Banipal is an English language Arabic journal with a glossy colour cover and 160 internal pages packed with fiction, poetry, articles, and interviews. The poetry is stunning at times, and the prose is lively, down to earth, accessible, and engrossing.
Each issue of Banipal contains features on particular writers. These articles are hugely informative and help to set writers in the context of their individual cultures, while detailing their own personal struggles as artists and individuals. This is particularly true of Syrian poet Saniya Salih who lived in the shadow of her more famous poet husband. She died in 1995 from cancer, leaving behind two poetry collections – ‘A Time of Oppression’ (1964) and ‘Ink of Execution’ (1970) - plus numerous unfinished poems. In his introductory essay, Abed Ismael describes her work as being closest to the Expressionists. Her poetry is personal, whether she’s writing about a “yellow fragile leaf”or identifying herself with the ancient queen of Palmyra, Zanobia. I would have loved to quote the short poem ‘An Autumn Leaf’ in its entirety, but I’ve decided instead on the opening lines of ‘Insomnia’: “From the edge of the balconies, I touch the fleeting world / which snatches you away, and departs, leaving the bitter time of separation behind. / And with night comes a beautiful, meek time, / a night that awakens the night within me, / a night that carries a thousand nights, / it is you - / love and the dream.”
Omani poet Saif al-Rahbi is the other featured writer, and there are a number of articles about him, including a particularly interesting interview. There’s also plenty of his poetry, beginning with the deceptively simple ‘Morning’ which, although short, bursts with imagery. ‘Letter’ is another favourite of mine. ‘Distant Waters’ contains the following striking lines: “Dynasties crossing the desert / all drowned in quicksand”. In ‘Museum of Shadows’, the poem opens with: “White birds cross wide rivers / on nights more lonesome than widows of war.”
Banipal 23 includes other poets such as Palestinian, Mahmoud Darwish and Abdelwahab Meddeb from Tunisia whose poetry sequence ‘Auschwitz’ was written “in that place of horror” in May 2003. Mowaffk al-Sawad’s poem ‘Ashes’ is one of my favourites from the magazine, but his ‘A Script for a Tiny Dream’ is no less remarkable, and his ‘I am the Transient, it is the City’ is also worth reading. Thani al-Suweidi is represented by six shorter poems, and eleven of Suleman Taufiq’s poems have been translated from the German. Abed Ismael has three poems from his recent collection. I particularly liked ‘A School Hobby’ and ‘Against Romanticism’.
The fiction contents of Banipal 23 are every bit as good as the poetry. ‘My husband is a Bus Driver’ is by the young prize-winning Palestinian writer Ala’ Hlehel. A woman looks back on life with her husband. Before they got married, she thought they would travel together on his bus, but he travels alone, leaving her to clean the vehicle when he returns. Although her sister makes a reference to the pleasures of the long back seat of the bus, the narrator never knows sexual pleasure in her marriage. As she gets older, she manages small acts of revenge and defiance, until the last and ultimate act that is the story’s conclusion. ‘My husband is a Bus Driver’ is an immensely readable story and Ala’ Hlehel handles the woman’s plight with a deft and sympathetic touch.
Iraqi writer Duna Ghali’s short story ‘Sip’ has an intimate close-up quality and follows the narrator and her lover in a tense meeting and discussion. Though this particular story is quite short, it has a quiet intensity, and I was left wanting to read more of Duna Ghali’s fiction.
Hamid al-Iqabi’s ‘The Banjo Player’ is also one of the shorter works, but no less interesting for that. The unexpected suicide of the title character sets this story in motion. Meanwhile, Abu-Youssef Taha in his short story ‘Black Lilies’ delves into the dangerous and impoverished lives of street children. Nadiah Alkokabany moves into even more harrowing territory in her story ‘Fireworks to Celebrate a Deflowering’. A nine year old girl is raped for the sake of family honour. Nadiah Alkokabany’s narrative is utterly uncompromising and pulls no punches.
One of my favourite stories has to be Haggag Hassan Oddoul’s ‘Nights of Musk’, an earthy, sensual and vivid work, with memorable characters and great flashes of humour. I particularly liked the narrative voice and the flashbacks to the burgeoning relationship between the two main characters. Two chapters from Abdellatif Laâbi’s novel, ‘The Bottom of The Jar’ appear in the magazine. Ghita, the narrator’s mother, is trying to find a wife for an older son. Ghita’s methods are devious and hilarious. She starts her search among the family, but these cousins all have fatal flaws, from big hands to small breasts. A third cousin rides a moped which, with all the rubbing against the moped seat, probably indicates she is no longer a virgin and “even if the irreparable had not occurred, her poor pussy was probably tough as leather.” Thus another candidate is dismissed. A potential bride is found outside the family, but Ghita wants to check this girl out. She has tricks to ascertain the suitability of the girl. One involves throwing a scarf suddenly at her prospective daughter-in-law. The girl reacts quickly, catching it between her thighs “with the dexterity of a soccer goalie.” This is a sign to Ghita. If the girl had opened her legs to catch the scarf, it would have indicated loose morals, as it is, she obviously knows how to defend her honour.
Ghita is a wonderful creation, and if these two chapters of Abdellatif Laâbi’s novel are anything to go by, ‘The Bottom of The Jar’ (published in French as ‘Le Fond de la Jarre’) should be a thoroughly entertaining read.
There’s also an excerpt from the Lebanese writer Jad el-Hage’s novel ‘The Myrtle Bush’ which has a very different atmosphere. During a family drive, the narrator’s young daughter is delighted at the sight of a female lorry driver, but later her father sees a car holding up traffic. On closer inspection, he realises the car is dragging a corpse behind on the road, quite deliberately. On the car radio earlier, there were already signs of approaching civil war. But the sight of the corpse chills the narrator and he hides the sight from his young daughter. This excerpt is one of the most memorable prose pieces in Banipal 23, and lingers in the mind long after reading.
The non-fiction contents of Banipal are equally engaging. Lebanese journalist and poet Joumana Haddad gives an engrossing account of her interviews with Umberto Eco, Paul Auster, Peter Handke, Paul Coelho and other literary luminaries. Iraqi poet and novelist Fadhil al-Azzawi looks back on his literary influences. Samuel Shimon interviews Peter Ripken, who promotes Arab, African, Asian and Latin American literature, while Shimon’s article, ‘Steppenwolf goes to San Francisco’ describes a journey across the United States. There are also reviews of books and events, and an obituary of intellectual Hisham Sharabi who championed the Palestinian cause and the rights of women in the Arab world.
I’ve come across a lot of literary magazines in my time and Banipal is without question one of the best I’ve ever seen. The quality of the writing is consistently high and I found the magazine impossible to put down once I started reading it. Banipal is not just for people who already have an interest in modern Arab literature, it can be enjoyed by anyone who loves great poetry and prose. Opening its pages is the start of a great literary adventure. I can’t wait to read the next issue.
© Kara Kellar Bell
Reproduced with permission
Kara Kellar Bell |
