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January 2021

English-language poem by international authors (adult), judged by poet Tishani Doshi   Runner-up "Bribes de Corps" by Huguette Caland Before, the taiga whispered in the head. The viper slept in the land of ink,  and musk deer in blueberry thickets; River ice arc, amber banks. From ear to ear for three days elk walked to lose antler.   Now in the head there are no pines, no moss, no willows, only damp housing estate. The lamp blinks, the stooped dives twist into the arch, without extinguishing the cigarette. The moon’s restless look— The smoke of the boiler room in port light.    Before, the ocean sang behind the sternum, kraken rummaged in the underwater crater, the joyous island was always drunk, the Isle

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English-language poem by international authors  (adult), judged by poet Tishani Doshi   Winner "Woman and Wall" by Mohammed Issiakhem Unasked, a question mark curls within the walls of my body. This self-doubling  this haunting. Small hands press to the bars of my ribs. Blue shimmers  through us—it is almost day or nearly night. These walls are the town’s violet limits bristling with storks. I used to be glad I wasn’t a boy, no need to fight  or decide what to be. Now I have two hearts, four hands leached from bone  leaving me toothless, cheeks feather grey. This wall is covered in  names—it should be easy to choose one. Hunched in half-light,  the storks clack beaks with their chicks, a hard kind of love in dirty nests. On "Woman and

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English-language poem by authors of Arab heritage (14–⁠18), judged by poet Naomi Shihab Nye   Runner-up "Dreams of the Detainee" by Inji Efflatoun I no longer write, my dear. You know, life behind the cage is no interest, that landscape is no muse behind the barriers. I no longer write but I’m doing this for you. This makes no sense, but I believe God has left me for good now. —not the other way round— They say that where you are, there are trees, rivers and forests

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English-language poem by authors of Arab heritage (14–18), judged by poet Naomi Shihab Nye   Winner "Three Palestinian Boys" by Marwan Kassab Three Palestinian boys I see But I can feel just two not three Perhaps something is wrong with me Because in the boys in front of me There is always one extra he You see, Three Palestinian boys left home; The only survivors. They were all alone. Their house now just a mass of stone; Another tragedy they were shown They were their father's big clothing, Yet they weren't grown. They were young But their eyes no longer shone. They were three Palestinian boys Covered in soot; Three little stems Ripped out of root By guns and bombs And men

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English-language poem by authors of Arab heritage (adult), judged by poet Hala Alyan   Runner-up "Bribes de Corps" by Huguette Caland Our bodies have become a carousel. When a rescue dog sniffs through the rubble of a collapsed building—we hold our breaths like hope—before spinning again. Everywhere you look, healers are cleaning the wound but we’ve stopped asking, what will grow of it? Nothing. Our bodies no longer believe us. Look at the sky, how it has turned pink to cover up the ammonium gray. It has never looked so sorry. A thought I like to recreate: joy is the body disappearing, grief

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English-language poem by authors of Arab heritage (adult), judged by poet Hala Alyan   Winner "Chanson Mystique" by Suha Shoman Nothing lost stays gone forever. Like a storm cloud wavering over Mt. Ebal, pinned to the sky as a dove in the watchtower’s eye. I ate an eskadania & I became soft-plumed & dented as a hill’s hide, daughter to nothing but milk & music. This is no God, not in my sand-cradle, not in my land if the land stays stolen. Say missing. Say mystic. Say miracle- maker or mother, cloud dust or even better—oil & za’atar. How names can change a thing. I ate a loquat while angels dipped their heads

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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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Letter from the Editor | كلمة المحرّرة

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