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Home2021 (Page 6)

July 2021

The effortless answer is to say I'm from Beirut. It's where I feel most intrinsic to the architecture, like a jar in a pantry. I am continuously being molded by the city's social and political landscape, its communities, the stretch of Mediterranean Sea and stuffy streets. But (my generation loves to complicate this question, doesn't it), I am also from other homes: my grandparents' in Talkalakh, my family's in Kumasi and Tripoli.  In the most primordial sense, of course, I am from my mother's womb. My mother is who and where and what I always return to. As for what I do-my

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I'm a Lebanese/Palestinian/Syrian writer based in Beirut. I graduated from the LAU Adnan Kassar School of Business in the spring of 2017 and just finished my masters in International Relations at the Queen Mary University of London. Professionally, I'm a jack-of-all-trades, but I mainly make my money from freelance writing. Recently, I worked on the most recent expansion of The Story Engine Deck of writing prompts which made over $600,000 on Kickstarter, and was chosen as the writing contest coordinator at Dream Foundry for this year and the next.   Like anything else in life, my desire to become a writer was

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I was born and raised in the outskirts of Boston, MA - Dedham, Massachusetts to be precise. Yet I first boarded a plane at eight weeks old to get baptized in my mother's home city, Brussels. I spent my childhood and adolescent summers there, joining the Belgian boy scouts at a young age. On my father's side, both his parents are American-Lebanese (born in the States, but their families immigrated from Lebanon). And in college, I propelled myself into a wonderful soul-searching journey towards reconnecting with my roots and gaining fluency (cultural and linguistic) in the Arabic language. It was

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The Birth of Paper: An interactive online theater experience between Beirut and PittsburghLast showing is tonight, June 29 at 1 p.m. Pittsburgh / 8 p.m. Beirut "And here we are, together. In a space that's imaginary and real at the same time. How is that possible? Who knows. Science. Magic. Both." This is how "Molly," played by Milia Ayache, welcomes a Zoom room full of strangers, some of whom might also be friends or family. Or frenemies. Or even "stramily" or "striends." Connections are found as the audience is asked to ponder what kind of weather might move us from one category into the

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Review
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"Fishermen at the Corniche" by Vahan Luder Artinian Bombay Sapphire and scotch-tape.If you were a comic, you mightdo a bit about how one's to drownthe pain, the other's to keep its damnmouth straight. Faltering laments from a mosque, and in my mind,the dizzying acceptance that allour breaths were created equal-stifled, alive. Hind's telling meabout her grandfather, then her father. About dissent, then around4 or so, bequest. We're wasted ondry gin and the confluence of ourethnic poetries. She's telling mehow, if you're Palestinian, you get used to the idea of hyphenation.Her tears glisten like minefieldsof yesterday, and between

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Poetry
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"Tabriz Cemetery" by Sajed Haqshenas Last night I heard an owlIn the closed port of a night,my skin crawling andon fire,was its sorrowful songa few lilting stanzas and it was gone.And is it a bad omen,you think?And what of my enjoying it?And you,What's good?   Aws el Iskandarani of LA once old meour own legend of La Llorona,who roams the earth:a shapeshifter motherwho casts away the crown of motherhooda murderessand that in Egypt, the land before time,motherhood murderess wasan owl and awarningto never leave your clothes to dryin the eyes of the nightfor she'd shoot

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Poetry
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"Drilling" by Samia Soubra بيدرو مارتي مونيوز | ترجمتها من الاسبانية زينة الحلبي لم يدَعْ باولوف الكلاب تنام. عذّبها طوالَ أسابيع، فلم يسمح لها إلا بقليل من النوم المتقطّع، بلا انتظام. اكتشف بعدها أنّها وصلت إلى حالةٍ قصوى من التعب، فباتت كائناتٍ يقظة ولكن على حافّة النوم. أصبحت تلك الحيوانات شديدة الهشاشة، فصار بإمكانه السيطرة حتّى على تصرّفاتها العفويّة. فبعد بقائها وقتًا طويلًا بلا نوم، فقدت أكثر كلابه ذكاءً عزيمتها وأصبحت خاضعةً طيّعةً. لا أعرف المزيد عن باولوف. لكنّي أعرف ما ذكرتُه لأنه يساعدني على شرح كيف تحوّلتُ إلى كيسٍ من الخراء. أعاني من الأرق. لا أعرف النوم إلا

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ترجمة, نثر
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"Internal Landscape" by Ayham Jabr فادي جودة | ترجمتها من الإنجليزية رنا عيسى الحلم لا يلزمنا للكمال،لا يلزمنا الكمالفي مواجهة الوحشلكي يكتشف الوحشقلبه،جلطاته، ترابيقه،لكي لا يأكلنا الوحش،وسخطه يفوق غضبنا بأشواطلأن ثورتنا مريضةبالنار التي تنفثها في كهوفنا.وما الكمال سوىتوازنفي إدراك محلنا في المكان

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ترجمة, شعر
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"Being, Oman 2015" by Ranya Hajjar knotthere is a place     in the outskirts of the neighborhoodan indian tailor    next to the fawwal-a black cat planted at his door     one abu khalidavoids walking by     reciting quranin fear of possessing him.     keep the money buriedin your palm so he doesn't     raise the priceask him about the jalabiya     & india     & home stitchhe says home     smells like the fawwallike the bread     & the orange peelstucked in the corners of the concrete

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Poetry
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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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