Ali Znaidi
(b. 1977) Lives in Redeyef, Tunisia, where he teaches English. He graduated with a BA in Anglo-American Studies in 2002 from the University of Sfax for the South, Tunisia. He writes poetry and has an interest in literature, languages, and literary translation. His work has appeared in various magazines and journals worldwide. He authored four poetry chapbooks including Experimental Ruminations (Fowlpox Press, 2012), Moon’s Cloth Embroidered with Poems (Origami Poems Project, 2012), Bye, Donna Summer! (Fowlpox Press, 2014), and Taste of the Edge (Kind of a Hurricane Press, 2014). He also authored a fiction book titled Green Cemetery (Moment Publications, 2014) which is in fact the first Tunisian flash fiction collection originally written & published in English language. Some of his poems have been translated into Greek, Turkish and Italian.
Talking about his poems and his use of the English language, Annie Avery editor of Heard Magzine said,
“Tunisian poet Ali Znaidi’s poems rise up like flowers from the challenges he has faced as a writer. Now in full bloom, his work has been published numerous times with a new chapbook forthcoming. His craft is skillful and inventive and I sense a philosopher peeking out from behind his words. He writes in English as if it was his mother tongue, but the mystical voice of his ancestral gift cannot be hidden.”
Publications:
-Experimental Ruminations. [Poetry]. Fowlpox Press (Canada), 2012.
-Moon’s Cloth Embroidered with Poems. [Poetry]. Origami Poems Project (USA) 2012.
-Bye, Donna Summer!. [Poetry]. Fowlpox Press (Canada), 2014.
-Taste of the Edge. [Poetry]. Kind of a Hurricane Press (USA), 2014.
-Green Cemetery. [Fiction]. Moment Publications (UK), 2014.
Prizes:
-2014 Special Recognition in The 2013 Fujisan Haiku Contest, Japan
Links:
-Ali Znaidi’s website
Website
-Ali Znaidi’s blog about Tunisian Literature
Website
-Ali Znaidi’s page in The Haiku Foundation’s Haiku Registry
Website
-Ali Znaidi’s page in UniVerse: A United Nations of Poetry
Website
Deception
from outside, a rusty car,
built of cracked steel
& political ramblings—
decayed iron
soaked in a brassy glitter
does it matter, or doesn’t?
verbal diarrhea
unable to heal
rusty car,
the mechanic is there
talking with his assistant
mechanical skills exhibition
no solution
whisky and parties till dawn
the client is deceived
(Published in Metazen)
We Are Looking For A Road
We are (all) looking for a road, somewhere
behind our disappointments.
We all have burgeoning catalogues of
what it's like to have sorrows, growing sorrows.
I once wrote, “To be a true human being is to extricate
onself from thorns.”
A road is the escape we make, & our prize
is not but a thorn-less rose (if we succeed).
We are taking turns to find that gateway which is
determined by trodden plants until their smell
becomes fra[grant],
a gateway to the meaning of a human being.
All our lives we all build meanings morph by morph
thru roads because roads never lose their specificities,
especially that one of being an escape.
Although we know the road we take doesn’t always
guarantee that thorn-less rose, we always believe that
the universe is not a stagnant river.
(Published in Runaway Parade)
Austere Lights
No moon tonight. Instead, only bits of
golden fleece adumbrated by mist.
The light faded away bit by bit
to the rhythm of the lunar eclipse—
something akin to distant lights of a plane
swallowed by a hungry sky’s mouth.
Thunder. Lightning. & a cigarette
between two frigid fingers—
I was beginning to wonder if
these lights would hold;
if I would hold.
I wonder if light tonight was
administered to fit into
the austerity measures.
(Published in The Camel Saloon)
Of Bats and Light
Early morning. A bat smashes into
the windowpane of my bedroom.
Others do the same. I get a black
curtain for free.
I remain in my bed where the lights
of early morning can’t reach towards
me. I can’t even see.
Curtain, certain. I hear one of them falling/
collapsing on the ground.
Now I can tell the difference between
night & day.
(Published in The Tower Journal)
A New Light
What fire gave me was a new light.
The music of its dancing embers
was not a phantom.
Flashes of crimson flame ascended the sky.
I just perished in them
the way ice-cream thaws.
The tarry storm abated
& the glowing flies started licking the ice-cream.
What fire gave me was a tickling sensation—
an urgent itch
to destroy remnants of the black threads
that had baited me,
& to skim for lanterns
in the abysmal darkness.
(Published in Speech Therapy Poetry Zine)
Resistant Carnations
I ripped another calendar page
A sad calendar page like this bleak morning
A disfigured morning w/ out a glowing sun
A morning that was redolent of hallucinatory
talismans
A morning that was embroidered just
with foggy halos
Sighs were running and gasping the length
of my voice
I had no choice but open the window
& gaze at the red carnations
that were resisting this void
in the garden’s navel
(Published in Verse Land)
Haiku Tunisienne
sand dunes
emit
lavender fantasy
mint radiates
greenness,
confident greenness
porcelain teapot
wiggles on the smouldering
embers
tea sweet enough
to tempt you
you will swill
all of it—a hot
wine
against the sirocco
wind
(Published in Dr. Hurley’s Snake-Oil Cure)
The Beauty of Tunisian Women
The beauty of Tunisian women
comes w/ the scents of spring,
the roses of spring,
& the almonds of spring.
Though anchored in history & myths,
the beauty of Tunisian women
is always in bloom.
It always opens onto expansive skies.
The beauty of Tunisian women
is always free, & it won’t be ever
your fuel to burn aesthetics & free will.
& it won’t be ever
your flour to bake new bread of fear.
(Published in Sampsonia Way Magazine & in The African Book Review)
English 
Spanish
