Nouri Gana talks to Hisham Mattar about poetry, beards, and his novel In the Country of Men.

O my city . . . Be a little larger / so that I may see my shadow free / on the sidewalks

She opens the window to the friendly morning / and tempts its birds

Here you are now sitting in a cafe in Sabratha

When it comes to countries that have been locked away—or locked out of—the Western world, Westerners tend to believe that little happens there during the time that they are not paying attention. Like…

The cell. Whatever is there? / Listening a dreamy smile

The tribes attributed to him provocative verses that denigrated the status of camels and extolled donkeys by contrast.

Is startled of every shadow, / So let me in slowly.

Things fall apart, / Tide not turning.

While picking the mint I got the hiccups. I am sure you were talking about me.

Life's routine persisted and more sleeves became wet, then dried, then became wet again, and so on.

The dog was a hideous sight, putrid, offensive, with gouged-out eyes.

Haj Salim is tilling his field, rippling with blades of wheat and barley. What's he doing?

McCain looked at his watch, remembered his abandoned pool game, his whisky, and his buddies who were waiting for him, and answered distractedly: Everything is gonna be fine.