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Warsan Shire

« No one leaves home unless home is the mouth of a shark »

« Home	by Warsan Shire
no one leaves home unless	the
home is the mouth of a shark	go home blacks
you only run for the border	refugees
when you see the whole city running as well	dirty immigrants
your neighbors running faster than you	asylum seekers
breath bloody in their throats	sucking our country dry
the boy you went to school with	niggers with their hands out
who kissed you dizzy behind the old tin factory	they smell strange
is holding a gun bigger than his body	savage
you only leave home	messed up their country and now they want
when home won’t let you stay.	to mess ours up
no one leaves home unless home chases you	how do the words
fire under feet	the dirty looks
hot blood in your belly	roll off your backs
it’s not something you ever thought of doing	maybe because the blow is softer
until the blade burnt threats into	than a limb torn off
your neck	or the words are more tender
and even then you carried the anthem under	than fourteen men between
your breath	your legs
only tearing up your passport in an airport toilet	or the insults are easier
sobbing as each mouthful of paper	to swallow
made it clear that you wouldn’t be going back.	than rubble
you have to understand,	than bone
that no one puts their children in a boat	than your child’s body
unless the water is safer than the land	in pieces.
no one burns their palms	i want to go home,
under trains	but home is the mouth of a shark
beneath carriages	home is the barrel of the gun
no one spends days and nights	and no one would leave home
in the stomach of a truck	unless home chased you to the shore
feeding on newspaper unless the miles travelled	unless home told you
means something more than journey.	to quicken your legs
no one crawls under fences	leave your clothes behind
no one wants to be beaten	crawl through the desert
pitied	wade through the oceans
no one chooses refugee camps	drown
or strip searches where your	save
body is left aching	be hunger
or prison,	beg
because prison is safer	forget pride
than a city of fire	your survival is more important
and one prison guard	no one leaves home until home is a sweaty voice in your ear
in the night	saying —
is better than a truckload	leave,
of men who look like your father	run away from me now
no one could take it	i don't know what i’ve become
no one could stomach it	but i know that anywhere
no one skin would be tough enough	is safer than here

In an interview after she won the Brunel University African Poetry Prize, Warsan Shire was asked to talk about her sense of commitment to substance and urgent subject matter in her work. In response, Shire said:
I’m from Somalia where there has been a war going on for my entire life. I grew up with a lot of horror in the backdrop – a lot of terrible things that have happened to people who are really close to me, and to my country, and to my parents; so it’s in the home and it’s even in you, it’s on your skin and it’s in your memories and your childhood. And my relatives and my friends and my mother’s friends have experienced things that you can’t imagine, and they’ve put on this jacket of resiliency and a dark humor. But you don’t know what they’ve been victims of, or what they’ve done to other people. Them being able to tell me, and then me writing it, it’s cathartic, being able to share their stories, even if it is something really terrible, something really tragic. Sometimes I’m telling other people’s stories to remove stigma and taboo, so that they don’t have to feel ashamed; sometimes you use yourself as an example.

 

"Home"

Warsan Shire
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https://youtu.be/nI9D92Xiygo

 

Home is the Barrel of the Gun
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https://youtu.be/ybTM-aaJxS0

« Home »   par Warsan Shire	Traduction : Paul Tanguy.
Personne ne quitte sa maison à moins	Rentrez chez vous
Que sa maison ne soit devenue la gueule d’un requin	Les noirs    Les réfugiés
Tu ne cours vers la frontière	Les sales immigrés
Que lorsque toute la ville court également	Les demandeurs d’asile
Avec tes voisins qui courent plus vite que toi	Qui sucent le sang de notre pays
Le garçon avec qui tu es allée à l’école	Ils sentent bizarre
Qui t’a embrassée, éblouie, une fois derrière la vieille usine	Sauvages
Porte une arme plus grande que son corps	Ils ont fait n’importe quoi chez eux et maintenant
Tu pars de chez toi	Ils veulent faire pareil ici
Quand ta maison ne te permet plus de rester.	Comment les mots
Tu ne quittes pas ta maison si ta maison ne te chasse pas	Les sales regards
Du feu sous tes pieds	Peuvent te glisser sur le dos
Du sang chaud dans ton ventre	Peut-être parce leur souffle est plus doux
C’est quelque chose que tu n’aurais jamais pensé faire	Qu’un membre arraché
Jusqu’à ce que la lame ne soit	Ou parce que ces mots sont plus tendres
Sur ton cou	Que quatorze hommes entre
Et même alors tu portes encore l’hymne national	Tes jambes
Dans ta voix	Ou ces insultes sont plus faciles
Quand tu déchires ton passeport dans les toilettes d’un aéroport	À digérer
En sanglotant à chaque bouchée de papier	Qu’un os
Pour bien comprendre que tu ne reviendras jamais en arrière	Que ton corps d’enfant
Il faut que tu comprennes	En miettes
Que personne ne pousse ses enfants sur un bateau	Je veux rentrer chez moi
À moins que l’eau ne soit plus sure que la terre ferme	Mais ma maison est comme la gueule d’un requin
Personne ne se brule le bout des doigts	Ma maison, c’est le baril d’un pistolet
Sous des trains	Et personne ne quitte sa maison
Entre des wagons	À moins que ta maison ne te chasse vers le rivage
Personne ne passe des jours et des nuits dans l’estomac d’un camion	À moins que ta maison ne dise
En se nourrissant de papier journal à moins que les kilomètres parcourus	À tes jambes de courir plus vite
Soient plus qu’un voyage	De laisser tes habits derrière toi
Personne ne rampe sous un grillage	De ramper à travers le désert
Personne ne veut être battu	De traverser les océans
Pris en pitié	Noyé
Personne ne choisit les camps de réfugiés	Sauvé
Ou la prison	Avoir faim
Parce que la prison est plus sure	Mendier
Qu’une ville en feu	Oublier sa fierté
Et qu’un maton	Ta survie est plus importante
Dans la nuit	Personne ne quitte sa maison jusqu’à ce que ta maison
Vaut mieux que toute une cargaison	soit cette petite voix dans ton oreille  Qui te dit
D’hommes qui ressemblent à ton père	Pars d’ici tout de suite
Personne ne vivrait ça	Je ne sais pas ce que je suis devenue
Personne ne le supporterait	Mais je sais que n’importe où
Personne n’a la peau assez tannée	Ce sera plus sûr qu’ici

 

* « Home », par Warsan Shire (poétesse britannico-somalienne), 2010. Traduction : Paul Tanguy.

Amazing Poem by Warsan Shire

Video by me, Music by Renato Folgado

All rights reserved.

Warsan Shire is a Kenyan-born Somali poet, writer and educator based in London. Born in 1988, Warsan has read her work extensively all over Britain and internationally – including recent readings in South Africa, Italy, Germany, Canada, North America and Kenya- and her début book, ‘TEACHING MY MOTHER HOW TO GIVE BIRTH’ (flipped eye), was published in 2011. Her poems have been published in Wasafiri, Magma and Poetry Review and in the anthology ‘The Salt Book of Younger Poets’ (Salt, 2011). She is the current poetry editor at SPOOK magazine. In 2012 she represented Somalia at the Poetry Parnassus, the festival of the world poets at the Southbank, London. She is a Complete Works II poet. Her poetry has been translated into Italian, Spanish and Portuguese. Warsan is also the unanimous winner of the 2013 Inaugural Brunel University African Poetry Prize.

Warsan Shire Reads her Poetry
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https://youtu.be/1gmsEsu1DaQ