Tuesday, October 29, 2002 The Persian Post reflects multi-lingual/ media expressions on culture (arts, literature, technology, and politics). It covers past, present, and future of the subjects in/ about the Iranian Plateau. The culture is composed of the penda'r, gofta'r, kerda'r of the nationalities in the Plateau (language, behavior, religion, food, dress, rugs, architecture, arts, literature, technology, and politics). The language includes dialects, comparison, dictionaries, linguistics, grammar, and changes. The arts are music, painting, fashion, drama, films, tapes, cd, Web sites, photos, and TV programs. The technology is narrowed down to those empowering the youth in their entrepreneurial, creative, and dissemination skills. The precursor of democracy and civil society is employment/ economics. The Plateau has a long history and was a component in the Cradle of Civilization. At present, it has natural resources; in the future, it places a large segment of world educated population. The Latin transliteration of Iranian terms are with the 28 consonants/ vowels (a, b, p, t, s, j, c, h, x, d, z, r, z, z~, s, s~, s, z, t, z, ', q, f, q, k, g, l, m, n, v, h, y/ a~, e, o, i, u). The Armenian, Ashurian, Hebrew, Turkic, Kurdic, Arabic, and other alphabets have their Latin equivalents. posted by Sam at 12:01 PM WILLIAM CARLOS WILLIAMS The Use of Force Williams (1883-1963) was an M.D. and a poet. This short story is taken from his book "The Farmers' Daughters•, 1932, and is an account of a physician's visiting a patient. In the first few words, the narrator introduces himself as a doctor. The rest of the story focuses on the interactions of the characters involved. The setting is the Olson's kitchen and the time is in recent decades. The content of the story has a central idea which is a sense of duty. The father, the mother and the doctor all feel a sense of duty to save their little girl. An informal style and a light tone with a simple, direct and figurative approach are used. A few generalizations are used to stereotype the characters: As often in such cases, they weren't telling me more than they had to", "It was up to me to tell them." "As doctors often do, I took a trial shot at it as a point of departure." The writer does not utilize quotation marks when he writes what the others say. It may be that he does not remember their exact expressions. For instance, he does not give a description of the kitchen's setup. Williams' attitude is emotional and his description has a precision of a behavioral scientist. He uses cause-and-effect principle and objective observation with a few psychological inserts. The doctor said to himself, "I had already fallen in love with the savage brat." This emotional confession may have arisen from the patient's unpredicted behavior - her complete rejection of the doctor. The story is the doctor's interaction with the situation he is in, not a rational reminiscence of the visit. The progression of the movements is from an unknown (disease) to a conclusion (diagnosis). The disease is diphtheria, an acute, contagious, infectious disease due to a bacterium with a swelling of the tonsils, and consequent aphonia. The symptoms are fever and patches of false membrane in the throat. From her fast breathing, the doctor noticed her fever, but in order to diagnose the disease, he had to look into her throat. At the end of the story, the doctor did not give a prescription; instead, he remembered the tears of a defeated opponent. In the story only the doctor's views are given and the thoughts of the others are not expressed. This is, of course, due to the technique which is used - namely, detached autobiography. The incident might have happened the day before it is told, but after strong feelings have cooled. The doctor uses three "looks" and one "see" in talking to Mathilda. The infuriated little girl is stimulated to use "both her hands clawed instinctively for" the doctor's eyes. Why did he not talk to the child instead of talking to the parents? Could not he ask the parents to leave the room; and, after a friendly chat with the child, asking her cooperation in diagnosing the deadly disease? He did not anticipate the child's unusual response and relied heavily on his experience. The little girl kept a secret from her parents for three days. She may have heard from her friends about the hard time the doctor gave them. So, she thought by hiding her sore throat, she could prevent the doctor's hurt. Or, she may not even have anticipated the visit of the doctor at all. Therefore, when the doctor tried to diagnose her in front of her parents, she did all she could to keep her integrity intact. That is, she did not want to be embarrassed in the presence of her parents or even more to be proven a liar. So, she resisted the doctor, gripped the spatula, and shrieked. At the end of the story her tonsils covered with a membrane were seen by the doctor. In Franz Kafka's "The Village Physician", a wound is described in which little worms in the vicinity of infected flesh were wiggling. Kafka gives more detail in exposing the infection, while Williams has only a wink of description to the infected tonsils. *********************** THOMAS McAFEE This Is My Living Room This is a short story, taken from his book "Poems and Stories," published by the University of Missouri Press. In this story, a man is thinking (writing) about himself. His thoughts are overheard (read) by the reader. This is equivalent to soliloquies in the theater, except that the man is writing or the author is writing for him. Sometimes the man is reacting to his immediate surroundings, so his interior monologue tells the story of what is going on around him. An example is his shooting of Ezmo. Sometimes, his thoughts are memories, so, his soliloquy reviews some past events associated with something in the present. His reminiscence of World War I is an illustration. There are times when he mainly reflects, his train of thought does not record a present or recall a past story - it is the story itself. Such is the beginning of the story. Interior monologue technique is flexible, although, generally limited. T.S. Eliot's "The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock" is another example. Although, McAfee is surrounded by intelligentsia, his character in this story is a petit bourgeois, with all its characteristics - mistrust (of people and law), betrayal (of wife), greed (Ezmo's debt of a loaf of bread) and so forth. In one of his short stories, F. Kafka describes a microorganism who thinks the world is out to get him. He constructs a house with many entrances and exits (c) arguing whenever the enemy enters through an entrance, he will have ample exits to evacuate before confronting the enemy. He also stores all his food in the central labrynths of his house. Whereas Kafka's character has built itself a distributed system, McAfee's character, Henry, has a collection of arms lumped in one place. McAfee's attitude is semi-satirical and matter-of-fact. His indication of purpose and a particular audience is indirectly given in the story through the character's interests and aspirations of petit bourgeoisie. The objects and relationships are simply described rather than analyzed in a lengthy way. The title of the story suggests naive, possessive characteristics of a petit bourgeois; and, therefore, is an appropriate title. The story is a description of a house, a family, a store, and a few representative people. The story consists of packages titled as, MY LIVING ROOM, MY TWO GIRLS, PEOPLE, MY STORE, THIS LIVING ROOM, PEOPLE, OLD EZMO, and ROSIE. The structure of the story defies a plot. In the story only Henry's views are given, whereas the outlooks of the others, the daughters, Rosie, are not. This looks intentional and the basis for selection or rejection is of course the authoritarian behavior of Henry. This blocks out the opportunity that must be given to all the characters to express their sides. A good example of a dominant character is given in A. Gide's "Counterfeiters." The context of the story has a central idea that is emphasized over and over, attachment. Henry possesses a house, a wife, two daughters, and a store. Even the town is described as Henry's appendage: "Maybe nobody else in this whole town, which is Pine Springs." The supporting ideas are his way of handling Sam Coates, Sheriff Claine and Old Ezmo. The collateral ideas are the guns and the whores. The setting is in the South, and in the '50's, as indicated by Birmingham News, World War II, TV, and Life Magazine. Henry's character is simple to describe, but the causes for having such a character are complex and are not given in the story. He plays inside the law, that is, following the written morality and defying the unwritten morality. Omar Khayyam in his Rubaiyat says: "Hell is a flame of our purposeless suffering." Or in Dostoevsky's words, "Hell is the absence of love." Henry not only mistrusts others, he dislikes them, too. "The only one to protect you is yourself and if you don't you're a fool." He is secure only in the store where he is damn sure that the customers come and go, while he remains in the vicinity of the familiar smell and relationship with the objects in the store. The universal contradiction in Henry is the dialectical relation between acceptance and rejection. While he has a whore as a mistress (acceptance), he despises Ellen Jean, his daughter, who may "end up a Birmingham whore," (rejection). "If Rosie ever dies and the girls go off, I'll sell this house (rejection) and sleep in my store (acceptance). All the other characters are subordinated to Henry. The style is informal, in which the tone is vulgar. The approach is simple, direct, and figurative. A few aphorisms are used to stereotype Henry "A man can learn a lot from just watching the TV, if he knows what to watch for and if he listens close." "Women are easier to handle. About the worst they can do is talk and what does that matter?" "People are as mean one place as they are another and they're always out to get you." The diction is Anglo-Saxon and the tone and style fits the subject and the purpose of the author that is recording of the Southern dialect. posted by Sam at 2:46 PM THEODORE ROETHKEI Know a Woman The poet uses a two-fold description of a woman and her movements. Two images of her are juxtaposed: a graceful woman and sociable (experienced) woman. He even gives the background for both: "Of her choice virtues only gods should speak, Or English poets who grew up on Greek I swear she cast a shadow white as stone." "Stone" goes along with "Greek" statues. In another image, "the errant note" connotates the paper money: "Her full lips pursed, the errant note to seize; She played it quick, she played it light and loose; "The idea in the poem is only part of the total experience which it communicates: Passiveness versus grace, old versus flexibility, femininity versus sentimentality. The idea has been truly and deeply felt by the poet. He tells us of the affair he had with a "woman". Since there is an audience, he uses metaphor and irony. "The shapes a bright container can contain Let seed be grass, and grass turn into hay: I'm martyr to a motion not my own" He humorously puts together all the elements of poetry to indicate the tone of the poem. He is a rather old and passive follower; and he has a job, a family and a passion. "How well her wishes went! / She taught me Turn, / I, poor I, the rake, / What's freedom for? / These old bones". The woman is sentimental, well built, and harmoniously graceful (and perhaps experienced). "Lovely in her bones, / When small birds sighed, she would sigh back at them; / She taught me Touch, that undulant white skin; / She was the sickle; / Her several parts could keep a pure repose, / Or one hip quiver with a mobile nose". The last stanza is an objective description and gives the echo of the first three subjective stanzas. This shows the polarity which magnetizes in itself a part of the outer world in this poem. "I Knew a Woman" is in iambic pentameter made of four stanzas. "I knew a woman, lovely in her bones," Except for lines 6, 13, 20, the other lines are end-stopped. So, the rhythm is halting or disconnected. Half of the lines have a full stop or pause (the caesura) inside the lines. This gives emphasis by causing the poem to be read slowly. The variation of the caesuras in the verse avoids monotony: "I'm martyr to a motion || not my own; (I measure time || by how a body sways)." Alliteration ("I'm a "m•artyr to a "m•otion not "m•y own,"), assonance (These "o•ld b"o•nes live to learn her want"o•n ways), and rhyme bind lines together. The verse is a variation on rime royal (ababbcc). Its rhyme is abcdeee, fgfghhh, ijijkkk, mnonppp. The poet utilizes repetition of words for emphasis and dramatization. "Ah, when small birds sighed, she would sigh back at them; She played it quick, she played it light and loose." These musical devices provide a palpable and delicate pleasure for the ear and add dimension to the meaning. They carry the meaning - and a tragic one - like a joyous pain. This becomes a device by which the poet's own immediate past and eternalization of it, discharges itself like an electric charge. The poem is a product of joy and grief, not happiness and depression. The technicality of the poem also discharges and balances the tension between the whole past and eternity. ***************************** JOHN CROWE RANSOM Dead Boy "Pig" is not intelligent. It only "wrenches" away the "bough" without any further use; and transmutes it to its origin, soil. Here is an image of death (pig) "with a pasty face," "kinned by poor pretense," takes youngs (cookies). But, where? To "a noble house" in paradise?! The poet's analogy of tree and animal is pretty old. Obviously, it is derived from the primitive tales, the religious books, and superficial observation of putrification of dead leaves and dead bodies. Scientifically, they both evolved from the same origin (cell) with different environments. As the poet imagines it, the substance of the aged tree has intermingled with and become a part of Virginia, but its vital principle continues. Certainly the tree's "wound" gets healed and perhaps there is a replacement and/or the tree survives to contribute "pale and little" fruits. Which means that the existence of the tree is independent of these minor events. It stands as durable as a community through seasonal alterations. The fruits, leaves and boughs unite with the foothold soil and become sap, limbs. Time goes on. But for the individual, this process is painful: "There hearts are hurt with a deep dynastic wound." With this analogy of tree and body, the poet subconsciously consoles the reader; because the reader conceives assurance through the liveliness of the tree. Anthropomorphism is used for the tree which is not aware of the loss or human emotions. And, if Freud's psychoanalysis is applied; indeed, there come other births because the father (symbolized as sword) is alive: "A sword beneath his mother's heart." The tree lives a mysterious life of its own beyond that of ephemeral "little man". This sense of a life deeper and more mysterious than that of the passing generations of man is summarized in the following lines: "I see the forebears' antique lineaments. The elder men have strode by the box of death To the wide flag porch," The accent in this instance is religious. There is a contrast between "I" and "the Preacher’s“ ideas in the way of expressing their sympathies. "I" has a tempered tongue and "the Preacher" has the conventional dictum of biblical style. "A pig with a pasty face, so I had said, The first-fruits, saith the Preacher, the Lord hath taken;" The moral and religious attitudes implicit in the poem, have been related to the theme, namely, death. An intellectual and sensible man views the death here. The poet, though, has made an inefficient adaptation to the modern environment. The tragedy is not the boy's death, it is the death of a living body who was like "a green bough", "not beautiful, nor good, nor clever." Poet's attitude is not a naive personal matter; rather, it is a common one. "Dead Boy" is in iambic pentameter with anapestic and trochaic variations made of five quatrain stanzas with a poor inner structure. The first stanza announces the death of a "little cousin." The second quatrain is a description of the boy and of the mother's patience. The third stanza is the poet's allegorical expression of death. The fourth and fifth stanzas concern the "neighbors" reaction and the poet's observation (not feeling). "The little cousin is dead by foul subtraction A green bough from Virginia's aged tree." The variation of metrical feet, use of three "little"s and conventional metaphors and images are interrelated with the theme on one hand; and on the other hand, they indicate the lack of a sharp imagination or a felt catastrophe by the poet. He reports the events with no justification or concrete detail. "The little cousin is dead, by foul subtraction, And none of the county kin like the transaction, Nor some of the world of outer dark, like me. A boy not beautiful, nor good, nor clever, But the little man quite dead, I see the forebear's antique lineaments." On the same theme Dylan Thomas in "A Refusal to Mourn the Death by Fire of a Child in London," presents a turbulent meter and rhythm along with closely related motives; or Federico Garcia Lorca's "Gacela of the Dead Child" which has a good internal structure. It starts with a report of the death of the child in Granada and gives three images from earth to sky and back to earth, and, finally, it ends in sky which is supposedly the soul's mirage: "Not a flicker of lark was left in the sky/ Not the crumb of a cloud was over ground" to cover God's vision for this crime. The last stanza puts all previous images together with other related motives to set a climax as humanistic as possible: "A giant of water sprawled over the hills, the valley tumbling with lilies and dogs, Through my hands' violet shadow, your body, dead on the bank, was an archangel, cold." "The crumb of a cloud" now is a "giant of water sprawled" and "hands' violet shadow," the dead body of the child. "The valley" goes along with an uncovered grave and "the hill", a newly filled grave which stands a little higher than the old graves because it is not settled down yet by absorption of rain; finally "an archangel," late and lonesome. Except lines 7, 10, 13, 14, the other lines are end-stopped. Half of the lines have either a full stop or pause inside the lines. The variation of the caesuras in the verse avoids monotony. So, the rhythm is halting or disconnected. This is not emotional and natural compared to D. Thomas' "A Refusal" with lots of run-ons to intensify the emotions. The rhythm has also been lightened by the feminine rhyme. "The little cousin is dead, by foul subtraction," The feelings of the poet are artificial. If he looks at the tragedy or the circumstance with the eyes of children by utilization of their vocabulary, "little cousin," "a pig," "cookies," "house," "box," "fruit," "sword;" then, how could he use traditional words: "noble," "old," "dynastic,"? Alliteration ("..."c•ountry "k•in li"k•e the transa"c•tion,") is artificial, for these unnatural sounds in an elegy are not comparable to the nuzzle sounds: m, n, l. Assonance ("Their h"e•arts "a•re h"u•rt with a deep dynastic wound") is quite tragic; especially with the echo of die in ""dy•nastic" and "heart" goes along with "hurt" melodiously as well as by meaning. ***************************** ALLEN TATE Death of Little Boys The poem captures the intense and peculiar sensations of an experience, namely death. The poet succeeds in saying something new on an old subject in a way that makes it more accessible to our understanding, he adds to our capacity for interpretation of the experience, even though the poem is obscure. To extend his expressive power, Tate uses images that contain a subject that is the center of attention, and some other element that is brought in for the sake of pointing out some quality in the subject. Similes are used in lines 3 and 16: "The event will rage terrific as the sea;" and "your little town / Reels like a sailor drunk in a rotten skiff." These images give familiar qualities of the "sea" and a "sailor" to the "event" and the "town" respectively. Metaphors are utilized in the poem, too: "the ultimate dream" and "Gold curls now deftly intricate with gray," are death and hair, respectively. Most images of the poem are parts of coherent views of life that are different enough from ordinary attitudes to lead the poet to insights. The rhythmic pattern of the poem suggests an irregular meter abundant in iambs: "And over his chest the covers in the ultimate dream." The number of feet per line is a variable greater than tetrameter. There are 8 caesuras in the poem. Half of the lines are end-stopped; the other half, are run-on lines. These properties give semi-conversational and semi-formal effects. The rhyme is abab cdcd efef ghgh ijij. Although alliteration is not used, assonance is abundant: "Out to the milkweed amid the fields of wheat." There are feminine rhymes (i.e., lines 17 and 19) and masculine rhymes (i.e., lines 2 and 4). The words by themselves are most expressive only when they appear in their contexts. Just as the rest of a line is the context of a particular word, and influence its meaning, so an individual word is part of the context of the words around it, and has an effect on them. This effect is not fully utilized in the poem: "From one "peeled aster drenched• with the wind all day." Intelligibility is not only a matter of words, but of the relationships created by the arrangement of images and ideas, it depends on the structure of the poem. In line 9, "his chest" is not clear to whose chest the poet refers to. If it is the little boys' chest, then, it should be their chests. In line 16, "a rotten skiff" can only exist at the bottom of the sea; and "the cliff of Norway" is unusual, because the fjord of Norway is famous. Although the images related to the sea (lines 3, 8, 14, 16) are numerous, they do not serve as an amplifying technique. The vegetation on the and (aster, milkweed, and wheat) do not go with the vigor of the sea. There is no ground or horizon in the poem as a starting point. Other poets have written poems on the death of children. In "A Refusal to Mourn the Death by Fire, of a Little Child in London", Dylan Thomas intensifies the emotion to a climax, through related images and ideas, so brilliantly. John Crowe Ransom uses a light tone in "Dead Boy", and Fedrico Garcia Lorca sets a sequence of highly visual images to describe the theme in "Gacela of the Dead Child". posted by Sam at 2:24 PM ROBERT FROST Acquainted With the Night This is one of Frost's poems that is worked out entirely in urban terms, remote from his preferred world of farm and countryside. It may be that not only the time but the place as well is "neither wrong nor right." (See "Stopping by the Woods on a Snowy Evening".) It has an efficient adaptation to the modern environment with the usage of psychedelics "city light," "city lane," "sound of feet," "interrupted cry," "luminary clock." This poem can be seen as a more sharply defined and fully realized version of "A Late Walk," with its sense of man's psychic alienation from the world in which he (or the poet) must live and move and have his being. It achieves something like perfection in its modulated understatement and careful ambiguity. The latter poem is a rural one: "And when I come to the garden ground, The whir of sober birds Up from the tangle of withered weeds is sadder than any words." It resembles the idea of this urban one: "I have outwalked the furthest city light. I have looked down the saddest city lane. When far away an interrupted cry Came over houses from another street, But not to call me back or say goodbye." An uncertain teleologist, the poet records effectively the data from his past without resort to the other's explicit - and questionably relevant - assertiveness. He, "unwilling to explain," sets up a pulsatory world of Lucretian indifference, impersonality and otherness. The poem's theme is one of a quest for some kind of meaningful epiphany in such a world, a quest that is apparently frustrated. (Lucretius Carus, "Of the Nature of Things," "Look below on other men / And see them ev'rywhere wand'ring, All dispersed / In their lone seeking for the road of life.") Yet the final note is not clearly one of frustration, "I have been one acquainted with the night." It is something in the past though the aloneness of the poet in the world brings him negative capability - uncertainties, doubts, and mysteries. Frost's knowledge of nature is closer to Epicurus, Lucretius and Omar Khayyam than to Darwin, Mendel and Einstein. They all belong to the same category for their materialistic observance, but nature was an oversimplified, impersonal, indifferent for the former group; whereas for the latter one, it is relative, evolving, and detectable through experimentation. Frost personified "the night" which is just the hours that the sun's light is on the other side of the earth. He uses the same thing for "the time" which is not absolute as Newton thought; rather, it is interrelated with the space to form events rather than a concrete or abstract flow of a uni-dimensional variable in a cumulative course: "The time was neither wrong nor right. / I have been one acquainted with the night." Frost is an ordinary man who lives by creative spirit. He thinks in images and dreams in fantasy; he lives by poetry. Yet he seems to distrust it. Action is evident in his poem's frequent use of certain verbs. His simple vocabulary and sharp observation turn forgotten thoughts into unforgettable phrases: "I have walked out in rain -- and back in rain." He puts the living speech of men and women into his poem: "But not to call me back or say good-bye." The poem does not occur in a moment; rather, it is a long experience between countryside and "city". His verse has a growing intimacy; it radiates an honest neighborliness in which "wit and wisdom" are joined. His central subject is humanity. His poem lives with a particular aliveness because it experiences living people. The poem is autobiographical. The sense lives vividly in it because it is crowded with the intimate human drama. The simplicity of his verse is the simplicity - not of nature - but of a serious and profoundly critical spirit. The revelation of the theme is gradual; it is not contained in an instantaneous flash, but in the whole movement. The rhymes of the poem parallel that of the epigraph to Eliot's "The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock: "In the middle of the journey of our life I came to myself In a dark wood where the straight way was lost I cannot rightly tell how I entered it I looked up and saw its shoulders already clothed with the rays of the Planet, The night that I passed so piteously" (Dante, Inferno, l) The epigraph and the above lines indicate Frost's impression of "The Divine Comedy." But, if Dante met Virgil in Canto l; and, then, proceeded on the "journey," Frost did not meet a companion, and refrained emphatically: "I have been "one, acquainted with the night." "Acquainted With the Night" is a sonnet, rhyming aba, bcb, cdc, dad, aa. It deviates from the Shakespearean sonnet by a tighter rhyming; but, it is still an iambic pentameter in five stanzas. The first four stanzas have three lines each. The last one has two lines. The last line is a refrain of the first line to make fourteen lines, not "thirteen," because of superstition! Rhythm's regularity gives the iterative experience that the poet had. Except for lines 5, 7, 8, 12, the other lines are end-stopped. Therefore, the rhythm is halting or disconnected which is appropriate for a well established experience; and, it is thoughtful, too. The variation of the caesuras in the verse put emphasis on the proceeding or preceding words. "I have walked out in rain || and back in rain. ||I have out walked || the furthest city light." Repetition of certain words, phrases and even a refrain give depth and dimension to the poem. Frost's typical words are here, too: stop, watch, sound, stood. Alliteration ("I have "s•tood "s•till and "s•topped the "s•ound of feet") to impress the reader by "s" in repetitious rigidity, and assonance (e as in "been," i as in "sky," and a as in "rain") to soften the aloneness of the "I" give a unity or a composite of iterative units. Placing the accent in the lines starting with "I have" either on "I" or on "have" are both meaningful. For example, ""I• have been acquainted with the night" (and presumably still am), then clearly nothing happened; it is the king's horses and the king's men all over again. But if the accent is shifted to "have", then the caesura after the first "rain" takes on additional depth; something did happen, or at least may have happened. There is no way of knowing whether day did follow night, and if so whether that day was one of enlightenment or of the desired epiphany or of some third, and quite indefinable, mode of acceptance. Such a suspended conclusion may help to justify Louise Bogan's remark that "Frost's later poems indicate that he knows more than he ever allows himself to say." Frost selects a word with one meaning out of the many it possesses and uses that only. Most poetry proceeds by the opposite method. It is much nearer, in a curious way, to the stories of Kafka, who also starts from a simple position and by rejecting false hypotheses, arrives at very strange conclusions, than to some other poetry. Frost uses the intense visual imagery: "One luminary clock against the sky." Form is inseparable from the content or thought of a poem. The main concern of a reader is with a poem's meaning rather than its texture or technical details. Since Frost tells the reader about his experience in a society, indistinguishable at night and in rain; then the poem has a well organized and established pattern: length of the lines are about equal, tight rhymes, regular rhythm. Remove the external world from the poem, something more than symbol or exemplum is gone, something that is intimately involved with a bent, a way of looking at the world, a set of instinctive or near-instinctive affirmations and denials that have manifested themselves with an almost undeviating persistence. External world has a philosophically serious significance, either deliberately worked out or revealed by its implicit presence in a substantial body of poems. Frost's view of nature does not possess a persistent ethical or metaphysical dimension of very substantial importance in the poem. But he gives no comparably clear statement of principles, offering instead a mask of skeptical or whimsical equivocation, though with intellectual content. posted by Sam at 1:37 PM FOREWARD The collected literary articles, some of which were previously published in various journals, are grouped into three sections. The first section comprises an analysis of a poem or a short story by an American poet or writer. Section 2 includes a Chronology of the 20th Century major events in Iran and brief sketches on 9 prominent Iranian writers. The third section gives reviews of specific books by Middle Eastern authors. CONTENTS PAGE FOREWORD . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 5 ROBERT FROST . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 7 THEODORE ROETHKE . . . . . . . . . 12 JOHN CROWE RANSOM. . . . . . . . 14 ALLEN TATE . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 18 WILLIAM CARLOS WILLIAMS. . . . .20 THOMAS MCAFEE. . . . . . . . . . . . 22 A SURVEY OF IRANIAN LITERATURE 27 CHRONOLOGY . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 30 FARROKHY YAZDY . . . . . . . . . . . . .34 A. LAHOOTY . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 36 NIMA YUSHIJ. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 38 MEHDY AKHAVAN(c)SALLES . . . . . .41 AHMAD SHAMLU . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 43 FORUQ FARROKHZAD . . . . . . . . . . . 45 SAEED SOLTANPUR . . . . . . . . . . . . 48 KHOSROW GOLSORKHY. . . . . . . . . .53 SAMAD BEHRAGYY . . . . . . . . . . . . . 56 MARZIEH OSKUYEE. . . . . . . . . . . . . 58 BAQER TULUI. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 61 MEHDY BAZERGAN . . . . . . . . . . . 63 SHAFIEE KADKANY. . . . . . . . . . . .65 MIRZA IBRAHIMOV. . . . . . . . . . . . .67 MOHAMMAD SOROOR MOWLAEE.69 SIYAVASH KASRAIY . . . . . . . . . . . 71 ALIREZA NABDEL . . . . . . . . . . . . . 73 MOHAMMAD AZARY . . . . . . . . . . . . 76 AHMAD SHAMLU . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 78 ASQAR VAQEDY . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 80 YAHYA ARYANPUR . . . . . . . . . . . . .83 posted by Sam at 12:46 PM A CARD A PLANE DIASPORA EPIGRAM 1 EPIGRAM 2 EPIGRAM 3 EPIGRAM 4 EPIGRAM 5 EPIGRAM 6 EPIGRAM 7 FERMI AGE THEORY FROM A COLORFUL DIARY HAIKU 1 HAIKU 2 HAIKU 3 HAIKU 4 HAPPY VALETINE LOVE LYRIC 1 LYRIC 10 LYRIC 11 LYRIC 12 LYRIC 13 LYRIC 14 LYRIC 15 LYRIC 4 LYRIC 7 LYRIC 8 LYRIC 9 LYRIC 6 NOCTURNE 1 NOCTURNE 2 NOCTURNE 3 ONE BIG EYE SEASONS SKETCH 1 SKETCH 2 SKETCH 3 SKETCH 4 SKETCH 5 THE AIR WAR THE FALL THE FLOWING FALL THE PRAYER THE RECURRING FALL THE SUBTRACTED STRANGER TWO CATS VARIATION posted by Sam at 12:26 PM Friday, October 18, 2002 A CARD It was a glittering night amidst mirrors and light. You appeared in full bloom like a tulip on my sight. Asking your hand to dance - bedazzled by your beauty. I was taking a chance. It led to another dance. Learned your name and number while your eyes fixed on mine. You got my name and number. Then, I called. Remember? Oh, my dearest, you say, "It is no fun without you." And, then, you say, "I missed you." For me, they reverberate forever. Your long hair covers your shoulder like tresses of water lilies. You always take me into your thoughts, confide in me your worries share with me your humors and charm me with your alertness. Your dress changes color like four seasons: olive, red, beige, white. Sharing moments together: Sitting by your side is so joyous. Driving with you is so soothing. Sipping with you so quenching. Holding your hand enhances my trust. Looking at you absorbs me totally. Talking with you enriches my experience. exchanging laughter or glances. Sharing moments: When you look at me, repeat European words smile at me touch your eyes to make them rest rest your head on my shoulder Oh, my dearest, the freshness of your words flashes of your pleasant memories clips of your colorful school episodes.. By telling me you are resurrecting them in front of my eyes. When you string your fond memories into colorful slides and whisper them to me so graphically; I am totally absorbed by your charm unaware of the time - exuberant and delightful. Dancing with you is witnessing the 19th Century Romantic Vienna or Paris. When I hold you in my arms for a circular Waltz, traversing the floor is like holding to a cherub on the clouds. Or, you wrap around me in a Tango like a Spanish vine in full bloom pressing against a Mediterranean marble responding to a mysterious breeze. I cherish the first time we dance a new dance. We have not had a Quick Step yet or, for that matter, pancake neither! Sharing the time together: telling me stories fascinates me. Your voracious aptitude for learning has my admiration. We transpart our experiences to each other So we broaden them in each encounter. Your charm is part of my thoughts. In your companionship, time stops and eternity starts. Your beauty surpasses my vocabulary; your charm is omnipresent Rendezvous for next time imprints clearly on my mind. Sam B. Baran Arlington, VA Februry 12, 1989 FERMI AGE THEORY When we are born, we know not where, or when we will die. How we will wander around, while we are slowing down in a finite medium! Our scattering seems isotopic; and our average lethargy, independent of energy. Valid is the Diffusion Theory. In every collision, we gain exactly an average lethargy. As we grow older, we have traveled more- the slowing down is zero at a void; and, continuous at an interface. THE SUBTRACTED STRANGER In the webbed city, under buildings and bridges, he who used to look at the faraway sky, pulled out his crushed body form beams and bricks, outstretched his hands to the sheathed sun. Highways end at the sea. In the city's salty air, when, in his iron cage, he was passing by these majestic green piles... and leaves because of rain, lobe their beings. and rocks do not absorb sad rain. and rain washes away lines of memory. LYRIC 4 I am thinking of that girl whose eyes had the depth of the evening; her hair was the black waves of night in the earthen green clouds; her voice mixing life with art and giving it inflection; her look beneath everything seeking a relation. I am thinking of that woman whose body was moon-lit flesh; and her breasts, two ambitious primitives; and her thighs were night-moist valleys where dawn's dews were upon- in those moments the perfect union in warmth, life, passion, ebullition and wilderness and the short nap of the gay moment. I am thinking of that white haired old woman who said, "There is no substitute for experience." * A poet is one who thinks of the past. NOCTURNE 1 The night is young. The trees have yielded their bodies to the every- night's need; and are waving the cool breeze upon themselves. The lawn is pressing the wet silence into dew of tears. Afar, the stolen son joined the Mama. The window joins the sky. The night is free. The white bird has migrated to the far sides of the cloud. And the Red Star is rotating in its old orbit. The earth is absorbing the fresh wetness into its free body. A name, and the names ... that is it. THE PRAYER Am looking at the mirror, the brook. A leaf is falling. A leaf is being carried away. And, am hearing a leaf is growing. The leaf, in the wind. The cloud, in the wind. The earth, in the wind. The wind, the wind of unification, will wash off the borders. and, the earth, the free earth, again, will become a virgin without make-up. SKETCH 1 When the river belts the town in wetness, midtown burns red. The yellow flames reach the smoky sky. The trees of January night- naked and needful. * The roaring wind- the lone passer-by on the bridge and the deep whispers on the streets at the stoplights. * Am I lost in town; or the town, in me? LYRIC 8 In the depth of the nights you and I promenade to the temple of love. Transcending time, yet, we touch the bounds of dawn- a shiver, a thunder shower, and our unfolding fragrance penetrating us to propagate deep in space. LYRIC 6 Not seeing you is not seeing myself is not thinking of yourself is not thinking of me. SKETCH 3 Can't you see- I want you to be my partner. Can't you see- the music has just started. -A POP SONG Every line and shade on your face has a particular meaning for me. And you eyes take me deep- in you passing the present. Then I know my dearest you are the only one who gets so close to me to become me and me, you. Our breaths intermingle while abounds us nights fragrance. You are the window relating to the eternity; I am the telescope to limit the sky. DIASPORA Oh, my little sister! You're so lucky, going back home. You'll find new friends- boys and girls. I'm sure, you'll have fun to put your new clothes on, walking with ma and pa, visiting folks you know. Everyday, getting up to face new faces- who will adore you. You leave behind your brother- all alone in a foreign land- and your friends who can't share school secrets with you. You pick up the phone and call Joan. It is her birthday- and yours too. She has a gift for you; but can't give it to you, for you are no more her neighbor. You ask her about other kids. * Overhearing your talk, a volcano builds up in me overflows at the top drops of fire on my face. Why leaving friends behind? Why can't we stop the time? When do we see 'm again if we ever see 'm again? When can we say things we used to say when do we whisper or cry? Perhaps, some day, a sunny day, on the sidewalk, down the street filled with pigeons a familiar face flashes up in the crowd bringing you into the labyrinth of memories. Perhaps, some day, a rainy day, reading the paper by a foggy window, you'll see a familiar name. Life is a train of memories receding in a foggy course. * Now the call is over, you run to pa and ma crying; and I load up the trunk with your baggage. VARIATION And the wind, which sings its song of wandering to the plain, alone, was passing by. And the wind alone was the wanderer of the plains. The wandering psycho of the plain was only the wind, which was passing by. LYRIC 10 In search of you I traveled the worlds - old and new. In search of you the unknown towns, I went through In search of you the stars, the moon and the sun were visited in N.Y., K.C., Paris, Hamburg. Trieste, Budapest, Frisco... and revisited in the little towns and big glowing cities. My life was a moving dot on the map of my destiny- houses, taverns, museums, universities, beaches, and streets. * In the crowd in Chicago. I looked for your face. On a narrow road in Colorado Springs I stopped to say hello to you. I knew you were somewhere in this colorful world; but the mailman did not know that! ** In search of you I found my other half. And, now, when the falling leaves are swept away by the wandering wind we stand together- let the rain, light and the leaves caress us. Let our fragrance intermingle with the wind. When the lone moon high above strolling over the yellow meadow, we gaze at each other and tour the avenues of our minds by the fireplace (outside, the blowing wind) all night long we listen to the symphony of our hearts. At dawn, we go through the trees to the fountain of light. LYRIC 11 Amidst the hollowness of nights when the wind blowing far and wide and the cold creeping by my window - thinking of you in a consummating candle light. * That punctilious brown barge leaving behind the palpitating pair of palms in the island of love. * Your presence fills me with utter joy. Your memories warm up my soul. In your smile, I see happiness in full and in your tears, eternity. LYRIC 1 The fall is not only that massive tiredness but is a reduced melody. Love luminates the silence in a glass of whiskey. And the blue-lid hazel eyes in the nightly Indian hair ties me to a chariot; on towards destiny -the black flawing rider- sends me. Can I -through these earthly streets- make myself the star of that brook; and in the plenitude of that flowing wet, be placed. FROM A COLORFUL DIARY In the cottage, you and I, burning and moving. In the arms of the sun, the plant, burning. Told me: "It was a mistake. a long and painful mistake. and thought of correcting it- to save the perishing self..." and I, in my silence, listening and watching you, with the golden sunlight illuminating your web of memories. You looked like a steady fountain in a remote Colorado mountain, flowing your dids and didnots deep from your mind and heart. *** Told me that: you built a castle to keep yourself unharmed and worked hard... (-to turn strands of your hair gray?) went through unbearable moments, extreme ecstasy and loneliness saw death spreading his cloak on you and when you made it back life was deeper and richer. There were moments when you looked like a tired traveler getting close to a strange town - standing yonder the bridge at dusk... and there were moments when you were talkative like a sparrow at dawn. ** Told me that: The old trees whispered that it was a mistake... But you, the young playful squirrel, did not hear it- for your eyes were frivolous and it turned out to be a long time before you could say sorry. While I was trying to follow you- on a journey to your memories throughout the distant barren land- asked myself: was it vigilance and strength or survival instinct and the inertia of tradition? Is she in the middle of the forest (as Dante said) or is she the 30 year old woman (Balzac described)? * This is the sad story of a woman an agonizing conflict of two souls- their unfinished duet. And who am I? A broken guitar in the carriage of a peddler going through the vast Midwest country. playing my silent tune- in a duet, trio, quartet... THE FALL Let me know- to miss seeing you or to expect seeing you. Let me know- what your dreams are, what your thoughts are. Take me into your new world, present me to the people and objects, explain to me who/what they are, and why different from what you left behind. * You say law, house, loan and alike, but not lover. You cry - for what? You are quiet - why not? There is a wall between you and your skin. Are you possessed? Or, the temptation of the common world, taken over you to the extent of forgetting where you came from? * Now you sign a name on a note, or, you don't call. Then, you wrote, "I love you;" reverberating your love. Now, when I get home- I wonder if you are still there. or...where. * Are you rested and ready to leave me? Where would be your next stop? were did our nightly whispers go- are they wandering the world over, or being echoed eternally again? Now we enter the domain of doubt. What was between you and me becomes darkness. What was ours become yours and mine. * Will be separated by the seven seas, by the turbulent winds by the cloudy sky by a vacuum surrounding at times. Our love, like a tree, caught in the middle of the autumn- all of a sudden in a hysteric fever. looses all its leaves- a skeleton against the purple horizon. * Our love was the best thing happened to us in a long while. It was a fountain to quench our thirst. It was a light to deepen our quest. It was an oasis to prepare and rest. It was a forest to vivify our lives. It was a mountain to ascend us to purity. It was a volcano glowing awake at night It was a sea- constantly changing while being the same. Now, we ask ourselves - let us forget, let us forget- the fountain, the light, the oasis, the forest, the mountain, the volcano, and the sea of our mutual world. And, to walk away- to enter the singular world alone, to go through the parks, alone, to go through the museums, alone to go through the nights, alone. * It is a tragedy when one witnesses ones death. We witness the gradual, helpless death of our love. Everything ends, ends, ends- our proud love, our tumultuous life. What remains- memory in us, memory in others, how long in us, how many others. * Are you the same? Are you older? Are we the same? Are we...at the end? Now, you are distant with me or without me. your lips are motionless. Your mind p(re)views the world. Is this a hesitation in departure or fall- from the height of our relationship? * We knew somewhere in the world and at some point in time, at last, we will meet. Although we knew of the obstacles to our love we did not fear. Are we returning from a journey- strolling together is over? deep dip into the dawn is over? our nightly whisper is over? Your kind hands and velvety eyes- gone forever? Is the two way street becomes one-way, and why? The story of two minds, is over. And in the cold of the fall, two separated souls wander away separately... In this early fall, when the trees are turning to the color of your hair, we are swept away by a wandering wind. Now we reach a bifurcated road. How do we depart? How do we forget? How do we know it won't be the same. But, we say: "Goodbye." * The wind is taking your picture away, to the domain of timelessness. * The night is growing. The walls are crumbling by the heartbeats. The moon is going under the clouds Trees are drawing circular features in the darkness. And the lone cat leaves the shadow of the wall, crossing the edge of the wall, to the other side of the wall. Alas, it is getting late. The sparrow has flown away. And the lone cat, on the wet road walking toward the inflamed horizon. LYRIC 7 You must remember this a kiss is just a kiss. Casablanca Though I'll never see you I'll always think of you. The walk we had in rain The stop we made on Main. When I told you remember, It's neither now or never. A CARD For my dynamic delightful daughter I love you so forever and ever. your birth gave me so much joy; your growing up, even more. Happy birthday my little star Your future be bright and far. TWO CATS Cats in snow seek shelter. Cats at night roam together. Cats in hallways touch each other. Cats by trees clasp tighter. * Cats at home only chatter! LYRIC 9 For you, my love is a flowing river- remaining the same, never the same. SKETCH 2 Bursting into the sky the birch, a giant's pointing hand, not remaining underground. While all the deciduous are naked the cypress insists on green. The snow on the ground came from the sky, after rising from the earth. The black thrush on the snow- a charcoal on the chalk. LYRIC 12 When you are with me, you are in my eyes. When you are not, you are on my mind. You are always with me you are around me and I, lost in you. I listen to the breeze- to hear your whisper, through the anxious trees. I look at the moon- to see you, your face, out in the blue twinkling sky. I touch the hills, kiss a flower, follow a bird, and drive through the night. The walls of darkness recede from me when I speed up to you. My life is divided into white nights with your memory and dark days without your presence. I traverse the earth only when I ride with you. Outside, the wind is blowing I hear the sound of night I see the Orion- distant in the sky. The night dressed in the sequined blue gown. SKETCH 4 Dark, unending road- You are not with me, Driving all alone. On the screen of horizon- You came up to me, No longer I am alone. SKETCH 5 Dashing on the rainy road- the recurring trees. Flashing through the night- memories of by-gone togetherness. LYRIC 13 In the depth of nights- you and I promenade to the temple of love. Transcending time, yet we tough the bounds of dawn- a shiver, a thunder shower, and our unfolding fragrance penetrates us, propagates deep in space. * Not seeing you is not seeing myself is Not thinking about me is not thinking about yourself. LYRIC 14 As if I am the darkness. HAIKU 1 The plane in the air- a bee and/or a seed on the watermelon. HAIKU 2 Always on my mind, you come and go like snow. While years go by. HAIKU 3 I sing you my song You listen to once; and hearing it always. HAIKU 4 You met sheep in South Later, the shepherd in North. The bind grows in us. EPIGRAM 1 "The great wall of China..." F. Kafka A wall around you- then, why a door? EPIGRAM 2 The further I get from you- the closer I'll be to you. EPIGRAM 3 The gray city is dizzy; the green village, peace. EPIGRAM 4 Life in travels, books at home. EPIGRAM 5 You! Whose death guards life. EPIGRAM 6 In the forest, a lone tree. Amidst the city, I am alone. EPIGRAM 7 All alone are the trees like us, amidst the people. SEASONS Green is gone. Yellow is gone. White is here. Red will come. A PLANE For me, the window squares the ocean. For fish, the ocean is round. LOVE In the depth of the night a man and a woman are taken by the fragrance of that distant star. ONE BIG EYE The night is breezy. The clock on top of the tower -like one big eye- keeping watch over the city. The tree has chirping birds for leaves. NOCTURNE 3 Trees are black dead. The road, lost in the darkness of the sky. While the sky touches the earth. in the dark, deep night. NOCTURNE 2 Night and nothing but deep dark memories. Hot and hard- driving through the tunnel. Without you recurrence of your memory- Your omnipresence in my mind. It is so real and yet it is past. Images superimposing on your silhouette. The background is night. Through the fog, stripped trees around the curve of the road, the roundness of the cypress. Your profile - swan neck touched the night under the rain shower. The rain drops kiss the glass The soft statue of Venus curled by the night, under the shower, The magnificent marble moves in my memory. And the mist curling around the majestic shoulders Red rose on red rose/ hazel in almond. The road is lost in the deep dark night. The sky touches the earth. The velvety tree trunk glows in the dark. The rain caresses the lone tulip, sitting on its onion. Under the whiteness of the snow (sudden flash of your silhouette) the star falls down- touching the wet earth. The sky bends over- touching the wet earth. The rain drop leaps to reach the berries. (driving in the rain seeing you again.) The piercing star melts on the legs of night soon, it will be long gone. Where is my dawn when the horizon opens up and my sun soaking the earth in the warmth? I am driving to the sun even though, through the night. * Behind the hill -be it azure or near- drowning beyond jet streams. On the spread of the earth the night presses against the fog dew on the faraway fox. The earth covered with white fog the air and the darkness together in the fog a rain drop salutes a leaf raindrops rolling on the hill The breeze touches the velvety hill The fog pushes to the night. How I yearn dizzily to dance in the darkness When my world turned upside down the fragrance of the mysterious orchid on the velvety rolling hills. THE FLOWING FALL Once upon a time, we were the only inhabitants of the island of love. You brushed your hair when the sunray was glowing in it. The world was so beautiful with you and so empty without you. Your outline in the air at night, in the street, in the crowd. When your skirt pressed against your legs- the wind was teaseful! * Ringwood Manor- the horizontal tree and you, like a goddess, reclined on the limb. Oh, Love; you were the limit of the night with unlimited numbers of stars. You were the depth of day with the clarity of your expressions. When we were holding hands in NY, LA, DC, or Geneva something was going back and forth in our palms. Is there anything ungood in you I say definitely not, knowing you. There were times you were quietly observing. There were times when you were excited expressing words closing your eyes- when my hand touched your mouth. There were evenings- half conscious in the closet. Your beautiful intelligence Your velvety hazel eyes, and your curvy hair- the color of autumn. No, I will not see you again. Your loss is a deep wound in my chest, deeper than solitude. I was so totally attached to you. Anything getting your attentions would absorb me too. We went so many places together: Carbondale, Annandale, California, Cross Country, Washington, NJ, Chicago, St. Louis, LA, Pittsburgh, Philly, but not and never to Vermont. Yes I loved thee so totally. You were the focal of my life when I centripetalled. You were a goddess on a pedestal in the silent temple of my gaze. Oh gentle love you always reminded me of a butterfly- perfect and gentle beautiful and fragile. I found you You found me we lost us in the crowd. That fall- when we strolled under the trees your full lips whispering love your eyes chasing memories. We walked through the nights together and we greet dawn together. How I never ached without you. You were I and I was you- like Yin and Yang. I know you are not content. As you know I am not happy. You took me through the alleys of your childhood. How tearful was eating egg rolls together- toward the end. Do you still have my plants? I have your memory. You sweet love How gentle you held me. You have the gentlest orchid red, moist; Your splendid shoulders your silhouette against the window full of nightly lights. I was so totally complete with you. There were times you set the table with the devotion of a monk in a Tibet's temple There were times when you were in your dreams, dinner was just food! Oh, how you filled the room with the fragrance of your presence. I loved these so totally. Will I see you again? The answer is no; for you did not choose fame and went deep into the wilderness- lucky the bushes and birds around you! And I - naked in concrete walls and avenues of civilization. You have stardust on your shiny hair. When I knocked on the door you opened your arms to press me so gently. Your giving hand like dancing dahlia. There were evenings- when we danced together - Cha cha cha! I miss your words, hands, you, a package perfected over time in space. Living with you had an additional dimension- meaning. How you awakened me in my senses We worked so hard falling in love and we, so lax when we drifted apart. THE RECURRING FALL It was fall in Midwest; then you raked the leaves. Now a leaf of memory flying by my window. I reached out; and you put your hands in my hands. Lets leave our love living and not killed. Our love was, is and will be live. Your poised presence, your intelligence your beautiful eyes which at moments of love brought eternity to my eyes. With you, I traveled into the past, through the present, but not future. Only now, see you in future you are with me I pass by your nest, by dearest every morning and night. Velvety eyes - two windows panning me in the world. Forgive me for not forgetting you You took me through your childhood, youth, marriage then, showed me your high school- Together by the fireplace, we spent hours in search of a word in a poem. I lived with you beautiful years I know the moment has passed and the bell tolled three times. The robin has flown away. We reach the point of no return. When I said I will not ask your return it was not out of lack of love, I love you so dearly. I will never love someone again. Our love understood passion. But, I told you and you heard me- love alone is not enough. THE AIR WAR The milky air of dawn pouring thru the windows. * The fiery air of bomb pouring thru the windows. LYRIC 15 All alone am I since you said goodbye. Those words you whispered. * People are all around but I don't hear a sound. posted by Sam at 4:52 PM A SURVEY OF IRANIAN LITERATURE Twenty-five hundred years ago, Zoroaster delivered his humanitarian advice in verse to mankind. Fifteen hundred years later Omar Khayyam recited his philosophic rubaiyat to the intelligentsia. Sixty years ago Nima Yushij revolutionized the old style of poetry in Iran. The gaps between are filled by hundreds of thousands of poets. The Classical poetry (720?-1890) was panegyric on 16 themes (flattery, elegy, satire, vituperation, mysticism, lamentation, wine-bibbing) in eight forms (qazal or ode, rubai or quatrain, qacideh or ballad). The Modern poetry (1890-1921) lent itself more to social themes, and its form consisted of modified classical forms. The New poetry however (since 1921) has adapted vers libre. The representative Modern poets are Iraj Mirza (1872-1930), P. Ettecamy (1906-41), M.R. Eshqy (1893-1924), F. Yazdy (1887-1939), A. Q. Aref (1881-1933), A.Q. Lahuty (1885-1957), M.T. Bahar (1886-1951), A.A. Dehkhoda (1878-1955) and Sahriyar (b. 1906), R. Yasamy (1895-1965). The New poetry begins with Nima's endeavors in subject, word, style, form, rhyme and rhythm. That is why no Iranian poet has attracted more Iranian poets than he, whose humanism particularly recommends itself to poets of any age and stage of development. Contemporary Iranian poets follow Nima's descriptive, natural, conversational and declamatory tone. His language, techniques, and themes in free(c)style poetry (vers libre) are widely imitated. The representative New poets who wrote in vers libre are M. Akhavan(c)Salles, M. Atashy, C. Atabay, M. Azad, M. Aminy, R. Berahany, F. Farrokhzad, Kh. Golsorkhy, F. Gilany, H. Jazany, M. Hoquqy, Karo, E. Khoyee, J. Kushabady, D. Kasraiy, M. Kyanush, A. Mirfetrus, F. Moshiry, N. Naderpur, I. Nodushany, M. Noeyee, A. Naficy, M. Oskuyee, N. Rahmany, M. Sayeh, S. Sepanlu, M. Sereshk, S. Sepehry, A. Shamlu, S. Soltanpur, M. Zohary. Most of them spread their efforts over several volumes of poetry, translations, literary articles, novels, radio and TV literary programs, short stories, critical essays, scenarios and plays. They still maintain that the supreme literary quality is mastery of words. Some poets are presently in exile: A. Zolqarnian, M. Sahar, I. Janaty-Attaee, E. Khoyee, A. Mirfetrus, M. Azarm. It is interesting to note, however, that modern Iranian writers have been more successful in prose than in poetry. The reason lies in the writers' complete detachment from the classics and a susceptibility to contemporary Iran. The poets, on the other hand, have had one eye on the classics and the other one on the West, overlooking their own popular culture. The prose writers have had better training in the European languages than the poets, more intercontinental travels and aid from the national movie industry. A long list of well read writers, some of whom gained some fame in the West, include: S. Hedayat, (1903-51), B. Bayzaee, A.A. Darvishian, A.A. Dehkhoda, M.A. Maseud, M. Dowlatabady, N. Ebrahimy, R. Parvizy, M.A. Jamalzadeh, B. Alavy, M. Hejazy, J. Alahmad, A. Dashty, S. Nafisy, Sobhy, Etemadzadeh, S. Chubak, Golshiry, S. Daneshvar, Okhovvat, A. Mahmood, N. Khaksar, J. Mirsadeqy, T. Modarresy, Q. Saedy, S. Behrangy, Kh. Shahany, E. Golestan, A.M. Afqany, B. Tului, Behazin, A. Hajsed(c)Javady, F. Tonekabony, A. Pahlevan, S. Soltanpur, B. Sadeqy, and M. Yalfany, Afrashteh. 1971 REFERENCES 1. Aryanpour, Y (1975) Az Saba ta Neema-Tareekhe 150 Sal Adabe Farsy, Tehran. 2. Behrangy, S(197?) The Little Black Fish and Other Modern Persian Stories, tr. by M & E Hooglund, Th. Ricks, 3CP, Washington D.C. 3. Farokhy (1978) Divane Kamel, Somette Iran, Sweden 4. Ghanoonparvar, MR (1984) Prophets of Doom - Literature as a Socio-Political Phenomenon in Modern Iran, Univ. Press of America, N.Y. posted by Sam at 4:46 PM CONTENTS Part 1 O People 1 Behrang's Garden 1 Samad 2 The Heroic Kurdistan 2 Alas and Pity 3 Flying 3 A Burning Candle 4 Dearest Marayam 4 The Mirza 5 The Rain 5 The Prisoner 6 Desert's Tulips 7 The River 8 Tomorrow 8 16th of Azar 8 Come Along 8 I Am a Fedaii 8 The Sun-Planters of Jungle 8 The Fire-Planters of Jungle 8 Redbud's Blood 9 Spring, Spring 9 The Unnamed Poem 9 Kurdistan and Azerbeijan 10 Part 2 A Glance at Iran's Resistance Poetry References Chronology O PEOPLE Neema Yushij (1895-1959) O people who have sat on the shore, happy and laughing! There is one in the water who is giving up his life. One who is struggling permanently. On this heavy, dark, hasty sea known also to you? When you are intoxicated with the thought of dominating the enemy; When you uselessly reckon to yourself That you have given a hand to the weak -so you maintain better power- when you tie your belts around your waist... Which occasion shall I mention? One is convulsing uselessly in the water, dear sir! O people who have a pleasant feast on the shore- Bread on the tablecloth, fully dressed! One is calling you in the water. He is pounding the heavy wave with his tired hand. Opening his mouth, his eyes torn by horror, seeing your shadows afar; swallowing the water in the dark hole; each time his desperation grows; Pushed out from the waters Now his head, now his foot. O people! He is watching this old world from afar Crying and hoping for help. O people who are calmly looking from the shore!. The wave pounds at the still shore Spreading like a drunken man fallen unaware. Then, it goes roaringly on. And this call comes again from afar: "O people ..." And the sound of the wind more heart-stinging, And in the sound of the wind, his call, more free. Through the water near and far Again these voices in the ears: "O people ..." BAGHE BEHRANG (BEHRANG'S GARDEN) Samad Bahrangy, an Iranian progressive writer, was a teacher in the northern province of Azerbaijan. He wrote numerous children's stories. This song is based on some of the titles and characters of his stories which are capitalized here. In a fine, good morning, Asleep or Awake, We went to The Peach Orchard With Oldooz and Crows, with The Golden Chick. With The Little Fish, The Speaking Doll, We saw neither fairies nor ghosts. O colorful flowers, O good and honest friends, O sad children, come to Behrang's Garden! We have a garden of stories - sad and happy ones: The Beet-Seller Boy, the smart Little Fish, of Hamzeh and Korogloo, a Crow, a Mouse, and a Rabbit. We have a thousand stories of love and kindness. The stories are like bullets, books like guns O sad children, come to Behrang's Garden! SAMAD You are the advancing vanguard in the cold night of time. Your warm blood planted planted, like a flower, in the Araxis river. [See Samad, your path has become the course of every river - your words, your books go from house to house.]A The Little Fish, seeking your path Heart full of vengence, determined to fight To open up the way to the sea, [fighting with the Pelican, A fire at heart, a flame in blood on the way awake and conscious.]B O you whom every wave of Araxis has a message from your blood. The fish in the brooks Know you under any name. [A] Your stories - the course of freedom reflection of toil, expression of labor. The Little Fish on the way to the Sea. [B] KURDISTANE QAHREMAN (THE HEROIC KURDISTAN) The lyric is about the struggle for democracy in Kurdistan as related to other nationalities in Iran. Zahedan and Khuzistan are a town and a province in the Eastern and Southwestern Iran, respectively. Kurdistan, Kurdistan, the land of heroes. Kurdistan, Kurdistan, the torch of Iran. You raise heroes - your fighters, your lions For freedom in Iran are at war with reaction. For democracy in Iran they fight in Kurdistan. Freedom of toilers in union with Kurdistan from Zahedan to Khuzistan tomorrow undoubtedly comes. You are the red flame of a torch Kurdistan, in the midst of pitch darkness you glow like a bright sun. You are the leader of Iranian peoples. You, with the red tulips of liberation, signal the dawn of freedom. KURDISTAN, KURDISTAN Kurdistan, Kurdistan the light that guides Iran - the land of martyrs. Kurdistan, Kurdistan. You are the hero; always your fighters and your people are at war with the evil. To win freedom for Iran they fight in Kurdistan. Freedom of our nation, from Zahedan in the East to Khuzistan in the West tomorrow we shall see. You are the fire for light, Kurdistan, in the endless night, you will be the light for everyone. HAMRAHE TO The song advocates the people should get together to wage a common struggle against repression rather than individually fight for a better future. EY DAD O BIDAD (ALAS AND PITY)! Kurdistan, the beating heart of the struggle in Iran, has a distinctive culture. This song melodically depicts in Kermanshahy dialect of Kurdish, the complaints of the populace against oppression. PARVAZ (FLYING) The allegorical song on flying free starts with the wish of a single Iranian for democracy and ends with the common struggle of the masses against foreign domination and internal reaction. [Today, a lot I want to fly in the air of the open sky. such wings we all have - falcons and eagles do not have! For the bloodstained stronghold of revolution My lips are full of a hundred enthusiastic songs. I take pride in the power of people in war who has such miracles in the world.]A [Victory belongs to the people,]B Who has strong-holds as Kurdistan and Gilan. How could reaction win [over the people that has so many self-sacrificers.]C [A] [B] who has Abadan and Tabriz How could foreigners win [C] I want to fly, through the empty sky. I've never felt so high, I've never felt these wings, such power, I can soar like an eagle. My life I will give, My songs I will sing, for Iran. I love your people, for they have fought evil every step of the way. I will soar until, victory is ours. In the trenches of Kurdistan or Gilan How could atrocity win over the people that give, their lives so proudly. SHAM-E FORUZAN (A BURNING CANDLE) The song depicts repression in Iran and calls for the people to rise up unitedly to wage a struggle for a democratic society. We are all victims of injustice and oppression we are all slaves of ignorance and pain We are all weary of slavery's chains No longer silence in this life in this life. You could you just sit in your place like an observer but deaf and blind. You could cry out from the bottom of your heart no longer silence in this life in this life. Come and hold hands my friends, let us smash the stand of oppression Let us not just sit around for a shining sun to rise Let us each be a burning candle a burning candle. BURNINMG CANDLES Everyone is chained, everyone is a prisoner of darkness and pain everyone is tired of imprisonment, being enslaved, in chains. Never again can we be silent, You could just sit there, be a deaf, dumb audience to these atrocities, or you could cry out from the bottom of your hearrt Never again can we be silent Come and gather around my friends, let us try together, fight forever and remove this monster of pain Let us not just sit around, waiting for a shining star to rise in this darkness. Let us all be burning candles. Let us all be burning candles. NAZANINE MARIAM (DEAREST MARYAM) This is a very popular love song in colloquial Farsi, depicting the simple lifestyle of rural working conditions. It is full of life and love with their nourishing requirements: to work, to eat, to sleep, to be able to love. Love, here, is not an abstraction in a remote time and place without any realism, but, a link in the cycle of life in a rural setting. This is a positive love meaning to create and build something with the lover, to live and work together, and to enjoy the beauties of nature with her. Dear Maryam, open your eyes, look at me. The sun has risen, it's light up. It is time to leave for the fields. O dear Maryam, dearest Maryam Dearest Maryam, open your eyes, chin up! Lets's go arm in arm, leaving home, Recalling the by-gone days. O dear Maryam, dearest Maryam Once again it's daylight and I am still awake. I wish I could've slept, to dream of you. My heart is filled with ever-increasing sadness. Not knowing what to do with this pain. O dear Maryam, dearest Maryam It is harvest time again. Oh! You are my companion, don't leave me, Lets's go to work together, to harvest the wheat. O dear Maryam, dearest Maryam Dear Maryam, open your eyes, and call me / look at me. The sun has risen, it's light up It is time to leave for the fields. Dear Maryam, Dearest Maryam Dearest Maryam, open your eyes, Chin up! Let's leave Arm to arm, Recalling the by-gone days Dear Maryam, Dearest Maryam Once again it's daylight and I am still awake. I wish I could've sleep, to dream of you. My heart is filled with ever-increasing sadness. Not knowing what to do with this pain. Dear Maryam, Dearest Maryam It is harvest time again. Oh! dearest, don't leave me, Let's go to work together, to harvest the wheat. Dear Maryam, Dearest Maryam THE MIRZA The official Iranian language, Farsi, has many dialects, among them, Gileky is spoken around the Caspian Sea. The lyric in Gileki dialect commemorates Mirza Koochik Khan's struggle for freedom and social justice. He was the commandant of the partisans in the 1919-22 war with the British and the Shah's forces. [Mirza! Your cartridge belt is on my waist, and your gun, on my shoulder. Your gun on my shoulder, ready to fight. The man of Gilan, I know your heart is filled with pain. The people of Gilan know you and love you. Mirza, the commandant who leads battles in the fields, why are you alone in the Jungle?]A Mirza! Your way is paved with tulips. My way paved with your struggle Mirza of the Jungle, say hello to the martyrs, Say hello to the comrades. [A] Mirza! Your cartridge belt is on my waist, and your gun, on my shoulder. I'm ready to fight. THe man of Gilan(the northern province of Iran) I know your heart is filled with sorrow. The people of Gilan know you and love you. Mirza, the commandant who leads battles in the fields, why are you alone in the forest? Mirza! Your way is paved with tulips My way paved with your struggle Mirza of the forest, say hello to the martyrs Say hello to the comrades. BARAN (THE RAIN) An allegorical poem on natural changes represents social changes. The poem is filled with vigor and optimism, predicting an eventual democratic society for Iran. It is the dawn of the people. The sun is coming up. In the bright of the sky, but it is raining. [It's raining, it's raining, it's raining, it's raining.]A With the powerful hands of the people the birds will be set free. The blooms burst into flowers. The ruins will be rebuilt. [A] You fell in blood and song Salute to your red banner! The freedom of toilers was your song and message. You are my fury and cry Always in my memory. You are the picture of my future You are my free Iran. Sabre to the heart of all oppressions - Your vengeful battle cry. The blood of the birds bodies - is the mirror of your path. The black cloud, our foe - no matter how hard it rains in the bright of our fury. it dies in the sky. Listen to me my comrade, my conscious compatriot, in the black-white of the sky though it is raining from behind the spring clouds the sun is coming out. It is the dawn of our people Spring is in the air, but in the bright of the day it rains, it pours With the help of us all we can free the birds bounded, in the cage of time. Build on the ruins of evil, Plant the seeds of future, with the help of us all ... Oh, my It rains, it pours. You are now sleeping in a pool of blood You still sing the songs of freedom You are the anger in my cries You are the thought that never dies You are the picture perfect, a future so bright You are a free Iran. Death to the heart of those who seek your destruction. It matters none, when these dark clouds pour their pain on you. with our anger we shall melt the clouds. Listen to me my friends, Listen to me my fighters, in the grayish dawn, it rains, it matters not From behind the black clouds shines a new day, a new light. The sun is coming out. The sun is coming out. ZENDANI (THE PRISONER) Any struggle has casualties and fatalities. The repressive governments resort to violence to silence people's cry for justice. They use jail, torture, exile and execution to neutralize freedom fighters. This song gives tribute to the endurance of the political prisoners. Prisoner, you are the height of our cry. Prisoner, you are every moment on our mind. You whose enthusiasm and firm will come out in your passionate song. In our eyes, you are still the same lion - though chained by the oppressive Shah, Your battle in blood, tomorrow is yours. Tulips are red with your blood. Dews purity prides in your innocence. Your path is right, tomorrow is yours. Your sacrifices all over the Evin, reminiscent of the fight by the hero and martyr, Bejan. The epic of history, full of ups and downs, has another lesson for us - the promise of victory. Prisoner, you are the height of our cry. Prisoner, you are every moment on our minds. You, whose perseverance encourages people to fight with your foe. The masses take pride in you. For their peoples, all sacrifice For independence For freedom. When you vowed with fire and blood the hands of your torturer trembled. It echos everywhere- Your everlasting name. The message of freedom flies like a song to the cities and villages The Spring of freedom is on its way. Put your life on the line like compatriots - Like Khosrow, Sattar, and Heydar Khan. Put your life on the line like compatriots - Like Hamid, Saeed, and Paknezhad. A POLITICAL PRISONER You are the cry in our voices you are the picture in our minds In our minds eye you are the lion, in chains, in prison. Tomorrow victory will be yours tulips are red with your blood, right is yours. The pictures of your plight, are branded on the walls of Evin prison. They are the signs of your heroism, they shall be a lesson, for all to see. You shine the light, Your tortured hand will guide us, toward freedom, for our people. Your names forever, will echo in our minds. ŠThe message of freedom, will fly over the cities, the villages. We shall hear this song ... The spring of freedom, will blossom, for the path we choose, we shall die like so many before us. LALEHAY SAHRA (DESERT'S TULIPS) Tonight I have a different desire, a burning fever engulfing me. I have the yearning for a new love. Please forget me my darling, forget me I am in love with one that has no equal. I long for her face; I run toward her way, I'll die in her lane. I have no fear. Every tulip on the skirt of the desert has the blood of martyrs in heart. Rise people of many battles break your chains and cages. Uproot the base of all oppressions. From every corner of this land, comes the cries of an everlasting fight and the arms of the fighters light up the torches to burn down unhappiness. Tonight I have a different desire, a burning fever engulfing me. I have the yearning for a new love, please forget me my darling, I am in love with one that has no equal. I long for her face, I run toward her way, I die for her love (Iran) I fear not the enemy or death. Every tulip in the desert is red with the blood of our martyrs. Get up my brothers, my people, Break the bones they have chained you, crush the cages thart haunt you. And forever rid our land of tyrants. From every corner of this land, come the cries of an ever-lasting fight. Hands in hands we light the torches that will burn the roots of evil and pain. ROOD (THE RIVER) Saeed Soltanpour (1937-83) Another symbolic poem on a social issue; namely, joining of individuals to a mass movement, using individual rivers joining a common sea. FARDA (TOMORROW) A symbolic lyric lists objects and events to represent the struggle of the Iranians in a repressive society for a democratic future. Some of the symbols are tulips for martyrs, the Sun for revolution and stars for the compatriots. SHANZDAHE AZAR (16TH OF AZAR) This lyric commemorates the killing of three university students, Qandchy, Shariate-Razavy, and Bozorg-Nia. They were among the demonstrators in 1953, protesting Nixon's visiting of the Shah, after the CIA coup d'etat in Iran. HAMRAH SHO (COME ALONG) This song advocates the people should get together to wage a common struggle against repression rather than to fight individually for better future. MAN FEDAIAM (I AM A FEDAII) Azerbaijan, one of the dozen nationalities in Iran, has always been a resistance fort. During the Constitutional uprising of 1900's, Azerbaijan was a stronghold of the revolutionaries - among them were the Fedaiis. The song defends the fates of the workers through the march of the Fedaiis. It has a dynamic music; the poetry is filled with boldness and heroism. AFTABKARANE JANGAL (THE SUN PLANTERS OF JUNGLE) Saeed Soltanpour (1937-83) The spoken colloquial Farsi is used for revealing intimate feelings. Here is an allegorical poem on winter-spring cycle to represent the present tyranny and future democracy in Iran. ATASHKARANE JANGAL (THE FIRE PLANTERS OF JUNGLE) Saeed Soltanpour (1937-83) Here is another symbolic song depicting the dynamic struggle of the people against dictatorship and for democracy through the use of symbols such as cloudy storms and clear sunshine for the struggle and victory respectively. KHOONE ARGHAVANHAH (REDBUD'S BLOOD) A Redbud (Judas) tree symbolizes the blood of a martyr. This beautiful, optimistic lyric symbolizes night-morning as the present repression and the future democracy in Iran. The symbols of cages and birds represent jails and political prisoners. Due to prevalent censorship in Iran, a language similar to Sufi's in the 10th century has emerged. It uses natural objects to denote human sufferings. This is a sort of anthropomorphism. Here we have a beautiful, optimistic song. The lyric symbolizes night-morning as the present repression and the future democracy in Iran. The symbols ore cage and bird represent jail and political prisoners. GARUN, GARUN (SPRING, SPRING) Here is an Armenian love song, reminding that Iran has a dozen nationalities. THE UNNAMED POEM Khosrow Golsorkhy (1943-74) The deep fatal wound of the foe has scarred deep on your chest but standing upright, you didn't fall. For it's in your nature - to die unyielding, on your feet, in the manner of the cypress on the hilltop peak. In you are melodies of sweat and blood. In you migrating birds. in you songs of victory. Your eyes have never been so radiant. Because of your blood, Canon Square will come alive, with peoples' waking rage. That side of town will rise up and overrun this side of town. And people will share bread and hunger equally You the upright cypress, it's your death that creates. The foe erects high walls Pity these tattered-clothed folks passing by, don't know your name, but on the day they recognize you, every drop of your blood will be praised dearly. These people will sing your great name in every national song. Your name, banner of Iran - in your name, the Caspian becomes alive. KURDISTAN VA AZERBAIJAN (KURDISTAN AND AZERBAIJAN) One of the nationalities in Iran is Azerbaijan. This Azerbaijanian song is on the necessity of unity among the nationalities, struggling against oppression and tyranny in Iran. This Azerbaijany song celebrates the 1945-6 Republics in the above provinces. From time immemorial, we have been together. Both our nations have been friendly and united. Our waters and borders are the same. Our people's spring is the same. [Araxis river and Ararat mountains are full of flowers, Kurdistan and Azerbaijan have a fraternal solidarity.] A We are proud and honored for this country is our motherland. The life, heart, bread, and water of our peoples are the same. [A] Let our voices fly up to the mountains peak. Let the name of our nations be remembered in honor. Our breaths, voices, and labors become one. [A] posted by Sam at 9:41 AM Friday, October 25, 2002 RECENT POLITICAL CHRONOLOGY 1905 Constitutional Revolution began. Russian Revolution crushed. 6 The Constitution promulgated. First parliament convened. Heydar and Ali mossier founded Anjomane Makhfi. 7 Anglo-Russian Agreements. 8 Social Democrat's First Congress. Parliament besieged by the Shah. 9 Sattar and Baqer broke Tabriz's 10-month siege. Constitutionalists conquered Tehran. Shah fled. 1910 1 Azerbaijany popular poets Saber and Moejez published books. 2 3 4 WWI began. 5 Turkey invaded Azerbaijan. 6 7 October Revolution. 8 WWI ended. 9 Edalat Party founded. Anglo-Persian Agreement. 1920 Gilan Soviet. Khiabany insurrects. CPI's First Congress. 1 Reza Shah's Coup d'etat. Pessian's insurrection. Neema's New Poetry. 2 Koochik and Heydar Amuqlu killed. Dehqan's Haqiqat published. Lahooty in Tabriz gendarmerie revolts. 3 4 Lenin died. 5 6 Eshqy killed. 7 8 1930 1 Anti-Communist Act. 2 3 Aref died. 4 5 6 7 Arany and 52 intellectuals arrested. Arany met Pishevary in prison. 8 9 Anti-Socialist Act. Arany and Yazdy executed. 1940 1 Ettesamy died. Allied occupation of Iran. Shah fled. Political prisoners freed. Exiles returned. Tudeh Party founded. 2 3 Allied's Tehran Conference. 4 5 Kurdistan Republic. Azerbaijan Democrat Party founded. 6 Oil workers strike. Azerbaijan Republic. Both Republics suppressed and massacred by Tehran forces. 7 Kurdish leaders executed. 8 9 Mossadeq's National Front founded. 1950 1 Oil workers strike. Oil Nationalization. Hedayat’s suicide. 2 Mossadeq's popular uprising (July 9th). 3 Shah fled. Ashraf-CIA coup d'etat. Three university students killed (Student's Day). Stalin died. 4 Roozbeh's Officers Organization uncovered. Fatemy killed. 5 6 7 Lahooty died. 8 Roozbeh executed. 9 Brick-koln workers strike. Cuba's Revolution. Nima died. 1960 Confederation of Iranian Students (CIS) abroad formed. 1 Teachers strike (Teacher's Day). Algerian Revolution. 2 ISAUS joined CIS. 3 June 5th Uprising. White Revolution. 4 Capitolisation Act. 5 6 Farrokhzad died. Dehkhoda's 50-volume Dictionary published. 7 Arab-Israeli War. 8 Takhty killed. Samad drowned. Mossedeq died. Iranian Writers Association 9 Bus Strike. Yeman's Revolution. 1970 Textile workers strike. 1 Siahkal armed struggle. OIFPG & OMPI formed. Targol and 13 Siahkal fighters executed. 2 Pooyan, Nabdel, Dehqany, Ahmadzadeh and 5 Mojaheds executed. 3 Iran-Iraq Agreement. 4 Golsorkhy executed. 5 Vietnam Revolution. 6 Moemeny, Jazany, Ashraf and 10 more killed. Egypt-Israel peace. 7 IWA 10 Nights of Poetry. Political prisoners freed. Afghan Revolution. 8 Bloody Friday (September 8th). 9 Republican Uprising. Shah fled. Kar published. IRI promulgated 1980 Gonbad and Kurdistan attacked. Qarna massacre. Iran-Iraq war began. 1 Soltanpour executed. Bloody Saturday (June 20th). IWA in exile. Universities closed. 2 Three CC Fedais killed. Opposition radios. Exile journals. 3 Progressive Music concerts in US. NSF campaign on repression in Iran. 4 Universities opened. 5 Saedy died. 6 Rampant executions of political prisoners. 7 Iran-US arms deal. 8 9 1990 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 2000 1 2 posted by Sam at 4:13 PM posted by Sam at 2:00 PM Monday, October 28, 2002 CONTENTS Part 1 O People 1 Behrang's Garden 1 Samad 2 The Heroic Kurdistan 2 Alas and Pity 3 Flying 3 A Burning Candle 4 Dearest Marayam 4 The Mirza 5 The Rain 5 The Prisoner 6 Desert's Tulips 7 The River 8 Tomorrow 8 16th of Azar 8 Come Along 8 I Am a Fedaii 8 The Sun-Planters of Jungle 8 The Fire-Planters of Jungle 8 Redbud's Blood 9 Spring, Spring 9 The Unnamed Poem 9 Kurdistan and Azerbeijan 10 Part 2 A Glance at Iran's Resistance Poetry References Chronology O PEOPLE Neema Yushij (1895-1959) O people who have sat on the shore, happy and laughing! There is one in the water who is giving up his life. One who is struggling permanelntly. On this heavy, dark, hasty sea known also to you? When you are intoxicated with the thought of dominating the enemy; When you uselessly reckon to yourself That you have given a hand to the weak -so you maintain better power- when you tie your belts around your waist... Which occasion shall I mention? One is convulsing uselessly in the water, dear sir! O people who have a pleasant feast on the shore- Bread on the tablecloth, fully dressed! One is calling you in the water. He is pounding the heavy wave with his tired hand. Opening his mouth, his eyes torn by horror, seeing your shadows afar; swallowing the water in the dark hole; each time his desperation grows; Pushed out from the waters Now his head, now his foot. O people! He is watching this old world from afar Crying and hoping for help. O people who are calmly looking from the shore!. The wave pounds at the still shore Spreading like a drunken man fallen unaware. Then, it goes roaringly on. And this call comes again from afar: "O people ..." And the sound of the wind more heart-stinging, And in the sound of the wind, his call, more free. Through the water near and far Again these voices in the ears: "O people ..." BAGHE BEHRANG (BEHRANG'S GARDEN) Samad Bahrangy, an Iranian progressive writer, was a teacher in the northern province of Azerbaijan. He wrote numerous children's stories. This song is based on some of the titles and characters of his stories which are capitalized here. In a fine, good morning, Asleep or Awake, We went to The Peach Orchard With Oldooz and Crows, with The Golden Chick. With The Little Fish, The Speaking Doll, We saw neither fairies nor ghosts. O colorful flowers, O good and honest friends, O sad children, come to Behrang's Garden! We have a garden of stories - sad and happy ones: The Beet-Seller Boy, the smart Little Fish, of Hamzeh and Korogloo, a Crow, a Mouse, and a Rabbit. We have a thousand stories of love and kindness. The stories are like bullets, books like guns O sad children, come to Behrang's Garden! SAMAD You are the advancing vanguard in the cold night of time. Your warm blood planted planted, like a flower, in the Araxis river. [See Samad, your path has become the course of every river - your words, your books go from house to house.]A The Little Fish, seeking your path Heart full of vengence, determined to fight To open up the way to the sea, [fighting with the Pelican, A fire at heart, a flame in blood on the way awake and conscious.]B O you whom every wave of Araxis has a message from your blood. The fish in the brooks Know you under any name. [A] Your stories - the course of freedom reflection of toil, expression of labor. The Little Fish on the way to the Sea. [B] KURDISTANE QAHREMAN (THE HEROIC KURDISTAN) The lyric is about the struggle for democracy in Kurdistan as related to other nationalities in Iran. Zahedan and Khuzistan are a town and a province in the Eastern and Southwestern Iran, respectively. Kurdistan, Kurdistan, the land of heroes. Kurdistan, Kurdistan, the torch of Iran. You raise heroes - your fighters, your lions For freedom in Iran are at war with reaction. For democracy in Iran they fight in Kurdistan. Freedom of toilers in union with Kurdistan from Zahedan to Khuzistan tomorrow undoubtedly comes. You are the red flame of a torch Kurdistan, in the midst of pitch darkness you glow like a bright sun. You are the leader of Iranian peoples. You, with the red tulips of liberation, signal the dawn of freedom. KURDISTAN, KURDISTAN Kurdistan, Kurdistan the light that guides Iran - the land of myrters. Kurdistan, Kurdistan. You are the hero, always your fighters and your people are at war with the evil. To win freedom for Iran they fight in Kurdistan. Freedom of our nation, from Zahedan in the East to Khuzistan in the West tomorrow we shall see. You are the fire for light, Kurdistan, in the endless night, you will be the light for everyone. HAMRAHE TO The song advocates the people should get together to wage a common struggle gainst repression rather than individually fight for a better future. EY DAD O BIDAD (ALAS AND PITY)! Kurdistan, the beating heart of the struggle in Iran, has a distinctive culture. This song melodically depicts in Kermanshahy dialect of Kurdish, the complaints of the populace against oppression. PARVAZ (FLYING) The allegorical song on flying free starts with the wish of a single Iranian for democracy and ends with the common struggle of the masses against foreign domination and internal reaction. [Today, a lot I want to fly in the air of the open sky. such wings we all have - falcons and eagles do not have! For the blood-stained strong-hold of revolution My lips are full of a hundred enthusiastic songs. I take pride in the power of people in war who has such miracles in the world.]A [Victory belongs to the people,]B Who has strong-holds as Kurdistan and Gilan. How could reaction win [over the people that has so many self-sacrificers.]C [A] [B] who has Abadan and Tabriz How could foreigners win [C] I want to fly, through the empty sky. I've never felt so high, I've never felt these wings, such power, I can soar like an eagle. My life I will give, My songs I will sing, for Iran. I love your people, for they have fought evil every step of the way. I will soar until, victory is ours. In the trenches of Kurdistan or Gilan How could atrocity win over the people that give, their lives so proudly. SHAM-E FORUZAN (A BURNING CANDLE) The song depicts repression in Iran and calls for the people to rise up unitedly to wage a struggle for a democratic society. We are all victims of injustice and oppression we are all slaves of ignorance and pain We are all weary of slavery's chains No longer silence in this life in this life. You could you just sit in your place like an observer but deaf and blind. You could cry out from the bottom of your heart no longer silence in this life in this life. Come and hold hands my friends, let us smash the stand of oppression Let us not just sit around for a shining sun to rise Let us each be a burning candle a burning candle. BURNINMG CANDLES Everyone is chained, everyone is a prisoner of darkness and pain everyone is tired of imprisonment, being enslaved, in chains. Never again can we be silent, You could just sit there, be a deaf, dumb audience to these atrocities, or you could cry out from the bottom of your hearrt Never again can we be silent Come and gather around my friends, let us try together, fight forever and remove this monster of pain Let us not just sit around, waiting for a shining star to rise in this darkness. Let us all be burning candles. Let us all be burning candles. NAZANINE MARIAM (DEAREST MARYAM) This is a very popular love song in colloquial Farsi, depicting the simple lifestyle of rural working conditions. It is full of life and love with their nurishing requirements: to work, to eat, to sleep, to be able to love. Love, here, is not an abstraction in a remote time and place without any realism, but, a link in the cycle of life in a rural setting. This is a positive love meaning to create and build something with the lover, to live and work together, and to enjoy the beauties of nature with her. Dear Maryam, open your eyes, look at me. The sun has risen, it's light up. It is time to leave for the fields. O dear Maryam, dearest Maryam Dearest Maryam, open your eyes, chin up! Lets's go arm in arm, leaving home, Recalling the by-gone days. O dear Maryam, dearest Maryam Once again it's daylight and I am still awake. I wish I could've slept, to dream of you. My heart is filled with ever-increasing sadness. Not knowing what to do with this pain. O dear Maryam, dearest Maryam It is harvest time again. Oh! You are my companion, don't leave me, Lets's go to work together, to harvest the wheat. O dear Maryam, dearest Maryam Dear Maryam, open your eyes, and call me / look at me. The sun has risen, it's light up It is time to leave for the fields. Dear Maryam, Dearest Maryam Dearest Maryam, open your eyes, Chin up! Let's leave Arm to arm, Recalling the by-gone days Dear Maryam, Dearest Maryam Once again it's daylight and I am still awake. I wish I could've sleep, to dream of you. My heart is filled with ever-increasing sadness. Not knowing what to do with this pain. Dear Maryam, Dearest Maryam It is harvest time again. Oh! dearest, don't leave me, Let's go to work together, to harvest the wheat. Dear Maryam, Dearest Maryam THE MIRZA The official Iranian language, Farsi, has many dialects, among them, Gileky is spoken around the Caspian Sea. The lyric in Gileki dialect commemorates Mirza Koochik Khan's struggle for freedom and social justice. He was the commandant of the partisans in the 1919-22 war with the British and the Shah's forces. [Mirza! Your cartridge belt is on my waist, and your gun, on my shoulder. Your gun on my shoulder, ready to fight. The man of Gilan, I know your heart is filled with pain. The people of Gilan know you and love you. Mirza, the commandant who leads battles in the fields, why are you alone in the Jungle?]A Mirza! Your way is paved with tulips. My way paved with your struggle Mirza of the Jungle, say hello to the martyrs, Say hello to the comrades. [A] Mirza! Your cartridge belt is on my waist, and your gun, on my shoulder. I'm ready to fight. THe man of Gilan(the northern province of Iran) I know your heart is filled with sorrow. The people of Gilan know you and love you. Mirza, the commandant who leads battles in the fields, why are you alone in the forest? Mirza! Your way is paved with tulips My way paved with your struggle Mirza of the forest, say hello to the martyrs Say hello to the comrades. BARAN (THE RAIN) An allegorical poem on natural changes represents social changes. The poem is filled with vigor and optimism, predicting an eventual democratic society for Iran. It is the dawn of the people. The sun is coming up. In the bright of the sky, but it is raining. [It's raining, it's raining, it's raining, it's raining.]A With the powerful hands of the people the birds will be set free. The blooms burst into flowers. The ruins will be rebuilt. [A] You fell in blood and song Salute to your red banner! The freedom of toilers was your song and message. You are my fury and cry Always in my memory. You are the picture of my future You are my free Iran. Sabre to the heart of all oppressions - Your vengeful battle cry. The blood of the birds bodies - is the mirror of your path. The black cloud, our foe - no matter how hard it rains in the bright of our fury. it dies in the sky. Listen to me my comrade, my conscious compatriot, in the black-white of the sky though it is raining from behind the spring clouds the sun is coming out. It is the dawn of our people Spring is in the air, but in the bright of the day it rains, it pours With the help of us all we can free the birds bounded, in the cage of time. Build on the ruins of evil, Plant the seeds of future, with the help of us all ... Oh, my It rains, it pours. You are now sleeping in a pool of blood You still sing the songs of freedom You are the anger in my cries You are the thought that never dies You are the picture perfect, a future so bright You are a free Iran. Death to the heart of those who seek your destruction. It matters none, when these dark clouds pour their pain on you. with our anger we shall melt the clouds. Listen to me my friends, Listen to me my fighters, in the greyish dawn, it rains, it matters not ŠFrom behind the black clouds shines a new day, a new light . The sun is coming out. The sun is coming out. ZENDANI (THE PRISONER) Any struggle has casualties and fatalities. The repressive governments resort to violence to silence people's cry for justice. They use jail, torture, exile and execution to neutralize freedom fighters. This song gives tribute to the endurance of the political prisoners. Prisoner, you are the height of our cry. Prisoner, you are every moment on our mind. You whose enthusiasm and firm will come out in your passionate song. In our eyes, you are still the same lion - though chained by the oppressive Shah, Your battle in blood, tomorrow is yours. Tulips are red with your blood. Dews purity prides in your innocense. Your path is right, tommorrow is yours. Your sacrifices all over the Evin, reminescent of the fight by the hero and martyr, Bejan. The epic of history, full of ups and downs, has another lesson for us - the promise of victory. Prisoner, you are the height of our cry. Prisoner, you are every moment on our minds. You, whose perseverance encourages people to fight with your foe. The masses take pride in you. For their peoples, all sacrifice For independence For freedom. When you vowed with fire and blood the hands of your torturer trembled. It echos everywhere- Your everlasting name. The message of freedom flies like a song to the cities and villages The Spring of freedom is on its way. Put your life on the line like compatriots - Like Khosrow, Sattar, and Heydar Khan. Put your life on the line like compatriots - Like Hamid, Saeed, and Paknezhad. A POLITICAL PRISONER You are the cry in our voices you are the picture in our minds In our minds eye you are the lion, in chains, in prison. Tomorrow victory will be yours tulips are red with your blood, right is yours. The pictures of your plight, are branded on the walls of Evin prison. They are the signs of your heroism, they shall be a lesson, for all to see. You shine the light, Your tortured han will guide us, toward freedom, for our people. Your names forever, will echo in our minds. ŠThe message of freedom, will fly over the cities, the villages. We shall hear this song ... The spring of freedom, will bloosom, for the path we choose, we shall die like so many before us. LALEHAY SAHRA (DESERT'S TULIPS) Tonight I have a different desire, a burning fever engulfing me. I have the yearning for a new love. Please forget me my darling, forget me I am in love with one that has no equal. I long for her face, I run toward her way, I'll die in her lane. I have no fear. Every tulip on the skirt of the desert, has the blood of martyrs in heart. Rise people of many battles Break your chains and cages. Unroot the base of all oppressions. From every corner of this land, comes the cries of an everlasting fight and the arms of the fighters light up the torches to burn down unhappiness. Tonight I have a different desire, a burning fever engulfing me. I have the yearning for a new love, please forget me my darling, I am in love with one that has no equal. I long for her face, I run toward her way, I die for her love (Iran) I fear not the enemy or death. Every tulip in the desert, is red with the blood of our myrteres. Get up my brothers, my people, Break the bones they have chained you, crush the cages thart haunt you. And forever rid our land of tyrants. From every corner of this land, comes the cries of an ever lasting fight. Hands in hands we light the tourches, that will burn the roots of evil and pain. ROOD (THE RIVER) Saeed Soltanpour (1937-83) Another symbolic poem on a social issue; namely, joining of individuals to a mass movement, using individual rivers joining a common sea. FARDA (TOMORROW) A symbolic lyric lists objects and events to represent the struggle of the Iranians in a repressive society for a democratic future. Some of the symbols are tulips for martyrs, the Sun for revolution and stars for the compatriots. SHANZDAHE AZAR (16TH OF AZAR) This lyric commemorates the killing of three universtiy students, Qandchy, Shariate-Razavy, and Bozorg-Nia. They were among the demonstrators in 1953, protesting Nixon's visiting of the Shah, after the CIA coup d'etat in Iran. HAMRAH SHO (COME ALONG) This song advocates the people should get together to wage a common struggle against repression rather than to fight individually for better future. MAN FEDAIAM (I AM A FEDAII) Azerbaijan, one of the dozen nationalities in Iran, has always been a resistance fort. During the Constitutional uprising of 1900's, Azerbaijan was a stronghold of the revolutionaries, among them were the Fedaiis. The song defends the fates of the workers through the march of the Fedaiis. It has a dynamic music; the poetry is filled with boldness and heroism. AFTABKARANE JANGAL (THE SUN PLANTERS OF JUNGLE) Saeed Soltanpour (1937-83) The spoken colloquial Farsi is used for revealing intimate feelings. Here is an allegorical poem on winter-spring cycle to represent the present tyranny and future democracy in Iran. ATASHKARANE JANGAL (THE FIRE PLANTERS OF JUNGLE) Saeed Soltanpour (1937-83) Here is another symbolic song depicting the dynamic struggle of the people against dictatorship and for democracry through the use of symbols such as cloudy storms and clear sunshine for the struggle and victory respectively. KHOONE ARGHAVANHAH (REDBUD'S BLOOD) A Redbud (Judas) tree symbolizes the blood of a martyr. This beautiful, optimistic lyric symbolizes night-morning as the present repression and the future democracy in Iran. The symbols of cages and birds represent jails and political prisoners. Due to prevalent censorship in Iran, a language similar to Sufi's in the 10th century, has emerged. It uses natural objects to denote human sufferings. This is a sort of anthropomorphism. Here we have a beautiful,optimistic song. The lyric symbolizes night-morning as the present repression and the future democracy in Iran. The symbols ore cage and bird represent jail and political prisoners. GARUN, GARUN (SPRING, SPRING) Here is an Armenian love song, reminding that Iran has a dozen nationalities. THE UNNAMED POEM Khosrow Golsorkhy (1943-74) The deep fatal wound of the foe has scarred deep on your chest But standing upright, you didn't fall. For it's in your nature - to die unyielding, on your feet, in the manner of the cypress on the hill-top peak. In you are melodies of sweat and blood. In you migrating birds. in you songs of victory. Your eyes have never been so radiant. Because of your blood, Canon Square will come alive, with peoples' waking rage. That side of town will rise up and overrun this side of town. And people will share bread and hunger equally You the upright cypress, it's your death which creates. The foe erects high walls Pity these tattered-clothed folks passing by, don't know your name, but on the day they recognize you, every drop of your blood will be praised dearly. These people will sing your great name in every national song. Your name, banner of Iran - in your name, the Caspian becomes alive. KURDISTAN VA AZERBAIJAN (KURDISTAN AND AZERBAIJAN) One of the nationalities in Iran is Azerbaijan. This Azerbaijanian song is on the necessity of unity among the nationalities, struggling against oppression and tyranny in Iran. This Azerbaijany song celebrates the 1945-6 Republics in the above provinces. From time immemorial, we have been together. Both our nations have been friendly and united. Our waters and borders are the same. Our people's spring is the same. [Araxis river and Ararat mountains are full of flowers, Kurdistan and Azerbaijan have a fraternal solidarity.] A We are proud and honored for this country is our motherland. The life, heart, bread, and water of our peoples are the same. [A] Let our voices fly up to the mountains peak. Let the name of our nations be remembered in honor. Our breaths, voices, and labors to become one. [A] posted by Sam at 9:41 AM