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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,...

To Lilia Lardone Summer was ending The air already smelled like smoke, but it still looked clear, sunny The women swept their sidewalks and burned the first dry leaves on the corners When classes began, so did the girls’ fifteenth birthday parties It hadn’t been long since I’d seen my first dead body Tolchi Pereno threw herself under the train because she was pregnant We sat at the same desk, and during geography class she burst out crying, though no one had said anything to her Blanquita Calzolari had called on Tano Buriolo to present his homework, and Tano tried to explain that thing about meridians and parallels They say that meridians are lines that divide the world into halves, Tano said, and Blanquita Calzolari agreed   They say that the two halves are equal and the dividing line is a very fine line, so fine that you can’t see it, Tano said, and Blanquita Calzolari agreed They say that the parallels are the same lines, but in reverse They say that if you change hemispheres and you pass over a meridian or parallel, it sends shivers down your back Blanquita Calzolari lifted her gaze, her eyes suddenly alert   Who says that? she asked   Tano Buriolo retorted immediately, The wise say so   No, that’s wrong, Blanquita Calzolari declared Return to your seat Then Tolchi Pereno burst out crying Blanquita looked at her and asked what happened   Nothing happened, Tolchi said I’m having a nervous attack, that’s all, she said, and started to scream and took my hand, which was next to hers, and rested my hand on her chest   Feel this, feel this, she said Feel how my nerves are turning over inside   I noticed the edge of her bra under her knit sweater and something like termites over Tolchi’s heart I blushed   Go drink a glass of water and come back, Blanquita Calzolari said   Tolchi let my hand go and kept hiccupping in silence, sitting on her bench We looked at her She got up and left and returned after a while with red eyes and a swollen face Early that evening, she threw herself under

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


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Interview

January 2013

Interview with Kalle Lasn

Huw Lemmey

Interview

January 2013

Reinventing a political culture is a difficult task to set oneself; political aesthetics develop alongside political movements, and tracing...

Prize Entry

April 2016

Oh Whistle and

Uschi Gatward

Prize Entry

April 2016

God has very particular political opinions – John le Carré     M is whizzing round the Cheltenham Waitrose,...

Prize Entry

April 2017

Hangnails, and Other Diseases

Giada Scodellaro

Prize Entry

April 2017

Benson’s Syndrome   Grapefruit. I have lost the word for it. Popillo? Popello? No, no. It escapes her, the...

 

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