Motaz Omarien
Perhaps that man who lives on those far-off islands, reading stories from the depths of Russian reality, has truly absorbed the pain of winter as it reveals itself in human life — in the burning of one's circumstances, in one's incandescent feelings, and in the genetic make-up that shapes one's fertile emotions and abundant thoughts. That man, remote as he is on the fringes of the European continent, dives into the deep literature of Russia and reaches the heart of Europe with his exploring spirit.
From this man, and from his mellow voice, I learned how to shape an image of Dostoevsky in my imagination. That voice taught me how to understand the biting cold of Saint Petersburg, though I myself had lived for a time in Helsinki and in northern Finland, where the Siberian cold extends. Yet his sensibility, and his way of engaging with the texts, carried me into another world — a world I discovered for the first time through him.
My friend — his name is Mazen — used to say: "When you read a book, you add a lifetime to your life." I did not fully grasp those words until I began discovering Russian literature through that broadcaster's voice. His resonant voice — that masterful reader — carries you into worlds of imagination: into the details of the crime in Crime and Punishment, and into the scattered soul of The Brothers Karamazov.
That voice does not merely convey the words; it soaks the literature in the beauty of its timbre and the calm of its delivery, carrying the meanings across with depth and feeling. And in my mind I imagine that if Dostoevsky were alive, and if he mastered Arabic, he would have delighted in the way that man reads — in the very same way that I delight in it.
I would walk and walk, listening to the chapters that artist read. At times I was beset by troubles and felt a desperate need to escape, and I would flee into that beautiful world — that literary world which grants you a pleasure rivaling flight. Sometimes I would look down at my feet and wonder: am I still on this earth, or have I crossed into another world?
To that degree and more, I took pleasure in understanding literary texts through his reading. He would revive words written more than two hundred years ago and make them live in my mind and memory. Thanks to him, I came to love Russian literature, and I began urging others to love it just as he had made me love it.
Literature grants you imagination beyond your imagination — as though you were raising numbers to ever-multiplying powers. Imagination multiplies when a text turns from mere black ink on white paper into a world pulsing with life, onto which the reader bestows something of his soul, the beauty of his voice, and the sweetness of his delivery.
Solo work often reflects the identity and strength of the individual, and this artist-broadcaster does exactly that. He is the creator who, from those British Isles, takes you on an imaginary journey through time, soaring in a space shuttle among the details of Raskolnikov's room or The Tales of Belkin.
To this man I offer my deepest feelings of love, and I say to him: "You share with us the soul, the loneliness, and the estrangement of this world literature translated into Arabic."