POETRY

From Henceforth, Paradise Beckons

The Beauty of a Holy City ..
Enchanted By Whisper and "Intrigue" ..
...
The Passing Of One's Pleasure ..
Remote From Exhaustive Care ..
...
The Joy Of Children Playing ..
The Agony Of oppression at Home ..
...
O' Brother, Peace Beckons Me ..
As Thou The Fires Of Hell Are At Hand ..
...
May The Blessing Of This Land Carress Your Soul ..
May The Bothers Of This World Not affect You ..
...
O' Brother Find Peace in These "Words" ..
Not Knowing What Tomorrow May Bring ..
...
Love,
Charity,
Patience ..
...
And Most "Important" of All,
Bless "Others" ..
...
In The "Universe" Of Thought ..
There is Nothing That "Compares" ..
...
Set Aside Your "Worries" ..
And "Embrace" Life In "Full" ..

Poetry? How about Nima?

Nima, a poet to remember. As I heard about Nima for the first time, i was a schoolboy at the tenth or eleventh schoolyear in Amir Kabir highschool for boys on the Nasser Khossro street somewhere offside
the main trafic. at that time I was a fan of SAADI and the classical farsi Poems and litrature. Nima`s stil of poetry was said to be NEW. Not classic as SAADI and likewise. so I did not pay near attention to nima`s poems. As far as I know he had never political problems with previous regim and his books could be sell buy and even read without any difficulty. Suddenly 1970 I had to observe on Iranian TV that some Litrates discuss Nima`s sayings and critiscise him hardly. 1972 a friend made me a present. he gave me a book with Nima`s poems. I did read it then and i knew why he was condemned by the satanic regim. His poems COULD be interpreted as anti regim poetry. Good for him that Savak recognised this after his death.

Followings are managed By Tamara Ebrahimpour:

Ali Esfandiari known as Nima (1896-1959), was born in the village of Yush located in the Iranian northern province of Mazandaran.
Raised by an educated mother who was closely related to many poets, Nima began his experience with poetry from an early age.
Nima moved to Tehran at the age of 12, and started his studies at the French St. Louis School, where he met Nezam Vafa, the teacher who took him under his wings and helped the budding poet improve his writing.
At St. Louis, Nima was influenced by the French Symbolist movement and started writing a new, different form of poetry.
During this transitional period, Nima's experiences of new poetry were still affected by the poetic traditions, which he used to incorporate into his previous poems. "Ei Shab" (O Night) and "Afsaneh" (Legend) belong to this stage.
In 1937 Nima Yushij wrote 'The Phoenix' his first truly innovative poem regarded by many as his masterpiece. It is a symbolic free verse, which shows a courageous replacement of the old, traditional poetic devices by a free flowing novel style.
The poem is not only new in form, but is also ground-breaking in its romantic expression of the poet's emotional experiences and his interpretation of life.
Nima's simple poetic language gives a clear vision of society during the reign of Reza Shah, the founder of the Pahlavi Dynasty, portraying the tyranny, injustice, poverty and all the other dark sides of his time.
His innovations in form and style were widely criticized, ignored and deemed below the established norm. Nima broke the numerous quantitative meters of Persian verse and used them to make lines of different lengths.
Nima manipulated the rhythm and rhyme so that the line length was determined by the idea rather than by the conventional Arabic meters which used to rule Persian poetry.
In this way, Nima lent freedom of prose to the traditional verse and turned it into a forum for discussing the problems of contemporary society.
Although severe criticisms kept Nima's early poems in reserve till the late 1930s, he is now remembered and honored as a leading modern Persian poet.
Nima Yushij died on January 6th, 1960 in Tehran and was buried in his native city of Yoush.

The Boat

My face is withered
My boat is stranded.
With my stranded bark
I cry:
“I am stranded in sorrow
In this dangerous seashore
And the water is far away
“Help, O friends!”
A smile of derision breaks upon their lips
But directed at me
At my askew boat
At my tumultuous words
At my infinite perturbation
At my infinite perturbation
Suddenly a cry issues from me:
I fear but danger and annihilation
The commotion of `to be or not to be'
It is but for endangered life.”
With their mistake
I buy mistakes
From their disheartening words
I suffer
Blood spurts out of my wound
How can I dry the water?
I cry.
My face is withered
My boat is stranded
My words are clear to you:
One person is alone
I extend my hand to you for help
My voice is broken in my throat
And if voice is voluble
I cry
For your salvation and mine
I cry!
My house is Cloudy
My house is overcast by clouds
Permanently weighed by a pall of cloud over the earth.
The wind, broken, desolate and intoxicated,
Whirls over the pass.
The world is laid waste by it
And my senses too!
O piper!
O you enchanted by the music of the pipe, where are you?
My house is cloudy, yet
The cloud is impregnated by rain.
Cherished by the illusion of my bright days,
I stand opposite the sun
I cast my gaze upon the sea.
And the entire world is desolated and ravaged by the wind
And the ever-playing piper progresses onto his path
In this cloudy world.

It is Night

It is night
A night so abysmal and dark.
On the branch of an aged fig tree
A frog is croaking incessantly,
Auguring a tempest, a rainfall,
and I am harrowed with wonder.
It is night,
And the world looks like a dead man in grave;
Alarmed I say unto myself:
"What if rain overflows every place?"
"What if rain sinks the world like a small boat?"
In this night so dark and bleak
Who knows what dawn has in store for us?
Will the Sun rise from the mountain?
Will Morning outfrown this tempest?

Moonlight

Moonlight's streaming
Glowworm's shining
There's no second to disturb sleep in the eye, but
The sorrow of swarming sleepers
Disturbs sleep in my wet eyes.

Distraught stands the Dawn with me
Inquiring me
To bring word to this fallen mob of its auspicious breath
Yet, there's a thorn in my heart
Easing this irksome journey.

Fond stalk of a fair flower
That with my soul I planted
And with love I watered
Alas! breaks in my arms.

Hands I rub
To open a door
I wait in vain
For someone to answer
Rickety door and walls
Cave in on our heads

Moonlight's streaming
Glowworm's shining
Feet blistered by this journey
A lonely man stands at the village gate.

(Translations of poems by Ismail Salami)

Greeting

How We Define Happiness

Victory over enemy! It seems that somebody has to lose before someone else can win! Could it be any other way?