Dedicated to the memory of Sadeq Hedayat

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Souri
by Souri
08-Jun-2009
 

Sadegh Hedayat was a greatest soul, much ahead of his time! I  don't share all his views, I have a more optimistic outlook (khoda ro shokr :)) but  nevertheless, I value his objectivity and sincerity. Yadash gerami.

Here's a beautiful poem dedicated to Hedayat, by Dr Parivz Natel Khanlari, I had planed to post it in a comment under those blogs 

هوای صادق or  واژه‌های صادقانه

but found it too long as a comment, so I blog it. enjoy:

To read the Persion version of this poem, please visit here: //www.irannam.com/Writers/Khanlari/EagleFarsi...

The Eagle

Sadness filled the eagle's soul and heart,
When his youthful days began to depart.

The end was approaching fast, he saw,
With only sunsets remaining to draw.

Leaving this world full of desire,
To another world he must retire.

The incurable demanded quick cure,
A medicine at once fresh and pure.

Early one morn he took to flight,
To end, for good, the mortals' plight.

Alarmed, the flock avoiding capture,
Ran here and yon, devoid of rapture.

Fearful of the enemy, the shepherd,
Sought safety for the lamb and the herd,

Among the brush, the partridge hid,
Into a deep hole, the snake slid.

Stopped in his track the deer, then ran,
Leaving a line of dust, thin and tan.

The hunter though, elsewhere bound,
Allowed the game to roam the ground.

Mortals are destined to one day perish,
Sweetness of life to no longer cherish.

A black crow, a filthy, ill-formed pest,
On that vast plane had made his nest.

A survivor of kids, the rocks they throw,
He lived the monotonous life of a crow.

Beyond reckoning his number of years,
Dead matter and carrion his daily fares.

Spotting the crow, down flew the mighty king,
His complaint to the pesky bird to bring.

"Much maligned fellow, respectfully I seek,
Your wise counsel, do not be meek.

A solution true if offered for my pain,
My regal reach would determine your gain."

"We are but slaves," said the crow, "of old,
To carry your orders, with honors untold.

Ready at your command to play my role,
Sacrifice for you, my self, body, and soul.

Life sacrificed for you, I have been taught.
Is all there is, no more exists to be sought."

Outwardly this but, within he thought,
'In the eagle's claws, I must not be caught.

Need has made the mighty meek and tame,
Am I not to him but a feckless game?

If suddenly riled or slightly scuffed,
Like a candle, my life will be snuffed.

Ill-founded friendship begets ill-founded love,
Ill-placed discretion turns me into a dove.'

Having made his decision, the cautious crow,
sought distance from the eagle, a stone’s throw.

Thus said the eagle, depressed and torn,
My life's but a tiny bubble, air borne.

Swift on my wings I am, for sure,
But unlike Time, I do not endure.

While I traverse about hill and dale,
Time keeps me snug on its scale.

To keep alive, we foster an iron will,
Death's arrives and our options are nil.

Being magnificent, of noble birth, and great,
Why has my life such a poor rate;

While you, ugly, ill-shaped, and rife,
Should be blessed with a lengthy life?

My late father heard his father say,
About an ugly crow, living down his way.

That using all the tricks in the book,
Had escaped his sharp claws, the crook.

My father, too, pursued the hunt and lost,
Unsuccessful though, he paid a heavy cost.

On his death bed, he did me address,
As you perched on the bough sans finesse,

With regret he intoned, in a trembling voice,
There it goes, that dirty bird of my choice.

My life, too, is over, like the evening sun,
You, however, flourish, starting a new run.

What capital do you draw on, what is the rub?
Let me in on your secret! Help me join your club!"

"Pledge," said the crow, "that you will,
Follow my example, seeking no frill.

Your life is brief by other design,
Longevity, too, by design is mine.

You roam the heights, never reach below,
What has gained you, that upward flow?

My father, over three hundred, when he passed,
A great deal of earthly knowledge had amassed.

He imagined the winds differently than do you,
And oft discussed them with feelings true.

The winds that roam the earth, he used to say,
Are harmless, as harmless as the sun's ray.

Beyond the clouds, the harmful winds dwell
Lethal winds, sounding a bird's death knell.

The winds that reside at the highest place,
Eliminate life, without leaving a trace.

Our longevity, father said, is basically due,
To the low levels, the unique life we pursue.

We incline towards the base for a long life,
Away from the heights, the abode of strife.

Carrion has a special benefit, I should add,
It elongates life, and I don't mean by a tad.

Dead and putrid matter, be absolutely sure,
Are for your malady, the most effective cure.

Abandon flight to your normal height,
Forget capturing birds left and right.

Perch on the gutter, a delightful place,
Occupy corners of yards or such space.

This neighborhood I know well, to and fro
I am, after all, a well-known, local crow.

There is a garden, behind it my house,
Therein lies, if you will, cheese for the mouse.

A tablecloth brimming with food and drink,
Repasts from every clime that you can think."

The place about which the crow eloquently talked,
Was a carrion pit, of dead matter over stocked.

Its stench spread over the plane, far and wide,
Infested with flies and bees away from the tide.

A detestation that caused the soul to cringe,
An atmosphere that made the eyes sear and singe.

Together they arrived at the destined place,
The crow deemed it a feast worthy of grace.

'This feast so delicious,' thought the proud crow,
'Fills my guest with utmost warmth and glow.

Thank God that I was not born poor,
An outcast, as it were, a destitute moor.'

Encouraged thus, he picked a carcass and ate,
Teaching the eagle the manner and the rate.

With a lifetime spent in flight, free from care,
In the firmament, hunting heavenly fare.

Viewing the clouds spread majestically below,
Ruling the animal kingdom, the fast and the slow.

The splendid bird of many a victorious trip,
The eagle with the world in his mighty grip.

The hunter of partridge, lark, and pheasant,
Permanent resident of the air most pleasant.

Had now fallen so deeply into disgrace,
That a filthy crow must set for him the pace.

His heart and soul were no longer at bliss,
Like a dying patient approaching the abyss.

He felt faint, his head began to swim,
He closed his eyes as his world went dim.

Recalling the grandeur that the heights command,
The glory, the beauty, and the love of kind.

The charisma, the liberty, and the victorious ways,
Offered him by heights on his glorious days.

He opened his eyes wide only to see,
Such magnificence thereabouts not to be.

There was baseness, misery, and woe,
With fear and hatred going toe in toe.

Flapping his wings, he rose above the scene,
"Forgive me, friend, for being so keen.

Live long, eat well, and grow, if you wish,
On carrion and dead matter and putrid fish.

This delicious-looking fare I’d rather pass,
As I have passed to the animals the grass.

Death, immediate, in the firmament today,
Is worth a hundred lives enmeshed in decay."

He then rose into the air, gained altitude, on and on,
With the crow watching in amazement, there upon.

He reached his own abode, passed even that,
To the abode of light, where the firmament's at.

He became a point that had existed a while,
Then turned into a dot that was not servile.

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more from Souri
 
Souri

dear Yana

by Souri on

Thanks for your kind comment.

I'm very happy you enjoyed that beautiful poem. Knowing you as a very balanced and honest member, your views are very important to me. I agree that the Farsi version seems more attractive to us. Hedayat's life is well described in it. Both Hedayat and Dr Khanlari were the greatest of our literature.


Yana

Mr. Hedayat

by Yana on

Dear Souri,

I have only read ONE of Mr. Hedayat's boods when I was very young and have looked for it on and off (Three drops of blood or se ghatreh khoon).     I loved the poem you posted and will print the Farsi version of it. Every time I read any of Kafka's books, I automaticaly thought of Mr. Hedayat!

Thanks again for sharing with us, I always enjoy reading your blog. 


Souri

Yes true...

by Souri on

Of course, becaue as you see in the original Persian version, this poem has been dedicated to Hedayat in 1321 Shamsi (1942 ?) and Hedayat passed away in 1951, some years later.

So surely, Khanlari said that poem when Hedayat was still alive. But I didn't know the story of it. Now, it's still another thing about Hedayat that you thought me!!! Thanks you.

The link for that great poetry Havaye Sadegh :

//iranian.com/main/2009/jun-3


Mehman

the story of 'Eagle' as told by Khanlari

by Mehman on

Dear Souri,

I missed that Havayeh Sadegh blog and I would be glad to have a link.

I should tell you that this poem has a story in fact that Khanlari tells and that is it was the first serious poem by him and he decided to recite it for Hedayat.

Khanlari was in his early twenties and Hedayat was a well-known established writer, so Khanlari goes to his house and recites it for him. Hedayat was quiet during the whole recitation and just smoke a cigarette.

At the end, Hedayat looked satisfied and thoughtful but said just one word: "very good", he just rose up and put on his coat and ordered Khanlari to rise and do the same and to follow him to the Donya magazine office for the publication of Khanlari's first poem!

You should know that Hedayat hardly approved  the works of the young writers of his age and this scene shows how powerful and good the poem must have been.

I got that story from the audio program by BBC on Hedayat's 100th birthday.

It is possible that after Hedayat's death Khanlari dedicated this poem to him which ironically features Hedayat as the lofty eagle.

peace


Souri

Dear Behrouz

by Souri on

Yes, the poem is beautiful and as you see, it was meant to describe the high value of Hedayat's life and his departure

I'm glad you appreciated it. It was surprising not seeing you in that blog of "Havaye Sadegh" !

Where have you been? It was due to your great knowledge that I learned to know the real Sadegh Hedayat .    

Thanks for everything.

 


Mehman

Eagle

by Mehman on

A very beautiful poem by Khanlari!

The lofty/prestigeous way the eagle chooses to live and die in contrast to the zagh's nasty/dastardly way of living and survival is illuminating.