Chapter Seven
‘Amin! Amin!’
I heard a voice calling me. It was Nasser al-Hamawi running after me with some books under his arm. ‘Good evening, Nasser,’ I said.
‘I’ve been looking for you everywhere.’
‘Why?’
As if whispering a secret, he said, ‘I want your help. I’ve written a long piece, a short book, really, about the development of the societal life of the city during the last century.’
‘Wonderful! Have you given up poetry?’
‘How could I give up poetry, Amin? It’s just that, in the last few months, I’ve worked on this book as a kind of mental exercise. I want your help publishing it.’
‘I think I prefer your poetry to your prose. But I’ll see what I can do.’
Nasser laughed and said, ‘It’s strange – my poetry has also become social lately.’
‘That’s unfortunate, after those wonder
