Turkia Loucif-Algerian writer
Loucif is an Algerian writer who grew up in a family of many members and lived in a house left over from the houses of French centenarians in the neighborhood of arches. Her passion began with telling oral stories to her two sisters before bed, her mother realized her talent and she loved nature, flowers and squirrels, she frequented the school library and read novels in French. She dreamed of becoming a journalist and used to take this profession as a child, she used to make her notebook a microphone and talk to some of her family members. Her writing style caught the attention of her teacher, who registered her in a literary competition and won first place at the age of 12.
She published the novel “The Legend of the Squirrel” in 2016. Another novel “Virginia Park” was published in 2018. She published her first short story collection “Aboud Cannot Endure the Whip” in 2021. Her play “Dance of the Puppets” was adapted from her story “The Puppeteer Moussa and the Others.”
The Squirrel was a bestseller with Golden Jerusalem House, which accompanied the author over nine years of participation in book fairs. This novel was selected in the literature of young people through a competition in which the participants of the Ajlana Library participated and in which a boy and two girls won. As for her collection of short stories, she presented critical readings by critics from Algeria and the Arab world. Among her global achievements is the book Together All of America by the American principled writer Kogetim Hadjari, which she considers Turkish in her honor.
Currently, she is a writer and has a fictional novel The Legend of a Squirrel published in 2016 and signed in front of readers at the International Book Fair in 2017, then presented a romantic novel entitled Virginia Park, then presented her collection of stories Abboud does not bear the whip. Currently she works in the field of cultural journalism in Al-Masar Al-Arabi newspaper.
She won second place in the Arabic Story Competition by the “Narrators Sing” club. Her story “The Squirrel” won first place in the “Tell, Scheherazade” story competition. She received honors on Press Day from the Governor of the state of Médéa. She was honored in children’s literature with a squirrel statue for her novel “The Legend of the Squirrel” in June 2024 by Dar kuds
WHEN EVENING COMES
When evening comes,
My morning revolution subsides
I live in my mother’s lap.
My scattered tresses arrange it
In a spring braid
Swim in her eyes and read the boat
And the lifetime oars
I accepted it and I repeat it for her ten
Scatter it on the hands and the corner
When evening comes,
I love my mother and her survivors.
The words of a poet taking her first steps
In words and prose whenever evening falls.
***
Poem (judgment in a rejected case)
Algerian poet Turkia Loussif
The lawyer collected my case papers
And he said: your case is rejected.
The judge will reject it
And the offender rejects it
And the violinist rejects it
Your crime, Ma'am, is that you dropped the victim.
Your crime ma'am what happened to him
Crazy singing
Crazy writes love words
I said, "I'm innocent, sir."
And the rain showers are witness
And my broken rain
And my short skirt
And my hair flowing
Witnesses, sir.
We didn't see the victim.
The lawyer returns and checks the papers.
He found a poem he read.
She shivered and shouted, "I'm accused!"
The lawyer read ...
She dragged my killer and her broken emollient
I got wet and squeezed the skirt
Slim figure, wet butterfly
Jana Haha trembling and eulogizing
I dried it and gave it my perfume
I perfumed and strutted and left
My perfume draws me to it
The thief of my heart shivered wet
And I shivered in hope
And my perfume is a witness to it
___
DON’T LEAVE…
Don’t leave
The soul accompanies you
And you slip from me
I’m the dead woman.
After counting the steps of departure
Don’t leave…
The Miqat is October
Leaf I was flowering
Until
Don’t leave.
All the seasons you were with me
And leave
In my last chapters
After inhaling all the winds
Console me now, don’t you fool around?
My tears dried up
My soul is burned
You made me a graveyard for my sorrows
And to whine
Don’t leave.
........
WITH A DRY OLIVE BRANCH CARVED A SPEAR
With a dry olive branch carved my spear
And I call Nidal and Basil and Marai
I am the sculptor, spears and conquerors
And I am the shooter and I am the one who is right with my spear
Shrapnel and shrapnel in Gazaya
And the three of us were in a holy wrath.
Guys and guys and they are like me
Spears and spears in the breasts of Moshe
The spears fell and they fell,
And the three of us fell with the coffin.
And the dry olive branch remains in my palm.
_________________
Delightful butterfly
By: Turkia Loucif / Algeria
I ask her, why are you hovering around me!?
Her eyes speak green.
You land on the dry branch!! It is affected
She sheds dew from her eyes on yellowish paper
I see you my mother and the world remembers me and more
You look like a big butterfly, even more.
She was delightful and you were the youngest cheerful
Did I answer your question?
Tell me how were you
And where are the butterflies in the flowering field?
Showed the cheerful great influence
And she moved her wings.
The weight of her wings
And her eyeballs were teary
I'm no longer the cheerful butterfly.
Be the cheerful butterfly.
The field is green
And the cast is red
And the dew is dripping
Stay away from my dry branch and more
Threads weave and multiply
And wrap you around like me. She was looking.
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