art of resistance, Lebanon

Playlist: La Bel Haki By Adonis.

tania al kayyali/Art by Tania Al Kayyali/

Adonis is a great poet, but it is also a name of a great (not so) little Lebanese band. Like it is captured by Now Lebanon, “the five boys from Adonis produce songs that are, at times, achingly gorgeous, charming, whimsical and enchantingly Lebanese.”

Time Out Beirut suggests: “If the rambling back alleys, low-slung electricity cables and small, dusty, bustling neighborhoods of Beirut had a soundtrack, this would be it.”

You can listen to one of their new songs, beautiful La Bel Haki, on You Tube.

Previous Playlist:

Suhaiymah Manzoor Khan

PJ Harvey & Ramy Essam

Basel Rajoub

Crystalline (Omar Souleyman Remix)

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art of resistance

Call For Papers: Towards An Arab Left Reader.

borovoy-169hero-5mffnanowrimo-istock//illustration: iStock.com/Marvid//

Why is there as yet no reader or anthology of Arab leftist thought in English translation? If that question is of interest to you, read on.

The workshop will take place at the University of Cambridge, from 12- 14 April 2018. It will bring together an international group of scholars and translators from a wide range of disciplines to identify, discuss and translate a selection of documents that have played a pivotal role in the formation of socialist, anti-colonial and democratic thought in the Arab world.

The ultimate outcome of this gathering will be the publication of the first English-language Arab left reader, in which translated documents will be accompanied by essays that locate them within a larger historical, political and translational context. The collection aims to bring Arab leftist traditions into conversation with other non-Western and international political texts now available in English, as well as to function as a pedagogical tool and a resource for those interested in political thought in the Arab world.

The workshop will be comprised of six panels on the following themes:

1) Political Mobilization & Muslim Societies

2) Turath: Heritage and Cultural Decolonization

3) Literary Aesthetics and Politics

4) Nation, State and Liberation

5) Feminism and Gender Equality

6) Political Economy

Call for papers:

Proposals for texts on one of the above panel subjects (including party or anonymous tracts, collectively authored documents, etc) are invited for inclusion in the reader. After the workshop, participants who will contribute to the reader should be prepared to translate the entirety of their proposed text, and offer a short summation of its location in broader Arab leftist thought and political practice.

You should submit the following by October 15, 2017:

  • 400 word abstract with the following: description of the text and its author, including bibliographic information (date of production, length, publisher (if any), etc; and political location of text (i.e. when and why was it written, intended audience, distribution method), as well as the relevance of the text to the topic of your chosen panel (please state clearly on which panel you wish to present)
  • 1-2 paragraphs of proposed text in original Arabic and English translation.

Send the proposals to arableftreader@gmail.com.

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art of resistance, Syria

Jehan Bseiso | Requiem For Raqqa.

raqqa_bread/Scenes from Syrian War: Raqqa, by Molly Crabapple/

Requiem For Raqqa

4th of July fireworks descend hot as acid,
call it chemical, not white phosphorus,
call it mistake, not massacre.

A doctor in East Ghouta tells me one grave holds his entire family.
(you left me)

A pharmacist sends me a voice note saying there is no more Insulin.
(you left me)

A politician in the US doesn’t know what Aleppo is.
(how could you leave me?)

In occupied Jerusalem, a young man says:
“Syria is the Nakba of our generation.”

(you broke my heart)

Hide in a cafe in Marseilles, order Turkish coffee with lots of sugar.
Go to the library in Alexandria, order lots of books about politics.
Stop reading.

Don’t watch Al Jazeera.
Don’t listen to the BBC.
Make up your own mind, says Beirut graffiti.
(but, you left me, you really left me)

It’s been six years since I slept, Syria.

This poem was first published on Mada Masr.

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art of resistance, Libya

Khaled Mattawa | Bedtime Reading For The Unborn Child.

2013-09-10-iran-artist-2 /art by Hayv Kahraman/

Khaled Mattawa is a wonderful Libyan-American writer, poet and a translator. Mattawa’s poetry frequently explores the intersection of culture, narrative, and memory.

Here is one of his beautiful poems, Bedtime Reading for the Unborn Child, from the collection Amorisco (Copper Canyon Press, 2008).

Long after the sun falls into the sea

and twilight slips off the horizon like a velvet sheet

and the air gets soaked in blackness;

long after clouds hover above like boulders

and stars crawl up and stud the sky;

long after bodies tangle, dance, and falter

and fatigue blows in and bends them

and sleep unloads its dreams and kneads them

and sleepers dive into the rivers inside them,

a girl unlatches a window,

walks shoeless into a forest,

her dark hair a flag rippling in darkness.

.

She walks into woods, her feet light-stepping

through puddles, over hard packed dirt,

through grassy hills, over sticks and pebbles

over sand soaked in day, stones sun-sizzled

over lakes and frigid streams

through dim cobbled streets

darkened squares and dusty pastures.

She runs from nothing, runs to nothing,

beyond pain, beyond graveyards and clearings.

In the dark the eyes of startled creatures

gleam like a herd of candles.

They scatter and give night its meaning.

.

What echo of a bell lulled her

what spirit, what scent of a word

whose storm wrote her

what banks fell to drown her

which blood star

which thread of water

which trickle of light

whose heart being launched

whose floating soul seduced her

what promise did it make her

whose memory burned her

whose prayer did she run to answer

whose help, what sorrow clot

what pain dammed inside her

what wall must she rebuild now

whose treasure beckons her

who spread ivy like a veil to blind her?

Daybreak lies chained to a blue wall

from which the stars drop

and lose all meaning.

.

She runs past villages that lost their names

roads that lost their destinations

seas that lost their compasses and sailors

rivers that lost their marshlands and travelers

houses that lost their sleepers and criers

trees that lost their songs and shadows

gardens that lost their violets and benches

valleys that lost their worms and farmers

mountains that lost their prophets and marauders

temples that lost their sinners and spires

lightning that lost its silver and wires

chimeras that lost their bridges

minotaurs that lost their fountains.

Crescent moons hover above her,

ancient white feathers, birdless, wingless

lost to their own meaning.

.

Music rises out of her vision.

It stands, a wall covered with silver mosses.

A clarinet sounds a wounded mare,

violins women who lost their children.

Flutes blow their hot dry breezes.

Drums chuckle the earth’s ceaseless laughter.

Pianos are mumbling sorcerers

calling spirits and powers.

Cellos chew on the sounds of thunder.

Dulcimers skip about on crutches.

Dance floors flash their knives

daring their dancers.

Words mill about the streets like orphans.

Then a lute begins groaning

and dawn loses its meaning.

.

Night girl, night girl

your book is full now.

You have drawn all the pictures.

You have seen many weepers.

Stars held your sky in place and moons

floated on your lakes and washed them.

.

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art of resistance, Palestine

The Book To Read: Like A Straw Bird It Follows Me.

39024b/Fractured Time by Monther Jawabreh/

Like A Straw Bird It Follows Me, and Other Poems is Ghassan Zaqtan’s tenth poetry collection, published in 2012. The poems were translated by Fady Joudah, bringing some of Zaqtan’s best poetry to English-language readers.

Palestinian poet Ghassan Zaqtan is one of the most famous and original poets writing in Arabic today. He is also a novelist, editor, playwright, and journalist.

Zaqtan’s poetry is modern, at times deceivingly simple, but always deep and striking – like a sharp knife. Departing from the lush aesthetics of celebrated predecessors as Mahmoud Darwish, Adonis and Qabbani, Zaqtan’s daily, delicate narrative, whirling catalogues, and austere aesthetics represent a new trajectory, a significant leap for young Arabic poets today.

In the poem Remembering The Repenant, Zaqtan writes:

They go,

as they

always go,

after they leave

some bread

on the pillow

and a candle

in a wish.

In the preface of the book Fady Joudah writes how Zaqtan moved away from mythologizing exile and displacement and he homed in on the poems as textural movements, visual and tactile, whose reservoir of everyday things became endless projections that sculpt (or crumble) sound and form.

like-a-straw-bird-it-follows-me-and-other-poems_2313061

Zaqtan is a Palestinian poet who has come to ask us questions of the deterritorialized existence, and that is the great innovation of his poetry, when comparing it with other Palestinian poets. It is not to say that Zaqtan writing isn’t political – it is, but political comes in different forms and layers. In his poems, it’s more like a subterranean river.

In the poem A going, Zaqtan writes:

Leave us something

we’d be sad if you leave.

Leave us, for example,

if you’d like,

your last photo by the door.

our summer trip together

the scent of a pine,

your words or your tobacco

And don’t go 

alone

and whole

like a sword.

Read this beautiful poetry collection, it’s a work of love, and I have only praise and love for it.

• • •

Previous The Book To Read:

Victims Of A Map

War Works Hard

Desert Songs Of The Night

In The Country Of Men

 

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art of resistance, Palestine, Syria

Ghayath Almadhoun | Massacre.

wissam/Art by Wissam Al Jazairy/

Ghayath Almadhoun is a Palestinian poet born in Damascus in 1979. He has lived in Stockholm since 2008. Almadhoun has published three collections of poetry, the latest in Beirut in 2014 and his work has been translated into many languages. With the Syrian poet Lukman Derky, he founded Bayt al-Qasid (House of Poetry), a space for freewheeling expression in Damascus.

Last year, I posted about his poem The Details, and here is another one of his breathtaking and heartbreaking poems, Massacre. It was translated by Catherine Cobham and published in Guardian two weeks ago. Reading Almadhoun’s poetry might really change your life.

Massacre

Massacre is a dead metaphor that is eating my friends, eating them without salt. They were poets and have become Reporters With Borders; they were already tired and now they’re even more tired. ‘They cross the bridge at daybreak fleet of foot’ and die with no phone coverage. I see them through night vision goggles and follow the heat of their bodies in the darkness; there they are, fleeing from it even as they run towards it, surrendering to this huge massage.

Massacre is their true mother, while genocide is no more than a classical poem written by intellectual pensioned-off generals. Genocide isn’t appropriate for my friends, as it’s an organised collective action and organised collective actions remind them of the Left that let them down.

Massacre wakes up early, bathes my friends in cold water and blood, washes their underclothes and makes them bread and tea, then teaches them a little about the hunt. Massacre is more compassionate to my friends than the Universal Declaration of Human Rights. Massacre opened the door to them when other doors were closed, and called them by their names when news reports were looking for numbers.

Massacre is the only one to grant them asylum regardless of their backgrounds; their economic circumstances don’t bother Massacre, nor does Massacre care whether they are intellectuals or poets, Massacre looks at things from a neutral angle; Massacre has the same dead features as them, the same names as their widowed wives, passes like them through the countryside and the suburbs and appears suddenly like them in breaking news. Massacre resembles my friends, but always arrives before them in faraway villages and children’s schools.

Massacre is a dead metaphor that comes out of the television and eats my friends without a single pinch of salt.

 Almadhoun has also made several poetry films with the Swedish poet Marie Slikeberg, which can be viewed at Moving Poems.

 

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art of resistance, Syria

Playlist: Hello Pshychaleppo.

screen-shot-2015-07-13-at-19-29-31/From the video Shahba/

Today is Middle East Revised’s third birthday. Here’s a nice tune to go with it. It is not necessarily celebratory, but it suits the last three years of writing and posting here. I am happy to have these years.

Hello Pshychaleppo is a project by Samer Saem Eldahr, and it’s all about fusing Arab heritage music and electronic sounds.

For the video Shahba, Eldahr asked friends to send him any footage that they had of Aleppo. “I wanted to do a mixture of footage and the animation that I create myself. It’s like a composition of our collective memory”, he says in an interview .

Doing this project wasn’t easy. “Whilst working on this project I also had to do a lot of research about Aleppo, particularly the visuals that Aleppians relate to.

For example, there is a yellow man who is very well known in Aleppo simply for the fact that he wears only yellow. He never takes it off. For every Aleppian or for every person who has been to Aleppo they relate to this person, this image. It’s in our visual memory. So things like this bring a lot of memories and it’s bitter-sweet”, Eldahr explains.

Listen & watch the video here.

Previous Playlist:

Grup Bunalim

I Was Born For Poetry (Adonis)

The Partisan

Rojava Women

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