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لا أزال أذكر أول عضّة كلب وأول قصة حب في المدرسة وأول تحية إيطالية تعلمتها: «فا فنكولو». اكتشفت فيما بعد أنها تعني: «روح نيّك». حدث ذلك كلّه خلال صيف 1994. غالبني النوم بشكلٍ مفاجئ خلال مباراة إيطاليا والبرازيل في نهائي كأس العالم تلك السنة. بوسعي أن أحزر أنه منتصف الشوط الثاني. ظلّت تصويبة ماورو سيلفا عالقةً بذهني، ليس بسبب اصطدامها بالقائم بعد اضطراب باليوكا الذي أفلت الكرة من يده وقبّل القائم متنفّسًا الصعداء، لكن بسبب عمّي، المناصر لإيطاليا، الذي نطق بكلمة «فافنكولو» مغتاظًا. أدمنتُ استعمال الكلمة كتحيّة صباحيّة بعدما أخبرني عمّي بأنّها مرادف شوارعيّ لكلمة «يعطيك الصحة»، أي «أحسنت»،

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Non-Fiction
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"Cats of Beirut" by Tanya Traboulsi Lessons from Beirut's Cats and the People Who Care for Them I have lived on Makdissi Street in Beirut since I was born. When I was around 14-years-old, I fell into the habit of taking long solitary walks around the city. The traffic-dense roads and crowded streets were a distraction from the thoughts that filled my head and the worries that dominated my small world: not fitting in at school, a bad grade, falling-out with a friend.  Over the past few years, having participated in an

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Non-Fiction
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X-ray courtesy of Dr. Bassam Osman. More than 30 pellets inside of a 20-year-old man, shot by security forces at close range in Martyr's Square on August 8, 2020, four days after the Port of Beirut explosion. Do you remember the mock gallows with man-sized cutouts of Lebanese politicians hanging from them? Remember how you had never seen anything like that before? Remember how it made you feel?   *   The Lebanese government has left its people for dead. The finale of thirty years of corruption and negligence and crippling theft played on fast-forward over the past three years. When people

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Non-Fiction, prose
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​​Upon ending my first year as a graduate student of poetry, it is only natural to start questioning my artistic aesthetic and purpose. A professor once told me that my poetry attempts to capture "the mind at work." I had yet to understand this phrase until I read Zeina Hashem Beck's O and found myself submerged in its shameless vaults. Months later, I am still enamored by and pondering the narrative moves in her poem "ode to the afternoon," where Beck draws us in with hints of a child's suicidal ideations: "some days i even / threatened to fling

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Review
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"Sea Change" by Heather Miller Translated from the Arabic by Rusted Radishes It was in the midst of an August day, but suddenly the city felt cold. They said it was war, and it was not war. They were idols of stone and tyranny, and the sea was calm when they rained glass down onto the city.  * Glass under the feet of pedestrians. On the asphalt, and inside shoes. Glass under teeth. Glass that tastes like glass. Glass in children's toys. In their bedrooms. Glass under the television. Glass in front of building entrances - the buildings without doors. Glass

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prose, Translations
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"Built Sea 3" by Lina Hassoun "The true image of the past flits by. The past can be seized only as an image that flashes up at the moment of its recognizability, and is never seen again." - Walter Benjamin At night, you can usually find bats doing playful death dives across the Cairo skyline. Bats usually scare me, but in these moments of stillness they are my comrades. I imagine that they welcome me into their nocturnal journeys. That they can sense I too prefer to fly at night, fighting the coming of daylight. In my anthropomorphic imaginations, I

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Non-Fiction, prose
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Note  I was hospitalised for fifteen days at the AHEPA, Thessaloniki's General Teaching Hospital. The diagnosis: pneumonia and empyema; that is, pus-filled lungs.  The treatment: surgery.  The gaze: eighteen pictures.  In medical terminology, Personal Anamnesis denotes a patient's medical history. For a photographer, it means the itinerary of his gaze through the domain of darkness. And when you look at darkness straight on, it's somewhat tamed.  Paris Petridis       Published by Agra and University Studio Press, 2017

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Photo Essay
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"The Unseen" by Bilal Tarabey I wake up late today, near noon.  A ray of sun shines through the narrow space between my curtains, leaving my bedroom otherwise in darkness. These days, I either sleep too much or too little. But no amount of sleep seems to matter; I never feel well-rested the following day.  I sigh and rub my face, massaging my eyes and forehead, and I get out of bed. Nothing cures the headache that often comes. Sluggishly, my feet carry me forward. Moving them feels like lifting blocks of cement. After I brush my teeth and wash

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Fiction
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"I've Got the Love Handles, But I Can't Handle Love" by Tanja Van Deer some dayscaught between clamping down onprocessed food or not eatingat all; ferociously demanding rightsor considering the futility of change in front of this pageI am a sell-outashamed of my falteringwords, the aftermath of a burnt out mind I am a sell-outthese are not the wordsI meant to write, but i can'tstop themfrom escaping their confines I cannot halt this exodus some days I recklessly spew things outor repeatsayings from other giants but at times my words are emptyblurted out in hasteor by means

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Poetry
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"Magic in Bones" by Rafik El Hariri We made great neighboursyou and I. Like the time   I lobbed string frommy window to yours, forging a zip-line,a tight rope-bridge  stretched wall-to-wall.We held on, feeling the tug of each other's hands. Puzzled,you mouthed me a question I answered in mime, and in no timeyou were in on the scam. On my side. Soon we were synchronous:licking frayed ends,  lacing them through the basesof pierced tin cups. Our fingers ringed with twined fibres, we bothtied knots on top of knots until the cups held, as obviousyet genius as a bathroom

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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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