Biography
She is head of the Cultural pages for the prestigious "An Nahar" newspaper, as well as the administrator of the IPAF literary prize (the "Arab Booker") and the editor-in-chief of Jasad magazine, a controversial Arabic magazine specialized in the literature and arts of the body.[2]
She has already published several poetry collections, widely acclaimed by critics. Her books have been translated to many languages and published abroad.
Speaking seven languages, she is a polyglot and has published several works of translation, including an anthology of Lebanese modern poetry in Spanish, published in Spain as well as in many Latin American countries, and an anthology of 150 poets who committed suicide in the 20th century.
She interviewed many international writers, such as Umberto Eco, Paul Auster, Jose Saramago, Peter Handke, Elfriede Jelinek, and others.
She is member of the Book and Reading committee in the Lebanese Ministry of Culture.
Joumana Haddad has been awarded the Arab Press Prize in 2006.
In 2009, she co-wrote and acted in a movie by Lebanese filmmaker Jocelyne Saab ("What's going on?"[3]). She also had an appearance in a documentary by filmmaker Nasri Hajjaj, about palestinian poet Mahmoud Darwish.

Joumana Haddad on the set of "What's going on?" in June 2009
In addition, she is a performer and a collage artist.
Bibliography
Bibliography in Arabic
• Time for a dream, poetry, (1995)
• Invitation to a secret feast, poetry, (1998)
• Two hands to the abyss, poetry, (2000)
• I did not sin enough, selected poems, (2003)
• Lilith's Return, poetry, (2004)
• The panther hidden at the base of her shoulders, selected poems, (2006)
• In the company of the fire thieves, Conversations with international writers, (2006)
• Death will come and it will have your eyes, Anthology of 150 poets who committed suicide, (2007)
• Bad habits, selected poems, (2007)
• Mirrors of the passers by, poetry, (2008)

Bibliography in other languages

Some of Joumana Haddad's books
• Damit ich abreisen kann, 2005, Lisan Verlag, Basel, Switzerland.
• Allí donde el río se incendia, 2005, Ediciones De Aquí, Málaga, España/ 2006, Fundación Editorial El Perro y la Rana, Caracas, Venezuela/ 2007, Editorial Praxis, Mexico, Mexico/ 2007.
• Cuando me hice fruta, 2006, Monte Ávila Editores, Caracas, Venezuela.
• El retorno de Lilith, 2007, Editorial Praxis, Mexico, Mexico.
• Le retour de Lilith, 2007, Editions L’Inventaire, Paris, France.
• Liliths Wiederkehr, 2008, Verlag Hans Schiler, Berlin, Germany.
• Invitation to a Secret Feast, 2008, Tupelo Press, Vermont, USA.
• Madinah, city stories from the Middle East, 2008, "Comma Press", Manchester, UK.[4]
• Adrenalina, 2009, "Edizioni del Leone", Venice, Italy.[5]
A poetry that is at once sensual and cerebral, anarchic and self contained"
—Marilyn Hacker, American poet
"A complex poetry, sometimes ferocious, sometimes tender, always moving".
—:David Harsent, British poet
"An exceptional poetic voice that renders the transformations of freedom’s writing".
—Enrique Hernández De Jesús, Venezuelan poet and artist
"A breathtaking poetry, that goes to the extreme"
—:Tahar Ben Jelloun, Moroccan poet and novelist
"A sumptuous and alluring voice, carefully drawing the reader in, before unveiling soulful insight and wisdom"
—Jeffrey Levine, American publisher
"A poet who tumbles down all stereotyped images of the Arab woman"
—Valentina Colombo, Italian orientalist
"She unfurls in her poems the tentacular word of the woman-hydra, giving way to the voice of a strong and magnificent woman"
—Brigitte Ouvry-Vial, French publisher

LILITH’S RETURN

I am Lilith,
the goddess of two nights returned from her exile.

I am Lilith the woman fate.
No male escapes my spell,
and no male would wish to.

I am the double moon Lilith.
The black can only be completed by the white,
for my purity is the spark of debauchery, and my probing the beginning of the possible.
I am the woman-Paradise who fell from Paradise,
and I am the Paradise-fall.

Lilith, returned from the prison of white oblivion,
lioness of the master and goddess of two nights.
I gather in a cup what cannot be gathered,
and I drink it. For I am the priestess and the temple.
I do not leave a single drop for anyone, lest they think I have had enough.
I copulate and multiply myself to make a people of my own,
and then kill my lovers
to make way for those who have not yet known me.

I, the verse of apple. Books wrote me even if you did not read me. I am unbridled pleasure, the renegade wife, the fulfillment of lust that brings great destruction. My shirt is a window on madness.
Whoever hears me deserves to die,
and whoever does not hear me will die of regret.

I am the guardian of the well and the nexus of contraries. Kisses on my body are the scars of those who tried. From the flute between the thighs my song rises, and from my song flows the curse, water on earth.

I rise only in darkness
and climb only abysses.
I stand only on the threshold
and return only from death.

I am Lilith, the cup and the server.
I came to say:
One cup is not enough.
I came to say:
The server is blind.
I came to say:
Adam, Adam
you are busy with many matters but the need is one.

I am not the stubborn steed or the easy ride, but the shiver of the first seduction.
I am not the stubborn steed or the easy ride, but the debacle of the final regret.

I, the destiny of the wise. The union of sleep and wakefulness. I am the fetus poet. I slew myself and found her. I return from my exile to be the bride of the seven days and the destruction of future life.

I am the seducing lioness.
I return to slay the prisoners and rule the earth.
I return to mend Adam's ribs and rid the men of their Eves.

I am Lilith,
And I return from my exile
to inherit the death of the mother I have birthed.

MARINA’S MIRROR

Marina Tsvetaieva, russian poet born in 1892, hanged herself at age 49.

I gaze at my corpse where it lies and I find myself beautiful. Beautiful as a wounded legend. Beautiful as only someone else can be.

I gaze at my corpse and my corpse is a wire. I am its acrobat, its hostage.
The wire vibrates and threatens to throw me off. I cling to it, I curse it. Then suddenly it becomes a ladder, a wrinkle, a plunge through which I don’t stop calling out my farewells to all the mountains leaving without me.

There will be dancing at my funeral, that’s for sure. There will be a word for every mouth, a fresh hatred for every split skull.
There will be dancing at my funeral and the grass will be heavy beneath the steps. Pitiless, the hill they’ll have to climb (or descend) like a mother’s belly when she has given all she had to give.

That wire I walk on without moving is my corpse. Useless to put it in a wooden box. Spread a cloth over it, invite birds to perch there. Sing it no psalms; by no means plant flowers around it. Instead, get down on your knees and ask pardon of the leaves which shaded you, the clothing which covered you, the sky which endured your human filth.

I raise my head, my splendid dead woman’s head, and look for the road I’ll take to return, I look for the uninhabited stone which will understand my absence.

Something sleeps in me and I awaken it . Something sleeps in me and is what I was not: the best life possible I didn’t know how to live.

I need nothing from you.
My corpse smiles at me, my neck almost transparent, and I am on my way toward forgetfulness.

Yes, I AM beautiful, and only my dirty nails betray me.
Get on with it: NOW IT’S TIME TO DANCE!

BANQUET

When I sit before you, stranger,
I know how much time you'll need
to bury the distance between us.
You are at the peak of your intelligence
and I am at the peak of my banquet.
You are deliberating how to begin flirting with me,
and I,
under the curtain of my seriousness,
am already done devouring you.