Reviews:

 

1

https://www.berfrois.com/2016/11/scherezade-siobhan-maged-zaher/

2

https://therumpus.net/2017/03/the-consequences-of-my-body-by-maged-zaher/

3

http://cordite.org.au/reviews/jiang-zaher/

4

https://angelcityreview.com/the-consequences-of-my-body/

5

https://thismightnotwork.org/jeanne-heuving-maged-zaher/


 

Selections:

 

I navigate

Your silhouette

To sum up a story

With bareness

Tender bareness

And fog


 

Oh dead bird

Come live here

Next to this dictionary

We will take walks

By the edges of trauma


 

Some days I am grateful for insomnia

Like when you sleep on my shoulder

And it softens my politics

There is no need for the imagination

A world is ending slowly

I am sipping tea instead of coffee

And I am grateful

For the poetics of walking the streets

For the luxury of insomnia

When you sleep on my shoulder

And it softens my politics


 

After short struggles against ergonomics

I cook breakfast

And we gain one more day because of storytelling


 

I want to write you this dirty

Email about desiring your

Desire and vice versa — this email

Will be a snapshot of

Our bodies and it will be

Inadequate — it won’t be able

To fully recall how it felt having

Breakfast at the greasy spoon

While we smelt of each other —

No wait — you took a shower — I

Didn’t — I wanted you on my skin

For a few extra hours — and then in

This strange city — all cities

Are strange — we found out that

Making love for long yields

Happiness — I am happy today

Reading books and I want to

Write you this dirty email

About nothing


 

This is not about seduction

It is about hanging out tonight

While surrounded by capitalism

It rains

And we call it love

This continuous threat of collapse


 

Everything here is exact

As if God never left

And as if there is time


 

Sit here with me

To discuss the employability of clouds

We can also pick apples

And drive around without kissing

Did you know that we can turn our phones into flashlights

And interrogate each other

It can be fun

To be inspired by the world

But to improve the situation

There is only one way: fucking

Which comes as a surprise to most passengers

In the space station


 

We enter life ready for secrets

For example: “God bullies us”

Or “hope is possible”

Or “our muscles will dictate

Our sexual pleasures”

Or “we will never catch infinity

In the act of being infinity

We will come close to love

And that is about it”


 

Do we always start from a fetish then — as in mathematics — derive love?

Staring at pomegranate seeds for an hour brings lust to

the foreground.

Staring at you brings love’s prerequisite sadness.

I move my dreadlocks to see you as if coming from afar.

You think of something to say and I imagine my madness turning into a statue.

Drawing on the history of insanity we part without a kiss.

I sip tea and enter the world from a needle’s eye.

Finishing the tea, I skype with a faraway copy of myself to talk about you.


 

God offers us his sadness

We redistribute it


 

An empire of

Fist bumps of

Delight of

Desolation

My ship destroyed your ship


 

The small madness in everyone

We will make wild gestures together

We will open doors with other keys

And bite each other over French press and cognac

And die — they will come

And we will tip them

With plastic pens — I will write

LOVE on a window or on your knee


 

In absence of death, we do coffee

The ink takes us on elaborate paths

We were to find the sources of different stains

You were to have sex only with one person

Then reconvene — at the town hall — to discuss our findings

And admit that we used google for everything

And it saved us time —

Yet we didn’t find the objects scattered around us

Or the one that swam in our dreams

A few sessions later we walked the streets

And took pictures of each other kissing strangers


 

It takes a few phone tags for love to fade

I will drag you into a story where we have pets

You look beautiful as you wave from a car

Now that the world is late

Come back to the smallness of this city

It is embarrassing to have a job other than poems

But the pierced bodies of the passengers soothe me

In the back the security personnel plan their revenge

Oh you look beautiful as if merged with a monster

We tasted the words and spat them at each other

And you looked weird you looked beautiful like travelers abandoning their train

Then confronting the world without proper alphabet

We have enough to order soda and lunch

And walk parallel to some river

The easygoing passengers reek of privilege

You take over the hostages I will pretend I am peaceful


 

Like desert saints we left our desires behind and produced software in these muted software factories

We endured the different methodologies middle aged business gurus with names like Bob and Mike (and an occasional Alan) sold to our bosses on how to extract more surplus value from us. We sincerely argued with each other; they talked to us about empowerment and ownership, but the truth was that these places were shit and we took this shit and smeared ourselves and the others