Orchestre Maître Mohammed Otmani de la Musique Andalouse
Arabic Music Days
Musical Performance Ensemble & Orchestra / Arab and Persian Music 0The origins of the Arabic takht reach back all the way to the 8th century. Originally designating the wooden platform that used to serve as the stage for the musicians, the term has come to refer to the classical ensemble of Arabic music—consisting of singer, oud, flute, qanun, and various percussion instruments—that has been adopted and developed over the centuries in multiple musical traditions across the Middle East and Northern Africa. This combination of musicians, which has inspired creative exchange to this day, is at the center of the 2022–23 season’s Arabic Music Days curated by Naseer Shamma. In four concerts, artists from Syria, Lebanon, and Morocco present traditional and contemporary takes on the concept of the takht.
Mohammed Otmani and his Orchestre de la Musique Andalouse are among the leading perfomers of the traditional Arabic music of the Mahgreb region and Andalusia and will be heard in a classical takht ensemble featuring voice, violin, oud, rabab, and darbuka.
The video on demand will be available to members at a later date.
Mohammed Otmani Violin
Mohamed Fehd Ronda Oud
Yassine Baghdadi Oud
Abdeslam Chiki Rabab
Younes Melyani Viola
Abderazzak Meliani Voice
Abdelfattah Amri Darbuka
Mohamed Hamza Amri Tar
Mhammed Hicham Amri Violoncello
Photo credit: Jakob Tillmann
During intermission poet Basim Alansar performed two of his poems. Watch a full poetry reading with him.
Old Age
In the year my country was stained with blood,
I hid my picture in my childhood’s underworld,
Then fled to the new world from the window of superstitions.
Carrying thousands of tons of black flags, I fled.
On arriving, I hid the banners
Inside a despondent woman’s hair
While she hid her years in my body.
I made my heart a country for the exiled,
And I made discovery my magical spectacles.
I filled my sight with sand, in which I could carve my etching
When exile made me feel futile inside.
Europe planted me in the garden of the mind,
While existence planted a flower in my head, whose scent
I dream of.
I am cursed.
I buried the legend in the head of exile
When it put a mine in my mouth.
I covered its head with wars
When exile peacefully ripped my soul apart,
I wounded it with my magical trips
When it wounded me with a yearning for my picture.
And to be present, I disappeared.
And to be immortal, I made inquiry my everlasting coat.
And after thinking that the country was no longer stained
with blood,
I returned
And rushed toward my house
Searching for my picture.
And when I saw the picture,
My heart dropped down the well,
Because my face looked
Afflicted with age.
A Life Surrounded by Trees
Here it is, your time, rolling over the snow-capped mountain,
And here I am, watching you stroll inside the safe times.
Here they are, your desires painted with honey onto the caves,
And here I am, watching you sleep with the old pain.
You first wanted to cry over the past,
And then you wanted to weep about the future.
If you could have, you would have embraced autumn and
eternity together.
You never cared for poets’ wagons,
And the only time you ran was to chase dead stories.
I told you to walk with me toward ephemeral dreams,
But instead you walked alone toward immortal wishes.
And I told you to pack the grass’s green into the suitcases,
But instead you brought the sky’s color into the room.
Remember that you and pleasure are twins.
Remember that the sky doesn’t sleep just when you want it to.
And remember that your life is surrounded by trees.
I hoped you would make war against the taboos,
But you went and chucked such theories over my head.
And I hoped you would remonstrate in the face of immortality,
But instead you wounded my soul with your ancient tunes.
I saw you opening the red gate to enter the insurgency,
After you promised me to enter it through its white gate.
Why did you bid farewell to the coming dawn?
And why did you welcome the dusk?
And after you were away from me for so long,
I knocked on your door so hard
That the knocking left my heart hanging on a nail, bewildered.
And when I saw how the mailman passes
Without turning toward your life,
The trees surrounded me quietly.
Translated from the Arabic by Henry Holland and Hazem Shekho
Arabic Music Days
Music, Visual Arts, Poetry and Film