Earlier this month my father, Javad Hamidi, painter, poet and teacher at Tehran University, was struck by a speeding motorcycle in Tehran, and passed away. He was 84 (or 88 by some accounts). I wrote a little poem for his memory.
Smartly dressed, hat slightly tilted
You're walking in the streets of Paris
Full of purpose, penniless and late
But then again, you were gifted
Waving to a painting of wolves
In a little gallery, Montmarte
Furry baroness your captive
The light on the canvas dissolves
Then there's your resplendent
White young beautiful bride
Stealing a glance, bored and stunned
Here you are, almost triumphant
With the times, hair much longer now
In your esthetic modern sunny house
In a deep conversation with someone
A little distant, a little furrow in brow
You were strong, and steady, and holy
And you died just as spectacularly
As your life and work and thoughts
Float to us, lucky enough to be by
And thank you for coming in my dream
Thank you for the hug and good vibe
I laughed really hard in the shower today
But it's much harder to explain why
To Javad Hamidi, 1918-2002
Love, Jam
