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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,...

The peculiar thing was that Astrid appeared exactly as she did on screen She was neither taller nor shorter Her smile had the same stretched quality, as if it had been worn thin from overuse She seemed less like a star and more like one of her movie roles, a beautiful but otherwise normal woman who swore in traffic and ate takeout in bed Jenny tried to imagine how she would describe this moment to her brother The house was large and the drive was gated The leaves of the terracotta-potted ficus trees looked glossier and more recently watered than the ones outside Jenny’s own small house But the light that hit Astrid’s face was no spotlight The same sun was jerking sweat from Jenny’s forehead   ‘Jenny Narahashi, the Japanese tutor,’ Jenny said Strictly speaking, Jenny was not a tutor — she was a translator The fee was generous, but that wasn’t why Jenny was here She was doing this for her brother Franklin had been the sort of movie geek who, unprompted, informed strangers that to shoot Barry Lyndon, Kubrick used the low light lenses NASA designed for the dark side of the moon   What would he make of the soft pucker of Astrid’s eyebrows as she peered at Jenny? There was something disorientating about being so close to someone famous It was disorienting Jenny needed a moment to make sure that Astrid was not recoiling but stepping back to let Jenny inside   The kitchen, like its owner, was almost too normal A stained mug loitered in the sink The fridge was magnet-poxed The countertops were marble; but whether it was Egyptian, French or Tunisian, Jenny couldn’t tell   The boy sat on a barstool at the kitchen island He had a child’s slouch and a leading man’s designer sunglasses balancing on styled hair So this was her prospective tutee, drinking Italian mineral water The glass bottle dripped green light onto the white counter-top   ‘Marlow, Jenny,’ said Astrid ‘Jenny, Marlow’ Jenny supposed movie stars didn’t have to ask to use your first name ‘The Japanese tutor, the one who translates Dinowhatever’ Astrid paused  The kid rolled

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

Prize Entry

April 2017

Two Adventures

Ari Braverman

Prize Entry

April 2017

I. A Cosmopolitan Avenue   …where a girl pretends the whole city is dead. She is too old for...

poetry

May 2013

Ad Tertiam

Saskia Hamilton

poetry

May 2013

Rows of pines, planted years ago – so many, were you to count them on your fingers, you would...

fiction

January 2014

The Black Lake

Hella S. Haasse

TR. Ina Rilke

fiction

January 2014

Oeroeg was my friend. When I think back on my childhood and adolescence, an image of Oeroeg invariably rises...

 

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