4/12/2008

Life and Taxes

A young man sings a beautiful love song in his bedroom in Tehran. I don't know his name, but it could be Ramin Bibak from what I gathered. The song, Mikham Chikar, is originally by Shadmehr Aghili. Something about the way this guy sings tugs at my heart. Enjoy!

So, I have a few days off from work to attend my new list of priorities. I spent most of yesterday doing some of the medical things I have been putting off for a long time. More will follow next week. I am also doing my taxes at the last minute this weekend, and taking care of the less pleasant but also necessary aspects of life.
Bayramali and I went to a poetry reading last night in Berkeley's Persian Center. Shole Wolpe, who has recently published a book, Sin, translating some of Forough Farrokhzad's poems, was in town. She has done a remarkable job of the task, delivering Forough with passion and accuracy. Shole Wolpe is a poet herself, so that may have had something to do with how beautifully her translations of Forough read. It was sweet to listen to her and to hear Forough in another language.
It's a beautiful warm day around here. I think I will spend some of it in the sun. I will also be spending time with my sisters. I'll come back to work on some writing later this evening. Have a great Saturday you all.

8 comments:

Anonymous said...

سلام!ناشناس اسمش "صبا"ست.من ساكن ايرانم و دانشجو.متاسفانه من اطلاع درستي از فعاليت هاي فرهنگي(سياسي؟)ايرانيان مهاجر به امريكا ندارم.پس فارغ از همه ي رابطه هايي كه وجود داره تو رو به عنوان يك دوست قبول دارم(:هر روز بهت سر ميزنم

Leila said...

It is great to see that Forough's Poems are translated to several languages. But I also love to hear them in Persian. I am not so interested in Persian poems in another language.

بانوي جشنواره زمستان said...

"another birth"
My whole being is a dark chant
which will carry you
perpetuating you
to the dawn of eternal growths and blossoming
in this chant I sighed you sighed
in this chant
I grafted you to the tree to the water to the fire.

Life is perhaps
a long street through which a woman holding
a basket passes every day

Life is perhaps
a rope with which a man hangs himself from a branch
life is perhaps a child returning home from school.

Life is perhaps lighting up a cigarette
in the narcotic repose between two love-makings
or the absent gaze of a passerby
who takes off his hat to another passerby
with a meaningless smile and a good morning .

Life is perhaps that enclosed moment
when my gaze destroys itself in the pupil of your eyes
and it is in the feeling
which I will put into the Moon's impression
and the Night's perception.

In a room as big as loneliness
my heart
which is as big as love
looks at the simple pretexts of its happiness
at the beautiful decay of flowers in the vase
at the sapling you planted in our garden
and the song of canaries
which sing to the size of a window.

Ah
this is my lot
this is my lot
my lot is
a sky which is taken away at the drop of a curtain
my lot is going down a flight of disused stairs
a regain something amid putrefaction and nostalgia
my lot is a sad promenade in the garden of memories
and dying in the grief of a voice which tells me
I love
your hands.

I will plant my hands in the garden
I will grow I know I know I know
and swallows will lay eggs
in the hollow of my ink-stained hands.

I shall wear
a pair of twin cherries as ear-rings
and I shall put dahlia petals on my finger-nails
there is an alley
where the boys who were in love with me
still loiter with the same unkempt hair
thin necks and bony legs
and think of the innocent smiles of a little girl
who was blown away by the wind one night.

There is an alley
which my heart has stolen
from the streets of my childhood.

The journey of a form along the line of time
inseminating the line of time with the form
a form conscious of an image
coming back from a feast in a mirror

And it is in this way
that someone dies
and someone lives on.

No fisherman shall ever find a pearl in a small brook
which empties into a pool.

I know a sad little fairy
who lives in an ocean
and ever so softly
plays her heart into a magic flute
a sad little fairy
who dies with one kiss each night
and is reborn with one kiss each dawn.

SERENDIP said...

He has a beautiful voice. And Sholeh Wolpe is magnificent!

Nazy said...

Salam Saba Jan:

Thank you for coming and thank you for your friendship. I don't write about politics, really. I write about life. Though I do have political viewpoints, I don't use my blogs for discussing them.

My blogs are about life and the beauty of it. They are about Iran and Iranians and Iranian culture and arts. They are also about US and Americans and my life here. I write to bring understanding and friendship to the two nations I love very much. So, come join us in our discussions about life whenever you like. You don't have to write in English. Write in Farsi if it feels easier for you. Take care and come back again soon.

Nazy said...

Salam Leila Jan:

Of course we should read Forough and Hafez and Molana and Sohrab and all of those wonderful poets in Farsi! When people can't read in Farsi, though, there must be a way for them to read and understand and love our wonderful poets and exquisite poetry. How else can we share our treasures with the rest of the world if not translated into another language?

So many times, reading Allende, Marquez, and Coelho in English, I have thought "if they sound so beautiful translated into English, what must they have sounded like in their original language?" Alas, I don't know spanish and am deeply appreciative of the book translations which enable me to read and know these wonderful authors. The same is true of English translations of Iranian poetry as a means to introduce them to the world.

It's always a pleasure seeing you here. Please come back again soon my brilliant friend.

Nazy said...

Dear Beautiful Neda Jan:

Thanks so very much for that beautiful Forough poem in English. I am grateful you shared it here. Many people come to my blogs through searches, did you know that? Almost in every instance, they are searching for something Iranian or originally in Farsi, using English language search engines. When they come here, it means that they most likely have found what they were looking for, be it a poem, a film, a saying, or a name. By sharing your poem in English, if someone ever looks for "another birth" in English, among other places, they will also find it here. Isn't that wonderful? Thank you for being such a great help my friend. You rule!

Nazy said...

Thank you Serendip. He does sing a sweet song, doesn't he?

I adored Sholeh Wolpe in her reading! The woman is so nice and so real. We had someone in the audience who was inordinately rude to Sholeh and she was so gracious in handling the unwelcome situation. It's always a delightful surprise when we find a real and strong person behind an artist! Be good azizam and I hope you are feeling better.