Nasser Rabah

Sep 16, 2024 | arablit.org | Karima Ahdad |Nasser Rabah

Lit Lists, News Azza Abdulnawar, Karima Ahdad, Nasser Rabah ArabLit and Komet Kashakeel announce the winners of the inaugural Arabic Flash Fiction Prize.

Apr 17, 2024 | wordswithoutborders.org | Nasser Rabah |Souad Labbize |Olivia Elias |Alexander Aguayo

Palestinian writer Nasser Rabah pens a poem of longing, retreat, and stolen dreams. They leave without turning the moon of longing off behind them,without shutting the door overlooking the dew of the steps they’d taken,they don’t drink water to know how to return to water, they headtowards an evening leaning its face against the hand of absence, lucidabout the business of leaving, and overcome by tears. They arestatues of flesh and blood, frowning, smiling . . .

Apr 17, 2024 | wordswithoutborders.org | Nasser Rabah

Emna Zghal is a visual artist with a strong interest in poetry. Aside from her paintings and woodcuts, she has published three artist’s books. Reviews of her exhibits appeared in the pages of New Yorker, New York Times, and Artforum, among other publications. Her work is held in collections at Yale University Library, the New York Public Library, The Africa Center, and the Schomburg Center for Research in Black Culture.

Mar 18, 2024 | newyorker.com | Nasser Rabah

And a day goes by, and tanks, and the sky a festival of kids flying kites, and blood flowed behind a panting car. And a day goes by, and the planes, and the tent of the displaced makes a bet with time: winter is late. And a day goes by, and the snipers, and the market itself has no salt: so I said: No worries, the merchants have plenty of sadness.

Jan 23, 2024 | wordswithoutborders.org | Omar Ziyadeh |Olivia Elias |Nasser Rabah |Alexander Aguayo

In this excerpt from a longer poem of the same name, Omar Ziyadeh writes a searing elegy of these times from Palestine. Omar Ziyadeh reads from "Nobody Can Identify Their Own Remains" in the original Arabic (1)Sitting in front of the screen, my thoughts resemble a bombed hospital. Someone is digging,they dig inside of me endlessly for the last grave. Where is the ultimate resting place, the last grave of all happenings?