رهگذر شعر چیست / چند کلمه در باد

About drawing, I prefer this one ;-)

It is an extract of "The Little Prince" of Antoine de Saint-Exupéry

//korczak.com/Exupery/englisch/0.html

Once when I was six years old I saw a magnificent picture in a book, called True Stories from Nature, about the primeval forest. It was a picture of a boa constrictor in the act of swallowing an animal. Here is a copy of the drawing.

In the book it said: "Boa constrictors swallow their prey whole, without chewing it. After that they are not able to move, and they sleep through the six months that they need for digestion."
I pondered deeply, then, over the adventures of the jungle. And after some work with a colored pencil I succeeded in making my first drawing. My Drawing Number One. It looked like this:

I showed my masterpiece to the grown-ups, and asked them whether the drawing frightened them.
But they answered: "Frighten? Why should any one be frightened by a hat?"
My drawing was not a picture of a hat. It was a picture of a boa constrictor digesting an elephant. But since the grown-ups were not able to understand it, I made another drawing: I drew the inside of the boa constrictor, so that the grown-ups could see it clearly. They always need to have things explained. My Drawing Number Two looked like this:

The grown-ups' response, this time, was to advise me to lay aside my drawings of boa constrictors, whether from the inside or the outside, and devote myself instead to geography, history, arithmetic and grammar. That is why, at the age of six, I gave up what might have been a magnificent career as a painter. I had been disheartened by the failure of my Drawing Number One and my Drawing Number Two. Grown-ups never understand anything by themselves, and it is tiresome for children to be always and forever explaining things to them.
So then I chose another profession, and learned to pilot airplanes. I have flown a little over all parts of the world; and it is true that geography has been very useful to me. At a glance I can distinguish China from Arizona. If one gets lost in the night, such knowledge is valuable.
In the course of this life I have had a great many encounters with a great many people who have been concerned with matters of consequence. I have lived a great deal among grown-ups. I have seen them intimately, close at hand. And that hasn't much improved my opinion of them.
Whenever I met one of them who seemed to me at all clear-sighted, I tried the experiment of showing him my Drawing Number One, which I have always kept. I would try to find out, so, if this was a person of true understanding. But, whoever it was, he, or she, would always say: "That is a hat." Then I would never talk to that person about boa constrictors, or primeval forests, or stars. I would bring myself down to his level. I would talk to him about bridge, and golf, and politics, and neckties. And the grown-up would be greatly pleased to have met such a sensible man.

So I lived my life alone, without anyone that I could really talk to, until I had an accident with my plane in the Desert of Sahara, six years ago. Something was broken in my engine. And as I had with me neither a mechanic nor any passengers, I set myself to attempt the difficult repairs all alone. It was a question of life or death for me: I had scarcely enough drinking water to last a week.

The first night, then, I went to sleep on the sand, a thousand miles from any human habitation. I was more isolated than a shipwrecked sailor on a raft in the middle of the ocean. Thus you can imagine my amazement, at sunrise, when I was awakened by an odd little voice. It said:
"If you please-- draw me a sheep!"
"What!"
"Draw me a sheep!"
I jumped to my feet, completely thunderstruck. I blinked my eyes hard. I looked carefully all around me. And I saw a most extraordinary small person, who stood there examining me with great seriousness. Here you may see the best potrait that, later, I was able to make of him. But my drawing is certainly very much less charming than its model.

 That, however, is not my fault. The grown-ups discouraged me in my painter's career when I was six years old, and I never learned to draw anything, except boas from the outside and boas from the inside.
Now I stared at this sudden apparition with my eyes fairly starting out of my head in astonishment. Remember, I had crashed in the desert a thousand miles from any inhabited region. And yet my little man seemed neither to be straying uncertainly among the sands, nor to be fainting from fatigue or hunger or thirst or fear. Nothing about him gave any suggestion of a child lost in the middle of the desert, a thousand miles from any human habitation. When at last I was able to speak, I said to him:
"But-- what are you doing here?"
And in answer he repeated, very slowly, as if he were speaking of a matter of great consequence:
"If you please-- draw me a sheep..."
When a mystery is too overpowering, one dare not disobey. Absurd as it might seem to me, a thousand miles from any human habitation and in danger of death, I took out of my pocket a sheet of paper and my fountain-pen. But then I remembered how my studies had been concentrated on geography, history, arithmetic, and grammar, and I told the little chap (a little crossly, too) that I did not know how to draw. He answered me:
"That doesn't matter. Draw me a sheep..."
But I had never drawn a sheep. So I drew for him one of the two pictures I had drawn so often. It was that of the boa constrictor from the outside. And I was astounded to hear the little fellow greet it with,
"No, no, no! I do not want an elephant inside a boa constrictor. A boa constrictor is a very dangerous creature, and an elephant is very cumbersome. Where I live, everything is very small. What I need is a sheep. Draw me a sheep."
So then I made a drawing. He looked at it carefully, then he said:
"No. This sheep is already very sickly. Make me another."
So I made another drawing.
My friend smiled gently and indulgenty.
"You see yourself," he said, "that this is not a sheep. This is a ram. It has horns."
So then I did my drawing over once more.
But it was rejected too, just like the others.
"This one is too old. I want a sheep that will live a long time."
By this time my patience was exhausted, because I was in a hurry to start taking my engine apart. So I tossed off this drawing.
And I threw out an explanation with it.
"This is only his box. The sheep you asked for is inside."
I was very surprised to see a light break over the face of my young judge:
"That is exactly the way I wanted it! Do you think that this sheep will have to have a great deal of grass?"
"Why?"
"Because where I live everything is very small..."
"There will surely be enough grass for him," I said. "It is a very small sheep that I have given you."
He bent his head over the drawing:
"Not so small that-- Look! He has gone to sleep..."
And that is how I made the acquaintance of the little prince.

Anonymouse.......

I remembered this joke ( no offence to dear Orang)

This kid was showing one of his painting to his teacher, the canvas was totaly blank, and he called it "Waterloo battle ground" !

Teacher "puzzeled"! asked : very nice ! but, where's every body in this battle ground?

Kid said: well, losers escaped and the winners left the battle ground!

"To khod hadees mofassal bekhaan az in mojmal"

to Ali Khan Aziz;-)

You didn't need add your second comment.

I've undrestanded what you wrote in the way you wanted mean. Every body think that literature and artisitc works is only about talent.

I thintk that the talent works only for 20% after you have 50% is about reading, learning and improving a lot 20% to be intrested to share your feeling with others and 10% about self confidence to try expose yourself to critics.

After that it takes time and works to creat and your creation will have his own life after like a child.

Don't be modest and just try and work if you realy want.

Kheil Chaker Ali khan aziz, Mokhles va koochik choma Orang ;-)

To: Orang

I just reread my own post ( since no one else ever does!), and noticed I wrote:

 "I realized that I have no talent for writing poetry either...".

It occured to me that it may come across as saying, LIKE YOU, I have no talent for writing poetry!

 What I meant was, after exploring different fields (such as music, art, humor, literature,...etc.) and not seeing  any talent in myself to get into them, I turned to poetry, and realized I don't have any talent in poetry either!( shomaa haa hagheh maa ro khordeed!)

  Anyway. You obviously have found your talent, by which you express yourself. I happen to enjoy your poems and actually look forward to them every time I am here.

Yours,

Ali khaaneh P.

(let ME be the OLD one!)

P.S. Thanks for the translation of "oon baalaa".

OON bala

Hi ali Jan,

This is an extract from Cyrano de Bergerac. I'm totaly fan of Cyrano de Bergerac ://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Cyrano_de_Bergerac_%28play%29

I've already translated a part to persian ://iranian.com/main/2007-223

When Cyrano asked to become a more politicaly correct letting some changes in his poem his answer is :

"Impossible, Monsieur; mon sang se coagule

En pensant qu'on y peut changer une virgule"

Which means :

Impossible!  Sir! My blood congeals to think

That other hand should change a comma's dot.

 You could find all the play  translated in English  here : 

//digital.library.upenn.edu/webbin/gutbook/lookup?num=1254

I recommend you to watch the movie played by Gerard Depardieu if you have the chance to find the DVD in US.

Khosh bashi,

PS : You can call me Orang without khan. It would be Ok :-) Khan make me feel old ;-)

elmeh gheib :-)

I preferd Parvaz and Parandeh for a pilot. I thought is more poetic.

Of course you haven't Elmeh Gheib, but mystery could be part of a peom. Of course, you need some clues to help you.

Old times people read poems during long winter nights searching clues and imagery. Today we read them in Internet in direct, in live during 3 minutes, you cannot be long. Next time I'll give some clues in comment if needed.

Somewhere a poem is like a humain being. You like it or you don't like it. You don't need open the body to undrestand why. Essentiel is to read and try, thanks for taking time and reading my words.

Khosh bashid.

PS : By the way I love clues, my favorite TV show was Colombo;-)

Oon baalaa

Orang khaan:

 I gave it a shot, but early on I realized that I have no talent for writing poetry either (The search for a talent, any talent, goes on!).

  But I do enjoy reading Persian poetry( kohneh o noe). One of the early ones I read was Naderpour's "shereh angoor":

Kojah shahdast? In aabi ke dar har daaneye shirine angoor ast
In ashkast! Ashke baghbane pir ranjoor ast

And later he says the same thing about his poems.

Since then, I do view many poems, such as yours, like that. You just didn't sit down and mixed a few words. The final product is a mixture of pieces of your heart, your guts, blood and tears. Rest assured, most of us follow Naderpour's advise:

"Cheneen aasaan mageereedash...

Cheneen aasaan manoosheedash.."

*               *              *

Iin ro ham keh oon baalzaa neveshteed, baraa maa beesavaad haa, lotfan tarjomeh koneed:

Impossible, Monsieur; mon sang se coagule

En pensant qu'on y peut changer une virgule.

Cyano de Bergerac / Edmond Rostand

("Impossible" va "mooseeyo" sh ro fahmeedeem, bagheeyeh ro nah)

:-)

Sincerely,

Ali P.

Pilot?

Elm-e gheyb ke nadareem :-) no mention of any piloty reference.  It's a little better now but I'd still categorize it under that group of sher-e no. Sorry.  JJ wrote a poem eating pomegranete in bed.  While that is something a (lazy or sloppy) person would do, it has nothing to do with poetry or linking it to romance as he intended.  When I think of eating pomegranette in bed I think in terms of lazy and sloppy, not even making a mess of things. Nima and Shamloo and sher-e no's idea (to me) is to make things easier, not letting go of yourself.  You still need discipline in poetry to make it feel good.

To Anonymouse

Thanks for your frank feedback and I can undrestand it.

Try to read it again. I did it after a true story of a friend of mine who had been pilot. 

Story is hidden behind and under lines. I find it more intresting to transcend it with images and sonority than a kind of "Shahnameh" narratif way.

I don't like this one.

Orang I don't mean any disrespect and you should not take my comment seriously.  However, I don't like this one and I tell you why. 

If you recall when "sher-e no" (new poem) came along as a new kind of poetry which was started by Nima and then others and especially Shamloo, many "poets" started slapping words together and calling it sher-e no.  Like; OOh look at that, the birds are singing, the horses are running, ooh look at that, cats are jumping, dogs are chasing cats, oOh look at that ....

You know what I mean?  this poem reminds me of that "style" of sher-e no.  Using words aimlessly and to no avail.  Say it just to be said.

Thanks

Thanks to all and to Iranian.com, it is a great place with great people.

Beautiful

So beautiful...

Here we go again

:-)