and from the inside in
Sukoon-Mag-Issue-6-S-2015
Sukoon-Mag-Issue-6-S-2015
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Editor’s note:<br />
It’s November <strong>and</strong> I am <strong>in</strong> Beirut. It hasn’t ra<strong>in</strong>ed<br />
yet, not <strong>the</strong> way it used to, <strong>the</strong> way it ra<strong>in</strong>ed<br />
when I was a child, <strong>in</strong> Beirut, where November<br />
was really Autumn, <strong>and</strong> we would wear light<br />
sweaters <strong>and</strong> carry an umbrella <strong>and</strong> dream<br />
of roasted chestnuts <strong>and</strong> hot chocolate<br />
any time soon. Beirut is still warm-ish <strong>and</strong> it is<br />
November <strong>and</strong> <strong>the</strong>re are people on <strong>the</strong><br />
beach <strong>and</strong> people <strong>in</strong> <strong>the</strong> mounta<strong>in</strong>s <strong>and</strong><br />
people on <strong>the</strong> streets dem<strong>and</strong><strong>in</strong>g <strong>the</strong>ir rights<br />
for water, for light, for warmth, for meds, for<br />
clean streets, for work, for love; mostly for<br />
a type of love that means that we are all<br />
safe, that means that we are all safe here.<br />
But we are not all safe here. Nor are we<br />
safe elsewhere, where <strong>the</strong>re’s war <strong>and</strong><br />
occupation <strong>and</strong> racism <strong>and</strong> apar<strong>the</strong>id<br />
<strong>and</strong> all k<strong>in</strong>ds of discrim<strong>in</strong>ation, <strong><strong>in</strong>side</strong> our<br />
homes <strong>and</strong> TV screens. There is loss here,<br />
<strong>and</strong> <strong>the</strong>re is loss <strong>the</strong>re, across <strong>the</strong> border,<br />
<strong>the</strong> sea <strong>and</strong> <strong>the</strong> street. “Sad l<strong>and</strong> of monks<br />
& soldiers/ garden<strong>in</strong>g <strong>the</strong> world’s light” says<br />
Kenneth E. Harrison, Jr. <strong>in</strong> his poem “Elegy.”<br />
But <strong>the</strong>re is also survival. There is always a<br />
protest for survival. And <strong>the</strong>re is art. There is<br />
always art.<br />
“Art <strong>in</strong>spires peace, encourages us to be k<strong>in</strong>d<br />
to each o<strong>the</strong>r” says Muntaha, a character<br />
<strong>in</strong> Marguerite G. Bouvard’s poem “Hidden<br />
Stories.” In Ze<strong>in</strong>a Hashem Beck’s poem “Beirut<br />
Wall, August 24, 2015” written about <strong>the</strong><br />
protests that happened <strong>in</strong> Beirut this summer,<br />
she says “I will draw. I will dance. I will dig /<br />
start with<strong>in</strong> my heart.”<br />
A character <strong>in</strong> Philip Metres’ poem “Letter<br />
(Never Sent) to Volodya <strong>and</strong> Natasha” says,<br />
“Art, you said, was a sacred place, rest<strong>in</strong>g<br />
by a river, where a person could feel some<br />
1<br />
th<strong>in</strong>gs come clearer. Not better, but clearer.”<br />
In <strong>the</strong> sixth issue of Sukoon, I br<strong>in</strong>g you such<br />
art that perhaps makes th<strong>in</strong>gs clearer, if not<br />
better. Art <strong>in</strong> <strong>the</strong> form of poetry <strong>and</strong> stories <strong>and</strong><br />
essays, by new voices <strong>and</strong> new artists, as well<br />
as those who’ve been published <strong>in</strong> previous<br />
issues of Sukoon. I am happy to br<strong>in</strong>g you<br />
Sukoon’s first book review, by Imene Bennani<br />
<strong>and</strong> Sukoon’s first play! Two plays actually; one<br />
by Shebana Coelho entitled “Are You Safe?”<br />
<strong>and</strong> one by Pam Lask<strong>in</strong>, entitled “RONIT AND<br />
JAMIL,” both excerpts, both related to Palest<strong>in</strong>e.<br />
Sukoon is proud to collaborate with Arabian<br />
Stories - a literary project that tries to br<strong>in</strong>g<br />
toge<strong>the</strong>r <strong>the</strong> Arabic <strong>and</strong> Western world<br />
through expression <strong>and</strong> translation. With<strong>in</strong><br />
this issue, you’ll f<strong>in</strong>d <strong>the</strong> English translation<br />
of <strong>the</strong>ir literary contest’s w<strong>in</strong>n<strong>in</strong>g story, “The<br />
Beauty <strong>and</strong> <strong>the</strong> Gazelle.”<br />
I also br<strong>in</strong>g you a special <strong>in</strong>terview with a<br />
special poet, writer, editor, teacher <strong>and</strong> pa<strong>in</strong>ter;<br />
<strong>the</strong> wonderful Etel Adnan, with whom I’ve had<br />
<strong>the</strong> pleasure <strong>and</strong> privilege to correspond.<br />
Adnan lives <strong>in</strong> Paris right now <strong>and</strong> I <strong>in</strong>clude<br />
an <strong>in</strong>terview where she tells about her work,<br />
her plans, <strong>and</strong> her optimistic thoughts about<br />
a chang<strong>in</strong>g Arab world; a world where a civil<br />
society will always exist <strong>and</strong> will always w<strong>in</strong>,<br />
even if that victory doesn’t happen today.<br />
I <strong>in</strong>clude some of her artwork (exhibited<br />
<strong>in</strong> Galerie Lelong <strong>in</strong> Paris) as well as a<br />
previously unpublished excerpt <strong>from</strong> a poem<br />
she is currently work<strong>in</strong>g on, entitled “Night.”<br />
Adnan says that she’s always believed that<br />
we were born to spend our time writ<strong>in</strong>g poetry.<br />
(What a different world we would be liv<strong>in</strong>g <strong>in</strong><br />
if that were <strong>the</strong> case.) I couldn’t agree more,<br />
could you?<br />
REWA ZEINATI