James Graham Ballard: What I Believe

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Source: jgballard.ca

I believe in the power of the imagination to remake the world, to release the truth within us, to hold back the night, to transcend death, to charm motorways, to ingratiate ourselves with birds, to enlist the confidences of madmen.

I believe in my own obsessions, in the beauty of the car crash, in the peace of the submerged forest, in the excitements of the deserted holiday beach, in the elegance of automobile graveyards, in the mystery of multi-storey car parks, in the poetry of abandoned hotels.

I believe in the forgotten runways of Wake Island, pointing towards the Pacifics of our imaginations.

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Robin Moger: Wadih Saadeh’s Dead Moments

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Gueorgui Pinkhassov, Bluewater Commercial Center, London, 1999. Source: magnumphotos.com

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Suddenly the sunbeam disappeared. I believe a cloud is passing over the house. Sunbeams disappear for two reasons alone: clouds hide them or it is night. And being morning, most probably a cloud is passing.

Maybe soon it will rain and I will be able to watch the rain from the window. Life is so beautiful: that circumstances allowing one can watch the rain. Mine is a water sign and I imagine that now and then a planet up in space melts and flows down in front of me. Happy notion. I pick it up and approach the window. I open the pane and look out at the cars, the arid asphalt, the weary labourers. Why do these labourers get tired? I used to get tired myself sometimes and the sweat would flow, but then I turned my back on it and for years I rested. Sweat of the brow is hateful; shameful in fact. Disgusting: rising from sleep to make oneself sweat. A car goes by leaving a light cloud of dust behind it. A cat asleep on the corner opens then shuts its eyes. I close the window and slowly make my way back.

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Yahia Lababidi: Three Poems

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Chant Avedissian’s, from “Icons of the Nile”, 2010. Source: qulture.com

Allegiances

I am Destiny’s son

loyal by his side

(I never wander long)

.

Life is as remote to me

as Destiny is intimate:

an ache sweet and serene

.

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Robin Moger Does Ahmad Yamani

Tomorrow the village market day

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By Youssef Rakha. Leukerbad, Switzerland

I will go to the spring

where you slip away to fill your jar

everyone at the market and me by the tree

we maintain twenty metres no more no less

and this before you catch on a stone or two

and before a foot slips and a jar slips

leaving me ahead

on our way to the spring again

by twenty metres and a slight smile.

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Noor Naga: Boy Does Not Like To Share

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Federico Giovannini, from “You and I”. Source: lensculture.com

Knowing a father’s belt has snap-

ping metal teeth, one does not

have to think of kneeling.

One kneels. One kneels

to please before the word is

heard or the leather tongue

slides drily through the loops.

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Joseph Schreiber: And I Will Tell You Something

You said: I’m still here. I just don’t know what to say. But two weeks later, you were gone. And now I sit, words turned stale upon the page. Seems I’ve been here for months, rending sentences into syllables. Senseless. Torn and patched in vain.

I’m still here and you’re still gone.

You said: I don’t want to die. I just don’t want to live. But we didn’t want to hear, for fear your fear would unmask our own. We left you to your silent pain—let it erode the edges of your reserves, like waves, ceaseless, beating the shore—bruising, breaking your brash, butch swagger. Leaving fragments and splinters of you.

Bewildered, bipolar & blue.

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Carol Sansour: In the Time of the Apricots (The Complete Text)

Greek Orthodox service in the Church of the Nativity in Bethlehem

Christopher Anderson, Greek Orthodox service in the Church of the Nativity in Bethlehem, 2007.

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Way in

Traffic lights

Posters

Separation wall

Jacir Palace

Amal Butchery

Azza Camp

Bread

United Nations Relief and Works Agency rubbish

New street

Building stones

Pebbles Sand Bulldozer

Graffiti

Cars cars cars

Restaurants restaurants restaurants

Monastery monks

Nativity guards

Tourist police

Violence

Security

Presidential palace

Bank

Sun

Lemon

Home

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