Poetry
‘The Scent of Human Barbecue!’—A Poem by Al-Saddiq Al-Raddi
Born and raised in Omdurman Khartoum, Al Saddiq Al-Raddi is one of the leading African poets writing in Arabic today. Al-Raddi served as the cultural editor of Al-Sudani newspaper from 2006 until 2012, when he was stripped of his position during an uprising against...Orhan Veli’s Poetry and the Struggle to Preserve Istanbul’s Green Spaces
On the Republic’s one hundred year anniversary, how does the poet’s work speak to the Istanbul’s urban transformation?
An Anthem from the Iranian Protests
On September 27, 2022, Iranian musician Shervin Hajipour posted a song to his instagram compiled of tweets from Iranians detailing the reasons they are protesting. The song quickly went viral across social media. Within days of the video’s release, Shervin Hajipour had been arrested, and the original post was taken down. But like the Persian protest songs of the past, albeit in digital form, the video continues to circulate and resonate in digital and physical space. Zuzanna Olzsewska translates the song from Persian into English and discusses its significance amidst ongoing demonstrations in Iran. [Photo: Iranians protesting the death of Mahsa Amini on a street in Tehran, October 1, 2022. Getty Images.]
The Enduring Taste of Hope—A Poem and Interview with Khaled Mattawa
Soon after Libyans rose up in protest against the brutal authoritarian regime of Muammar al-Qaddafi in February 2011, the Libyan American poet Khaled Mattawa wrote “Now That We Have Tasted Hope.” His poem powerfully captured the mix of relief and anguish, despair and hope felt by many who participated in, or were inspired by, the Arab uprisings and was widely shared. In addition to presenting the poem here, Atef Said interviewed Mattawa about the poem, poetry’s relationship to revolution and his work supporting artists in Libya.
The Enduring Taste of Hope—A Poem and Interview with Khaled Mattawa
Soon after Libyans rose up in protest against the brutal authoritarian regime of Muammar al-Qaddafi in February 2011, the Libyan American poet Khaled Mattawa wrote “Now That We Have Tasted Hope.” His poem powerfully captured the mix of relief and anguish, despair and hope felt by many who participated in, or were inspired by, the Arab uprisings and was widely shared. In addition to presenting the poem here, Atef Said interviewed Mattawa about the poem, poetry’s relationship to revolution and his work supporting artists in Libya. Forthcoming in the Winter 2021 issue of Middle East Report, “Revolutionary Afterlives.”
It Was Beirut, All Over Again…Again
One night in August 2021, I fell through a portal. It was hot, and there was no electricity. I had already missed the de facto bedtime of 1am set by our generator’s regimen. My portable fluorescent lantern was fully charged. The stale, heavy air of a cooled-down,...Culture and Politics, Culture as Politics
Although MERIP is best known for political economy critiques of systems of resource extraction, imperialism and authoritarianism, artwork, creative texts and cultural reviews have never been merely supplemental to its project. Elevating cultural expression and...Three Poems by Osama Esber
The Syrian poet Osama Esber presents three new poems that grapple with the reverberations of living through the current global pandemic. Written in Arabic, they are accompanied by Lisa Wedeen’s English translation and introduction.
Reading César Vallejo in Arabic
The Poets The posthumous poetry collection of the Iraqi poet Sargon Boulus (1944–2007), ‘Azma Ukhra li-Kalb al-Qabila (Another Bone for the Tribe’s Dog), published in 2008 shortly after his death in Berlin, is populated with ghosts. [1] There are ghosts of anonymous...Revolution in Socotra
At the beginning of 2012, as Egyptians and Syrians marked the second year of their revolts, protesters also took to the streets of Hadiboh, the tumbledown capital of Yemen’s Socotra archipelago (pop. approx. 50,000). Like demonstrators elsewhere, the Socotrans were calling for both local administrative change and national political reform. While the Socotran protests, occurring since March 2011, were small, they were no less significant than the more spectacular rallies in the epicenters of Arab revolution. Indeed, the spread of revolution to Socotra, the largest and most populated of the archipelago’s four islands, shows the extent to which the events of 2011 have resonated even at the very margins of the Arab world.
The People Want
Many of the slogans of the Egyptian revolution have been poetry, and as compositions with rhyme, meter and purpose, they resonate with very old conceptions of lyrical form. But slogans are not literary texts whose meanings can be reduced to a purely semantic level. Most often, they are part of a performance — embodied actions taking place in particular situations. This fact opens up avenues for thinking about literary aesthetics and political practice, and it shows the relevance of cultural analysis for the study of revolution.
An Artist as President of the Islamic Republic of Iran?
Something’s happening here. In one of the largest street demonstrations in Tehran since the 1979 revolution, thousands filled Vali Asr Street (formerly known as Pahlavi Street) on Monday, forming a human chain nearly 12 miles long and stopping traffic for nearly five hours. They wore strips of green cloth around their wrists and heads in support of presidential candidate Mir-Hossein Mousavi. They sang “Ey Iran,” the unofficial national anthem composed in the Pahlavi era by one of the leading figures of classical Persian music, the late Ruhollah Khaleghi. Banned for a time by the Islamic Republic, the song’s lyrical melody touches a deeply patriotic vein.
first writing since
I
there have been no words.
i have not written one word.
no poetry in the ashes south of canal
street.
no prose in the refrigerated trucks
driving debris and dna.
not one word.
today is a week, and seven is of
heavens, gods, science.
evident out my kitchen window is an
abstract reality.
sky where once was steel.
smoke where once was flesh.
fire in the city air and i feared for my
Disbeliever
In January 1998, unidentified gunmen entered a movie theater and small mosque near Algiers and massacred 120 men, women and children.
By the hunger of the children of Iraq
By the sound of frantic running in Kosovo
By the swollen bodies in a river in Rwanda
and Afghani women and the writers of Algiers,
I am a disbeliever
in everything that refuses to kiss full on the lips
the ones still living
and receive them in the bosom of the self,
no matter the religion or the nation or the race
Poetry
Hajar in America
We came over together
I spoke no English
He had a mission: grad school, then it’s back to save the masses
Here I am now with the baby on my hip,
alone in Newark, on foot, looking for milk at the all-night Exxon
I hear he’s marrying her,
the teaching assistant with the frosted hair
I have to learn how to drive.
Hijab Scenes #7
No I’m not bald
No I’m not from that country where women can’t drive cars
No I would not like to defect. Thank you,
I’m already American
What else would you like me to explain
relevant to my opening a bank account,
buying insurance,
reserving a seat on a flight?
There
Or here, in early morning, how early you ask and I say let’s get on with the day, a conversation is always a political thing because it involves two entities and the possibility of death interrupting it is always real, always there, and it could happen here, any time, by the stairs, the fountains, the music, and let’s drink to things unsaid!
Yehezkel Kedmi
Being served a soda or some fresh nuts by an unassuming man in the small, crowded kiosk across from Jerusalem’s central bus station, it would be hard to know that you were in the presence of one of the most powerful and original Hebrew poetic voices alive.
The story of this poet, Yehezkel Kedmi, is just as unlikely, and presents the true anguish of those parts of Jerusalem so often swept under the rug. Living by his wits on the streets since the age of 13, and still homeless, Kedmi depicts the struggle and suffering that shaped a generation of Jews from the Arab world. Through a dramatic, almost epic structure, Kedmi’s language parallels that of the prophets and the great classical medieval Hebrew poets of Andalusia.
‘Abd al-Hadi Fights the Big Superpower
Never in his life
Did he read or write.
Never did he fell a tree
Or stab a cow.
Never did he talk about the New York Times
Behind its back.
Never did he raise his voice to anyone
Except to say:
“Welcome! Tafaddal!
By God, I won’t take no for an answer!”
And in spite of all this?
His case is hopeless.
His situation is desperate,
And his rights nothing but a grain of salt
That fell into the ocean.
Gentlemen!
My client knows nothing about his enemy.
And I promise you
That if he had bumped into the Star Trek crew
He would have served them fried eggs
Arab Apocalypse
As the twentieth century comes to a close, the voice of Etel Adnan continues to speak the prophetic visions of legendary women shut out by men at history’s dawn. In the tradition of Zarqa’ al-Yamama of pre-Islamic Arabia, and of Cassandra in Greek mythology, Adnan’s poetic premonitions and indignant outcries against injustice seem to be doomed to fall short of reaching the ears of the Arabs she most pointedly addresses in her poetry.
Poems
Hey Jeep, Hey Jeep
Sami Shalom Chetrit
1. Eight kids in an army jeep
Eight soldiers, one major:
eight kids and one minor
2. Hey Jeep, Hey Jeep [1]
3. And his son Ishmael was thirteen years old
at the cutting of his uncircumcised flesh.
4. And eight of his sons in the army jeep
and his son cries to the Lord but no one hears
5. And behold his father running:
Run, Muhammad, run,
your son’s spirit is coming towards you
6. Lord, Lord, where is the lamb for a burnt offering?
