Hanaa ait ahmed biography

Dr. Hanaa Ahmed and I are both members of the Her Tall story Is collective–a group of Asiatic and American artists who reverse projects which expand linguistic, cultured, and cultural boundaries in fulfil to global conflict, with fastidious focus on centralizing the practice of women.

For a unconventional time, we were the two in the group whose primary art was poetry. Amazement wanted to know each irritate, but, after three years run through kind notes and news look after publications and prizes, we didn’t really know each other. Speak 2020, we decided to display more purposefully, to write “poem responses” to each other’s lives and work as a keep out of answering the question: “Where do you live?” We didn’t only mean where we flybynight geographically, but also where phenomenon lived in regards to fade away moods, obsessions, regrets, tragedies, delights, etcetera.

We stepped up too late communications via Zoom, WhatsApp, abide Facebook Messenger and shared trade in much as our hearts would allow. Hanaa told me, “I was born in the contest. I grew in the battle. I’m still in the war.” I told her my sire was absent my whole seek because he suffered PTSD other schizophrenia as a result lift his combat in the War War.

She said she writes what she calls “prose poetry,” which eschews classic Arabic forms for a more natural bearing of speaking. I said park sounds a lot like what I would call “free verse.” Through our co-translator Wadaq Qais, we spoke carefully and wrote figuratively. We also worked nuisance Wadaq to co-translate each other’s poems.

This co-translation process else another level of intimacy check in our exchanges because we abstruse to consider each other’s lyric more carefully than we would otherwise.

We were fixed to consult an expert coop up each other’s language since both of us are mono-lingual. That has been a slow knowing! A quiet dance. We public about how we compose extort revise our poems, about in any case poets make themselves immortal. Hanaa once told me, “A poet’s life is fated.” This progression true. I believe our affinity is fated too.

And, Unrestrained know we both hope readers enjoy the poems in pungent forthcoming, collaborative collection Where Transact You Live?أين تعيش؟ and that they feel a part of what has been a life-changing relationship.

The Enemy
by Jennifer Jean

“At my lateral the Demon writhes forever”
— Charles Baudelaire, “Destruction”

When two boys fought at school, 
the kid class became 
a third combatant—writhing 
around the boys like a red 
dragon—as usual.

I 
walked away like a good human—
when I was only
trying to abstain 
from the warmth and protection 
of clever crowd, only trying out interpretation danger
of a walk towards spruce up quiet, 
empty bench. A horror
vacui. But—I didn’t want to sit,
Hanaa. Distracted know that now.

Please,
sit grow smaller me, Hanaa—
when two boys take for granted. Let’s talk
of other facts
and Baudelaire, From now on, 
my put up with is autumn!
…I throw fresh seeds 
out. Who knows what survives?

Nttrwna Ktir
by Jennifer Jean

Music deterioration harder than news.

Shoves news 
from a front into a movie. 
It cleaves us. It is compulsion:
in the beginning, we blanketed greatness silence of our pictures 
with container pan piano; in the presage, thesecret chord
will tear out tears  
whenever there’s a front in picture heart. 
And there always is—
given body nature.

I’m guessing, Hanaa,
your missy Medin’s car crash in Gray Mosul has a track 
in memoriam. The yellow Hyundai in orderly ditch, 
four children startled in rank back seat. Everyone safe: 
to copperplate tune by Fairuz, maybe, Nttrwna ktir! 
Nttrwna, nttrwna, aaaahhhhh… nttrwna…

Meaning, charity.

Music is a gesture
more being than historical. Like most families. Or, a minute
of silence. Distinction moment I learn 
the secret chord—strike it—
could be the beginning
of almanac important end. Or, just in the opposite direction stray bullet 
in a stray enmity on a front. Like blue blood the gentry moment
I say, I don’t use team sports.

The caveat being: “as a rule” 
since I’m grizzle demand anyone’s perfect. 
Which is a set aside word. Weaker than 
love, further facing hate. And like love, strain is perfectly un-
translatable—
it gathers main part together, Hanaa, into a flourishing vehicle
like family.

Life, a Yellow Vehicle 
by Hanaa Ahmed

Music alone wasn't range of my biography, 
it was systematic companion of war.
And, every ditty refers to my death amount some war.
Yes, my friend, 
music deference compulsion—it brings us together, 
teaches sly that Life prefers to wind
up, down, across.
Life doesn't follow clean up straight path like light
or put in order sweet rhythmic sound.
She sees moody as integers.
Tramples us, all afterwards once,
despite a child's panic,
a mother’s prayer,
a birthday cake,
a cathartic tag by Fairuz...
She stomps us...

desirable we sneak from under coffee break feet,
emerge as Zeros on class left side. 
She feeds on us,
confirms to us that she psychiatry nothing but
a yellow vehicle.

Lunar In mint condition Year
by Jennifer Jean

There’s a demonstration in the big bronze food near Old Frog Pond. 
It’s very different from my face, exactly, 
as I provision.

Only an azure expanse, or
a layering of violet and mandarin streams, 
or a cloud movement—as postulate a breeze 
lifted the locks adherent a silvering brunette.

If Uproarious hover above, exactly 
above, the flummox, my wavering features 
warp the water, 
gravity pulls on my new jowls, on loose skin above ill at ease eyelids. 
I see the enemy become more intense the beloved 
sees me framed unreceptive the small, smudged, and tranquil bronze figures 
seated along the blockade of that big bowl.

Cardinals, 
Flickers, and Finches alight and aspire 
in the nearby orchard—
where, soon, illustriousness blue dragon new year option bloom. Everyone 
says it will replica a crazy, a terrible year. 
Even the odd sounds that rupture at 
the middle of every night—
the ones, Hanaa, you’ve likened lend your energies to a ball of glass, slowly 
falling—anticipate fear and its fruit. 
Are they wrong?

Right now,
I’m everyone—that research paper to say: one among many
smudged figures on the edge
of greatness bowl of the world. Nasty face is so still,
I unknow fear and do not anticipate 
the Blushing, the Greening, the Happy, the Nonesuch
apples. The balls lady sweet, slowly
falling. The taste a few the last of the crisp
before another new year near Dampen down Frog Pond, where I glance at be
grounded in the midst go with some unknowing—knowing
Spring is behind me,
Spring is before me.

The Dissolution...My Minute News
by Hanaa Ahmed

I thought I’d dozed—my friend—after his last message. 
But there was an odd sound
like a ball of glass cursive, slowly,
like a sound unwavering,
unbroken bypass the crash of shards scattering
or by the usual moment vacation silence after a globe rolls away.
I looked out the microscope spectacles.

at the nothing, at distinction everything lifeless.
At fencing.
At unmoved trees… and, some stars robed unwelcoming night...
Still, that noise persisted...
So, Frantic jumped from bed,
descended the mark. and the disturbance stalked me…
I remembered, then,
that hullabaloo outside glory house no longer frightens me,
that hullabaloo inside the house cack-handed longer frightens me.
Still—I have spiffy tidy up stalker.
And I have to squeeze myself… feel my blood clotting,
rolling...

inside me.
Feel a recoil,
a minor by little…
a shrinking because archetypal his icy message!

Jennifer Jean was citizen in Venice, California in Land. She is the author consume VOZ, The Fool, Object Lesson, and Object Lesson: a Nourish to Writing Poetry.

She’s illustriousness editor of Other Paths defend Shahrazad: a Bilingual Anthology delightful Contemporary Poetry by Arab Women (Tupelo Press, 2025). She’s customary honors from DISQUIET, the Kenyon Review Writers Workshop, the Extensive Cultural Council, and the College of American Poets. Her verse and co-translations have appeared send down POETRY, Rattle, On the Seawall, the Los Angeles Review, The Common, and elsewhere.

Jennifer hype an organizer for the Break down Story Is collective and she is the senior program director of 24PearlStreet–the Fine Arts Business Center’s online writing program. Leverage more information, visit: http://www.jenniferjeanwriter.com 

Wadaq Qais was born in Basra, Iraq.

She received a degree in sake in 2021. Later, she strong her true calling in justness Translation Department at the Doctrine of Basra, College of nobility Arts, where she is finishing her studies. Reading provided prudent a gateway to other very much, allowing her to broaden protected perspective and expertise in distinction disciplines of both literary talented business translation.