Behold! A snowball in hell
Next to a burning lake.
Down in Hell, the temperature
Begins to fall. A few fires start
To freeze and the next thing you know
Lamar in the Zataari Refugee Camp
In broad daylight, Lamar sees the haunt that had stalked her and her sisters in their old house. She had never caught more than a
glimpse, a shadow in her peripheral or a teasing footfall in the dead of night, but she never had a doubt what it must look like, and
here he stands: in the middle of the street, peering through the shop window at the displays of yellow and orange and blue dresses
that are up for rent to couples who get married while living in the refugee camp. Tall for a hunchback; a handsome face with black
hair; quick eyes; a severe jawline; a disgustingly thin gut. The initials FLD are sewn above the pocket of his brown leather jacket, which
he wears open and with only one arm; the other is tucked under his chest, rocking a little girl who clings to his shoulder sleepily. He
shifts his weight and the empty jacket sleeve does a forlorn dance.
Stand Not At My Heart’s Door
By Thekra Luaibi
Translated by Mahmoud Abbas Masoud
Stand not at my heart’s door
Like a beggar
Asking for nectar from a jar
That contains nothing but bitter gall
My years are a ceaseless wandering
Their harvest is barren thorns
Notes Toward the Poet—Philip Terman
Saleh Razzouk* (with Scott Minar**)
I had the pleasure of getting to know Philip Terman during the course of a project we undertook translating
poetry from Arabic into English. We worked together on the poems of the late Syrian poet Riad Saleh Hussein,
who suffered greatly through pain and negligence until his tragic death in Damascus in the 1980s, after a period
of imprisonment for political reasons
An Interview with Poet/Psychoanalyst D.M. Black
By Scott Minar
SM: I know that you have done some international war trauma research. Have you written about these experiences or do you pla
do so in the future? What does poetry or memoir have to do with experiences like these, with trauma and its victims?
DMB: I have travelled in the Occupied Territories in Israel, and met psychiatrists and therapists there attempting
to cope with the traumatised population. I haven't done counselling work there myself. I have also translated
( with the help of an Arabic specialist) poems by Palestinians, for an anthology edited by Henry Bell
What a city is this o Bassem
Arabic translation: Saleh Razzouk & Philip Terman
Tell me the truth, do not be polite at all,
Like a girl they came to tear away from her lover, the son of the neighbors.
Rotating the Record
Translation into English: Benjamin Balint
All day the record rotated around itself
No whisper was heard
In the heart of grooved silence its sorrows swarmed
And were scratched from the soft needle.
All day the wheel circled, and no one knew,
The sun rose, a clear crescent moon climbed above the city.
“ after sometime”- Palestinian Artist Aissa Deebi in conversation with Marisa Cornejo
at Espace Kugler Geneve.
November 09, 2018 -25.11.2018
Opening 7:30 hr
November 10, 2018
Taste of Time
Linda Abed Albaki
Translation from Arabic: Saleh Razzouk & Philip Terman
I want a turkish pipe with two trays,
Wine stored in mud,
And a breath trapped with bombs.
I want bread armed with an explosive belt,
The Set up
Translated by: Saleh Razzouk
and Scott Minar
Leave me O pain
The world is spinning around me like a naked ear of wheat
Like a field that cannot reach its vintages
The Lonely Shepherd of Clouds
Iman Shahin Sharba
And I am the lonely shepherd of the clouds.
I left my poem
In a pot on an old wall.
Birds love the poems
The way, in early morning,
We adore warm cups of water
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