by Linda Abd Al-Baki*
In hanging the life
From its waist
Life As I See It With My Heart
By Thekra Luaibi
Translated by Mahmoud Abbas Masoud
None has deceived me
No one has let me down save myself
The echo of places
Swings in my memory
The Executioner - Excerpt from a play
By: Sabah Alanbari*
Translated from Arabic by: Soheil Najm**
The stage is a carefully constructed half green lined with pieces of bright glass. The dome has one gate built in the form of jaws lined with long pointed fangs stained with blood. The gate is open throughout the show and in front of it, at the center of the stage, there are metal bars to which the victim is tied. The bars look like a big window, and to the audience the victim seems as if inside the predator's mouth, or that the mouth is about to devour her, in front of the bars and the victim there is a wooden chair stained with blood and surrounded by various torturing tools. The executioner sits on the chair, his back facing the audience.
The time that I had to work inside the house had a very contemplative effect for me with epiphane moments. At the same time, it is a time of uncertainty, fear of loved ones. The false security in our rich Netherlands has left us for good.
Nature plays a major role in my work. Gardens have always been a source of inspiration for me. This started at the garden of my childhood home. So many stories have already arisen here ....... for example the story of Dorus, the blackbird, who came to get cheese in our kitchen. Or the flowers from which you could suck honey. Or the delicious fresh green herbs from my own herb garden. Gardens proved to be a passion for me and my work. Life in balance, between flora, fauna and people.
Because of the coronavirus we are more bound to home and garden. We as humanity are unsure how to contain the virus and protect our way of life but the spring still arrived, flowers that bud and birds that lay eggs.
As almost all artists I am mostly introvert and working on daily basis at my studio, in these times of course I keep working , yet fortunately I haven’t been interrupted because my studio is right next to my house.
Just feeling uncomfortable for I cannot see anyone except my family but this is some thing I can stand.
These circumstances of course made a huge influence on everything I am doing, but this situation for me as for any creator is rather interesting, it motivated me to start a series of paintings i used to help in looking at myself,
A good friend just passed away from the virus. I participated in a Zoom farewell with his family—he was also on the zoom on his ventilator. He had been on the ventilator for two weeks but just got worse—as most people do. Each of us said goodbye to him, hoping he could hear, and then the rabbi said the last prayer.
After the zoom session was over, the doctor removed the ventilator.
Here is the poem I wrote for my friend who was taken off the ventilator. It is my response to the questionnaire.
Another Time of Love
It was another time of love.
As long as a refuge remained, we found it
Whispering and wet.
Outside, there arose ignorant rulers,
Who compiled lists of banned books
And commanded artists to swear loyalty
To the state.
Significance of Colours in the worksof Ali Rashid*
Saleh Razzouk** (with Scott Minar***)
Lately the artist Ali Rashid moved from economizing colours to elaborate with it.
I don not mean he started in vain to explode with colours, I think he is still limiting colour expansion at the expense of other elements, since his colours are still about the same vision, between two poles, the black and the ash. All simple shades of grey, either dotted or granular.
Strollers with Light-weight Clothes
The poem has uttered its word and gone.
No celebration, no birth ritual beyond that.
No reed flute guide us to
A love salat,
No clouds exchange a eulogy with me,
Yet no trees summon me
Scott Minar *
I wanted to see Troy up close.
So I got out my microscope,
The one I had years ago as a boy,
I wound the dial
International Writer’s Journal
International Writer’s Journal is a new literary entity just started in USA to cover the contemporary international scene. It is edited by two Romanian translators long lived in The United stated. namely by: David Paul Vnuck and Muguras Maria Vnuck.
the aim of the journal as explained in the Call to Writers:
A SECRETLY WHISPERED PRAYER
GEORGE FILIP *
Translated from Romanian by : Muguraș Maria Vnuck and David Paul Vnuck
Our Lord enshrined in heaven
Piously I pray to Thee
Culture of Terrorism
The 20th and the 21st centuries brought to the history many conflicts of political, economical and military background which were, and until this day are involving almost every country in the world. Whereas, the Old Continent is struggling with many issues within the European Union like political differences between its members and heads of the European Parliament as well as the crisis concerning refugees from Syria and other Third World nations but the biggest problem is the world flooded with terrorist attacks. Terrorism is one of the gravest problems of the world nowadays but what are the root causes of this phenomenon.
The Cafe of Sad Lands
Iman Shahin Sharba*
In the sad café,
History sits on the last chair,
Following –from the near distance,
The despair cycle,
tran. from Romanian by Muguraș Maria Vnuck* and David Vunck**
Ankara is calm
I thought it was warmer
at the beginning of August
but it is perfect like that
at this time a man
Issue 2020 of The Bridge Literary And Art journal
The Bridge Literary and Art Journal is published by The Bridge Literary Arts Center, which is supported by the non-profit Franklin Arts Council. The Bridge Literary Arts Center was established in 2013 and holds writing workshops, readings, and collaborative events with musicians and visual artists. For submission and other information please visit our website: bridgeliteraryartscenter.org and on Facebook.
We’ve come back to the farm—
to the animal responsibility.
To haul their hay, scarce and heavy, still breathing,
Into the loft of the second floor—where we’re building
1-We'll say goodbye
While our eyes are wet with dreams that raced us to bed and sleep,
And to drink its coffees in our absence.
We'll say goodbye
While counting up cold years
Bakhtin’s concept of the carnival and the carnivalesque novel.
The principle of laughter and the carnival spirit on which the grotesque is based destroys this limited seriousness and all pretense of an extratemporal meaning and unconditional value of necessity. It frees human consciousness, thought, and imagination for new potentialities. For this reason, great changes, even in the field of science, are always preceded by a certain carnival consciousness that prepares the way.
There was no room for us to have feelings.
Under the Queen, we were foiled, our faces blanked of wonder.
A pitiful ordeal, our cheap toil. We hated her for stealing.
Our crooked backs ached; our knees bled from kneeling,
the whole sum of our treasures given up to fund her.