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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

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