September 1997
Originally posted September 1995
The Iranian

White Cloud was born Shireen Bakhtiar in New York in 1930 to the late Dr. Abolqassem Bakhtiar and the late Helen Jeffreys, a nurse from rural Idaho. She spent her childhood in Tehran, Masjed Soleiman and Abadan.

She graduated from high school in Washington, DC and studied art in college. In the 1960's and 70's, she was a successful painter and journalist while also working for the National Iranian Oil Company in Abadan. She has been living in the United States since 1978.

In 1994, White Cloud took up poetry. The following are from her collection "White Cloud: A Book of Poems" (1995, $7.95, 1045 Walnut Grove, Rochester Hills, MI 48306). The poem "Isfahan" has been awarded third prize in the 1997 North American Poetry Competition organzied by the National Poetry Library in Owings Mills, Maryland, USA.

Isfahan

Stars streaking clover skies
wet flakes in winter white
sulphur gauze sweeps
across cobalt east
river a mirror of crimson
brushed with leaves
roses on Isfahan's old bridge
silk and doves, turquoise
mosque, wild moss
bees swarm around
white orchid moon
where my Grandfather's
pistachio trees bloom

When I Became a Poet

Indeed the idol
I have loved
so long
spring roses
of Omar Khayam

Laid a rose
on his grave
in Nishapur
pear blossoms
in the pool

Seven stars and two
on a curtain of blue
big dipper and the
luxurious Samarkand
moon

Fan the red coals
Russian samovar
China tea
glass of amber chai
a cloud of butterflies

1939

In the corner
of the room
on the edge
of the Persian
carpet Parveen
and I played
house with
cardboard and
pieces of left
over cotton

Second floor
open window
Tehran summer
on Shah Reza
pistachio nuts
in gunny sacks
on the sidewalk
thick sweet
cod liver oil
in the ice box

Long room in the afternoon
crank gramophone
dance barefoot
a Russian dance
father sings Ferdowsi

Bread soaked
in yellow soup
with a squeeze of lemon
white rice
with saffron
on china

Rose of Omar Khayam
purple jewels of the Nile
when I was nine

Behind a White Cloud

Reflected in the old
blue river was a
white cloud touching
the river in reflection

On the moss covered
bank was a red and
white boat beached
on the wet rocks

A little way away
stood a white house
with a red barn
on a wheat field farm

Slipping round the
old river was a green
valley with wild mustard
flowers falling on violets

The orange sun
perfectly silent
behind a white cloud
was an iridescent star

On the Road to Mandalay

I think I'll go out
into the sunlight
and sit under a
tree and think
about nothing
but me

I think I'll be
Maha Muni on the
Eightfold path
under a red
umbrella holding
a fan

I think I'll go
to old Burma
on the Eastern road
and touch the Golden Rock
like a bird

I think I'll ride
a white elephant
with a marigold lei
to the stars at dawn
on the road to Mandalay

Related links

* Also by or about White Cloud
- Oh Nellie!
- Motherland: Visiting Weiser, Idaho
- White Cloud: Paintings

* Features
* Cover stories
* Who's who
* Bookstore

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Copyright © 1997 Abadan Publishing Co. All Rights Reserved. May not be duplicated or distributed in any form.