“If

 We  Change  the  World  We  Also  Change  Its  Meaning”:  

An  Interview  with  Syrian  Poet  Adonis  

by  Erkut  Tokman  
 
World  Literature  Today  (November  2015)  
 
http://www.worldliteraturetoday.org/2015/november/if-­‐we-­‐change-­‐world-­‐
we-­‐also-­‐change-­‐its-­‐meaning-­‐interview-­‐syrian-­‐poet-­‐adonis-­‐erkut  
 
 

 
Photo  of  Adonis  in  his  Parisian  office  by  Erkut  Tokman  
 
 
Adonis  (Ali  Ahmad  Said  Esber),  born  in  Syria  in  1930,  is  considered  the  most  
influential  living  Arab  poet  of  our  times.  Due  to  his  opposition  to  the  political  
regime  at  the  time,  he  fled  to  Beirut  in  1956,  where  he  played  an  important  
role  for  Arab  culture,  especially  by  editing  and  directing  the  poetry  magazines  
Majallat   Shi’r  and   Mawaqif  with  Yousuf  Al-­‐Khal,  which  opened  a  new  path  in  
Arabic   poetry   in   terms   of   modernism   and   the   evolution   of   free   verse   and  
prose  poetry.  In  1981  he  settled  in  Paris  because  of  the  civil  war  in  Lebanon.  
This  led  to  new  directions  in  his  poetry:  reshaping  mysticism  without  religion  
and   the   traditional   possibilities   of   Sufism   as   well   as   widening   and   exploring  
its   borders   through   the   surrealist   and   metaphysical   side   of   individualism.  
Three   of   his   books—The  Songs  of  Mihyar  of  Damascus   (1961),   A  Time  Between  
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Ashes   and   Roses   (1971),   and   Al-­‐Kitab   (1995–2003)—can   be   considered  
milestones   of   his   poetic   journey   as   a   revolutionary   vision.   Since   2002,   Adonis  
has   also   begun   creating   images   using   calligraphy,   juxtaposing   abstract   and  
surreal  elements  with  original  handwriting.  He  still  lives  in  Paris  with  his  two  
sisters.  
 
 

Erkut  Tokman:  How  is  your  background  in  Arabic  poetry  and  your  oriental  
side  reflected  in  the  West?  Do  you  think  that  these  have  had  an  impact  on  
Western,  particularly  French,  poetry?  How  do  you  perceive  the  East-­‐West  
dichotomy?  

Adonis:  For  me,  East  and  West  have  always  been  notions  that  are  related  not  
to  culture  and  creativity  but  to  politics,  the  economy,  and  imperialism.  In  
terms  of  creativity  and  creation,  in  human  terms,  there  is  neither  West  nor  
East.  There  is  only  one  creativity,  one  creation,  and  one  unified  world,  
particularly  in  terms  of  the  Mediterranean.  And  as  you  know,  Europe,  in  other  
words  the  West,  took  its  name  from  a  Phoenician  goddess  from  Lebanon.  Her  
brother  Cadmus  gave  the  West  its  alphabet.  So  at  its  origin,  what  we  call  West  
and  East  were  born  from  the  same  idea.  

Having  said  this,  even  within  a  single  people  there  are  always  different  points  
of  view,  in  the  sense  that  Rimbaud  had  a  radically  different  vision  from  that  of  
Mallarmé.  For  example,  in  the  poetry  of  Rimbaud  there  are  no  significant  
traces  of  Hellenistic  or  Judeo-­‐Christian  culture;  the  East  in  his  poetry  
represents  something  else;  this  is  Sufi  in  that  it  goes  beyond  nationalism,  race,  
and  religion,  and  it  is  surrealist  in  that  it  rejects  the  established  values  of  the  
West.  The  difference  between  one  poet  and  another  is  not  necessarily  a  
national  one  but  a  difference  that  is  human  and  natural.  For  this  reason  I  like  
to  go  beyond  this  distinction,  this  kind  of  Orientalism  and  Occidentalism;  
because  the  human  being  is  one,  and  therefore  the  world  for  him  is  one.  What  
unites  us  is  not  the  East  or  the  West  but  the  universe;  it  is  poetry,  creation.  So  
by  definition  and  by  the  nature  of  creation,  the  human  being  is  one,  and  we  
are  all  universal.  

ET:  You  speak  of  how  poets  such  as  Abu  Nuwas,  Niffari,  and  Al-­‐Maʿarri  
changed  and  influenced  Arabic  poetry.  What  is  your  view  of  Arabic  poetry  
and  your  own  poetry  in  terms  of  such  change  and  innovation?  

A:  I  believe  that  what  is  known  as  Arabic  mystical  poetry,  particularly  for  me  
and  for  Niffari,  is  a  vision  of  the  world;  it  is  a  way  of  writing  the  world,  and  
therefore  poetry  goes  beyond  the  poem.  There  are  many  poems  with  no  
poetry.  So  for  me  this  poetry,  this  vision  of  the  world,  was  like  a  poetic  
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revolution  in  the  Arabic  world  because  this  poetry  changed  the  notion  of  
writing  and  took  it  beyond  the  classical  rules  of  prosody,  unified  it  between  
what  we  call  poems  in  the  classical  sense  of  the  word—in  other  words,  
rhythmical  poetry  measured  according  to  the  classical  traditions—and  free  
poetry,  or  what  we  call  prose  poems.  Niffari  is  a  great  creator  of  prose  poems.  
So  they  changed  the  way  of  writing;  they  added  prose  to  poetry.  And  after  
them  there  was  no  difference  between  prose  poetry  and  classical  poetry.  
That’s  one  point.  

The  second  point  is  that  they  changed  the  notion  of  identity.  The  identity  born  
with  them  was  no  longer  an  inheritance  but  a  creation.  And  the  human  being  
creates  his  identity  by  creating  his  works.  

Third,  they  changed  the  traditional  notion  of  existence,  or  even  the  notion  of  
truth.  Truth  is  not  only  linked  to  what  we  see  in  reality;  truth  is  part  of  the  
invisible.  Therefore  to  better  understand  reality,  or  what  we  call  truth,  we  
have  to  make  a  unity  between  the  visible  and  the  invisible.  So  we  can  call  the  
invisible,  as  the  surrealists  did,  the  surreal.  

For  mystics,  this  was  called  al-­‐imla,  in  other  words  something  that  comes  to  
the  poet,  to  the  mystic,  once  he  has  mastered  his  body.  When  he  masters  his  
body  he  feels  as  though  he  is  part  of  the  light,  and  therefore  of  the  unknown,  
and  therefore  of  the  invisible.  

Fourth,  Arabic  poetry  invented  a  form  of  expression  that  the  surrealists  called  
automatic  writing.  For  mystics,  this  was  called  al-­‐imla—in  other  words,  
something  that  comes  to  the  poet,  to  the  mystic,  once  he  has  mastered  his  
body.  When  he  masters  his  body,  he  feels  as  though  he  is  part  of  the  light,  and  
therefore  of  the  unknown,  and  therefore  of  the  invisible.  He  becomes  pure  
light;  and  in  this  moment  of  ecstasy  he  receives  the  poetry  as  one  receives  a  
revelation.  We  call  this  al-­‐imla  or  dictation,  the  universal  dictation  that  
arrives  in  this  way.  All  this  was  a  revolution  in  the  Arabic  language  and  in  
Arabic  writing  in  general.  Unfortunately  this  is  something  that  is  not  widely  
known,  even  by  Arabs,  which  is  why  westerners  do  not  know  about  it.  It  
should  be  known  and  recognized,  and  I  hope  this  poetry  will  be  translated  in  
France.  

ET:  Your  poetry  encourages  people  to  question,  rage,  and  revolt  against  
established  systems  of  all  kinds  in  the  name  of  freedom.  You  are  a  resistance  
poet  who  declares,  “I  will  not  surrender  to  you.”  What  role  do  you  think  
poetry  has  to  play  in  this  sense?  

A:  The  function  of  poetry  is  not  to  declare  war  against  institutions,  tyranny,  
religion,  etc.  Poetry  is,  by  definition,  antidespotism,  antityranny,  and  
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antireligion  in  the  sense  that  religion  is  a  closed  system.  I  believe  that  it  is  
rare,  even  historically,  to  see  a  great  poet  in  any  language  who  is  a  real  
believer  in  the  traditional  sense  of  the  term,  particularly  in  monotheistic  
religions.  So  for  me,  to  be  a  poet  is  to  be  antireligious,  or  rather  areligious;  in  
other  words,  it  is  beyond  dogmatism.  

 
Photo  of  Adonis  and  Erkut  Tokman  by  Ninar  Esber  

ET:  Did  your  rebellion  against  the  system  continue  after  you  settled  in  Paris?  

A:  Yes,  of  course.  For  me,  writing  is  creating  new  relationships  between  
words  and  things,  between  the  word  and  the  world,  and  by  doing  so  
providing  a  new  image  of  our  world,  an  image  that  is  more  beautiful  and  more  
humane.  To  write  poetry  is  therefore  to  write  a  perpetual  revolution  against  
the  reigning  powers.  It  is  to  revolutionize  ideas  and  ways  of  seeing  things,  
always  with  the  aim  of  creating  a  more  humane  and  more  beautiful  world.  

ET:  The  answers  to  the  questions  that  you  constantly  pose  in  your  poetry  are  
like  dust  floating  in  the  air;  they  are  both  there  and  not  there.  This  has  made  
you  and  your  poetry  so  free  that  you  seem  to  look  at  the  world  from  a  divine  
place.  Could  we  consider  that  your  poetry  has  a  divine  mission  to  herald  the  
arrival  of  something  new?  
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To  write  poetry  is  therefore  to  write  a  perpetual  revolution  against  the  
reigning  powers.  It  is  to  revolutionize  ideas  and  ways  of  seeing  things,  always  
with  the  aim  of  creating  a  more  humane  and  more  beautiful  world.  

A:  First,  to  repeat  what  I  have  said  before,  for  me  there  is  no  distinction  
between  poetry  and  thought.  Poetry  is  thought,  and  great  thought  is  also  
poetry.  What  I  want  to  say  is  that  poetry  surpasses  the  traditional  classical  
limits  of  poetry;  poetry  exceeds  the  poem.  We  can  find  poetry  in  a  novel;  we  
can  find  poetry  in  philosophical  language.  There  are  many  philosophers  who  
were  poets,  such  as  Nietzsche  or  our  ancient  forefather  Heraclitus.  So  in  a  
way  to  be  a  poet  is  also  to  be  a  thinker,  because  if  we  change  the  world  we  not  
only  change  the  image  or  form  of  the  world,  we  also  change  its  meaning.  

Poetry  must  be  a  new  way  of  seeing  the  world,  not  a  horizontal  description  or  
narration  but  a  vertical  vision.  

I  repeat:  we  cannot  separate  great  poetry  from  thought.  

ET:  Your  poems  sometimes  blend  Sufism  and  surrealism  to  create  new  
objects  in  an  imaginary  alchemical  plane.  Is  there  a  religious  aspect  to  these  
two  concepts,  or  should  we  simply  see  this  in  the  context  of  mysticism?  

A:  The  more  profound  meaning  of  surrealism  is  the  idea  of  passing  from  the  
visible  to  the  invisible,  surpassing  everything  that  is  institutional  and  
imposed  on  society.  And  it  is  a  perpetual  transgression  of  everything  that  
obstructs  or  hinders  the  total  freedom  of  the  human  being.  In  this  sense,  I  find  
that  there  is  a  great  deal  of  affinity  between  surrealism  and  mysticism,  which  
is  why  I  wrote  a  book  comparing  the  two.  I  said  that  mysticism  was  a  form  of  
surrealism,  as  a  method  and  vision  against  official  religion.  In  other  words,  I  
see  mysticism  as  a  school  of  thought,  as  a  school  of  writing  that  is  beyond  
religion.  If  there  is  a  spiritual  side  to  it,  this  does  not  interest  me.  What  
interests  me  is  the  mystical  method,  and  this  method  is  the  same  as  the  
surrealist  method  in  terms  of  ecstasy,  dictation,  or  automatic  writing,  in  
terms  of  how  to  write,  how  to  look  at  the  world,  in  terms  of  a  range  of  aspects  
including  identity,  the  notion  of  reality,  etc.  

To  repeat,  when  I  speak  of  mysticism  I  disregard  its  religious  aspect.  

ET:  In  your  poetry  there  is  always  a  sense  of  longing  for  your  homeland,  a  
connection  to  your  origins.  Under  what  conditions  would  you  like  to  return  to  
your  country  or  to  the  Arab  region?  What  future  do  you  imagine  for  the  
Middle  East  and  Syria?  
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A:  In  order  to  push  the  notion  of  identity  that  I  evoked  earlier  a  little  further,  I  
believe  that  the  human  being  must  live  and  must  belong  to  the  universe,  not  
to  an  identity  that  differentiates  him  from  other  peoples  or  other  identities.  
What  is  human  is  the  identity  of  a  creator.  It  is  beyond  nationality,  beyond  
geography,  and,  I  would  say,  beyond  language,  too.  We  are  human  before  we  
have  a  language,  a  culture,  or  a  nation  to  which  we  belong.  Therefore  in  
poetry  we  feel  that  above  all  we  are  human,  and  therefore  above  all  we  are  
universal.  

So  in  a  way  to  be  a  poet  is  also  to  be  a  thinker,  because  if  we  change  the  world  
we  not  only  change  the  image  or  form  of  the  world,  we  also  change  its  
meaning.  

ET:  So  what  does  Adonis  expect  from  the  future?  Are  there  new  things  that  
you  would  like  to  do  and  other  things  you  would  like  to  achieve?  

A:  [laughs]  I  can  say  that  I  am  always  in  search  of  myself.  I  am  looking  for  
someone  who  can  tell  me  who  Adonis  is  and  what  a  future  for  him  is  like.  But  
I  do  what  I  do  for  three  reasons.  First  of  all,  to  know  myself  better  and  to  
better  understand  who  I  am.  Second,  to  better  understand  the  other;  the  
other  is  part  of  who  I  am.  Third,  to  better  understand  the  world.  A  better  
understanding  of  the  world  means  living  your  life  in  a  better  way.  We  are  only  
given  one  life,  and  so  we  have  to  understand  it  and  live  it  the  best  we  can.  
Essentially,  poetry  helps  us  to  live  like  this,  at  this  level.  

ET:  Could  you  tell  us  about  your  meeting  with  the  Turkish  poet  Nâzım  Hikmet  
and  your  impressions  of  him?  

A:  I  met  Nâzım  Hikmet  in  Beirut;  I  think  it  was  at  the  beginning  of  the  1960s.  I  
looked  for  the  magazine  with  his  photo  in  it,  but  unfortunately  I  couldn’t  find  
the  right  issue.  He  was  a  man  I  liked  very  much  on  a  personal  level,  an  
adorable  man,  a  gentle  and  open  man  who  listened  to  others;  these  are  the  
qualities  of  the  poet.  There  is  no  need  to  speak  of  his  poetry,  which  is  
recognized  throughout  the  world.  I  greatly  admire  him  both  as  a  person  and  
as  a  poet.  

I  read  his  poetry  in  Arabic,  translated  from  the  French.  Personally  I  prefer  
that  poetry  be  translated  from  the  original  language,  but  it  still  gave  an  idea  
about  his  poetry.  It  is  better  than  nothing.  It  inspired  many  people  to  translate  
it  and  read  it.  

ET:  In  May,  an  exhibition  of  your  visual  works  that  combine  poetry,  
calligraphy,  and  surrealism  was  held  at  the  Galerie  Azzedine  Alaïa  in  Paris.  
Can  we  also  call  Adonis  an  artist?  These  are  all  profound,  multidimensional  
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works  that  require  skilled  craftsmanship,  something  that  is  also  reminiscent  
of  your  poetry.  What  would  you  say  about  this  side  of  your  character?  

A:  Poetry  is  a  perpetual  creation  of  form  and  image,  so  I  tried  to  create,  using  
words,  a  form  that  is  different  from  the  form  of  those  words.  I  tried  to  add  to  
the  words  the  color  and  physical  dimensions  of  painting.  In  this  sense  I  do  not  
consider  myself  a  painter;  I  always  think  of  myself  as  a  poet,  and  therefore  
what  I  do  in  this  field  is  an  extension  of  my  poetry.  I  use  the  Arabic  word  
rakima  for  collage.  I  prefer  this  word  because  it  recognizes  color  and  writing  
at  the  same  time;  it  is  a  much  better  word  than  collage.  For  me  rakima  is  a  
poem  but  with  colors,  with  lines  and  forms  and  with  india  ink.  You  could  say  
that  it  is  a  more  complete  poetic  form  than  the  simple  form  that  uses  only  
words.  

Translation  from  the  French  

 
Editorial  note:  The  Turkish  version  of  this  interview  appeared  in  the  literary  
magazine  Varlık  in  September  2015.