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July 2020

"Exit of Farhad and Shirin" by Babak Kazemi كاڨوه أكبر، ترجمت من الانكليزية بقلم سلفي الحلو ريحانة جباري هي فتاة إيرانية كانت في السادسة والعشرين من عمرها عندما تمّ شنقها في ٢٥ من تشرين الأول،٢٠١٤ بسبب قتلها لرجلٍ كان يحاول اغتصابها.  الجسد مسجد مُستعار من الجنّة      قرون الزَّمَنِتُلطِّخُ الطُّوب المزجّج       وجِلدُنا يحتكُّ كشَظيّةوسطَ ساعة رمليّة    أحيانًا أشعرُ بالعار  من إحساسي كم هو عديم الأهميّة      الملائكة لا يهمُّها الحياءأنت حلقتِ رأسك     قضيتِ أحد عشر يومًا جائعةً في الانفراديّةوما من مَلاكٍ بكى في نشيد      وها الوِحدةُ تعُمُّ المكان لقد غدوتُ

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ترجمة, شعر
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"Migration" by Marianne Shaker Translated from Chinese by Jeffrey Thomas Leong Leaving behind wife and child,           I’ve experienced heavy seas. Don’t know how much wind and frost I’ve endured. Because my family was poor, I sought the precious           white jade. Separated from relatives and friends,           I drifted about, 10,000 li. It’s difficult to calculate suffering in one slice           of rain and snow, All due to a purse empty of weighty green coin.   難 萬 別      不 重 拋 計 里 親      知 洋 妻 都 捱 飄 朋 袛 受 歷 子 緣 一 流  ，為 幾 盡  ， 囊 切  ，     家 多  ， 澀 雨        

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Poetry, Translations
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"Dead Sea" by Paris Petridis Summer, and corpses covered in barnacles become buoyant, bloated bodies are hauled onto land,autopsies are performed bare on the beach. We wade and gather sea glass and bits of bone,sand-rubbed, sun-hardened, listen to the conches confess what became of them. No one swims anymore, not even in the shallows. Rods reel in life-vests and lone limbs, severed feet wash onto shore, some still sporting shoes. Comb jellies gather and glow, it stings when we wet our lips, suck at the salt beneath our fingernails. We breathe in the brine, watch the waves

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Poetry
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By Faig Ahmed, "Virgin" "Fuel" At its heart the pool, the blue rug of sky.In the middle of my room, the kilimwith its fish and fowl. My propensityfor arranging furniture, it would seem, in lines around the walls, leaving the flooralone as the focal point, may be duenot to some dullness in the soul but moreto workings in the bloodstream, some residue in subliminal memory of windowsthat look forever inward, galaxiesthat spin on carpets, geometric rows of turquoise tiles ablaze with symmetriesinherent in physics; eyvans((eyvan (Persian): a vaulted alcove or niche.))and porticosof gardens brought

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Poetry
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 A Conversation with Roy Dib on Blocking Roads, Chanting, and the Vicious Lebanese Political Cycle Roy Dib is an artist and filmmaker. But like everyone else who took to the streets on October 17, his “day job” took on a different description including specialized skills such as: blocking roads, organizing a group of activists, learning the ins and outs of pertinent revolution topics, and helping connect a network of revolutionaries in the squares. And like all things that began on October 17, ever-continuous spontaneity fed into the daily roil, including that of building the revolution-born Qantari group. Founded by Rawan Nassif,

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Interview
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About Us
Rusted Radishes: Beirut Literary and Art Journal was founded in the English Department of the American University of Beirut in 2012 with the intention of creating a space for both emerging and established writers who have a connection to Lebanon.
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