Mailing List


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,...

i   Oyster cards were first issued to members of the British public in July 2003; by June 2015 they will have been replaced by a contactless card payment system As we grow old these rectangles of blue plastic will fade into memory; they will become historical curiosities, representing little more than a transitional phase in the history of payment systems, weekend engineering works on our noble journey from the physical to the digital, from the actual to the virtual But let’s not allow the Oyster card to disappear from public consciousness unremarked upon; let’s take some time out from our hectic schedules and look up into the dim light; let’s take stock for just a moment, gulp in the close cold air, feel the dank wind of history on our faces, and contemplate the significant role this stored-value contactless smartcard has played in our everyday lives over the last decade or so     ii   Consider an example Let’s say you’re not a Londoner You don’t live here; you’re an alien We’ll sculpt you a bit more as we go along but, to begin with, let’s just say you’re an alien in London and see how that sits You won’t, don’t worry, remain undeveloped But everything in its time For now, enjoy the not-knowing, enjoy the formlessness, the weightlessness You could become anyone Think of the possibilities, the opportunities All we know, for now, for certain, is that you are, let’s say, an alien in London   You arrived, by plane, on a one-way ticket, say, your purpose, at the moment, dark to us You think nothing, once reunited with your suitcases at London Gatwick, having trudged with them through arrivals (and after everything that happened on the flight you might have appreciated some help), of taking a taxi to your hotel in Acton An indulgence, perhaps, but you are happy to spend money at times like these You’re not rich, you’re not profligate, but money is there to be spent You can’t understand people who hoard – people who save and save and save, knowing they will die with their accumulated wealth unspent, inactive, a

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

feature

April 2017

The White Review Short Story Prize 2017 Shortlist (US & Canada)

feature

April 2017

click on the title to read the story   1,040 MPH by Alexander Slotnick   Abu One-Eye by Rav...

feature

May 2011

On the Relative Values of Humility and Arrogance; or the Confusing Complications of Negative Serendipity

Annabel Howard

feature

May 2011

On a distinctly drizzly Wednesday evening in February a friend of mine looked at me and said: ‘Only those who...

fiction

Issue No. 18

Don't Give Up the Fight

Osama Alomar

TR. C. J. Collins

fiction

Issue No. 18

  DON’T GIVE UP THE FIGHT   While cavorting in a field, the wild horse felt overjoyed to see...

 

Get our newsletter

 

* indicates required