Yahya Hassan- the Danish Palestinian poet, the refugee whose family was uprooted from Palestine in 1948, whose mother is from Lubya village, and father from Faradiya, the great genius who sold 120.000 copies of his first book in 2013, the young man who tried to introduce the Arab-Islamic Aviros (Ibn Rushd) into his candidate manifesto to the Danish Parliament, to give the Danes another version of the Arab-Islamic prominent philosophical personalities where scholars from Europe came to study philosophy in Andalusia in the twelfth century, the young man who tried to push forward for the recognition of Palestine, as Sweden has done by recognizing Palestine as a state, in his political debate, the personal revolutionary, almost without borders, against the classical traditional forms of his uneasy personal family life, the charming and angry way of reading his poetry that resembles the great Mahmoud Darweesh in his young age in Haifa: “Sajjil Ana Arabi” – left us so early yesterday, 24 years old. Perhaps Jørgen Leth is right when he said: no one is like him, no one could replace him. Danish literature, mainly poetry, is richer with Yahya, the refugee who tried with success at sitting on two chairs, instead of falling between the two cultural chairs: the Danish and the Palestinian. Yesterday I saw the
a word on his family’s background. Images that are totally irrelevant to the past accompany Yahya’s father’s story. May your soul rest in peace Yahya.