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Kaleem Hawa

Kaleem Hawa has written about art, film, and literature for the New York Review of Books, The Nation, and Artforum, among others.



Articles Available Online


Hating it Lush: On Tel Aviv

Essay

May 2023

Kaleem Hawa

Essay

May 2023

I   They made the desert bloom, tall sparkling towers and clean Bauhaus lines, and apple-ring acacias, and teal blue shuttle buses, and stock...

Poetry

Issue No. 28

Three poems from issue 28

Sarah Barnsley

Valzhyna Mort

Kaleem Hawa

Poetry

Issue No. 28

Valzhyna Mort, ‘Music for Girl’s Voice and Bison’   Sarah Barnsley, ‘Virginia Woolf Has Fallen Over’   Kaleem Hawa,...

‘Not my name I live on the streets of an era in which saying one’s name is a cause for suspicion The name I bear today may not recognise me tomorrow So I do not bind my face to a particular name’ João Gilberto Noll   This is how it begins When it seems as if it’s all over Staring at the ground without blinking, I notice a piece of damp earth that seems like it’s in the wrong place I pick it up with both hands and without really knowing why, I put the fistful of damp earth that’s in the wrong place in my pocket, and decide to walk until I know where I’m trying to get to Maybe to a place where this bit of earth fits I pass by a neighbour’s house, knock on the door, and while I’m waiting for them to answer, I notice the outline of a perfect rectangle on the ground where a doormat has been removed Without really knowing why, other than the strong smell that seems to be coming from it, I push the outline of the mat further down into the tightly packed earth and exchange the damp earth in my pockets for a dry clump I fill both pockets again and depart, as if I’ve just left a message I go up a hill I dig a hole to leave the dry earth in and take a bit of quartz stone which, I don’t know if you know, is the most common stone on our planet and can be used to make many things: soap, toothpaste, sandpaper, optic fibres, watches, radios, ashtrays, even cheap jewellery I don’t want to do anything with this stone, I just want to carry it I pick up the stone which also smells of damp earth and don’t look back For reasons not worth mentioning, I move on Some would say: I depart But I say: I split I arrive at the border between my city and the next

Contributor

November 2019

Kaleem Hawa

Contributor

November 2019

Kaleem Hawa has written about art, film, and literature for the New York Review of Books, The Nation, and...

after Mahmoud Darwish    Why is a boy an exclamation,  and why are his dead a period?,  why do his sinews tighten when he sees  a Palestinian body? Does his vision narrow  because of their flight,  or because their world is raining with salt?  Why is a boy with a gun different  from a boy with a jail cell?,  if the tools of rupture are our arms for  repurposing the body, and the arms of  the state are our means of repurposing the male,  are we finally useful and breathing and nervous…?  Does the white mean Night’s arrival?,  or does night signal the white’s escape?,  and when that white city boy becomes  a White City man,  does the hate in his heart subside?,  or does it become an ellipses,  a Bauhaus history of stories started  and left unfinished 
You Arrive at A White Checkpoint and Emerge Unscathed

Prize Entry

November 2019

Kaleem Hawa


READ NEXT

poetry

December 2011

Return After Earthquake

Jeffrey Angles

poetry

December 2011

although left for months my house is still standing here on terra firma branches broken by snow fallen into...

Interview

October 2015

Interview with Marine Hugonnier

Izabella Scott

Interview

October 2015

Like the figures found in a spread of Tarot cards, an artist can assume a variety of viewpoints and characters...

feature

May 2014

Art Does Not Know a Beyond: On Karl Ove Knausgaard

Rose McLaren

feature

May 2014

Karl Ove Knausgaard’s My Struggle has an oddly medieval form: a cycle, composed of six auto-biographical books about the...

 

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