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محمود کویر در شبکه یو تیوب اینجا را کلیک کنید


جديدترين اخبار سايت

بلوك ميبد

 

توكا خانم

 

ببار اي دف

باغ تماشا

 

تاريخ طنز در ايران

 

فرزندان فردا

آوازهای هزارو یک پاییز



سي دي صوتي از اشعار محمود كوير

سي دي صوتي

آزاليا گزيده ي شعر محمود كوير



دفتر شعر محمود كوير

بارانك خانم

دفتر شعر محمود كوير



منتظر نظرات و پيشنهاد هاي سازنده شما هستيم



به سايت خوش آمديد

تاريخ جنبش درويشان

كتاب تاريخ جنبش درويشان

اثري بيادماندني از

محمود كوير




آخرين مطالب
بنیاد فرهنگی کویر
شاعر صحنه ها
جواردانو برونو
داستان یزدگرد و ما
اردی بهشت گان
رادی یا جوانمردی
نقدی تازه بر کتاب محمود کویر
نقدی دیگر
نقد کتاب حافظ ( ماه در پیاله)
حافظ (ماه در پیاله)

با ايرانيان


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I Am Tomorrow  

I Am Tomorrow

 

A book of poetry

By

Mahmood Kavir

 

Children of the sun and the moon

I am the night sky

And have a basketful of stars

For tomorrow’s starry necklace.

 

Welcome

 

Whether I am or not

It will rain.

Come in,

In to the garden of aspirations

Over the rainbow.

A cup of smiles

Or of kindness?

How many spoonfuls of dreams?

-….

Good to see you.

 

 

 

DREAMS

 

Our dreams are in black and white

But none have dreamt in the colours I have.

I have dreamt that I am awake

And love is king.

 

GREEN

 

Hey!

Green I have brought:

Colour of love

Colour of paradise

Colour of dreams

Colour of seas

Come, round your neck let me place it

My love!

 

 

 

 

DARK

 

Dark I want you

- With no passing light -

Autumn I want you

-         with no leaves –

Thirsty I want you

Like soil

Like salt

Just one Ah! Not a thousand

A breastful of separation

An eyeful of gazing

One sigh full of waiting…

 

 

 

 

TOMORROW

 

One day

I shall have the right

To

Drink: blue

Wear: yellow

Laugh: green

And to have a colourful rainbow

Of hopes

In my heart.

 

 

 

COVENT GARDEN

 

God, mellow

Madonna, yellow

Old guitar players

Strumming blue guitars.

Clowns,

Sad clowns with smiling masks.

Cut-price singers

With canary voices.

No-magic magicians on broken bicycles.

Covent Garden

The flowing garden.

 

 

 

 

  The happy Street

 

A street full of ravens and trees

A street of taverns, stalls and books

A street full of balconies and mud roofs

A street where pigeons sit in rows

A street full of children, uncles, mothers and wet nurses

A street of omens and contemplation

A street full of laughter. Gaiety and happiness.

 

 

 

 

 

Goodnight

 

It was in the middle of that blue night,

Tired and alone,

At the bus stop

He alighted.

Turning, he raised his hat,

Bowed graciously

And said: Goodnight- in God’s good care!

The empty bus

Cheerfully

Left the bus stop,

Right in the middle of that blue night!

 

 

 

 

Exiled

 

Standing on the rooftop of the world

On bent shoulders a painful sigh for a mantle

Gazelle eyes full of anxiety

For all the leaves on the trees,

Places a hand on my shoulders.

A flock of birds, happily on the wing,

Fly away from his hands.

 

 

 

  

Punk

 

 

Plastered peacocks,

A glassful of sun in hand,

Planting a kiss on tomorrow’s face,

On bank walls

And steel bridges,

With rainbow wings

They write:

Greeting to life

Hey! Life!

 

 

 

A Tramp

 

From a broken wooden bench

In a deserted park

The Messiah ascends,

Flies up

Higher and higher, up and up

His prestigious jaguar

Drives through the red light.

In the tumultuous silence

He plays Beethoven’s fifth

On the blue can of his dark beer

Dum dada dum!

And to his hungry dog he bows low.

It rains all night long.

 

 

 

 

 

Football

 

 

Eleven shining stars

Run after a black and silvery moon

On the watchful terraces

Thousands of eyes

Hurl hope

Towards them.

In millions of hearts, drums beat

To one tune:

Come on! Go! Goal!

Come on1 go! Goal!

 

 

 

 

 

 

Long live love!

 

 

A band of lovers,

A roof  full of pigeons,

A smile full of pearls,

Are enough to make you say:

Long live love!


GARDEN OF CONTEMPLATION  

Salute to Wine

                       "Pour the wine, oh heart, for impassioned we are

                        So drunk that strangers to ourselves we are"

 

 

Greetings, ruby-red tears of a hearty drink!

Your vines a blessing to earth did bring!

 

Hail pitchers, full of sighs and regret

Your lips full of laughter and lament

 

Make the rounds! This ruined pile set right

The drinker's night of pain make bright!

 

Fill my heart so full of gladness

That shoots shall smile, when from my earth they surface

 

That wine with which a friend's memory we commemorate

Where glows a warmth which winter from spring appropriates

 

Serve that wine that such distinction lends

That stones, flowers and I, with love can blend

 

Bring that wine the colour of God

Colour of praise, colour of prayer

 

Pour, and up high, with spread wings I'll fly

A tent I'll pitch, a rainbow in the sky

 

Bring me that wine of blossom tears

Pour it - a canary's heartfelt cry one hears

 

That wine that in the cup carouses

Greetings on all existence showers

 

In sorrow my heart sits, head bent on knee

My heart as sad as a heavy heart can be

 

 

***

 

 

Wine server, for you my life I'll give - show me a smile

From which a drop to borrow, to sip a while

 

While that wine soothes my pain

The world will play at marbles in my brain

 

Under the rain I'll go, get slightly wet

Become a flower, or a pigeon, for a sec

 

Become a tipsy crow, a croak to raise

With my black colour a spring I'll trace

 

Its flowers and trees of black I'll draw

In the garden of my heart kingship I'll know

 

Wine, give me wine, for my sea's on fire

The wings of Siyavash are in danger dire

 

From that wine that made the chalice reel

Just Majnoun? His Leili was drunk for real

 

That wine which to Farhad's lips a smile will bring

And make the mountain a drunken caper skip

 

From that wine that Spring to a garden lends

And on dark nights, light on houses sheds

 

From the song of seedlings, the smile of streams

A wine! For I have wakened from my dreams.

 

Wrap me up in drink, for again I've been shamed

The dafdaf daf of desire has me defamed.

 

To the haunting tunes of a tar

Drag me to the street of the yar

 

The song and silence of that rabab

Left me defeated, destroyed - kharab!

 

On the chang's silken strings a happy tune play

The roots of sorrow, from your garden to allay!

 

Serve that wine that both grief and gladness inebriates

The grape, the pitcher and us intoxicates

 

That wine, when drunk to the tune of the oud

The Kavir of your heart becomes the Zendé Roud

 

That wine that bitter aahs does symbolise

I shall drink, and like Joseph, from the well shall rise

 

From wine so filled with light that Mani could trace

A world as bright as heaven's face

 

That wine, which after a taste of Shams

To a new moon in the skies gave rise

 

The wine of ghazals! Where is the poet of Shiraz?

Where the wine jug always sang of romance

 

Pour the wine of Khayam quatrains

The sorrow of the age, give to the days

 

The wine of Anal Haq to me present

Mansour to become, agitation to beget

 

A wine that will burn, even if iron I be

Nothing but Truth in my shirt to see

 

The wine that Neema drank

When in Manzadaran, of Reera he sang

 

From Kashan, the wine of Golastan pour

A drop from its 'heech', deep in the soul

 

A round of that vintage award

That Tahereh drank at the banquet of her Lord

 

 

If from plunder ishq was secure

Its crown, upon man's head, would endure

 

A Forough, from your wine jar bring

From your wheat sheaf, summon a spring

 

Come wine server, to rain lets change

A necklace for the leaves to range

 

Dance the drunken dance of a willow wind-blown

For the bird of joy to the desert has flown

 

Flap your wings, up high to fly

Not past or future, but Now to cry

 

A wine that makes me bloom again

A child once more, astride a cane

 

A perfumed wine named after my king

Sweetly wafting from the smiles of spring

 

A fragrant wine after the beloved named

In whom garden scents are sweetly framed

 

Server, that green drop of an aah do pour

That from the angels and the moon they brought

 

Wine of the lilies of the valley pour

From the tipsy song of an atom's core

 

That inebriated ruby-red wine bring

For the moon to revel in the bubbling spring

 

A drink from Reera's wine do bring

A sip from the sigh of the sea to drink

 

A wine sloshed from blasphemy and defilement

Since to the four winds I've thrown all attachment

 

Serve that wine that will make me swirl

As a glass, in wine lovers' hands to twirl

 

Inebriated and naked, the mountain I'll climb

Free of degradation, a human sublime

 

Of ishq if I drink, free I shall be

Like Hallaj, I too, God-like shall be

 

A world I'll create all justice and mercy

Full of happiness, fervour and ecstacy

 

A world of love and wisdom of the wise

Where people, up to the angels can rise

 

A new man born, young to be

Life to live, happy to be

 

By sparkling wine and tavern houses

By the fragile hearts of glittering glasses

                                                    I swear:

 

For all that is impassioned my life I'll offer

A sacrificial offering to tomorrow I'll proffer!

 

 

 

 

 

Autumn 1999

 

***************************************************************
 

 

 

 

Garden of Contemplation

 

 

To the garden of contemplation let's go

To the contemplation of tomorrow's sun let's go

 

By you, by the Friend I swear

My heart but the praise of his name so fair

 

By wine cups, wine casks and wine houses

By the bright sparkle of wine glasses

 

By the strange encounter with the sigh of a stream

By the dazzling colour of a drop of sleep

 

By the silken charm and spell of the flute

And a heart set alight by the cup's salute

 

By a roof full of pigeons, by a pool full of moons

By a look full of longings, by the sadness of a mood

 

By your cheerful song, my own Reera

By your name and that of Neema

 

By the flight of a butterfly from a chrysalis

By the vivid colour of an amaryllis

 

By justice, by peace, by knowledge

By a planet joyful, beautiful and acknowledged.

 

By that dance at the foot of the gallows

By that retreat in the company of the Friend:

 

The shells of his sea were delighted

The pearls of his heart were sighted

 

It is I!  Said Hallaj, my life, my soul

My crown, my ascension, my all

 

I am the Truth! It is I! Hang me

For this is the love that to my beloved drives me

 

My ashes turned to light, to celebration

My soul brimful with fervent animation

 

From my body I soared to sheer skies

Nothing but a speck of dust in those heights

 

Since both feathers and wings are on fire

A hundred dawns from your ashes shall rise

 

Longing to soar on the wings of that wine

Nothing but sighs in my shirt you'll find

 

My heart, by sorrow fired

My wine, so drunk, to the cask retired

 

See the sighs, burning, glowing

The bowl of my heart full to overflowing

 

What a fire Anal Haq set alight

It burnt wine server, wine cup and wine

 

The gallows with flowers so veiled

That my heart-strings the wine cup craved

 

My throat tasted that fire of fires

That dragged even Satan to hellfire

 

My daf gave rise to the dafdaf of melodies

Filling hearts with such sweet harmonies

 

Stability has slipped from the hands of this world

For the conquest of tomorrow its flag is unfurled

 

From the hearts of horses neighing takes shape

From the cry of the brave leopards escape

 

Come, let me take you the spectacle to see

To the top of tomorrow's mountain run with me

 

 

There to light a lamp from my heart and soul

There the city of tomorrow for you to behold

 

 

                           *****

 

A Spring that's an outburst of colour upon colour

A feast filled with melodies of lyre upon lyre

 

A Spring all dressed in song and celebration

A happy Spring, full of praise and adulation

 

A Spring full of happiness, of grace and benediction

Flower-kissed messengers bearing salutations

 

A Spring where Leili to Majnoon draws near

A red rose, with olive-branch shyness appears

 

The Friend's embrace everywhere this Spring

Upon his shoulders reigns this Spring

 

Violets run riot under a rain of colour

Into a leopard has changed the sad-eyed lover

 

A land where the heart is a garden of mirrors

And bright the paths of those shining spirits

 

A land where walls are of sunlight

Windows and doors patches of moonlight

 

In a city in the hands of a Lover/King

I'll care for you, careful watch I'll keep

 

Stars upon earth angels shall sprinkle

Drops of ishq from vines shall splash

 

Land will be everyone's home and garden

Deserts bright wheat-fields will ripen

 

With muscle-power iron will dance

Compassionate humanity the world will enhance

 

With ingenious imagination and the marvel of achievement

From steel will issue a drunken smile of contentment

 

Swords without name, without mention

Spirits unscarred by chains and detention

 

                           ****   

 

Come, in the taverns of a Balkh restored

A bitter cup of drink to pour

 

To Shiraz let us bow in prayers

Those wondrous heights of verse and rhymes

 

Come, to Tabriz lets fly

Guests in the retreat of Shams a while

 

To Neyshapour our way lets wing

For a jug of wine, of love, to sing

 

All seven regions of the world realms of the Friend

If a wine does exist, by his perfume it's inspired

 

To the street of the darvish let's go

On a mountain of fire into a salamander to grow

 

With audacity let's extend the hand of friendship

Victims of love and reckless comradeship

 

With mystic masters, of that no-thing 'heech' let's drink

From this earth to high heaven lets wing

 

 

                             ****

 

Come, to the pigeon's perch let's fly

Grow tall for a moment, like flames, rise high

 

Come, with a kiss, to love let's succumb

A sacrifice to poppy hearts become

 

Come, as buds and blossoms in the sun

Under a refreshing shower of songs to run

 

Come, naked, into winter let's change

Become that drop of a drinker's pain

 

Come, as a raven, some autumn garden grace

A dawn, for a single crow to trace

 

Ourselves as children's stories let's devise

For them to read us in the book of lives

 

Come, become a hobby horse, a train

The championship of goodness to attain

 

With a pomegranate a child's grief allay

Its gentle heart tranquil to play

 

On his roof place the sun

A feast at his table seat

 

Look, the herb seller has come once more

Basil and mint on his back galore

 

Hey! He calls, Nowruz is here again

Sunny daffodils nights into days array

 

Come, poppies I have, chalices of dawn

A flower by God's kisses drawn

 

Come, my willow tree has combed its crest

My swallow, in my heart, has its nest

 

Come raven, good news do bring

My beacon: your coal-black wing

 

Come, to the garden of contemplation let's go

Tomorrow's human beings to know

 

 

Spring 2001

 


 

 

 

 

 

Sometimes, When I am I, Myself

 

 

 At times like a love-lorn jasmine

Upon my shoulder her head

She lays and stories tells.

 For her charms, at her feet

My life I'll lay.

 

 

Sometimes on fire I am, at times, happier than happy I am

At times I pour down upon you, enticing rain that I am

 

Sometimes the tear of a tar I am, at times laughter of a daf

Which ever way you drag me, further still I draw  you on

 

On one hand you spurn me, on the other you lead me on

A disdainful distant light I am, a tipsy tippler, gone

 

Sometimes a burning reed, the reed-bed of hearts I burn

Then with the drumbeat of disorder, to defiant rebellion I turn

 

Sometimes a deceitful devil, I drag you from side to side

At times an angel I become, a Satan of hellfire I am

 

Sometimes, with a heartfelt sigh, I set fire to the Milky Way

At times, through a blaze, unscathed, I see my way

 

Sometimes a shining shooting star, at times a circle in a pool

A short-lived drop can ruin me, but another can revive

 

Sometimes a tear drop, from the eye of sadness falling

Many a flame of woe, upon everything I throw

 

Sometimes as a leaf,  for dew a smile I have.

Brimming with delight, its bowl and goal I am

 

Beloved of a poppy, round its stem I twine

Sometimes, in fields of battle, a riotous sword I am

 

Sometimes like a child, in your lap I sleep

When stories you tell, silent and quiet I keep

 

Sometimes like a vision, I'll colour all creation

On its paper, everyone's sun I'll draw, for decoration

 

Sometimes like sand, in the heave of a drunken wave I roll

Sometimes, for a pool of love, its naked moon I am

 

Sometimes, like leaves, at autumn's feet I fall

The rainbow of my robes, its storm of colour I'll call

 

Sometimes the colour of a sigh, or the green song of the moon

When autumn comes, its burnished yellow clothes I am

 

At times, the purple of entreaty, at others, darkness of a cry

But should rain fall, its bright rainbow I'll style

 

Sometimes, behind an elbow, my head on knee will sag

My small sorrows, like my shadow, everywhere I drag

 

Sometimes, from my throat, a crowing cock cries out

Where's the music maker you'd ask, his drunken strings I am

 

Scatter me round sometimes, as candy to rain back

My crown and head I'll offer, adventurer that I am

 

Earth, wind and cloud I am, drunken grape of the vine

Beguiling guitar and winsome server of the wine

 

Should you so wish, leave me, or else my destiny decide

Should you so wish, remain, or a taste of sorrow ordain

 

If you so wish, in my arms, on my shoulder place your head

You'd think you are a sun that on my back I bear

 

A broken line I am, a book already closed

A tomorrow long gone, from memory all disposed

 

At times you are my refuge, for lack of it I grieve

In pain I call: Where are you? There, my sorrow I'll heave

 

Sometimes a young crow, sometimes a magpie

A nothing I am. No, something that needs to fly

 

To fly to his rooftop - to fall fully in his trap

You'd say Mahmood has perished - but the Buddha of his soul I am

 

At times there was no Mahmood - just a daf and an oud

Which quietly whispered: a no-thing of his no-thingness I am.

 

 

Winter 2000


 

 

 

 

 

 

Glory of Spring

 

 

 

Winter wildness broken, glory of a new day

Bird-call and clamour, Spring has come this way

 

Lyres tight clasped and ready, gardens bougainvila-dyed

Foot in stirrup, a dandelion seed prepares to glide

 

Poppies a riot run, fire-flowers on a mountain-side

Victory is here, when ishq as king shall stride

 

Green herbs everywhere, green flags of Spring

In flight, horses and horsemen wing

 

Patiently, the plain awaits the moment of encounter

Rushing down the slopes, laughing, runs the river

 

In this din and disorder, where do I end?

My only refuge - embrace of the Friend

 

 

Summer 1989

 

 


 

 

City of Friends

 

 

The days of horsemen are at an end

Noble knights once more, this way will wend

 

Winter's awe and authority shall not survive

The spring crier's floral cavalcade shall arrive

 

Wine server of the heart, cup of joy in hand

Joyful and happy, among the mourners shall stand

 

All agog, the tuneful nightingale proclaims: the day of union is at hand

And in the garden, riding a flower, it lands

 

Canaan, now flooded with light, the city of friends revives

Joseph's fragrance, on a perfumed breeze arrives

 

The realm of ishq shall come, an asheq at the helm shall stand

The realm's robe of honour, from the hopes of the hopeful shall land

 

 

Summer 1988

 

 


 

 

 

 

 

 

The 'Welcome Crier'

 

 

Heaps and heaps of flowers, in the sky I want to scatter

Cover the earth completely, with roses and attar

 

Soldiers of light to make, darkness to put to flight

Sun, moon and the Milky Way, to my home invite

 

Love and loyalty, like royalty I'll crown

In humanity's domain, kings and commanders of renown

 

Dens of oppression I'll overthrow, houses of sorrow lay low

Joy, justice and compassion, to humanity's cradle bestow

 

To idols of oppression, an infidel I'll be

My own idols I'll smash, idol makers I'll flee

 

This world will finally come round, surely it's arrival will sound

A move I must make - this house I'll shower - with a flood of flowers.

 

 

Autumn 1989

 

 


 

 

 

Daughter of Sun and Moon

 

I am a light

Dark mantle of a garden

!In gardens and deserts I belong

Sovereign in my heart's retreat.

Passionate essence of a tree.

Leafless leaves my mantle

Snow flakes my crown

Shoulders of the wind my throne

Silent sister of a sigh

Daughter of the sun and moon

Harbinger of glad tidings, arriving.

Colour of wakefulness, scent of night

Dark beauty of a croak!

I love to rain.

I'm a flag!

Lantern of a garden I am!

I'm a raven!  A black raven!  A black raven I am!

 


 

 

Mantle

 

 

 

 

 

Madness was getting the upper hand

From the tight-drawn bow, the swallow's fervour fled.

One deep sigh,

Wings wide open,

The dancing gypsy to the mountain sped.

Anklets jangling, hands a-clapping, daf dafdafing

In her breast, the pearl of ishq

Beating on the drum of a shell.

Hey! There you are

High up you are

Tomorrow you are.

Atop your heart

A rainbow bright.

So now, that pomegranate of ishq become!

Seed it, one by one!

Till each seed, a precious pearl becomes!

And like coloured marbles of the heart

To a child bestow this world

With which to play,

Its problems to allay.

 

 

 

 

                                                (for Bahiyeh)

 


 

 

Visions

 

 

 

 

 

Our visions are in black and white

But none have dreamt in the colours I have.

I have dreamt that awake I am

And ishq is king.

 


 

 

Tomorrow

 

 

 

 

 

One day

I shall have the right

To

Drink: Blue

Wear: Yellow

Laugh: Green

And in my heart

Have a rainbow

Of aspirations.

 


 

 

Homeland

 

 

 

 

 

My homeland is where

Blue is blue

Happiness is the measure of happiness

And where one is not asked:

What is the colour of a smile?

I wonder:

Is ishq yellow

Dark blue

Has no colour at all?

My homeland is where I know all the birds by name.

 

 

 


 

 

 

Free

 

 

 

 

 

I get drenched

In the downpour of light,

The blue light of the moon.

From the happy rush of the wind I drink

The brief blue of a sigh.

I get drunk

From the blue scent of a jasmine flower.

Blue I become,

In the wind

In the moonlight

 

 


 

 

Dark

 

 

 

Dark I want you

- with no passing light -

Autumn I want you

- with no leaves -

Thirsty I want you

Like soil

Like salt.

Just one Aah! not a thousand!

A breastful of separation

An eyeful of gazing

One sigh full of waiting...

 

 


 

 

Two Songs For Your Heart

 

 

 

 

 

(Happiness)

A downpour

Washed all the songs from my roof

And took them all away.

The sea

Became a kiss

And passionate birds

Drank that kiss away.

(Tears)

A downpour washed the elegies from my roof

And took them all away

The sea

Cried

And passionate birds

Kissed the tears away.

 

 


 

 

Glossary

 

 

 

 

 

Anal Haq:                  I am the Truth - soufi ecstatic pronouncement famously declared by Hussein Mansour Hallaj in his realization of the oneness of being and union with God.

Balkh:                        A city with a long history and known as the birthplace of Iranian mysticism.

Daf, oud, tar,

rabab, chang:             Musical instruments used in Iran over the centuries.

Darvish:                     Roving mystic.

Hallaj, Hussein

Mansour:                   Well known Iranian Sufi master put to death and then burnt by an Abbasid caliph in Baghdad.

Heech:                       No-thing, in the sense that it is beyond material description.

Ishq:                          Passionate mystical love for the Beloved, which for the mystic constitutes the driving force of life and evolution towards Truth and Reality.

Kharab:                     Lost to one’s self.

Mani:                         Iranian mystic, philosopher and founder of Manicheism in the 3rd century AD, a religion that spread to India, the Middle East, North Africa and Europe.

Neema:                     Poet of the last century credited for being the father of modern Persian poetry.

Nowruz:                    Iranian New Year.

Reera:                       Woman’s name.

Shams:                      Soufi darvish and spiritual guide and inspiration of Jalal ud-Deen Rumi.

Siyavash:                   Iranian prince in Ferdowsi’s Shahnamé who passed through a ring of fire unscathed as proof of his innocence.

Yar:                           Friend or Beloved.

Zendé Roud:              A river in central Iran.


A Ringdove with a Dark Red Suitcase  

 

A play dedicated to all women

stoned to death.

 

 

 

(On a darkened stage people in black carry torches and sing.

 NB: Omeed means Hope.)

 

 

                     Blue skies I seek

                    And moonlit nights

                    Far from sad memories

                    Carefree days I crave.

                    A flower spells spring in my heart

                    A poppy field stands for my soul.

 

(There is a dark red suitcase stage front.  A swing is in a corner shaped like a swallow’s nest.  The singing fills the sky as the swing moves to and fro.  Fakhteh, the ringdove, flies down below the stage.)

 

 

One, two, three!  I flew!  Look, I flew.  Finally I flew!  Where are you?  Not here yet?  He will come.  He will surely come.  Do you have an umbrella?  What about you?  One of those large flowery ones.  What kind of hat?  One of those covered with cherries?  Where?  Where is it?  There it is!  There are gardens and fountains here too!  Isn’t that so?  All I want is to go somewhere with Omeed---where?  There, that bower that is so full of sweet briers.  It’s so lovely.  To dance, to sing!  That is all I want.  Then---but there is no ‘then’.  Actually, I don’t want to go back there.  I have left my suitcase behind, but I don’t want to go up there again.  I’m tired!  I want to stay here, with you.  And if he does not come, it does not matter.  But he will surely come.  I only want to remain here, near you.  Don’t honk sir, for the love of God don’t honk your horn,.  They will come and arrest me! Honking scares me.  It stifles me.  Omeed used to say  “Come!  Fly!  Don’t be afraid! Fly first and think later.?  He said, ? I am waiting for you.?  He said,  “ Come, let us turn into lotus flowers!?

 

But I have left my suitcase behind.  Without that suitcase I can’t become a lotus flower.  No, it’s not possible!  I have to get my suitcase.

 

(Fearfully, she goes to the side of the stage and picks up the suitcase, then, playing the roles of both father and mother…)

 

- I swear I’ll skin you alive.  You run around and blacken my name!  I have slaved all my life, as a porter, a janitor, a workman to keep a bit of self-respect.  I’ve accepted a shity existence to maintain my honour.  And you go flitting around and drag it all in the mud!  I’ll kill you!  I’ll kill you right here!

 

But my stepmother stepped in and hit him so hard on the head that he fell flat on the floor.

 

- Are you breathing through your bottom you good for nothing scum of an addict?  May the miseries of the world be visited upon you for not being able to control this bit of a child!  But I’ll do it!  I’ll put God’s fear in this shrew.  Bringing all sorts of people here.  Sleeping around with all sorts of dirty men.  And to top it all, you decide to run away!  See if I ever let you go to school again!

 

- Oh my God!  Let go of her woman! . God, what am I to do?  No one to help, no where to turn.  What kind of mother’s milk did I drink?  Dear God, it was the poisoned milk of pain, milk of suffering, milk of sorrow.  For a thousand years I have been dying and am not yet dead.  A thousand times you killed me and did not kill me.  So where is your cure, where your mercy, where your miracle?  To think of all the candles I lit and the lights I burnt around saintly tombs and shrines!

 

- Don’t cry father.  Let me make some money and then we will leave this place.  I swear we shall go.  We shall go up to Roodbar, where the earthquake hit.  To that house I told you about, in the olive grove.

 

- I’ll lock you up!  I’ll scourge you!  And what kind of a hell-hole were you running off to?  After all I’ve spent on you, you thought you could run off free and easy? Get in there you ungrateful bitch.  This will teach you the meaning of running away! (Darkness)

 

- No, no!  Open, for the love of God, open!  Don’t put out the light!  What shall I do in this darkness, in this dark and star-less place?  No, I was wrong!  I beg of you, let me out!  I don’t want a house!  I don’t want anything!  Matches, where are the matches?  (she lights one match after another)  Its dark, so dark everywhere.  Omeed!  Omeed!  (She runs.  Blinding, dizzying lights.  Blaring car horns.  She runs and runs.) 

 

I must go, I must go far, far away, to the olive grove.  My suitcase!  I must take my suitcase.  Omeed will come too.  I know he will. (With her suitcase she runs this way and that.  She is blindfolded.  She turns round and round hitting out at people who are not there.)

 

_ I was wrong!  I did not run away!  Please forgive me.  I am a good girl!  The Virgin Mary, that is who I am.  From heaven I have brought you a pomegranate, a quince and a red apple – the fruits of heaven!  I honestly don’t have anything in this suitcase.  You are in here father.  Please father, don’t let them beat me.  Don’t let them scourge me.  No, father, no.  I swear I shall be a good girl!  I’ll patch your clothes.  I’ll sweep the room. --Is that you Omeed?  Why were you so late?  Help me Omeed.  Get me out of here.  Take me with you.  I’m burning here.  Come, give me a drink from the palms of your hands.  Let me peck at seeds on your shoulder.  Where is your lotus flower?  No, no, who are you?  I am sorry Agha, I made a mistake!  For God’s sake don’t beat me!  (Silence.  Very bright lights come on.)

 

- Khanom, you have started very early.  What is your connection with this man?

- Nothing, none at all!

- Why did you get into his car?

- I was forced to.

- Where were you going?

- Nowhere.

- What does your father do?

- Nothing.

- Where is your home?

- Home?  What home?

- What’s in your suitcase?

- Suitcase?  Where?

- This does not make sense!

- But it does!  Coocoo, coocoo!  Ringdoves have no homes, agha.  Coocoo, coocoo.  A ringdove only has a suitcase.  A suitcase full if cooings, full of sobs, full of faded lotus flowers.  You frighten me!  Let me go.  Snakes in the dark frighten me.  Hissssss!

- Come here!  Open that suitcase.  Open it I say!  Put out the lights!

- No!  What are you looking for? No!

- The napkins!  The famous napkins! We collect napkins.  We count them!

- No!  (Items of clothing fly in the air.  A song fills the skies.)

 

 

                  A bunch of flowers to the water I offer

                  My hopes to a bubble I proffer

                  An apple from the tree of longing I prise

                  Throw it skyward and swing it high.

                  A flower spells spring in my heart

                  A poppy field stands for my soul.

 

 

The first day I was transferred there only Chelcheleh (the swallow) came to my aid.  She gave me a piece of bread.  She was sitting on that swing.  She held me close and told them,  “How do you have the heart to treat a delicate child like that??  Then she asked me,  “What is your name??

- I don’t know.  I have forgotten.

- But you look like a ringdove and you are cooing all the time.  We will call you Ringdove.  How about that?  Actually, who needs a name in this place?  In each man’s arms you have a different name.  A few seconds later it’s forgotten, by you and by them.

- Who are you?

- My father fell in a kiln and turned to ashes.  Maybe he turned into a brick and became part of one of God’s hundred -storied towers!  My mother is an addict.  With my younger sister she lives in a dilapidated truck behind the kilns.  I send them money.  Maybe they will go back to the village some day.  You should give up on Omeed.  I also, more or less, loved someone.  He up and left me.  He now has an establishment of available females.  A few to whom he is married, a few on a short term, seegheh basis.  I was left all alone.  A swallow called Chelcheleh.  (She sings, sitting on the swing.)

 

 

                   I’m Earth, wind and cloud

                   Intoxicated grape of the vine

                   Dazzling wine server,

                   Heart- piercing guitar.

                   A broken line of poetry

                   A book all closed I am,

                   A tomorrow all gone now

                   A memory, all forgotten.

                   At times you were my saviour

                   But for lack of succour I have died.

                   Where are you? If I knew

                   Broken wings, fallen feathers

                   There I’d drag.

She had tied a swing to the ceiling.  “This is my house,? she said. “It’s the only place in the world that I can call my own.  Where I am truly myself.  One day I’ll fly all the way up to God!?

 

She kept swinging in her ‘house’ and the world swung with her.  That is why they called her Chelchelh.  Her room, though, had a foot in the bazaar.  One night it was filled with the aroma of tea.  On another, that of wood.  On yet another it smelt of saffron or of turmeric.  It all depended on who had visited her.  But the room of Durna Khanum was full of the scent of rose water and holy earth from various shrines.  In the evenings she sat by the pool and incessantly sang of the pain of separation.

 

                                    Ayerliq aman, ayerliq aman, ayerliq. 

 

This is the garden of sweet briers.  The garden of night.  Night of vultures.  Night of hyenas.  Night of beaks and of talons.  Night of pimping and of plunder.  Plunder of bodies.  Pillage of women!  This is what Chelcheleh said. 

 

She said, “Can you see him?  There he is, up there, north of the sweet brier garden.  No one has ever been there, except Agha Seyed Jamal.  No one knows what happens behind those brier bushes at night.  Only the yellow odour of opium rises, like dust in the air and intoxicates you.  Like the perfume of Chanel, of Christian Dior or Givenchy.  Maybe the gate of the garden is on that side, I don’t know.  Whoever enters from here never leaves.  More often than not they are taken out, in a box.  Agha Seyed Jamal says that this is paradise.  The everlasting place of all houris and angels.?

 

“That wall, though, I don’t know where that ends.  It is the eastern wall.  A wall of cypress trees.  The sun climbs over it every day.  It props its head on the shoulders of the cypress trees and watches us.  That is when its tears, like dewdrops, fall over the sweet briers and into the pool at its feet.  From the mountain-top you can hear sobbing.  The sobbing of angels.  One day, from there, from right there, a caravan will come, decked out in style, to carry us away, in a sea of light!?

 

“Come, come here.  Look!  There it is!  Behind that blue reed bed!  That is the gallery of mirrors.  A smell of ashes, of burning feathers, comes from there.  That is the room of Samandar Khanum!  Yes!  You can see her.  She is bathed in light.  Light from top to toe!  There you can hear the sounds of that long-lost reed pipe.  She is the only one who has climbed over the wall of cypress trees and has seen what must not be seen.  And then she turned into light, into fire.  It is said that if you are pure in heart and look in the mirror you will see her there.  Come, take the mirror, look!  Do you see?  That wall of cypress trees, wherever it is, if full of officials.  No one must approach it.  I don’t know why the name scares me.  The air smells of gazelles.?

 

You could not fault Terlan Khanum’s table.  On special occasions, when she put on those spreads, we did not work. We did not receive clients.  All expenses were paid by Agha Seyed Jamal.  He was the boss, but Tarlan Khanum ran the show.

 

Then, she caught an incurable disease, and though she was still very beautiful, she became the madam.  She had a good voice, sang very well, and made us all cry.

 

 

                          Deep runs the pain in my heart

                          Longing for a good cry lurks in my heart

                          Ever seen a Spring without flowers and corn?

                          Autumn encircles this heart of mine.

 

Now

 

                         I can play the part, my love

                         I can play the role my love

                         Both part and role I play my love.

 

Then she would toss two or three opium pills under her tongue and as they took effect, she would wax quarrelsome and vengeful, lashing out at Agha Seyed Jamal.

 

- I hope I shall see you dead for bringing me to this end!  May vipers feed on the breasts that fed you!  I hope you’ll die like Leila’s headless chicken, all in a flutter!  I hope you’ll live in fear like a hunted dog!  From one winter to the next, may you not dream of violets, almond and orange blossoms!

 

Agha Seyed Jamal roared with laughter.  He loved it.  Enjoyed the bawdiness and obscene language.  At which point Tarlan Khanum would break into song:

 

                           Neither wife nor concubine for me

                          A prostitute bent on cash I’ll be!

 

As long as Agha Seyed Jamal’s haemorrhoids did not act up he did not bother us.  But God help us when we had to give him an enema!  He screamed and writhed like a snake! And attacked us.  He sent us to get brier bush cuttings with which to beat us, warning us not to cheat and get cherry tree cuttings, for beatings with those would stop us from peeing and that would create problems for him.  Then the blows would rain down and like pigeons we would tuck our heads under our wings and run.  Run all round the garden, flying away from the burning blows. 

 

He had a prayer pack round his neck and always smelt of naphthalene.  Once, right here, in front of that room, a woman threw herself at his feet.  She clung to his cloak and would not let go as she pleaded,  “Agha, I swear its your child.  You planted it in my belly.  What shall I do with it?  My husband is coming back.  What shall I tell him?  I beg of you, Agha.  I’m your slave Agha, your dog!

 

Agha Seyed Jamal aimed an almighty kick at her bottom.  Then kicked her again in her belly.  The woman folded up like a piece of cardboard, and fell on the ground.  Blood spurted out of her.  It splashed on his cloak.  He threw it towards Tarlan Khanum saying. ?Tell them to wash it!?  The blood had ‘defiled’ it.  They buried the woman right here, under this tree.

 

I don’t know on what unlucky Tuesday of an ill-omened month it was that Agha Seyed Jamal suddenly appeared on a cold evening.  “Good heavens woman!  What’s happening? Why all this food?  Why the colourful clothes?  Tarlan Khanum, what feast day is it that calls for all this display, food, clothes, stockings and makeup?  They wanted to separate Chelcheleh from us.  Ever since the beating on her left eye her face had been deformed.  The severe kicks had paralysed her right hand.  Her wings were broken, her flying wings.

“Don’t cry, Chelcheleh.  Please don’t cry.  Enough Chelcheleh, enough!?  “Let go of her hair you scoundrel!?

 

- We shall go to Dubai.  Your airport shall become international, you bastards.

 

- Ringdove, my dear, they say Dubai is full of lights.  Everywhere you go, in the shops, in the malls, you find goods from abroad.  When you come back, do bring me a suitcase.  Dark red in colour, just like yours.

 

- Yes Chelcheleh of the broken wings.  Broken Chelcheleh.  Dubai is full of lights.  You did not come to Dubai which, smells of all the perfumes of Arabia.  You did not come to Dubai to drink cognac in five-star hotels.  To wear silk dresses and make up.  Wear cherry-covered hats and hold chic umbrellas.  Walk down the street looking like a rich and respectable lady.  Wear tight clothes, swing your hips and allow your breasts, like two pigeons impatient to take flight, attract the attention of all those tourists.  And then, after nights blazing with light, to put our heads on each other’s shoulders and cry.  Anyway, nothing matters any more.  One night, with Indian prostitutes seeped in the aroma of chilli peppers; one night, with Egyptian prostitutes drenched in heady Arabian perfumes; one night, with Mexican prostitutes redolent with the aroma of Brazilian coffee; we shall all go to Paradise.  All I remember is the colour of the eyes of the customers.  Blue, black, blue, black, meaning foreign, familiar, foreign, familiar, German, Egyptian, Dutch, Iranian---

 

- Enough, Ringdove.  I can’t take any more.  After you left Tarlan Khanum’s condition got much worse.  She lay in a corner and started to smell awful.  She had blood and puss all over her.  They were afraid to take her out.  She always asked, ?What did that girl have in her suitcase?  Any letters?  A doll maybe?  A picture?  Strange!  I wish you had told her to bring me a suitcase from Dubai.  A dark red suitcase.  Yes, definitely, a dark red suit case.?  Then she died.  It was a lengthy process, her dying.  Finally, she threw up her innards and died.  You would have thought she had been drinking blood all her life.

 

Agha Seyed Jamal went mad.  He knelt by her, gathered her head in his arms and kissed her over and over again. Then, he turned into a howling wolf.  Hoooo, hoooo.  He howled over and over, a wolf howling at the moon.  For three days and nights he howled.  His hair fell off.  His flesh fell off his bones.  His eyes got lost in sockets of blood.  And he howled.  Hoooo, hoooo!  Then he carried Tarlan’s body and took her to the wall of cypress trees--- (digging the earth and throwing it in the air.  Darkness.  Seyed Jamal howls.)

 

- Tarlan!  Your curses brought me to this.  In this accursed season , this time of ravens, this year shorn of Spring.  This shameless, tearless sky.  Hoooo, hoooo.  (With lamp and rope in hand he runs this way and that.  Dogs bark.  Sound of breaking glass.  Silence.  Lights.)

 

- He was hanging right here, near the wall of cypress trees, swaying in the wind.  A dark vapour poured out of his mouth.  Hoooo, hoooo.  Then they fell upon me and beat me, mercilessly.  At first I did not move.  Then, like a headless chicken, I ran and ran, flapping my wings and screaming.  I flew.  I became a wingless and featherless crow.  A headless crow, croaking away.  Till I reached the wall of cypress trees where I breathed in their scent---and died.  They slung up my battered body on a meat hook by the wall of cypress trees.  Now, if you are looking for Chelcheleh go to the Cemetery of the Damned, or any other cemetery that you choose, or by the sweet briers.  Near that green wall of cypress trees.  All that I own is that swing that I have bequeathed to the wind.  All I have understood in this world is that a caravan will never come from there.  This is a good place.  Even when I am alone, I can sleep with the clouds.

 

- I have come back my Chelcheleh!  I have brought you a suitcase.  A dark red suitcase.  So they buried you by the sweet briers too?  By the wall of cypress trees?  I must go Chelcheleh.  I must fly over this wall.  It is high, I know, but I shall fly.  I must fly!  (She runs.  The sound of dogs barking.  Flashlights.  In the silence, the sound of breaking glass.)

 

It’s all over Chelcheleh.  I’ve reached the end of the road.  (She tugs at the empty swing. She places the suitcase where it first was.)  Now they want to put an end to me too.  I can’t breathe anymore. They are planting me in the earth.  Like that sweet brier tree.  I am turning into light.  Into smoke, to rise in the air.  They have taken my suitcase.  Please agha, for God’s sake, don’t take my suitcase.  Don’t take it!  Don’t take it you bastard!  Don’t take it you snake, you viper!

 

Chelcheleh , they have planted me in a valley of tears, valley of pain, valley of stones.  At first the stones hurt like the sting of a wasp, then the sting of a scorpion, then like the pain of a rusty dagger, digging into an open wound, ploughing deep furrows of pain.  Rusted metal dripping poison in my veins.  My mouth full of poison, deadly poison, bitter venom.  They made me suffer Chelcheleh.  How they made me suffer!  Made me agonise.  Help me Tarlan Khanum, help me!  This agony---a river of snakes slithering through my body.  For a thousand years they have been slithering ---miles and miles of snakes.  Heaps of stones, hitting, hammering, pounding!  But now, now they are singing!  By that blue reed bed.  Can you hear the song of that long-lost reed pipe?  Look, I am rising, from under the heaps of stones, from under a rain of stones and scoundrels.  Scoundrels in whose eyes evil had laid eggs.  I am getting green again.  I am growing taller.  Help me Chelcheleh Khanum.  Samandar Khanum, help me!  I have turned into light!  Into a lotus flower!  A mirror, give me a mirror!  Coocoo, coocoo, coocoo!  (A young girl takes the dark red suitcase from the stage.  Spreads her wings towards the sky.  A song fills the air.)

 

               Like a field of daffodils

                        My heart sings  ‘Come on, come on!’

               Behind the tall grasses you are lost

                         I remain and the mass of daffodils.

               A flower spells spring in my heart

                          A poppy field stands for my soul.

     End


ادامه ....
THE REALM OF ISHQ
A Very Small Dictator
A Journey Within
 

منوي اصلي

با شاعران

زندگی نامه ای و چندین شعر از هرکدام. نگاه من به شاعران ایرانی ! کوتاه و ساده، تا همگان را گزیده ای فراهم آورده باشم


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