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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,...

I Base New York September 27, 2020   War breaks out A war to wipe a country off the map A country that is not on the map to begin with   Artsakh   A name that feels a bit ours, among my Armenian friends, because we know where this unmapped place is and, although I am an odar (a ‘non-Armenian’), also a bit mine, because I have been there and it has since been in me    Two summers ago, I arrived in Armenia with a couple of fellow writers to teach at the Center for Creative Technologies in Yerevan known as TUMO (after the national poet, Hovhannes Tumanyan) We were supposed to fly home shortly after the last session of our three week-long workshop The nonfiction and poetry instructors left as planned, but I, the fiction teacher, wasn’t ready to go back to New York, where I lived I postponed my ticket for another week And then for another And another    The Caucasus enfolded me With diaspora Armenians flocking into Yerevan for the summer, my circle of friends quickly expanded, as did my understanding of Armenia and its fraught borders I learned about the existence of an adjacent state to the east: a self-proclaimed republic nestled in the mountains At every mention of its deep green forests, its waterfalls, and monasteries, the fictional country found its way into my imagination The name itself seemed to have wonder inbuilt into its utterance: two ‘ah’s culminating in an exhalation So, one morning, I went to the bus station by myself and jumped on a van headed to Artsakh      II Ascent Nagorno Karabakh July 30, 2018   ‘how are you????’   A text from a friend arrives when I am in the marshrutka, a routed passenger van, four hours and many miles away from Yerevan, as we reach what Google Maps signals as the edge of Artsakh    ‘how are you????’ carrying the implicit question: ‘where the hell are you?’    Another text arrives with an answer: ‘Welcome to Azerbaijan Calls cost $179/min, text $05 to send and $005 to receive Enjoy your trip’   My phone vibrates again, and again, and again, and again    ‘Welcome to

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

Art

Issue No. 4

The Land Art of Julie Brook

Robert Assaye

Art

Issue No. 4

Julie Brook works with the land. Over the past twenty years she has lived and worked in a succession...

poetry

September 2016

Two Poems

Sun Yung Shin

poetry

September 2016

  Autoclonography   for performance   In 1998, scientists in South Korea claimed to have successfully cloned a human...

poetry

July 2011

Comfort Station

Medbh McGuckian

poetry

July 2011

A witness has said that you raped women And brought them to the barracks to be used by the...

 

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