This shall be a blog devoted to Majid's poems. All readers are invited to feel free to contribute with Majid Naficy's poems, translations, critiques, graphics,... as long as it's subject related.
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Zendanian @Zendanian
An injury to one is an injury to all.
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Zendanian – An injury to one is an injury to all.
Reportساعت اصفهان /
مجید نفیسی /
به کجا می روی ای زمان
نشسته بر گردونه ای زرنشان
با دو اسبِ دو رنگِ سُم کوبان
نه بی شتاب، نه شتابان
همیشه با همان آهنگ یکسان:
هان........... هان.
آفرین بر دستی که تو را آفرید
در شهرِ کودکی ام اصفهان
با قابِ خاتمی پُرنگار
از ریزه ی صدف و استخوان
آویخته بر دیوارِ خوابگاهم
در تبعیدگاهِ "فرشتگان"
تا شب که می روم به خواب
با تو بازگردم به شهرمان
به آتشگاه و کوهِ صُفه
همپایِ پدر بامدادان
به زنده رود و جلفای نو
با یاران "جُنگ" شامگاهان
به کوچه ی باغ جنت
همراه مادر و خواهران
در خانه می گویم به برادر
به لهجه ی کِشدار نیاکان:
"وَخی! بیا بریم بازار
دنبالِ پیرِ ساعت سازان".
اما صبح که چشم می گشایم
یک روز دورترم از اصفهان.
دوم فوریه 2003
Zendanian – An injury to one is an injury to all.
ReportBlurry Eyes
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By Majid Naficy
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I take this dirt as a garden
With dense trees and shady bushes,
And this day, full of fog and smoke
As a quiet, sunny afternoon,
And this monotonous sound of power lines
As a lonely chirping cricket
Which I have always cherished
Since childhood
Ah, my blurry eyes
How much I owe you!
--------------------------------
July 27, 1992
Zendanian – An injury to one is an injury to all.
Reportچشم های کم سو
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مجید نفیسی
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من اینم
َ
زبله را باغی می انگارم
با درختانی انبوه و بوته هایی پر سایه
و این هوای پر دود و دم را
بعدازظهری آرام و آفتابی،
و این جیرجیر
ِ
یکنواخت سیم های برق را
آوای جیرجیرکی تنها
که همیشه از کودکی دوست داشته ام.
ای چشم های کم سو
چقدر به شما وام دارم!
----------------------
27 ژوئیه 1992
Zendanian – An injury to one is an injury to all.
ReportPainting-Knife
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By Majid Naficy
For Nooshin
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The snow melts without you
The shrubs grow without you
The summits are conquered without you
The mountain is not dead without you
But you are alive within me.
Where is my painting-knife??
I must paint this picture everywhere
Or remove this burn from my heart.
The snow is still fresh
The shrubs are dormant below the ground
The summits are asleep inside the clouds
The mountain is never alive without you.
Where is my painting-knife??
August 29, 1986
Zendanian – An injury to one is an injury to all.
Reportکاردَک نقاشی
-------------------
مجید نفیسی
به نوشین
---------------------
بی تو این برف ها آب می شوند
بی تو این بوته ها سبز می شوند
بی تو این قله ها فتح می شوند
بی تو این کوه، هرچند مُرده نیست
این تو هستی که در من زنده ای.
کاردَک من کجاست؟
باید این نقش را هرکجا برکِشَم
یا که این داغ را از دلم برکَنَم.
برف ها همچنان تازه اند
بوته ها در بُنِ خاک افسرده اند
قله ها در دل ابر خوابیده اند
بی تو این کوه هرگز زنده نیست.
کاردَک من کجاست؟
29 اوت 1986
Zendanian – An injury to one is an injury to all.
ReportPoetry Knife
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By Majid Naficy
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I scrape bit by bit
From this hard layer of cement
With my poetry knife.
I know that behind it
There is not the red flame of a fire temple
That the conqueror covered with mud
Under the Isfahan Friday mosque.*
I know that behind it
There is not the red cheeks of young women
That the governor covered with plaster
On the walls of Forty-Column Palace.**
I know that behind it
There is the red word of blood
Covered by the unjust with lies
And by the just with forgetfulness.
I scrape bit by bit
With my poetry knife.
January 16, 1986
*- In the 8th century, Muslim Arab conquerors of Iran built a Friday mosque on top of what used to be a fire temple in Isfahan. Iranians were Zoroastrians and worshipped Ahura-Mazda in fire temples.
**- This religious censorship happened at the time of Qajar dynasty in Isfahan.
Zendanian – An injury to one is an injury to all.
Reportکاردَک
--------------
ِ شعر
مجید نفیسی
--------------
خُرد خُرد می تراشم
با کاردکِ شعر خود
ازین لایه ی سختِ ساروج.
می دانم که در پسِ آن
شعله ی سرخ آتشگاه نیست
که فاتح، به گِل پوشانید
در زیر مسجد آدینه ی اصفهان.
می دانم که در پسِ آن
گونه ی سرخ دختران نیست
که والی به گچ پوشانید
بر دیوار کاخ چهل ستون.
می دانم که در پسِ آن
واژه ی سرخ خون است
که بر آن ساروج می کشند
بیدادان با دروغ
و دادخواهان با فراموشی.
خُرد خُرد می تراشم
با کاردکِ شعر خود.
16 ژانویه 1986
akaDarya – With life as short as a half-taken breath, don't plant anything but love. - Rumi
ReportThis is beautiful ... Thanks dear Zendanian for posting it .
I think we should invite Mr. Naficy over to post his material on the new IC site as well.. His poetry has been missed !
Zendanian – An injury to one is an injury to all.
ReportAs awkward as it might sound, I miss Anahid Hojati's presence. Not so much for her poetry (although she had one with "purple scream" that was nice), but for her translations, as I'm sure I've mentioned before.
Majid will contribute, as he pleases.
P.S. Just read some racy lines from Mahasti Ganjavi, probably not her original version, but hilarious and alive. Do you feel like a blog on Ganjavi is on the horizon?
akaDarya – With life as short as a half-taken breath, don't plant anything but love. - Rumi
ReportI have to admit that I do not know much about Mahasti Ganjavi and her poetry... would love to find out .. If you blog anything on her I will be reading it !
Anahid has a facebook account may be we can invite her over too ... That was a big nervous breakdown and I hope she had recovered from it...
I have a feeling that this site is going to evolve... we need one section dedicated to the poetry and poets. After all when it comes to poetry Persian Poetry has always been number one in the world. We should cherish and celebrate this wonderful aspect of ours .
: )
Zendanian – An injury to one is an injury to all.
ReportCheck this out. Warning: it's definitely rated R.
اشعار طنز سکسی یک زن ایرانی در هزار سال پیش
http://azadeh-sepehri.blogspot.com/2013/01/blog-post_20.html
akaDarya – With life as short as a half-taken breath, don't plant anything but love. - Rumi
This comment was removed by the Iranian.com Staff for violating our Commenting Standards
Zendanian – An injury to one is an injury to all.
Reportخاطره ی سوزان
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مجید نفیسی
به یاد ارژنگ رحیم زاده
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کلمات در دست های تو
بوی تازه ی بَربَریِ بامداد می گرفت
که تو داغ داغ می پیچیدی
در کاغذِ روزنامه های کوچکت
و تند تند به دست کارگرانی می دادی
که منتظر سرویس صبح
گرداگرد حلبچه ای از آتش
پا به پا می شدند.
کلمات در دهان تو
غرّشِ پیاپیِ توپ می شد
که از دهانه ی بلندگوی کوچکت
در پیشاپیشِ راهپیمایان
خیز می گرفت و شرق شرق
بر سینه ی اوباش می نشست.
ای شاطرِ مهربان!
ای توپچی جسور!
اکنون تو رفته ای
ولی من هنوز
از داغیِ خاطره ات بی اختیار
سرانگشتانم را پس می کِشم
و گوش هایم را می گیرم.
16 ژانویه 1986
Zendanian – An injury to one is an injury to all.
ReportA Burning Memory
By Majid Naficy
In Memory of Arzhang Rahimzadeh
The words in your hands
Took on the fresh scent of
Barbari bread in the morning
That you wrapped hot
Into the papers of
Your small newspaper
And gave quickly
To the workers who were
Waiting for their morning shuttle
Around a fire tin.
The words in your mouth
Took on the ceaseless roar of a cannon
That came out of your small loudspeaker
In front of marchers
And ricocheted bang
Against the mob’s chest.
Oh, kind baker!
Oh, brave cannoneer!
Your are gone now
But when I touch your burning memory
I still pull back my fingers
And cover my ears.
January 16, 1986
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"And yet it does turn!" Galileo Galilei (1564-1642)