late brother
Salloum Mokarzel. On this occasion a great ceremony was held in his village of Freike, attended by a representative of His Excellency the President of the Republic, at which speeches were given by Mr. Muhyi al-Din al-Nusuli, Mr. Robert Abela, Mr. Emile Oudaimi, Mr. Salah Labaki, and Mr. Badih Mokarzel on behalf of the family.
On the occasion of Miss Mary Mokarzel's presence in Lebanon, several receptions were held in her honor. Mr. Jamil Jabr invited a company of friends to his home in Beit Chabab, and it was a delightful gathering in that village spread out upon the mountain's shoulder, lasting into the night, presided over
by Mr. Jabr with the graciousness for which he is known.
There was also a dinner party given by Mr. Albert Rihani and his madame in honor of the proprietor of al-Hoda, bringing together literary personalities and friends at their home in Ras Beirut. Expressions of acquaintance and affection were exchanged at this party in an atmosphere of serenity — and no wonder, for the Rihani family are accustomed to arranging these charming gatherings, which always come off with just this measure of harmony and taste...
A warm welcome to Miss Mary — and we hope to return to her, and to introduce her closely to our readers, in the coming issue, God willing.
Many letters have come to Edvick Jureidini Shayboub about her book "Bawh," and she has declared in all sincerity that she never expected all this warm response from readers and friends. From her collection of letters we publish below one from Syria's greatest poet, "Adonis," who said:
O Bilitis of Beirut,
Your "Bawh" is an event; it may be more poetry than poetry itself. I have not been able to write anything about it. For I am living, at present, in a state of soul in which my steps make no sound upon my paths. And oh, how I would have loved to write about it, about your "Bawh," for your poet's heart, within it, has carried me away: I felt that it is a god flooded with weariness — the weariness of formation and of becoming.
We once had a poetess who sprang up on the Bald Mountain, on the green gulf, the Gulf of Alexandretta, in the land of Zeno. Her name was Bilitis, and she loved love. As for him, he worshipped her, and how often he sat before her and prayed: sing me, fashion me into a word upon your lips, fashion me into a poem.
O Bilitis of Beirut, sing love... sing it; you are ours.
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