حساب مهتم بأعمال الروائي السعودي منذر القباني.... متعة القراءة، والتفكير خارج الصندوق Writings and quotes of Saudi Best Selling Novelist Monther Alkabbani
صادق دعائي لطالبتي النجيبة شروق بنت محمد المسلمي بالتوفيق والسداد في الأصبوحة العلمية غدا حول رسالتها الموسومة بـ "السيناريوهات التناصية في تجربة منذر القباني الروائية، مقاربة سيميائية" والتي سعدت بالإشراف عليها.
والشكر والتقدير للزملاء الكرام؛ سعادة الأستاذ الدكتور محمد المبارك من جامعة الملك سعود وسعادة الأستاذة الدكتورة فايزة الحربي لتفضلهما بمناقشة الرسالة.
أسأل الله التوفيق للجميع، وأن يكلل جهود الطالبة العلمية بالنجاح والتميز.
#جامعة_جدة
تظهر الصورة التي وثقها الكاتب السعودي محمد بن ناصر الياسر الأسمري في كتابه (الجيش السعودي في فلسطين عام 1948)، شهادة تكريم من قبل ملك الأردن عبد الله بن الحسين للضابط السعودي علي القباني نظراً لشجاعته وبلائه الحسن في معارك الدفاع عن الأراضي المقدسة في حرب 48 بفلسطين، وهو من بين الضباط الذين قادوا القوات السعودية ضد اليهود في معارك دير سنيد والمجدل وبيت لاهيا وأسدود وعراق سويدان.
@modgovksa
#مكة
#القدس
#فلسطين
#السعودية
#من_مكة_إلى_القدس
#MontherKabbani
الحمدلله أنهيت اليوم مناقشة رسالة الماجستير التي كانت تحت عنوان ( الواقعية السحرية في ثلاثية فرسان وكهنة) للأستاذ منذر القباني
كنت سعيدة الحظ بهذه الثلاثية التي أخذتني إلى عالم سحري أخّاذ 🤍
«التاريخ لا يكرّر نفسه، بل نحن من نكرر ذات الأخطاء والأفعال»
د. منذر القباني @MontherKabbani
في أحدث حلقات #بودكاست_جولان
مع @m_a_alshathry
🎧: https://t.co/tDc3L6451N
👁️: https://t.co/iaN0I1zKQB
هل جاء الوقت اللي لازم نخلع فيه عباءة نجيب محفوظ؟
د. منذر القباني @MontherKabbani
في أحدث حلقات #بودكاست_جولان
مع @m_a_alshathry
🎧: https://t.co/tDc3L6451N
👁️: https://t.co/iaN0I1zKQB
هل كذبت علينا رواي�� «وا إسلاماه»؟
يجيبنا الروائي السعودي د. منذر القباني @MontherKabbani
في أحدث حلقات #بودكاست_جولان
مع @m_a_alshathry
🎧: https://t.co/tDc3L6451N
👁️: https://t.co/iaN0I1zKQB
هل التاريخ يكتبه المنتصرون؟ ووين الخطأ في أن يتعامل الكاتب مع أعماله كسلعة؟ وليه التأثّر بروايات نجيب محفوظ شيء سلبي؟
م�� د. منذر القبّاني @MontherKabbani
حلقة جديدة من #بودكاست_جولان
مع @m_a_alshathry
🎧: https://t.co/tDc3L64CRl
👁️: https://t.co/iaN0I1AiG9
In a quiet village, where whispers of wisdom linger,
A young man sought answers, his heart a burning ember.
He climbed the hill, where the old sage resided,
His eyes filled with longing, his dreams undivided.
"Tell me, venerable one," the youth implored,
"How can I ascend to the heavens, be adored?
To carve my name in stars, to echo through time,
Guide me, O sage, toward the elusive climb."
The wise man smiled, lines etched upon his face,
His eyes held stories of epochs, of life's endless chase.
"Fame," he whispered, "is a shimmering illusion,
A desert mirage that fuels our grand delusion."
"See," he gestured to the horizon's distant haze,
"Like water in the sand, it dances, tempts and sways.
But quench your thirst, my son, with deeper wells,
For fame's allure fades, leaving hollow shells."
"Fame," he continued, "is a fickle mistress,
She kisses your brow, then veils you in distress.
Her embrace intoxicates, blinds reason's sight,
Yet leaves you parched, yearning for endless heights."
"Seek not the applause of fleeting crowds," he warned,
"For their cheers are echoes, soon forgotten, transformed.
The pedestal crumbles, the spotlight dims,
And what remains? A hunger that never dims."
"Instead," the sage said, "cultivate inner fire,
Let purpose be your compass, your true desire.
Plant seeds of kindness, tend to love's garden,
For legacy blooms not in fame, but in hearts warden."
"Look beyond the glittering facade," he advised,
"To the quiet acts of grace, where true stars rise.
The unsung heroes, the hands that mend,
They drink from life's well, their thirst never ends."
The young man pondered, his dreams now reframed,
As the old sage's words wove truth into his name.
He stepped away, no longer chasing illusions,
But seeking depth, purpose, and quiet revolutions.
And so, dear seeker, heed this ancient refrain,
Fame is but a mirage, a fleeting summer rain.
Quench your soul's thirst with deeds that endure,
For in the quiet ripple, eternity finds its cure.
The wise man watched him descend the hill,
His footsteps lighter, heart anchored, and still.
And as the sun dipped low, casting shadows long,
He whispered, "may your life be a journey, a beautiful song."
Just let me create, a canvas unbound, Where colors collide, and whispers resound. Brushstrokes of passion, like fireflies at night, Ignite the unknown, in hues pure and bright.
The moon weaves its secrets, in silver and gold, As stardust cascades, our stories unfold. Mountains hum melodies, rivers dance free, In this artful symphony, we find our decree.
Let the ink spill like raindrops on leaves, Each word a petal, as the heart believes. For creation is magic, a spell we embrace, A dance with eternity, in time’s tender grace.
So let me weave verses, like threads through the air, And paint constellations, beyond earthly care. In the quiet of creation, where dreams intertwine, We’ll birth galaxies anew, in this poetic design.
As I wandered the dark, wet streets of sorrow,
The moon hid its face, no hope for tomorrow.
Each step weighed heavy, my heart aching deep,
In shadows I sought solace, secrets to keep.
The lamplights flickered, casting eerie glow,
Echoes of lost dreams whispered soft and low.
The rain wept with me, tears blending unseen,
A symphony of sadness, a world in between.
Through alleyways dim, where memories reside,
I traced my own footsteps, seeking a guide.
The night held its secrets, wrapped in a shroud,
As I wandered those streets, lost in sorrow's cloud.
But dawn will arrive, and stars will retreat,
Hope blooms anew, with each heartbeat.
For even in darkness, a glimmer remains,
As I wander these streets, I'll find light again.