Dee reviewed The Potato Eaters by Farhad Pirbal
جابولقە و جاهلیەت
5 stars
Pirbal is the epitome of the Kurdish identity, an absurd, nonsensical existence that does not conform to its surroundings' expectations of it. You deny the Kurds their own box, soon enough they start condemning boxes all together—Pirbal goes as far as to leave the plane of geometry entirely... There's no way to describe the man coherently, he is incoherence embodied. If He Must Be Described: Public presentation wise he’s a Žižek, except he doesn’t have Tourette’s and is most certainly on drugs. Work wise there’s a strong Dadaist edge to his work but that, again, does not sum his style up with justice. Pirbal came back from Sorbonne with years devoted to the arts, years working through the greatest Kurdish poets as well as those of the West, all to be called a lunatic, imprisoned, committed to a psych ward, imprisoned again for arson, published just under a hundred pieces, …
Pirbal is the epitome of the Kurdish identity, an absurd, nonsensical existence that does not conform to its surroundings' expectations of it. You deny the Kurds their own box, soon enough they start condemning boxes all together—Pirbal goes as far as to leave the plane of geometry entirely... There's no way to describe the man coherently, he is incoherence embodied. If He Must Be Described: Public presentation wise he’s a Žižek, except he doesn’t have Tourette’s and is most certainly on drugs. Work wise there’s a strong Dadaist edge to his work but that, again, does not sum his style up with justice. Pirbal came back from Sorbonne with years devoted to the arts, years working through the greatest Kurdish poets as well as those of the West, all to be called a lunatic, imprisoned, committed to a psych ward, imprisoned again for arson, published just under a hundred pieces, impri—he’s really the full package.
For as much as Pirbal seems to struggle with the world he's in, I can't help but feel it's the world that's somehow fallen short of him.
Back to Actual Thoughts that (should) comprise a review:
I was initially quite hesitant about how this translation would turn out but I think (for the most part) it captures Pirbal's intent—it is far less literal than I expected, thankfully. That said, I was still compelled to grieve once reading Hajj Qadri Koye’s poem in English—which is devoid of almost all meaning. I wonder how much else l've lost in translation (cont. will Duolingo Russian ever be enough?)
The butchered poem: If you leave, every return is as if You’ve left home to arrive in Jabulqa*
Read this if you can. Learn the language if you can. Read the original if you can. (Purchase hashish and recite Lamaratine until he is conjured at the foot of your bed if you can, or don’t).
All fun and playful absurdities aside, reading Pirbal, knowing Pirbal, and witnessing Pirbal’s public persona are such extremely different experiences you get whiplash just trying to switch from thinking about one to the other. He has lost all will to convince the minority that speak his language and share his history that his work is of importance and that he is sane—it is almost admirable the bit he has committed to. He is still a prolific writer and the quality of his last pieces of work have only gotten better despite his theatric, batshit public persona having only gotten worse. 5/5