R2-D2

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by R2-D2 on Sat Feb 20, 2010 10:19 PM PST

Hi Yolanda,

 I am glad you enjoyed Simin's work. All your poems and videos are fine :)

Just remember that Simin is one of the very few Persian women Poets who truly are world-recognized :) There are many Persian women that call themselves 'Poets', but just compare her works to these others, and you'll see what I am talking about :) !

 

 

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by yolanda on Sat Feb 20, 2010 12:47 PM PST

Hi! R2-D2,

   Sorry to stop by late. The Olympic Games has thrown me off. Finally I made it here. I got pretty lucky today and found a lot of videos and poems.

  What set Simin apart from other poets is that she is beautiful, brave, and brilliant! She is an undisputed Lioness of Iran! I noticed that she is not afraid of writing about sensitive subjects like Iran/Iraq war, Presidential election, and Montazeri. It is just amazing! I hope IRI does not give her hard time! She seems to have a very high profile 'cause I was able to find a lot of her works on Internet. I hope she is a front-runner for Nobel Prize and I hope she wins in the near future.....Thank you for mentioning Forough Farokhzad. I like her, too. I bookmarked her website and saved some of her poems one month ago. 

   I watched Dariush video, it is very different from his other videos. It has a very somber tone. I think it is a modern song 'cause I did not hear Persian instruments in the music. Thank you for sharing!

Yolanda

P.S.  If anything should not be in this blog, please feel free to let me know and I can make changes!

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by yolanda on Sat Feb 20, 2010 12:19 PM PST

A Poem by Simin

مدرسه فمينيستي: سوگواري قلم سيمين بهبهاني درتشييع آن كس كه "مكتب به مسند وانهشت"...

واگشتنش را دوست دارم

مردي كه دامان شريفش

پاكيزه تر از آسمان بود

درقطره اشکش محبت

تابیده چون رنگين كمان بود

با همت وارستگي ها

درمنتهاي خستگي ها

آيات مهر و حكم عدلش

تامرزبي مرزي روان بود

بخشيد معنا راتكامل

چونان كه بخشد غنچه را گل

زيراوجودش نيم ِ ديگر

ازخطه ي نيم ِ جهان بود

واگشتنش را دوست دارم

برتوبه حرمت مي گزارم

هرچند بنياني دگررا

خودازنخستين بانيان بود!

اوماند و آن درهاي بسته

با آن دل از جور خسته

درهرسخن باهركلامي

هرخسته را تاب و توان بود

بافقر، صاحب جاه بودن

دركنج عزلت، شاه بودن

آيين انساني گر اين است

اين فخر انسان آن چنان بود

مكتب به مسند وانهشتن

ازبهره ي دنيا گذشتن

درخوردهربي دست و پا نيست

آن كس كه اين شد ، قهرمان بود

اسطوره يي از استواري

اعجوبه اي درمهروياري

هرگزنمرده ست و نميرد

مردي كه سرتاپاش جان بود

 سيمين بهبهاني
 30 آذر 88

 

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by yolanda on Sat Feb 20, 2010 12:22 PM PST

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I Like His Return/Simin Behbahani

Translated by Mina Siegel

Thursday 24 December 2009

Feminist School :The latest poem by Simin Behbahani in memory of Ayatollah Montazeri :

The man whose chastity

Was purer than the heavens,

In whose tears love shined

As a rainbow in the dew.

Inspired by liberation,

To the infinity of his soul.

The verses of love,

The verdicts of justice

Extended beyond borders.

Under the rays of his wisdom,

Meaning evolved into perfection

As buds evolve to full blossoms.

He who owned half of

The Half of the World.(1)

I like his departure,

I honor his repentance.

Although he was the founder,

Of what was Founded,(2)

But he stayed aside,

The doors were closed.

Heartbroken

With injustice,

He encouraged the dismayed,

He endowed poverty.

In a humble den,

He lived like a king.

Such is the way of the humanist.

Such was this pride of humanity’s way of life

Not abandoning the bench for the throne

Turning away from the world,

Is not any nobody.

The one who achieves this

Is worthy to be called a hero.

Of legendary strength,

Of prodigious love and compassion,

He who never died,

He who never dies,

The man who was Life.

*1 “Half of the world” is an epithet for Isfahan, the ayatollah’s home province.

*2 The “Founded” was the poet’s way of referring to the Islamic Republic.

Persian version://www.iranfemschool.com/spip.php?article3956

Gracefully she approached

By Simin

Gracefully she approached,
in a dress of bright blue silk;
With an olive branch in her hand,
and many tales of sorrows in her eyes.
Running to her, I greeted her,
and took her hand in mine:
Pulses could still be felt in her veins;
warm was still her body with life.

"But you are dead, mother", I said;
"Oh, many years ago you died!"
Neither of embalmment she smelled,
Nor in a shroud was she wrapped.

I gave a glance at the olive branch;
she held it out to me,
And said with a smile,
"It is the sign of peace; take it."

I took it from her and said,
"Yes, it is the sign of...", when
My voice and peace were broken
by the violent arrival of a horseman.
He carried a dagger under his tunic
with which he shaped the olive branch
Into a rod and looking at it
he said to himself:
"Not too bad a cane
for punishing the sinners!"
A real image of a hellish pain!
Then, to hide the rod,
He opened his saddlebag.
in there, O God!
I saw a dead dove, with a string tied
round its broken neck.

My mother walked away with anger and sorrow;
my eyes followed her;
Like the mourners she wore
a dress of black silk.

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by yolanda on Sat Feb 20, 2010 08:45 AM PST

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Don’t Throw My Land to the Wind (Version 2)

By Simin 

Should the flames of rage rise any higher in this land,
I see your name rotting on your gravestone.

I see your blabbering intransigence and barbed tongue
becoming objects of derision.

I see a around your neck
A chord tightening of your own lies.

Your head is filled with pride
your faith has grown blind,
a fallen elephant is unlikely
To raise again.

Get off your high horse,
stop throwing to the wind
The riches of my land.

I see the grim rising cloud
groveling at the feet of the sewer.

Enough with this tumult, uproar,
Enough with this bloodshed.

Enough with making God’s creatures
mourn with tears.

I will not curse you
since my enemy’s pains
give me no pleasure.

Should you wish to have me stoned
or to burn me,
in your hand no match will light,
no stone will harm me.

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by yolanda on Sat Feb 20, 2010 08:11 AM PST

Stop Throwing My Country To The Wind

If the flames of anger rise any higher in this land Your name on your tombstone will be covered with dirt.

You have become a babbling loudmouth. Your insolent ranting, something to joke about.

The lies you have found, you have woven together. The rope you have crafted, you will find around your neck.

Pride has swollen your head, your faith has grown blind. The elephant that falls will not rise.

Stop this extravagance, this reckless throwing of my country to the wind. The grim-faced rising cloud, will grovel at the swamp's feet.

Stop this screaming, mayhem, and blood shed. Stop doing what makes God's creatures mourn with tears.

My curses will not be upon you, as in their fulfillment. My enemies' afflictions also cause me pain.

You may wish to have me burned , or decide to stone me. But in your hand match or stone will lose their power to harm me.

Simin Behbahani

June 2009

Translated by Kaveh Safa and Farzaneh Milani

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For Neda Agha-Soltan

You are neither dead, nor will you die.

You will always remain alive.

You have an eternal existence.

You are the voice of the people of Iran.

Simin Behbahani

June 2009

Simin Behbehani

by Humility on Sat Feb 20, 2010 01:27 AM PST

An absolute Delight

 

 

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by R2-D2 on Fri Feb 19, 2010 06:05 PM PST

Yolanda,

In the present era, there are very few women poets, if any, who have her stature.

As you know, there have been quite a few men poets such as Nima, Moshiri, Shamloo, Naderpour and others who have been quite well known. However, among the women, she is perhaps the only one whose work is truly respected - (Forough Farokhzad was another woman poet who had a promising career, but she died of a tragic death while still very young) .....

 

 

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by yolanda on Fri Feb 19, 2010 12:41 PM PST

Hi R2-D2,

    I read about her more than one month ago and remember that she got Nobel Prize nomination.......

    A Washington Post article mentioned her poem from the book "A Cup of Sin: Selected Poems."

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My country, I will build you again,

if need be, with bricks made from my life.

I will build columns to support your roof,

if need be, with my bones.

//www.washingtonpost.com/wp-dyn/content/artic...

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A Poem by Simin

 

This is the fourth year of the war

the six o'clock news says

they have no intention of making peace

this is the decision of the old leader

there are no young people left

children are the depository for war

this river can flow, slowly, with blood

 

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by R2-D2 on Fri Feb 19, 2010 01:33 AM PST

Yolanda, She is a very distinguished Poet(ess) - She is the contemporary of Shamloo, Moshiri, and Naderpoor

 

 

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by yolanda on Thu Feb 18, 2010 10:48 PM PST

Hi R2-D2,

    Thank you for featuring an Iranian poetess, who is also a Noble Prize nominee! Yeah!

Love Arrived and How Red by Simin Behbehani, Translated by M. Alexandrian

Love arrived and how red?
Although it is too late;
The rose has grown in the snow,
O how delightful it does glow!

Love, O love! O love! O love!
How far you sit on the peak above!
My legs, O how they tremble! Behold
My hands, O how wrinkled and old!

I am afraid, I fear, O mate!
For by the breeze I vibrate;
Love, the phantom of doubt, bound
Is sleeping in the pound.
The young cactus is grown
In a tropical zone;
But I come from polar plain,
May heart is cold, barren;
The cocoon is thicker than the content,
As if my heart has swollen and spent.
She yearns to fly, she does desire
That which is jailed in the mire;
But her wings have stalled and rotten,
It is too late, too late to batten.
That which flew with passion,
Her mind full of conviction
Poor of credulity and belief,
Is bound to remain in unbelief.
She who romped and pranced in the dell,
Was swift like the quick gazelle; 
Now tamed, silent and quiet,
Like the lamb she bows her head.
Her proud crown and her fan
Was the ring of the rainbow!
She is crestfallen and crumbled;
She is ashamed and humbled.

Love, O red torch of delight!
Send your last brilliant light;
Perhaps my gray despair, distraught
Reflects my gloomy thought.