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    Take Note of the Sun Shining Within Twilight – Four Poems by Natalia Beltchenko

    Take Note of the Sun Shining Within Twilight – Four Poems by Natalia Beltchenko

    This Is Not A Feminist Poem – Wana Udobang (a.k.a. Wana Wana)

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    The Bitter Bulbs of Trees Growing by the Roadsides of History – Three Poems by Iya Kiva

    What Was Heart Is Now A Scorched Branch – Three Poems by Elina Sventsytska

    Take Note of the Sun Shining Within Twilight – Four Poems by Natalia Beltchenko

    Water: The Longest Tunnel Where the Color Blue Is Born — Four Poems by SHANKAR LAHIRI

    Message to Forough Farrokhzad and other poems – Samira Albouzedi

  • Fiction
    Take Note of the Sun Shining Within Twilight – Four Poems by Natalia Beltchenko

    BOW / BHUK – Parimal Bhattacharya

    Take Note of the Sun Shining Within Twilight – Four Poems by Natalia Beltchenko

    A Very Different Story (Part II)- Nandini Sahu

    Take Note of the Sun Shining Within Twilight – Four Poems by Natalia Beltchenko

    The Aunt: An Exhilarating Story by Francesca Gargallo

    THE PROGENITOR – Zakir Talukder (trans. from Bengali by Masrufa Ayesha Nusrat)

    Stalks of Lotus – Indrani Datta

    Love in Africa and the Variety of its Declinations:  Short-story Tasting from Disco Matanga by Alex Nderitu

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    Hunting for images in Guatemala City: Alvaro Sánchez interviewed by Pina Piccolo

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  • Non Fiction
    Menstruation in Fiction: The Authorial Gaze – Farah Ahamed

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    Aadya Shakti, or Primal Energy – Lyla Freechild

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    Take Note of the Sun Shining Within Twilight – Four Poems by Natalia Beltchenko

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    The mushroom at the end of the world. Camilla Boemio interviews Silia Ka Tung

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    The Excruciating Beauty of Ukrainian Bravery: Camilla Boemio Interviews Zarina Zabrisky on Her Photography Series

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    Everything Moves and Everything Is About Relationships. Susan Aberg Interviews Painter Louise Victor

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    Reportage of War and Emotions, the Tour of Three Ukrainian Poets in Italy

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    Videos from worldwide readings in support of Ukrainian writers, September 7, 2022 – Zoom Readings Italy

    Reportage of War and Emotions, the Tour of Three Ukrainian Poets in Italy

    From Euromaidan: Three Ukrainian poets to spoil Westsplaining fest in Italy – Zarina Zabrisky

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    Materials from Worldwide Readings in Solidarity with Salman Rushdie – Bologna Event

    Materials from Worldwide Readings in Solidarity with Salman Rushdie – Bologna Event

    The Shipwreck Saga – Lynne Knight

    Phoenix: Part I – YIN Xiaoyuan

    Surrender to Our Explosive Democracy – Five Poems by Serena Piccoli from “gulp/gasp” (Moria Poetry 2022)

    Take Note of the Sun Shining Within Twilight – Four Poems by Natalia Beltchenko

    Me and French, or What I Did During the Pandemic (Moi et le français, ou Ce que j’ai fais pendant la pandémie) – Carolyn Miller

    Becoming-animal as a Mirror – Ten Animals from Gabriele Galloni’s Bestiary

  • News
    HAIR IN THE WIND – Calling on poets to join international project in solidarity with the women of Iran

    HAIR IN THE WIND – Calling on poets to join international project in solidarity with the women of Iran

    THE DREAMING MACHINE ISSUE N. 11 WILL BE OUT ON DEC. 10

    THE DREAMING MACHINE ISSUE N. 11 WILL BE OUT ON DEC. 10

    RUCKSACK – GLOBAL POETRY PATCHWORK PROJECT

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    REFUGEE TALES July 3-5:  Register for a Walk In Solidarity with Refugees, Asylum Seekers and Detainees

    REFUGEE TALES July 3-5: Register for a Walk In Solidarity with Refugees, Asylum Seekers and Detainees

    IL BIANCO E IL NERO – LE PAROLE PER DIRLO, Conference Milan Sept. 7

    IL BIANCO E IL NERO – LE PAROLE PER DIRLO, Conference Milan Sept. 7

    OPEN POEM TO THE CURATORS OF THE 58th VENICE BIENNALE  FROM THE GHOSTS OF THAT RELIC YOU SHOULD NOT DARE CALL “OUR BOAT” (Pina Piccolo)

    OPEN POEM TO THE CURATORS OF THE 58th VENICE BIENNALE FROM THE GHOSTS OF THAT RELIC YOU SHOULD NOT DARE CALL “OUR BOAT” (Pina Piccolo)

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  • Poetry
    Take Note of the Sun Shining Within Twilight – Four Poems by Natalia Beltchenko

    Take Note of the Sun Shining Within Twilight – Four Poems by Natalia Beltchenko

    This Is Not A Feminist Poem – Wana Udobang (a.k.a. Wana Wana)

    from AFROWOMEN POETRY – Three Poets from Tanzania: Langa Sarakikya, Gladness Mayenga, Miriam Lucas

    The Bitter Bulbs of Trees Growing by the Roadsides of History – Three Poems by Iya Kiva

    The Bitter Bulbs of Trees Growing by the Roadsides of History – Three Poems by Iya Kiva

    What Was Heart Is Now A Scorched Branch – Three Poems by Elina Sventsytska

    Take Note of the Sun Shining Within Twilight – Four Poems by Natalia Beltchenko

    Water: The Longest Tunnel Where the Color Blue Is Born — Four Poems by SHANKAR LAHIRI

    Message to Forough Farrokhzad and other poems – Samira Albouzedi

  • Fiction
    Take Note of the Sun Shining Within Twilight – Four Poems by Natalia Beltchenko

    BOW / BHUK – Parimal Bhattacharya

    Take Note of the Sun Shining Within Twilight – Four Poems by Natalia Beltchenko

    A Very Different Story (Part II)- Nandini Sahu

    Take Note of the Sun Shining Within Twilight – Four Poems by Natalia Beltchenko

    The Aunt: An Exhilarating Story by Francesca Gargallo

    THE PROGENITOR – Zakir Talukder (trans. from Bengali by Masrufa Ayesha Nusrat)

    Stalks of Lotus – Indrani Datta

    Love in Africa and the Variety of its Declinations:  Short-story Tasting from Disco Matanga by Alex Nderitu

    Love in Africa and the Variety of its Declinations: Short-story Tasting from Disco Matanga by Alex Nderitu

    FLORAL PRINT FLAT SHOES – Lucia Cupertino

    FLORAL PRINT FLAT SHOES – Lucia Cupertino

    Hunting for images in Guatemala City: Alvaro Sánchez interviewed by Pina Piccolo

    The Red Bananas – N. Annadurai

    Hunting for images in Guatemala City: Alvaro Sánchez interviewed by Pina Piccolo

    THE CULPRIT – Gourahari Das

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    Menstruation in Fiction: The Authorial Gaze – Farah Ahamed

    Menstruation in Fiction: The Authorial Gaze – Farah Ahamed

    Aadya Shakti, or Primal Energy – Lyla Freechild

    Aadya Shakti, or Primal Energy – Lyla Freechild

    Take Note of the Sun Shining Within Twilight – Four Poems by Natalia Beltchenko

    THE TIME HAS COME – Gaius Tsaamo

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    THE AMAZONS OF THE APOCALYPSE from “Ikonoklast – Oksana Šačko’: arte e rivoluzione” – Massimo Ceresa

    Plowing the publishing world  – Tribute to Brazilian writer Itamar Vieira, by Loretta Emiri

    Plowing the publishing world – Tribute to Brazilian writer Itamar Vieira, by Loretta Emiri

    Jaider Esbell – Specialist in Provocations, by Loretta Emiri

    Jaider Esbell – Specialist in Provocations, by Loretta Emiri

  • Interviews & reviews
    The mushroom at the end of the world. Camilla Boemio interviews Silia Ka Tung

    The mushroom at the end of the world. Camilla Boemio interviews Silia Ka Tung

    The Excruciating Beauty of Ukrainian Bravery: Camilla Boemio Interviews Zarina Zabrisky on Her Photography Series

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    Reportage of War and Emotions, the Tour of Three Ukrainian Poets in Italy

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    Videos from worldwide readings in support of Ukrainian writers, September 7, 2022 – Zoom Readings Italy

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    Take Note of the Sun Shining Within Twilight – Four Poems by Natalia Beltchenko

    THE MATERICIST MANIFESTO by AVANGUARDIE VERDI

    Artwork by Mubeen Kishany – Contamination and Distancing

    Glory to the Heroes! Poems by Volodymyr Tymchuk

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    Materials from Worldwide Readings in Solidarity with Salman Rushdie – Bologna Event

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    The Shipwreck Saga – Lynne Knight

    Phoenix: Part I – YIN Xiaoyuan

    Surrender to Our Explosive Democracy – Five Poems by Serena Piccoli from “gulp/gasp” (Moria Poetry 2022)

    Take Note of the Sun Shining Within Twilight – Four Poems by Natalia Beltchenko

    Me and French, or What I Did During the Pandemic (Moi et le français, ou Ce que j’ai fais pendant la pandémie) – Carolyn Miller

    Becoming-animal as a Mirror – Ten Animals from Gabriele Galloni’s Bestiary

  • News
    HAIR IN THE WIND – Calling on poets to join international project in solidarity with the women of Iran

    HAIR IN THE WIND – Calling on poets to join international project in solidarity with the women of Iran

    THE DREAMING MACHINE ISSUE N. 11 WILL BE OUT ON DEC. 10

    THE DREAMING MACHINE ISSUE N. 11 WILL BE OUT ON DEC. 10

    RUCKSACK – GLOBAL POETRY PATCHWORK PROJECT

    RUCKSACK – GLOBAL POETRY PATCHWORK PROJECT

    REFUGEE TALES July 3-5:  Register for a Walk In Solidarity with Refugees, Asylum Seekers and Detainees

    REFUGEE TALES July 3-5: Register for a Walk In Solidarity with Refugees, Asylum Seekers and Detainees

    IL BIANCO E IL NERO – LE PAROLE PER DIRLO, Conference Milan Sept. 7

    IL BIANCO E IL NERO – LE PAROLE PER DIRLO, Conference Milan Sept. 7

    OPEN POEM TO THE CURATORS OF THE 58th VENICE BIENNALE  FROM THE GHOSTS OF THAT RELIC YOU SHOULD NOT DARE CALL “OUR BOAT” (Pina Piccolo)

    OPEN POEM TO THE CURATORS OF THE 58th VENICE BIENNALE FROM THE GHOSTS OF THAT RELIC YOU SHOULD NOT DARE CALL “OUR BOAT” (Pina Piccolo)

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Home Non Fiction

Layers of overlap: theatre, cinema, memory, imagination – Farah Ahamed

Cover artwork by Mihaela Suman

November 30, 2021
in Non Fiction, The dreaming machine n 9
Lino-printing fairy tales over Constitutions- The artwork of Mihaela Šuman

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While watching a play at the theatre, our faces are a paradox. They are private and yet public. We are in the company of others in the auditorium, but once we start watching, we are alone. We drop our masks. Our faces are unguarded, not like when we’re in a café or on a bus, when we are aware of those around us. For some, as the play progresses, they become more immersed and unselfconscious. But for others, the opposite happens. They may lose interest, or feel uncomfortable. They might choose to avoid confronting what’s on the stage and resort to texting on their phone, or playing with their partner’s hand, or simply closing their eyes and blocking it all. Still others may fidget, waiting for a lull so they can leave the auditorium with minimal disturbance. There are as many responses to a play as there are people in the audience, and their reactions may be as interesting as the play itself.

I watched ‘Lights Out,’ in Lahore about two years ago. At the start of the play, the organisers said, ‘Please be warned, there are trigger alerts.’ I suppose nowadays we expect to be forewarned, we don’t like to be taken off-guard by anything. We expect to be asked for   permission, cautioned if we’re going to be negatively affected. But isn’t that the purpose of art? To allow ourselves an experience which could trigger a memory, moment of self-realisation, expand our imagination or conscience?

Written in 2000, by the Indian feminist playwright, Manjula Padmanabhan, ‘Lights Out,’ is written in one act, with six characters. Set in a middle class drawing room, of a sixth floor apartment in Mumbai, where Leela and Bhaskar live, the play is about the cause of heart-breaking screams which the couple keeps hearing and what should be done about them. First thing in the morning, at noon, at tea time, whenever the doorbell rings and after dark, we can hear the blood-chilling screams of a women. They frighten Leela, and she insists a woman is being tortured and they ought to help, and call the police. But Bhaskar says he is ‘not disturbed by them.’ The screams and cries continue and Leela grows increasingly more paranoid, closing the curtains, and stuffing her ears with cotton wool. She says,

‘We’re part of…of what happens outside….by watching it, we’re making ourselves responsible.’

Leela begs Bhaskar to call the police, but Bhaskar says it’s a waste of time, and doesn’t want to get involved. When she asks why, he says, ‘I am reluctant to stick my neck out, that’s all,’ and the police too, could tell them it was, ‘none of their business, what goes on next door.’ He tells Leela to calm down, which upsets her even more, but she tries saying ‘Om’ and meditating. However, nothing helps, because all the while the screams continue.

The audience is left to imagine what must be happening to the woman. Her cries conjure up images of all the kinds of horrible things that could be happening and because she remains off-stage, it is all the more unnerving. So much went through my mind as I sat there trying to absorb it all, but I was distracted by the people in row behind me. I could hear them fidgeting, and arguing in whispers about leaving. There was the sound of someone playing with their phone and finally two people got up and left. The play had only just started, but it was obviously too overwhelming for them. Is it that easy to walk away from situations that make us uncomfortable?

I was taken back to when I was eighteen. I was studying in Canada, at the UBC and living at halls of residence on campus. During the first week, the warden warned us to take precautions when walking back from the library or pub at night; the campus had proper security lights, guards patrolling the grounds and cameras, but it was best to be careful and not wander around on one’s own. That fall, Vancouver was having an Indian summer and I left my window open. Late one night, when I was reading in bed, I heard noises. My window overlooked a garden with bushes of flowers. I went to the window; it was pitch dark and I could see nothing. Then I heard scuffling coming from the clump of trees and a girl began screaming. Her cries quickly turned to shouts for help. My heart pounding, I opened the window wider and shouted, ‘Who’s there? What’s going on?’ Suddenly everything became quiet. I waited, staring out into the night.

In the play, the couple gets two visitors. The first is Mohan, Bhaskar’s friend who expresses his wish to ‘not to get involved, but just be close enough to see everything clearly.’ He says he gets a voyeuristic pleasure, from watching a crime and defends himself saying; ‘…when there’s an accident in the street, don’t we all turn to look?’ After all, he says, ‘what’s the harm is simply watching?’ Bhaskar agrees. As the screams become increasingly more terrifying and the woman shouts for help, Mohan and Bhaskar continue their debate over dinner. Was it a domestic brawl, a religious rite, an orgy, a type of exhibitionism? Was it, ‘a prostitute who deserved it?’ Or was it the poor, uncivilised, lower class neighbours who ‘typically behaved like this,’ because violence was a normal part of their everyday lives? The cold discussion continues and Mohan concludes, ‘So long as it is the poor attacking the poor,’ they didn’t need to get involved, after all ‘it is not our problem.’ What was happening was something, ‘private,’ and ‘outsiders can never really be the judge of what’s going on.’

Back in halls, after my shouts were met with silence, I rushed to my neighbour’s room and banged on her door to wake her up. I told her about the screams, and that I was calling the police. She said she hadn’t heard anything. She went to her window and looked out. There was nothing, no one in sight, she said. Maybe I had imagined it, she said. No, I was sure, I said. A girl was in trouble. Those were the days before mobile phones and we all shared one phone in the TV room. I quickly dialled campus security and told them what I’d heard. I remember becoming quite hysterical as I asked them to come as quickly as they could. But in the end, after asking me a dozen questions, they did nothing. They said it appeared I was the only one who’d heard the screams, no one else had reported any disturbance around the building, so they weren’t going to investigate it. They often received hoax calls, from students, so unless two or more people complained, they didn’t bother. I hung up, crying.

In the play, the screams continue and Leela is beside herself. Then her friend Naina, the second visitor appears. She is confident and while all this time Bhaskar has stopped Leela looking out of the window, Naina insists on seeing for herself where the screams are coming from. She goes to the window, looks out, and says she can see, ‘a woman being…’ but she stops short of saying the word. There is a silence until Mohan says, ‘You must have seen a lot of rape to recognise it,’ to which Naina retorts, ‘Three men, holding down one woman, with her legs pulled apart …What would you call that —a poetry reading?’

Bhaskar and Mohan pull Naina into a discussion on rape, insisting that the victim could be a whore. Mohan says, ‘You see, if she were a decent woman, we people would go to her rescue! … She is not, and so she’s being left to her fate!’ Naina, who initially offers hope, reassurance to Leela and a possible intervention for the victim, too, however, ends up intellectualising the incident and Mohan comments on how the media would love the news were they to sell it- he sees an advantage at last to getting involved. ‘Hey, come on! Any newspaper! Pictures like these, even the foreign press would snap them up—-I’m telling you, we’d make a lot of money— after all, how often does anyone see authentic pictures of a gang-rape in action?’ By the end of ‘Lights Out,’ the screams have stopped and Leela has a mental breakdown.

Back on campus, I never heard anything about the incident, again. There was nothing in the UBC newspaper, there was no mention of the screams by anyone else and my neighbour convinced me not to ask or talk about it. It was better I didn’t get involved, she said. Wasn’t it better to forget about it and enjoy campus life? I should have done something more, I said. A girl was being raped. Calm down my neighbour said, you have no idea who she was. She could have been having fun. How do you know it was rape? It’s only your first month on campus and you still have four whole years to go, why do you want to get dragged into a situation where you could be called as a witness to a crime? I tried to push the whole thing to the back of my mind and forget it. But when I walked around campus I wondered, who was she? What could I have done? Should I have gone down to look for her in the garden? Should I have insisted the police come? Should I have dragged my neighbour down to the garden with me? I know I didn’t imagine the screams.

Now, thinking back to the experience of watching ‘Lights Out,’ and how I got lost in my memories, I wonder, what did my face give away and what emotions did it mask? In ‘Reflections on Theatre,’ (1993) K Madavane explores ‘the peculiarity of theatre,’ which he describes as a ‘vaporous creation,’ because, he argues, ‘it seeks nothing more than to leave an indelible impression on the memory of the spectator.’ But is this reflected on the spectator’s face?

In ‘Shirin,’ an Iranian film directed by arthouse master Abbas Kiarostami explores the reactions of an audience watching a film. We are an audience watching an audience, similar to Hamlet, watching a play within a play. The women on the screen are professional actors, this is not a documentary, they have poise and verve, and they are acting a part. What do we see? Women in a crowded, dark theatre, watching a film. They are all wearing headscarves, and have deep almond-shaped eyes and luminous skin. Shirin is based on a 12th Century poem about Shirin, Queen of Armenia, a Persian king and a humble sculptor. But we never see the film. We only see it reflected through the eyes of the women watching it. We hear the Farsi dialogue, Iranian music, sounds of horses neighing, and battle cries. And we are given a succession of female faces, entirely in close-up one after another, intently watching the film.  The camera frames each woman for about 30-50 seconds before cutting to another, sometimes we see two other women in the seats behind, occasionally there is a male viewer. We notice some movements; an elegant hand scratches a chin, adjusts a hijab, brushes away a tear. Some women wear ornate jewellery- bracelets and earrings, and others have varnished nails. But what is most striking is when there is a show of emotion- when tears start to roll down a face. Then we are curious- what made her cry? What memory did it trigger? What did it spark in her imagination? And we wonder was is ‘Shirin’ the film itself, about? A long gaze on female physiognomy, a study in the art of watching, a meditation on the cinema experience, on drama and catharsis, on female empathy or a scrutiny of reaction shots? Or all these?

In an interview Kiarostami explained that most of the women were well-known Iranian actresses and he filmed them in his home, without showing them the film. It was all a contrivance he said, they were acting, those were not real emotions. The actors were self-conscious. Kiarostami turns the cinematic experience on its head. Would the expressions have been different if the actors had been ordinary people watching the film? And how would the reactions have been different if the actors had been watching the film without the self-consciousness of knowing they were being filmed? For myself, I was glad that the auditorium in ‘Lights Out,’ had been dark, that no one saw my face, and the experience remained intensely personal.

In the same essay mentioned above, K Madavane explains how:

‘…theatre overlaps itself into memory. Its poetry stretches into the silence of the spectator’s recollections… we try to seize it, and believe that we can hold on to it forever. But it disappears from us like water slipping through our fingers…Theatre belongs entirely to the realm of memory, nothing but memory with its immense powers to forget and interpret.’

I suppose you could say every theatre viewing performance comes with an implicit warning: be careful, you might just find yourself looking into your past at yourself, and you may not like what you see.

 

Farah Ahamed’s short stories and essays have been published in The White Review, Ploughshares, The Mechanics’ Institute Review, The Massachusetts Review amongst others. 

You can read more of her work here: farahahamed.com

 

Tags: audiencecinemadomestic violenceFarah AhamedimaginationLights OutManjula Padmanabhanmemoryrapereceptionresponsibilitytheater

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HAIR IN THE WIND – Calling on poets to join international project in solidarity with the women of Iran

by Dreaming Machine
2 months ago
0

HAIR IN THE WIND we  invite all poets from all countries to be part of the artistic-poetic performance HAIR IN...

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