent in the language that I had to wonder how they could master it to such an extent without ever leaving their homeland. If not all of them spoke with ease, then they all knew well and subscribed to the magazine “Niva”; in everyone’s room one could see volumes of Turgenev or Chekhov, even the green collections “Knowledge” that had just begun to appear, and sometimes such literature as Russia itself was considered prohibited.

The importance of these small, often poorly furnished schools was great. Through the teachers' seminaries of the Palestinian Society, the great testaments of Pirogov and Ushinsky with their high ideals, brought from Russia, also penetrated here. In terms of their pedagogical principles, Russian schools in Palestine and Syria often turned out to be superior to the richly equipped institutions of various Western European or American missions. Knowledge of the Russian language was rarely found practical use in the further activities of the pets, but the touch with Russian culture and Russian literature left an indelible mark for the rest of their lives. The power of the book was revealed here in all its might. And it is not for nothing that so many contemporary writers of the older generation, not only translators from Russian, but also creators who have spoken their word for the entire Arab world, came out of the schools of Palestinian society. This environment of humble teachers especially attracted me. Even then, many of them were often writers and journalists: the paths in old Turkey were still closed for other social work. In this real intelligentsia of mind, who came out of the people and lived with the people, I saw the coming power. The history of the Arab countries after the First World War justified my thoughts.

These people knew me. Not only did my Arabic pseudonym “Russian Wanderer” often turn out to be familiar to them, but gradually the nickname that I myself invented based on Lebanese examples, “Gantus ar-Rusi” (Ignasha from Russia), was adopted for me. My teachers urged me most of all to stay in Syria, sensing my insatiable thirst for the Arabic language and Arabic literature, which they rarely observed in visiting foreigners. At times I myself began to think seriously about it. For some reason, these thoughts took hold of me especially strongly in the small Lebanese town of Biskinte, where the school of the Palestinian Society was also located.

It was rather a large village located very high on the slopes of Lebanon, already very close to the eternally snowy peak of Sannin. I wandered into it while traveling on foot from Shuweir, where I was then living, and stayed for several days - I liked the typically Lebanese terrain so much. The cheerful tiled roofs of some of the houses indicated that there were many “Americans” here, as the Lebanese call their fellow countrymen in exile. The snowy spurs seemed very close, and in the other direction there were terraces with fences made of stones, carefully crafted as always in Lebanon, gradually descending to the sea. Sitting in the evening on the roof of a modest house with a local teacher, in endless leisurely conversations either about Russia, where he had never been, or about the future of Arab countries after the Young Turk coup, he remembered one student of the local school of the Palestine Society, who had recently graduated first from the teachers' seminary in Nazareth and is now sent to complete his education in Russia. I couldn’t understand the name of the city: in his program it was all something like Pulkov, and I decided that he was simply confused. Meanwhile, the town fell silent, the moon illuminated the entire area, giving it a special mystery in the East. We fell silent, and for some reason I suddenly felt here with complete clarity that I couldn’t live without Russia and I wouldn’t stay in Syria.

Many years have passed since this evening and even more events. With the First World War, the schools of the Palestinian society ended their lives. Relations between Ghantus ar-Rusi and his Syrian friends were interrupted, but we continued to sometimes remember the schools. It so happened that my closest teaching colleagues at the Institute of Oriental Languages ​​were two former teachers of the Palestinian Society. One is a long-time student of mine at the University; he spent two years as a teacher in Nazareth and left there only in connection with the war. His impressions were still alive, and, compiling a textbook of the Syrian colloquial dialect, we often recalled Palestine, its schools and teachers.

The fate of my second assistant turned out to be much more complicated. An Arab, a native of Nazareth, she graduated from a teacher's seminary in Beit Jala, near Bethlehem, and I met her as a very young teacher in the same Nazareth. And then she already collaborated in Arabic magazines. In 1914, taking advantage of the summer break, she came to get to know Russia and, delayed by the war, stayed with us for the rest of her life. She began teaching at the Institute in the 1920s. Cut off from her homeland, she carefully collected all sorts of literary news that then began to slip out of Arab countries. Many new names appeared that we had never heard of before the war, and gradually we came up with the idea of ​​compiling a textbook of modern literature for students with a short introduction about the authors.

It was difficult to find information about them. If the works themselves came across in different collections, magazines and newspapers, then our correspondents, often the writers themselves, to whom we turned for information, could not always tell us the dates of birth. This especially upset us regarding one young critic, in whom we immediately felt great strength and courage; I was afraid to succumb to the first impression, but it seemed to me that there were some echoes of Russian critical thought, little known to Arabic literature of that time. This impression was strengthened even more when in 1923 a collection of his articles was published under the significant title “Sieve”: the author was not afraid to “sift” generally recognized authorities through it. The preface to the book has been reprinted here. unknown the drama “Fathers and Sons,” the title of which again contained reminiscences of Russian literature.

The author's name was Michael Nuaime; the name indicated that he was from Syria; He lived, according to rumors, in America. We could not achieve more, despite all the information from both Egypt and Syria. We had to include his work in the Reader, published in 1928, without indicating the author’s date of birth, in contrast to most sections. About two years later an English book appeared, dedicated, following our example, to the leaders of modern Arabic literature; when I saw that it contained only our insufficient information regarding Nuaime, my patience ran out. I wrote to New York, to the editor of an Arabic newspaper, asking for the address of M. Nuaime, if he was known.

Very soon, to my great amazement, I received a letter in the purest Russian; the correspondent only apologized that he was an “Old Believer” and wrote according to the old spelling, since he left Russia in 1911. This turned out to be Mikhail Nuaime, a former Poltava seminarian in 1905-1911. It immediately became clear to me which student of the Palestine Society school the old teacher was talking about on the roof of his house in Biscuit. From the following letter, an autobiography written at my request, I learned that Nuaime had been living in America since December 1911; The role of Russian literature in his work, which I so clearly felt, also became clear to me. As if in response to my thoughts, he recalled in that letter: “My favorite subject already in Nazareth was literature... At the seminary I soon became immersed in Russian literature. It was as if a new world had opened up before me, full of wonders. I read voraciously. There was hardly any Russian writer whom I would not re-read... The literary stagnation throughout the Arabic-speaking world struck me when I left Russia. This had a depressing effect, and was extremely offensive for a person brought up on the subtle art of Pushkin, Lermontov and Turgenev, on Gogol’s “laughter through tears”, on the fascinating realism of Tolstoy, on the literary ideals of Belinsky and, in the end, on the high humanity of himself powerful, deep, complete and most soulful among all Russian writers, Dostoevsky. You can easily understand why my first literary experiences in Arabic were mainly of a critical nature."

In 1932, Nuaime returned to his homeland - to his Biskinta, where I had visited 35 years ago. His writing activity expanded and his fame grew, although his strict view of the vocation of a writer was not always to the liking of all his fellow countrymen. We watched each other: his attitude towards Russian literature, imbued with such love, which is unlikely to be found in another Arab writer, brought a soft intimacy to our mutual assessment. We didn’t talk about this, but in 1935 I saw one of his articles that appeared in a Beirut magazine on the same issue as Teymur’s article. Let the Lebanese voice sound in Russian, just as the Egyptian voice sounded.

“Gantus ar-Rusi - Ignatius Yulievich Krachkovsky. I met him by correspondence five years ago. He kindly gave me a number of his Russian works on different areas Arabic literature, ancient and modern. And perhaps he is in the vanguard of those Orientalists who have given our new literature the attention it deserves.”

“In his letters, between the lines, one could see an enlightened and clear soul, healthy and tolerant, - a soul that united the modesty of knowledge and the sublimity of simplicity, - a soul that is overflowing with benevolence towards people and faith in the future of humanity, - a soul that meets failure with a smile of hope, and suffering - the steadfastness of patience."

“His works told me about his great strength, about his great endurance, about sincerity before himself and his topic, about great love him to Arabic language and literature. And how many times have I asked myself about those hidden factors that attract us to this or that business, which force a person like Professor Krachkovsky to go beyond the borders of his country with its wide arena for research and work, encourage him to study the language, whose appearance has no connection with his language, and then they force him to devote his life to this language and its literature, although he is far from their hearths.”

“But he, of course, could, if he wished, - and this would be easier for him to achieve - devote his life to the language and literature of his country. But he did not want it and did not do it. And in this alone there is a lesson and edification.”

“The last thing our dear professor gave me to enjoy from his fascinating research was his book on the “Message of the Angels” by Abu-l-Ala al-Ma'arri, which was published by the Academy of Sciences in Leningrad in 1932.”

“I carefully looked through the book, and in the preface I read that the author for 20 years - from 1910 to 1930 - has been trying to penetrate the sources, collect materials, study them, explain and distribute them. And there were so many obstacles on his way - wars, revolutions, and much more - that he couldn’t count them. And he, out of modesty, doesn’t remember any of this. He does not remember how, with his perseverance and passion for the topic, he defeated them all and published the message of al-Maarri, the very existence of which only a few knew, even from the sons of the language of al-Maarri, published in the Arabic original with translation into Russian, with comments, notes and indexes, which struck me with the breadth of their author’s erudition, his “wonderful patience” and subtlety of research. This is a difficult task, which can only be completed by someone who completely masters his topic, as Professor Krachkovsky mastered it, who will be as passionate about his work, will be as sincere to his science as he was passionate and sincere. And this book is just one example of the professor’s numerous works.”

“The professor fell in love with our Arab East to such an extent that he wants to be known here not under his Russian name “Ignatius,” but under the form of this name that is common in Lebanon and Syria. He gave me the “Message of Angels” with the following dedication in his hand: “A gift of admiration and respect from its publisher – Gaetus ar-Rus.”

“Oh, welcome to you, O “Gantus”! Be of us and among us, we will profit; and I don’t think that you will be at a loss. We loved you as you loved us. And here I am, one of the many sons of the Arabic language, calling upon you a surge of energy and greeting you with the admiration of a man who recognized the beauty of your soul and loved the language of your grandfathers, just as you loved the language of his grandfathers.”

This was written in May 1935, and in June I received his new large book from Nuaime. It is dedicated to his friend, the leader of the “Syro-American school” of modern literature, Gibran, who died in 1931 - just when I learned his autobiography from Nuaime. The book had a strong impact on me with its wealth of material, literary skill, and high, noble tone. Two details in it made me think again about the schools of Palestinian society and the Russian language among the Arabs. It turned out that in the literary association, which since 1920 had played a leading role for the new Arabic literature of America, besides Nuaime himself, the most active members were two more students of the Teachers' Seminary in Nazareth. Gibran, the chairman of the association, a Maronite from northern Lebanon by origin, did not know the Russian language, but in his Arabic letters to his friend, a longtime Poltava seminarian, growing sympathy very quickly replaced the usual “dear Mikhail” with a completely unexpected for an Arab “Dear Misha”, which remained already to the end. And this Russian diminutive name in an Arabic shell looks somehow especially touching in an Arab’s letter.

Nuaime is right when he says that we are not always clear about the factors that explain a person's choice of life's work. We are not always clear in detail and the path along which the emergence of sympathy between people and nations occurs. But if in Syria they know “Gantus from Russia,” and the greatest Arab writer is called “Misha” from Biskinta by his friend and fellow countryman, then these small lines clearly show how deeply such sympathy can sometimes penetrate. It seems that the future of humanity largely depends on the ability to find ways of this sympathy.

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IV / Arabic literature of the twentieth century (modern times)

Modern Arabic literature is a collection of national literatures of Arab countries that have a common cultural basis, but developing in line with local cultural traditions, dating back to the Middle Ages, but only in the twentieth century received decisive significance. The first quarter of the twentieth century in Arab countries was a period of growth of the national liberation movement, the rise of the struggle to eliminate foreign occupation. By this time, Egypt and Sudan in Africa, Iraq, Kuwait, Palestine and Yemen in Asia remained colonies of England, and the Arab Maghreb (Morocco, Algeria, Tunisia), Syria and Lebanon fell under French rule. By the end of the First World War, the Arab countries were typically colonial powers, with the majority of investment owned by foreigners. This socio-political situation led to disappointment among the educated sections of society with the example of “Western democracies” and the emergence of left-wing (anti-government) political movements. All this influenced the development of Arabic literature. The activities of Arab enlighteners of the 19th century, the growth of self-awareness and the establishment of periodicals contributed to the expansion of the circle of readers. Writers' appeal to modernity, criticism of feudal traditions, and a tendency toward social denunciations become the main features in the development of Arabic literature of this time. In the 20s 20th century in Egypt a group of writers appeared - a new literary school - “ Egyptian renovators" They sought to make full use of the heritage of ancient Arabic literature, opposed dogmatic imitation of European culture, and fought against feudalism and conservatism. The main goal of the Egyptian literary school– raising Egyptian literature to world heights. Egyptian renovationists advocated new uniform and content of literature. The themes of the works become more modern, and their heroes - simple people. Artistic images become multifaceted, deeply individualized, the language is freed from archaisms and floridity. Fighting against feudalism and foreign enslavement, they became educators. Writers developed genres in Arabic literature stories(Muhammad Hussein Heikal) and story Mahmoud Teymur, Isa Ubeid), created drama(Ahmed Shawki, Tawfik al-Hakim), introduced the reader to realistic novel(Taha Hussein). In 1920, Arab emigrant writers living in the United States created the so-called. Pen Association, which aimed to transform national literature into an active social force associated with life native people. Of the ten members of the Association, seven were from Lebanon, three were Syrians. Their press organ, the newspaper al-Sa'ih, criticized imitation and traditionalism, and promoted new topic based on reality. In journalistic articles and works of art writers-members of the Pen Association sounded motifs of a neo-Sufi nature, longing for the homeland, and the theme of equality of people before God. The lyrical hero is an emigrant poet who felt lonely and abandoned, and often an unrecognized genius. Poverty often pushed him onto the path of asceticism and contempt for money and those who strive to accumulate it. In poetic dreams, he imagined himself as a prophet, a new Messiah, preaching divine love, calling for peace; the blind leading the sighted; a ghost-like dervish. Symbolism associated with Sufism fills the poems of emigrants. “Cell” symbolizes the piety of the first stage of the ascent of the Sufi spirit to the deity; "distant light" means Eternal flame, calling the sons of men; “stars” are a glimmer of hope. Before the advent of the Pen Association, traditional forms dominated Arabic poetry. Poets followed the path of complicating images and verbal balancing act. Members of this literary society, under the influence of Western and Russian literature, created new forms of versification, which subsequently became widespread in Arabic poetry. They raised the still untapped resources of classical prosody and, while preserving the basis of aruda, borrowed European strophic forms and rhyme systems. To convey the intonation of living speech, poets sacrificed the different feet of the poetic line. This phenomenon became the basis for the creation of the so-called. new poetry, which gained wide popularity among the Arab and Iranian peoples in the twentieth century. Syrian writers (Muhammad Kurd Ali) and poets (Khalil Mardam and Muhammad al-Bizm) of this time, in contrast to the Egyptian school of “renovators,” did not assert new historical forms, but turned to the traditions of classical Arabic poetry and engaged in historical and philological studies of their native antiquities on the basis of which the Syrian grew up historical novel(Maaruf al-Arnaout). Developing the legacy of medieval poets (al-Mutanabbi, al-Bukhturi, Abul-Ala al-Maarri), Syrian poets of the twentieth century in their poems put forward ideas of the struggle for the liberation of the country from French colonialism, for glorifying the past of the Arabs, describing the nature and cities of Syria. Traditional forms of classical Arabic poetry - qasida And muwashshah influenced by poets of American emigration, who introduce motifs of anti-clericalism, envelop poems with romantic symbolism, and strive for greater simplicity and clarity of language (Omar Abu Risha and Wafsi al-Kurunfuli). Historical novel, which developed in Arabic literature on the basis of Egyptian literature in the 19th century. (J.N. Mudauwar, J. Zeidan, F. Antun), on Syrian soil is quite independent phenomenon. Syrian authors write either about the history of Islam or the history of Syria (during the period of Ottoman rule). Historical story pursued directly journalistic goals (the fight against colonialism for a better future). Historical prose is distinguished by a deliberate archaization of language, when it is often prose text interspersed with poetic inserts. Also became widespread in the 50s. XX century social, realistic novel(Maroun Ghassan al-Khouri, Tawfik Yusuf Awwad) and short story / realistic story(Fuad al-Shaib, Wafsi al-Buni), who mastered peasant and urban social themes. They featured an active hero from the grassroots who defended his rights. In Iraq in the 20s - 40s. XX century most of The population was illiterate, so there was no social basis for the development of literature. In this period greatest influence The minds of citizens were influenced by national poetry, calling for the struggle of the poor against the haves. The greatest poets of this period - Sidqi al-Zahawi and Maaruf al-Rusawi were the founders of the new " social school"in Arabic poetry. They saw poetry as a means of serving the people and proclaimed their unity with them. The themes of their poems are varied: from love and philosophical lyrics to socially critical poems. Creating philosophical, lyrical and epic poems, poets turned to new meters, used internal rhyme, and sometimes wrote in blank verse. Here is an excerpt from their qasida “Feudal” by Muhammad Mehdi al-Jawahiri: The raised paw of the feudal lord Stopped the hand of justice. The other one tightly clamped his mouth shut, Not allowing words to even be spoken. The rabble of scoundrels rampage freely, In broad daylight he rapes and robs, Easily trades in people alive And, like cattle, he drives them to the slaughter... What are you waiting for? Aren't we ashamed? When the country in which we were born Everywhere they call the country enslaved, And they call us people slaves? In Iraqi artistic prose(founder - Mahmoud Ahmed al-Seyyid) in the first half of the twentieth century, the foundation was laid for the further development of realistic trends in the genres of novel and short story (Zu-n-Nun Ayyub), story (Jaafar al-Khalili), and satirical story (Mikhail Tesi , Nuri Sabit).

Survey of Contemporary Arabic Writers

Egypt is considered a recognized center of Arab culture. Many Egyptian writers are widely known. Among them is Naguib Mahfouz, winner of the 1988 Nobel Prize in Literature “for the realism and richness of nuances of an Arabic story that has significance for all humanity.” As well as playwright Tawfik al-Hakim, screenwriter Ihsan Adb al-Quddus, novelist Yusef Idris, writers Kamal al-Gitani, Yusef Sibai. The younger generation of authors from the banks of the Nile - Ala al-Aswani, Muhammad Ala ad-Din. Egyptian poetry of the twentieth century is rich and varied. Poet Laureate Ahmed Shawki and singer Nila Hafiz Ibrahim, as well as Abd al-Rahman Shukri, Ali Mahmoud Taha. Modernist poets who experimented with form are Salah abd al-Sabur, Hassan Taleb, etc. And the writer Sanallah Ibrahim was awarded the Ibn Rushd Prize for freethinking in 2004, which he refused. Contemporary Sudanese literature is young. The spirit of the national liberation movement of the early twentieth century was reflected in the works of revolutionary romanticism. With the end of World War II, the genre of autobiography appeared. Sudanese poetry of the second half of the twentieth century is distinguished by its revolutionary-democratic pathos. Books of a realistic direction have been published. Characteristic feature The literature of this time is topical. The authors draw the reader's attention to Everyday life. They describe the life of the middle and lower strata of Sudanese society. They draw the life of the peasantry. The works raise issues of inequality of modern women, and also pose problems of the Muslim family. In the 1970s Sudanese prose writers at-Tayib Salih, Ibrahim Hordello, Isa Hilwa, Ayyub al-Khal, Nabil Ghali and others achieved fame. A special place is occupied by the literature of the peoples of the south of Sudan, which arose only half a century ago. It reflects the conflict between the rich Muslim north and the poor Christian and pagan south. The authors address issues of human survival in difficult natural (drought, flood) and economic conditions (famine). The hero must survive despite the civil war and humiliation (the problem of slavery). Literature as an art form received its greatest development in Jordan. Jordanian poetry, which traditionally describes human feelings and emotions, absorbed new themes in the second half of the twentieth century. She became interested in political problems and the state of Jordanian society. The most famous modern poets Kingdom of Jordan - Mustafa al-Tell, Mustafa al-Kaylani, Fadwa Tukan, Muhammad al-Jundi. Prose works began to appear after World War II. They raised the political problems of the young state. King Abdullah I and his son Hussein II made a special contribution to the development of Jordanian literature. The rulers published their memoirs and autobiographies. Modern prose writers include Asma Tubi, Amin Malsakh, and the collector of Bedouin folklore Ruqs Uzaidi. The works of short story writer and literary critic Isa Nauri attract attention. The books of the historian and writer Arif al-Arif are of interest. Among authors from Palestine, a special place is occupied by the young generation of writers and poets. Its prominent representative can be considered the outstanding poet, laureate of the international literary prize “Lotus” Mahmud Dervish. He wrote a cycle of poems, “Songs of my little homeland,” and the poem “Poems in the Reflection of a Shot.” Palestinian poets Samih al-Qassem and Muin Bsisu deserve mention. Many artists are forced to live and create in exile. The works of these writers, as well as their senior comrades in the pen of Abu Salma, Tawfik Ziyad, Emil Habibi and Anton Shamas, were published in countries neighboring occupied Palestine - in Lebanon, Egypt and Syria. Their books can be found in bookstores in Europe. Modern literary life Syria is characterized by the development of all types of genres of this type of creativity. A prominent place in Syrian prose is occupied by the recognized classic Hana Mina, novelist Khairy al-Zahabi and playwright Walid Ikhlyasy, prose writer Ahmad Oud and others. Among the poets are representatives of the classical system of versification Nizzar Qabbani, Suleiman al-Isa, Nadim Muhammad and others. And the interests of modern innovative poetry is expressed by Adonis, Shawki, Baghdadi, Ali al-Jundi and others. The literature of Lebanon today is represented by the work of the brilliant French-speaking writer Amin Maalouf, winner of the prestigious Goncourt Prize in 1993, as well as the works of other Arabic and French-speaking authors. Algerian literature exists in Arabic and French. It is represented by three genres: prose, poetry and drama. Major Arabic-language prose writers of the twentieth century - A.R. Khuhu, A. Ben Hedouga, al-Tahir al-Wattar, A. Rikbi, B. Dudu, H. Jalali. The works of these writers are dominated by revolutionary-patriotic themes in the light of modern events. Writers pose and develop in their books the problems of moral education and the construction of a new society. The largest French-speaking wordsmiths are Muhammad Dib, Malek Haddab, Kateb Yassin, Jean Armouche, Bashir Haj Ali, Jean Seneca. Libyan writer Ibrahim al-Koni is a Tuareg. He poses existential questions in his novels. His short stories are permeated with mythological plots and poetry. Morocco's literature in Arabic and French is represented by Arabic and French-language poets, prose writers and playwrights. The Moroccan Writers' Union was founded in 1960. From 1963-1964 literary magazines “Afak” and “Aklyam” are published. Not inferior to it is the fiction of modern Tunisia, which develops in three forms: books and magazines are published in Tunisia in Arabic, French and Berber. In war-torn Iraq, people are restoring peaceful life. Iraqi authors work in exile. Publicist and prose writer Aziz al-Tamimi writes from America about the problems of his long-suffering homeland in English, and literary critic and writer Batul al-Khadiri from Germany is trying to build a bridge between East and West with the help of fiction. Contemporary Iraqi poet Ahmad Matar lives and works in London, and Adnan al-Saigh left Iraq for Sweden. Iraqi Muayid al-Shibani lives and works in the UAE, he writes poems about the nature of the Persian Gulf and writes scripts. Adib Kamal ad-Din is an Iraqi publicist, literary critic and poet, who received an award for great achievements in lyricism in 1999. The literature of Saudi Arabia is represented by a whole range of ancient and modern genres. These include the poetic genres of ode, qasida, satire and lyrics, poems with social themes. As well as short story writing and journalism. The Islamic religion leaves its mark on cultural life. Local customs include reserved behavior. The cultural heritage of Persian Arab countries, such as Bahrain, is also associated with Islamic traditions. Contemporary fiction from the region reflects the social reality of Bahraini, Qatari, Emirati and Omani society. Each of them is distinguished by the presence of its own independent style, unlike the style of literature, for example, Kuwait, which is represented by folk art. Residents of the country of Punt, as Somalia was called in ancient times, love poetry. The land of incense and spices in the Horn of Africa is known as the land of poets. Poetic traditions of folklore go back to XVI century. Among the Djiboutians - the Afar and Issa tribes - works of oral folk art, legends, myths, fairy tales and traditions passed down from generation to generation are popular. They are expressed in poetic form. Arabic literature of our time is a union of the literatures of the independent states of the Middle East and the states of North Africa. Part of it is written in literary Arabic, another part in European languages ​​(English and French), and the third part in Egyptian, Syrian and other dialects, as well as in the Berber language and the languages ​​of local African tribes. By the beginning of the 21st century, modern Arabic literature had passed big way. She was able to overcome the inertia of traditional Arabic literature, which was based on the Holy Quran. I have passed the period of admiring sentimentalism and romanticism. She mastered the method of critical realism and even the techniques of European modernism. Nevertheless, it remained an original phenomenon among other literatures of the world. IV/Arabic literature of modern times

Egyptian literature

Youssef Idris (1927-1991): Sat. stories “The Cheapest Nights” (1954), “Isn’t it?” (1957), “The Edge of the World” (1961), the story “Sin” (1959); plays “Farafura” (1964), “Earthly Comedy” (1966).

Ibrahim Aslan: Sat. short story “Evening Lake” (1969).

Sanallah Ibrahim: novel “August Star” (1976).

The first acquaintance of the modern reader with the fiction of the countries Arab East usually begins with reading fairy tales of 1001 nights (from collections of fairy tales for children to multi-volume scientific publications), books, - according to the definition of the outstanding Russian Arabist I.Yu. Krachkovsky, - “preserving the beauty of their images and the richness of colors for many centuries”, in in rare cases, – with the tribal Bedouin poetry of pre-Islamic Arabia (World Literature. Main series) and, more recently, with the opuses of certain religious “gurus” (for example, Osho), using the texts of the works of individual authors (Gibran Khalil Gibran) to substantiate their teachings, fortunately translations of these “works” have appeared in print in recent years with enviable regularity and large circulations.

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Later, if interest in Arabic literature does not disappear, the inquisitive Russian-speaking reader turns to the literature of the 19th-20th centuries, represented by the works outstanding writers Egypt, (Taufiq al-Hakim, Muhammad and Mahmud Teymur), Syria and Lebanon (Gibran Khalil Gibran, Amin al-Reihani, Mikhail Nuaime) and many others.

In the 60-80s of the 20th century, translations of works by Arabic authors into Russian were published by the publishing houses “Progress” (M.) and “Raduga” (M., Tashkent).

At the same time, translations of works by Russian and Soviet writers into Arabic, worked on by famous Arabic translators, writers and literary critics. Creative activity some of them were highly appreciated in our country, for example, the Egyptian Abu Bakr Yusuf, an honorary member of the Union of Writers of Russia (since 2000), was awarded a medal A. S. Pushkin.

Introducing Arab readers to Russian literature XIX-XX centuries took place much earlier. In 1863, the first translation into Arabic of ten fables by I. A. Krylov appeared in St. Petersburg: “The Crow and the Fox”; "Oak and Reed"; "The Frog and the Ox"; "The Picky Bride"; "Pedestrians and Dogs"; "Hare on the hunt"; "Bag"; "Doe and Dervish"; "Fortune and the Beggar"; “Nobleman”, which were published as an appendix to the Arabic language textbook “Russian-Arab Public Conversations”. The author of this textbook and translation was Abdallah (Fedor Ivanovich) Kelzi, a teacher at the Oriental Faculty of St. Petersburg University (1819-1912).

The translation was made into literary Arabic, accompanied by the original text, and, according to Academician I. Yu. Krachkovsky, could be assessed as “quite satisfactory.” He marked the beginning of the process of introducing Arabs to Russian literature, new, and later modern times.

It was soon followed by a second translation of I. A. Krylov’s fables (London, 1867), made by Rizkallah Hassoun; unlike the first, it was not successful, as it suffered from a violation of the style of the original, extreme didacticism, a change in reality and the names of the characters.

Since the 80s of the 19th century, the schools and seminaries (both male and female) of the Imperial Palestine Society, which trained teachers with knowledge of the Russian language for Christian Arabs in Syria and Lebanon, have become the center of interest in the Russian language and literature.

Among the first graduates of the Nazareth Seminary were Khalil Beidas and Selim Cobain, who later became famous translators of works by Russian authors. The first is known for his translations of A. S. Pushkin’s story “ Captain's daughter.” (1898), N. Gogol’s “Taras Bulba” (1908), A. K. Tolstoy’s novel “Prince Silver” (1909).

Selim Cobain, who at the beginning of his translation career showed interest in historical novels (Danilevsky, G. P. “On India under Peter”), then turned to the work of L. N. Tolstoy, translations of whose works: “The Kreutzer Sonata”, “The Gospel of Tolstoy” “The Teachings of Tolstoy” were published at the beginning of the 20th century; later he also translated the works of M. Gorky, A.P. Chekhov and many other authors.

After the end of the First World War, leadership in literary and translation activities passed to Egypt. The activation of the press, the emergence of a large number of new magazines that willingly published translations of works by Russian authors, contributed to the growing interest of Arab readers in their work, at this time translations of the novels by F. M. Dostoevsky “Crime and Punishment”, M. P. Artsybashev “Sanin” were published "translated by Ibrahim al-Mazini, which had much greater success in Egypt than in Russia, N.V. Gogol's story "Dead Souls."

In the 40s of the 20th century, magazine supplements began to appear (for example, “Novels [of the magazine] al-Hilal.” The publishing house “Dar al-Hilal” publishes translations of I. S. Turgenev’s novels “The Noble Nest” (titled translation: “Lovers” the girl Lisa”, “Fathers and Sons” (titled translation: “The Struggle of Generations”), “Dar al-Kahir” translation of the story “Cossacks” by L. N. Tolstoy, as well as the story by A. I. Kuprin “ Garnet bracelet"translated by Ibrahim Zaki Khurshid.

Subsequent years have not diminished interest in Russian literature; together with Egypt, Syria, Lebanon and Iraq begin to occupy leading positions in translation activity.

The famous Egyptian translator Ibrahim Zaki Khurshid publishes his translations of N. V. Gogol’s story “Evenings on a Farm near Dikanka” (1973) and the novel “Rudin” by I. S. Turgenev.

Literary circles and clubs began to appear in Syria, the largest of which was the “League of Syrian Writers” (1951), whose members were actively involved in translating works of Russian authors.

The publishing house “al-Yakza al-Arabiya” (“Arab Awakening”) was created, which published it in 1954-1955. in the series “Masterpieces of World Literature”, the collected works of A. P. Chekhov: in 2 volumes (translated by Fuad and Suheil Ayubov), novels by F. M. Dostoevsky “Notes from the House of the Dead / trans. Nadima Mar Ashli,” “Netochka Nezvanova,” A. S. Pushkin’s story “The Captain’s Daughter”, the full text of the collected works of F. M. Dostoevsky (1974-1986), the first four volumes of which and Pushkin’s works translated by Sami ad-Darubi .

The Syrian Ministry of Culture publishes Imad Hatim’s translation of V. V. Mayakovsky’s play “The Bedbug” (1962), as well as the collection “One Hundred best works new poetry" with his translation of the Introduction to Mayakovsky's poem "At the top of his voice", poems by A. A. Blok and B. L. Pasternak.

The works of F. M. Dostoevsky, so popular among Arab readers in Egypt and Syria, also attract the attention of Lebanese translators. The Beirut publishing house al-Adab al-jadid (New Literature) publishes several translations of his novels: “The Idiot” (translated by Awwad Hussein, 1967), “The Brothers Karamazov” (translated by Ibrahim Juzain, 1968), “Crime and punishment" (translated by Nadim Marashali) and translations of works by Russian authors, including A. P. Chekhov's story "Duel" (translated by Avvad Sha abali, 1962), L. N. Tolstoy's novel "Anna Karenina" (translated by Ahmad Akram at-Tab a).

Information about translation activities in Iraq is associated, first of all, with the name of Gaib Tu'am Farman (1927-1990), a famous writer, translator, and literary critic who lived for a long time in Moscow and worked for the Progress and Rainbow publishing houses.

The Dar al-Hurriya (Freedom) publishing house published in 1987 in Baghdad a collection of Selected Works by S. A. Yesenin (translated by Khasab al-Sheikh Jaafar), one of the most original Russian poets.

The tragic beginning of the 21st century with its wars, terrorism, color revolutions does not give us reason to hope that in this chaos there will be a place for literature; “When the guns speak, the muses are silent,” but still I really want to believe that time will revive Arabic literature, and with it the interest of Arab readers in the literatures of other countries.

Concluding a brief excursion into the history of the formation and development of translation activity among the Arabs, it should be noted that all the translations mentioned in it are only “a small drop from the sea of ​​​​translations”, representing the work of great Russian writers representing literature that, as I believed, is also in the countries of the Arab East .Yu. Krachkovsky, “will find the same ardent fans as throughout the entire cultural world.”

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Arab writers often confused the Volga and Danube Bulgars. This is also evident from of this text, since the Bulgar the Great in the 10th century.

According to the testimony of old Arab writers, in a luxurious oasis in the Libyan desert, at the crossroads of caravan routes, the temple of the Egyptian sun god Ammon once stood under the canopy of palm trees. The priests of this temple challenged the pharaohs for political power and were famous as soothsayers far beyond the borders of Egypt; they were approached, in particular, by Alexander the Great and the Persian conqueror Xerxes.

These ideas appear among Arab writers based on the experience of exploiting the mines of distant Turkestan and Spanish Cordoba. We see them even earlier in Pliny’s description of the ores of iron, silver and mercury, when ancient Rome, in the fight for metal, sent its legions to conquer the depths of Gaul, Iberia, Britain and Carthage. We find these ideas in the medieval alchemists with their remarkable purely geochemical discoveries, understood and deciphered only in very recent years in the works of Lippmann and Ruska.

Marx quotes these and the following poetic lines from Hariri, a medieval Arab writer, from the book: F.

Hariri, Abu Muhammad (1054 - 1122) - an outstanding Arab writer.

Altyn Kum Khanchoy, Mongol king 133 L liram, Arabic writer 19 Alfonso, Castilian king 19 Lmaippg, chief of Shostensk.

Ptolemy made the optical properties of flammable glasses the object of his speculations, and ancient Arab writers, such as Al-Khazen, who lived about 1000 BC, clothed Ptolemy’s judgments in philosophical and literary forms.

Our ancestors, the Slavs, developed the construction business very early. Arab writers (772 - 779) testify that the Slavs had many cities that had both defensive and economic significance.

His information echoes the information of another Arab writer of the 9th - 10th centuries. Balkhi, who wrote that the Bashjars are divided into two tribes, one tribe lives on the very border of Guezia, the country of the Kumans near the Bulgars. It is said to consist of 2,000 people, who are so well protected by their forests that no one can conquer them. Other Bashjars border on the Pechenegs.

Many Siberian fetishists still flog their gods when they are dissatisfied with them. Stasov, Notes on the Rus of Ibn Fadlan and other Arab writers.

The most complete and detailed text of the Russian-Byzantine agreement is presented to us by the agreement of Prince Igor in 944. The conclusion of this act was a consequence of the military conflict between Russia and Byzantium, which ended with the conclusion of a truce and diplomatic negotiations. The Byzantine chronicles, along with the Tale of Bygone Years, the notes of Lud Pravda of Cremona and the Arab writer al-Masudi, preserved evidence of the Russian campaign against Constantinople, which began on June 11, 941. The Russian regiments stunned the Byzantines, conducting successful military operations and devastating the surrounding area capitals and nearby islands and suburbs. This is reported by two other chronicles of the 10th century.

For the northern regions, where shifting agriculture persisted for a particularly long time, the main crop was millet, which apparently produced highest yields. The country of the Slavs is flat and wooded - an Arab writer of the mid-10th century noted about this. Ibn-Dast - they have neither vineyards nor arable land...

Khafre and Mikerin were considered one of the 7 wonders of the world. An Arab writer noted: Everything on earth is afraid of time, but time is afraid of the pyramids. Great pyramids in Giza have impeccably correct geometric shape. They have been standing for more than 40 centuries.

Treatment with mineral waters has been known in Rus' since time immemorial. Healing property People have known about acidic water for a long time and successfully used it to improve health. Has survived to this day popular name This water is called narzan, which means heroic water. The Arab writer Ibn Batuta, who visited the Pyatigorye region in the middle of the 14th century, wrote: I arrived from Crimea to Azov, from Azov I went to the city of Mozhary, from the above city with my companions I was going to go to the Sultan’s headquarters, located 4 days away in the area , called Bish-Dag (Bish - five, Dag - mountain. It was not by chance that the foreign traveler mentioned the hot water spring.

Osson (d Ohsson) collected information from eastern authors of the 9th-10th centuries. He presented the messages of Arab writers in the form of a travel diary of a character he himself invented - a certain merchant named Abu-l-Qasim (see: d Ohsson. Of course, a scientific study of sources within the framework of such a genre was impossible, but the literary merits of d Ohsson's work in what - to the extent justify his enterprise, even if it goes beyond the scope of science, but serves the cause of its popularization.