How will I go on living
with orchestras that conduct my thirst?
It’s been done before.
There are precedents, always will be,
and there will be Gaza after the dark times.
There will be gauze. And we will stand
indicted for not standing against the word
and our studies of the word
that dissect what ceases to be water.– from “[. . .]” p. 16
When we talk about a literary work being timely, it often means that a piece from the past holds a new relevance in our current world. [. . .], Fady Joudah’s sixth poetry collection, is not simply timely in that sense, it is of this exact moment as it is occurring. Most of the poems here were written between October and December of 2023, during the first three months of Israel’s war against the Palestinians in Gaza. The grief, the anger, and the defiance is palpable. But so is faith in the persistence of love. And, in keeping with the explicitly wordless title of this volume, more than half of the poems share the same title—[. . .]—an expression, as Joudah indicates in an interview with Boris Dralyuk in The New Inquiry, of silence, silencing, and an invitation to listen “in silence to the Palestinian in their silence.”
Joudah is a Palestinian American poet, translator, and physician who lives in Houston, Texas. He draws on all of the facets of his identity, personal and professional, in his poetry, but from the earliest days of the current assault in Gaza he has also been called upon by certain American media outlets to provide the “Palestinian perspective,” even as many of his own family were being killed. Now that this new collection has been released, he continues to respond to interview requests, but the focus has shifted (and if not, he changes the venue). One senses that it is important that he continually protect his very human ordinariness from a culture that wants “to hear and read me only as a voice in the aftermath of disaster and as a wound at that, not much more.” (Yale Review)
The poems in [. . .], composed, for the most part, during a condensed period of great political and emotional distress, carry an urgency that commands attention. Palestinians have long responded to the ongoing attacks and displacement they’ve endured for the past seventy-five years through poetry and prose, with the recurrence of the same images, themes and situations affecting a sort of echoing tradition. A piece written decades ago, feels like it was written yesterday. But over the last six months, as we’ve witnessed the intentional destruction of universities and libraries, and the targeted killing of potential record keepers—poets and journalists. Joudah’s response, to this intensified attempt at erasure is, like that of his contemporaries, to keep talking about what is happening, as it is happening.
When did the new war begin?
Whoever gets to write it most
Gets to erase it best.The new war has been coming for a long time.
The old war has been going for a long time.Coming to a body near me, and going on in my body.
– from “I Seem As If I Am: Ten Maqams, # 6”
Is it possible, then, to effectively answer genocide? The International Courts and a steady stream of horrifying images delivered straight to our phones do not seem to be making a significant difference. It seems that any formal declaration will only be made, as we’ve seen too many times before, long after the fact. But that is no reason to stop writing—and not just to document, but to be able to acknowledge the small moments of truth and beauty that keep hope alive:
In Gaza, a girl and her brother
rescued their fish
from the rubble of airstrikes. A miracleits tiny bowl
didn’t shatter.– from “[. . .]” p. 33
A review, especially of an important collection like this one, can only go so far. Joudah offers very interesting insights into his work that are worth seeking out. I have linked two interviews above, but others can be found, including a free online event as part of the Transnational Literature Series that I’m looking forward to on April 11, 2024.
[. . .] by Fady Joudah is published by Milkweed Editions.
roughghosts 
I’ve heard so many interviews in the past few months, with Palestinians and Jews, about this conflict, and it feels like you can hear the distinct shift in tone as time has passed. I cannot imagine just how devastatingly weary one must be, trying to speak out for those who cannot speak themselves even while struggling with the sense of futility, many weeks and now several months later. That event is something to look forward to indeed; I’ve subbed to their channel and newsletter, too, because it seems like they work hard to showcase a variety of writers and poets and thinkers on a regular basis. Thanks for that.
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One benefit of the pandemic is that there is more access to online literary events, no matter where you live. I hope it stays that way.
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