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HomePosts Tagged "web-featured" (Page 8)

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في حين غادر إيران زملاء له، رفض هو مغادرتها بعد الثورة الإيرانية مفضّلًا البقاء في وطنه، حيث بيته وحارته وذكرياته. ظلّ في داره القديمة شمال طهران، داره المنزوية في ظل مبانٍ عالية وباردة، صامدة كصاحبها في وجه الهدم. ومن هناك، أنجز عباس كيارستمي، شاعر السينما وفيلسوفها، أجمل أفلامه.  في الرابع من شهر تمّوز، ستمرّ سنواتٌ أربع  على غياب هذا الفنان المعلّم (1940-2016) الذي قدّم تعريفًا جديدًا للسينما، وتلمّس، بلغةٍ بصريةٍ متأملةٍ وحساسة، مستوياتٍ عاليةً من المشاعر الإنسانية، لغة سينمائية تقترب من الواقعية الإيطالية الجديدة وسينما المؤلف الفرنسية، وتجد مصادرها في قلب الواقع اليومي والشعر الفارسي، وفي علاقة الإنسان مع

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Critical Biography, Film Review
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By Taya Osman October’s stealth light leavens the skin then molts into Nuttall Oaks.  No preamble to a scream interrupts the glistening rub of downward wings  except for the hum of poets acquainted with one another. The one made of bronze  cools the day’s fire from their breaths, so that news of faraway places lifts briefly,  and in this afternoon there are no bodies scraped from deformed fans in Kashmir nor children gushing out of cemented pipes in Gaza. For a small wrinkle,  the women of Tahrir caress dragonflies with their fingertips and flood the tank’s tenuous arm with bracelets of jasmine. The dormant fountain in the garden is only an ode to the sea but not shadows  as we toll through a penultimate line proclaiming the time was neither

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Poetry
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Photograph by Sima Qunsol During late July of last year, I went to my regular café to meet a friend visiting from out of town. He was running late, so I ordered my Americano and sat outside to read. It was one of those summer mornings that held so much promise: I woke up early, had a brief but pleasant exchange with my cab driver, and was greeted by the barista like an old friend when I arrived. This was the kind of coffee shop where everybody knew everybody. It was always packed with young freelancers who headed there under

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Non-Fiction
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Photograph by Nour Annan الحياة كالموج البحر، نادرة بين الصفوف تمضي قدمًا * على عواصم العواطف نتيجة الرياح تهمس إلى الماء، قوم، قوم يا عشيقي وروح، روح من قدري، فتمضي قدمًا * بين وحوش الأعماق و سحر الآفاق تمضي باللّجوء بعيداً عن الحدود وتتجول في الوجود وتمضي قدمًا نحو الشاطئ المتلألئ الذي يحاصر كنز الحق والحب * كُلما تقترب بوجه الضغط تشْمُخ، فوق جاذبيّة الصمت والخضوع لِلصفوف * وكُلما تقترب و تنمو و تتجمع طاقة، صرخة، ضجة تفاجئ الدهر وتجمّد الهواء وتتولع كل خلاياها وتُطْلق خيالها مواجهة وجهًا لوجه الشاطئ في عينيه * ومهما انكسرت وانتشرت تمضي قدمًا فكما انت موجة بحر، يا حياتي

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Poetry
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"Untitled" by Bariaa Sanioura History gallops over the margins of your page, what’s a story, but its plural all over the world? Arabic lulls ageless in your ears, but to you what most matters is temporal in this world.  The Sheikh with a gold pen in his pocket, the girl lathering her father’s head with musk,and you—pearling over Whitman’s poems—all have a lover’s quarrel with the world. A riddle of childhood loss soaks the rearview mirror in an Arizona desert,and you drive past the unsaid but ignite nothing immoral in this world.  When you put your head down to

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Poetry
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Introduction In 1967, Palestinian photographers and filmmakers Salafa Jadallah, Mustapha Abu Ali, and Hani Jawhariyah came together in Amman to create the Photography Section in the Fatah Information Office and a year later started a film collective known as the Palestine Film Unit.((Rona Sela, “Seized in Beirut: The Plundered Archives of the Palestinian Cinema Institution and Cultural Arts Section,” Anthropology of the Middle East 12, no. 1 (Summer 2017): 89.)) After the Black September civil war that resulted in the expulsion of the PLO by the King Hussein regime, the Film Unit followed the PLO to Beirut.((Nadia Yaqub, Palestinian Cinema in

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Film Review
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"New Country" by Melissa Chimera Death has nothing to do with going away Rumi     This rainy Honolulu morning after a stormflooded our stream nearby and rainhammered the trees into the mud,the wind taking it all, or so it seems,I think of you, my friend, what you saidof night birds and turbulence, finally,of home: I want to run across the Green Line((The Green line refers to the geographical dividing line between east and west Beirut during the fifteen civil war.))until only the air they breathe divides them.And then of Gilbert, how you lovedthose floating islands of poems,the current that flows

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Poetry
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"Exit of Shirin and Farhad " by Babek Kazemi by Golan Haji, translated from the Arabic by Golan Haji & Stephen Watts  White olive flowers, poking from scorched trunks,  I smell them in the moonlight.  It’s mid-May. I hear the tender slap of your hand against its lower branches,  that glimmer in the orchard night, their silver leaves rippledby the breeze across their sheen of dust,  An owl flutters up–your son nurtured it like a tiny grouse in a guest-room,  it lives camouflaged like you, the door of its cage open, its eyes yellow  as narcissus eyes,  it will fly off tomorrow, in the dead of day, to

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Poetry, Translations
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I have only lived in Lebanon for a little more than two months and have spent the vast majority of that time in Beirut. Yet, when I saw Yara, whose eponymous protagonist has spent her whole life in the same isolated village in the mountains, I was struck by a feeling of familiarity. Abbas Fahdel, the writer and director, makes many explicit cultural and historical references in the film, but what touched me more deeply was something of a spiritual truth conveyed intuitively through its visual language, that gave voice to what I see (and this may be an outsider’s

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Film Review
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"House Illustration" by Amanj Amin by Alova, translated from Turkish by BUĞRA GIRITLIOĞLU Every night the child would seek his starsAnd the Moon, which he raised with brand new names:Cut nail, Luminous HammockGrowwalker, Bruised Orange When the wind would start blowingUndulating the water’s curtainAnd a callow frog tire of its own croakAnd jump into the moss-scented sky,He’d lose his starsThe Moon he raised every nightWould shatter When the wind subsidedSo that the stars took their placesAnd the Full Moon recollected its pieces,The child whose eyes grew heavyRested his head one nightAgainst his pillow made of the Milky WayAnd

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Poetry, Translations
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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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