"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
"Dances with Flowers" by Jana Khoury Night city skylinein the elevated blue blurof concrete pots Stored, engorgedwith succulence,in empty space, like atoms Like peopleand ceramic goatspoised stillon impossible mountains Like strips of southern blotsblotching the chromatic etherpolychrome black Last night of the old citynew things risingslowly like stars Small things dyingon a windowsillplants in beer bottles, hope Lights out in towers 2 and 3Someone burning the midnighttungsten filamentlooking up at redeyes Leave me alonein precarious refugein suicidal silhouettesweet succulent The promise wasyou take care of meand I take care of you Power cuts and no starsNo moon
Photograph by Lujain Jo How can images probe, think through and elaborate on an event at a time when any event is concurrently filmed or photographed and immediately shared online? In the case of the explosion that shook Beirut to its tormented core on August 4 and left it in pieces, how can we use images to go beyond what they show on the surface? How can we delve past their spectacularly traumatic outer layer? Could filmmakers in this scenario play the iconoclastic role of refraining from (re-)producing yet more images? These were some of the questions left unanswered by Carol Mansour's
ميليا عياش | ترجمة زينة الحلبي | رسم لينة غيبة أنت ممثّل. ينبغي لجسدك وصوتك أن يكونا دائماً في جهوزية تامّة، حتى لو لم تكن في صدد التمثيل. فقد تفاجئك فرصةٌ تأتيك من حيث لا تدري. ورغم أنّ فرص التمثيل قليلة ومتباعدة، عليك أن تعمل جاهداً للحفاظ على صحتك الصوتية. لكن، قد تتساءل ما الذي سيحدث لو كنت، ذات ليلة، تشاهد عرضاً في مسرح نخبويّ متداعٍ، فتبدأ هواتف الجمهور بالإضاءة والرنين فيما أصوات الإنذارات والفرقعة تخضّ فورمايكا خشبة المسرح. الثورة انطلقت. لم تكن تتوقّع ثورة هنا، في أقلّ بلد في العالم استعداداً للثورة. ولكن، ها أنت تثور مع آخرين كنت تظنّهم خانعين
"Where Water Touches Land" by Heather M. O'Brien For all its scarred chaos, crammed slums, the death trap of Sabra and Shatila, Beirut was beautiful: by night, clusters of amber bracelets, yellow diamond necklaces; by day, a jumble of honeycombs, its bisque balconies, dun-gold apartments, climbing the hills in sun-warmed hives I wanted to sink my teeth into, my mouth a cradle for their bees. On the corniche, the black sea glittering beyond the balustrades, I thought the city’s architects, as nowhere else, had understood something about us ‒ our human proportions, desire for shifting symmetry, plant-like thirst for light. In Beirut, had given us
Photograph by Rima Rantisi i. Cinnabar billowsshrouded in vaporous whiteBibendum’s sinister twin hurlshis wave of shock rockingbuildings in seismic swaystrange wind portendinghiroshimic concussion turninghouses to gaping vestigescrystalline rain of glass pavingstreets in savage mosaicthe blast roaring through bodies andwoman becomes motherwrestinginnocence from bedlam ii. It is always thosewith nothing more to losewho time and again lose morea truthon tender skin hard-brandedimpossible to ignorethatnot a germ of mercy informsthe calculus of thosewhose jaded eye is fixedupon opportunitiesinterred beneath the slag iii. Blear-eye starehunker down orcut and runhowlreject bloodand promise itsleep in fragmentsdissociatescreamgo silent andfuck itgrab a broomsweep the wreckageshard-by-shred-by-ash-by-scrapthen demandis this how the world is to
Photograph by Nour Annan It was an ideal weekend in early September in New York City when I found myself, having recently returned from Beirut, eager to tag along to Robert Moses beach on Long Island with a friend and a group of people I had never met. The Long Island shore was littered with dispersed pockets of sunbathers, lying ten feet apart. It was a languid day, moving at its own pace. I barely plopped my mesh bag onto the sand before ripping off my clothes and rushing towards the ocean, diving headfirst into an incoming wave. Almost immediately, the
Global temperature change from 1850-2018 Source: //showyourstripes.infoData used from: Berkeley Earth, NOAA, UK Met Office, MeteoSwiss, DWD, SMHI, UoR, Meteo France & ZAMG On the 14th of October 2019, I walked to the furthest corner in the university cafeteria for my lunch break and as soon as I sat in my seat — overlooking the busy crossroad of 5th Avenue and 14th St — I broke into tears. Over the past 24 hours, I had been closely following whatever loose threads of footage and information I could access online about the fires (more than 120 within two days) that had been
On August 8, 2020, pellet shotguns were used on protestors at close distance and critical body zones. The Health Ministry, following the arrival of injured protesters to the hospital, attempted to put a stop to financial coverage of treatments that is usually granted to injuries caused by protest suppression. This was only reversed after the ministry faced pressure by the Lebanese Order of Physicians and hospital administrations. The following describes the inhumane oppression practiced by the internal security forces along with the armed infiltrators in civilian wear. The inhumanity and extent of injury the medical community witnessed is beyond words. This is
Photograph by the author One of the biggest conundrums of the Beirut explosion is probably the burden of knowing how to live in its aftermath. What words are there to describe what has happened? What meaning is there to give? What do we do next? As we were scrambling to make sense of living an economic and financial collapse, as we were trying to figure out what it means to live through a pandemic, on August 4, all the webs of meaning we had spun suddenly melted into air. Was it fireworks? Was it an Israeli air missile? Was it 2,750 tonnes
