Arts and Literature

The good fortune

Two months ago I had an opportunity to see Claus Strigel’s film MOON SUN FLOWER GAME at the Iranian Film Festival in Chicago. It was a fascinating experience! I must admit that I have been deeply engaged and obsessed to learn about Hossein Mansouri's life -- a great poet living in Munich now-- since Forough Farrokhzad’s death. I wrote a review... then I decided to interview Claus... In 1962 the young poetess Forough Farrokhzad visited the lepers at the end of the earth to make a film about their world. Her film, “The House is Black”, was to become world famous, and, by and by, change a small world too: the world of a small boy who had the good fortune to meet her. >>>

The Land of Living

I see you walking past
wearing the news on your feet
words of wisdom as dust in the wind
bring no mircale
war continues through the streets of dark shadows playing guns taking land, building endless walls
No  pain counts, no views, no history, no beliefs, no faces of humans eating dust in the streets of disaster, >>>

Aghamoon Delbare

...>>>

The Blowing Clouds

"It makes you wonder how they are ever able to agree on anything," Iraj Mansouri said. They were leaving his wife's aunt and uncle's house. It was raining and the clouds were blowing all over the sky. The boy, Arash, liked the way they looked. Iraj's wife, Soraya, did not say anything. She was thinking about what her aunt and uncle had told them. Actually it was her aunt who had been doing the telling. Her uncle had not wanted to talk about it. "What is the use of talking about it?" he'd said. And he'd gotten a pained and lost expression on his face.>>>

Seema (2)

I met Seema at Bellagio on one of my frequent runs to the ATM machine. Being a lousy poker player and not knowing my limit, I spent more time pacing to the ATM machine than at the poker table. One look at me and Seema knew she had a customer (sucker) for life. Now, make no mistake about it, though a high school dropout, Seema had a PhD from the school of hard knocks. In her profession she needed not to be book smart but street smart. Seema hustled the hustlers, cheated the cheaters and swindle the swindlers. She was such savvy negotiator that she could perhaps negotiate the Middle East peace, if she could find the Middle East on a map>>>

Shaadi's Story

Shaadi finally decided to do it. She signed up with the Iranian dating site, submitted her photograph, and answered the questions. She thought to herself, “I’ll be 100% honest in answering the questions. I don’t want any complications as a result of withheld information or half truths.” She wrote down her real age, her real weight, and answered all the questions fully and truthfully. Among the people she heard from, there was a man who seemed like a good choice. He was her age, had been married and divorced, didn’t have any kids and didn’t want any, and his picture showed him to be good looking, with a full head of hair, dressed in a nice suite. She and Hamid started chatting and corresponding online>>>

If time could recall love

Time breaks behind the eyes of

All the things we know,

All the griefs from long ago

All the exoduses from our lives turned to engravings thrown

Hastily in hidden and burnt leaflets >>>

اسلحه ای قویتر از خنجر

خانم مهین اشتری در همان دقایق اول با ایفای نقش قوی خود مرا مجذوب موضوع داستان کرد و چیزی نگذشت که فهمیدم آقای کاظم اشتری کیست. از این گونه کاظم ها ما در جامه بسیار داریم و در زندگی روزمره با آنها برخورد داشته ایم. ولی آنچه نظیرش کمتر هست خود خانم اشتری است. او با یک تفکر واقع گرایانه و با استفاده از رنج های پنهانی سالهای سپری شده اش تصمیم گرفته بجای کینه و بجای دشمنی با معشوقه ی سابق همسرش ، که او نیز قربانی آقای اشتری بوده ، یک همکاری دوستانه و منصفانه را آغاز کند که بنفع خودش ، دخترش و معشوقه ی سابق همسرش باشد. تمام زیبایی و نکته نمایشنامه در همین تصمیم خلاصه می شود که بسیار انسانی، فمینیستی و خرد گرایانه است و اسلحه ایست قویتر از خنجر!>>>

فرار مغزها

راستش نمیخواهم سرتان را درد بیاورم ولی همینقدر عرض کنم که بعد از خدمت نظام وظیفه، به کون ما بستند که شما در گروه سپاهیان دانش ممتاز قرار گرفته اید. البته دستشان درد نکند و ما شکایتی نداریم. ولیکن، شخص بنده هرگاه لغت "ممتاز" بگوشم میرسید، بیشترآن آجیل فروش معروف را بخاطر میاوردم و یا نان خامه ای ممتاز را و فی الواقع تعبیر "سپاهی ممتاز"، قدری ثقیل مینمود و نوش دارویی بود بعد از مرگ سهراب. گرسنگی کشیدیم، با عقرب، رتیل، کک وساس و پشه و ژاندارم دست و پنجه نرم کردیم، پنجاه شاگرد را در دهکده ای دور افتاده درس دادیم، در ساختن حمّام هم شرکت کردیم و مخصوصأ آنکه نگذاشتیم برخی از اهالی دهات مجاور، آجرهای کلات ناصری را به یغما ببرند. چند ماه بعد از اتمام خدمت، بلیط هواییمای باربری نظامی را که از تهران به آمریکا پرواز میکرد، تهیه نمودم، که اگر خاطرتان باشد، افراد غیر نظامی نیزدر صورتی که هواپیما خالی به آمریکا میرفت،>>>

Life is beautiful

واعظ شهیر

" په چرا امشب اینقدر دیر کردی , قول داده بودی سر شب خونه باشی, دلم خیلی شور زد"
" راه بندون بود زن , " کافی" تو مسجد امام حسین منبر داشت , مجبور شدم از میدون فوزیه تا اینجارو پیاده بیام , اونم با این پای ناقص, سگ پدرا ول کن  نیستن "
" ببینم این کافی همونه که میگن تو روضه های زنونه غش می کنه و خودشو میندازه وسط زنا ؟"
" آره "
" میگن به چشم برادری خیلی ام خوشگل و خوشقواره ست "
" نه خانم اون یه آخوند دیگه ست " >>>

Worshiping Derrida

They don’t put his picture on the mantel
Or light incense and candles before it
But they adore him, venerating him above all
They are devoted to his ideas
His philosophy is the final word
His words are beyond question
Derrida has opened their eyes
Showing them the way >>>

The Secret

We would be playing in the street in the evening and I would see my American friends' fathers come home from work and kiss their wives and I would think, my secret's out. There it was for all to see. I used to wonder how the street didn't freeze in time just then. I used to wonder even more how the American father could go straight from the kiss to talking about his day or the traffic. It was a secret because we were Iranian and I felt like I was the only one at home who knew that it was nice for a man to kiss his wife when he came home from work>>>

سه تابلوی مرگ در دستشویی

در شکل آدمیزاد مرگ را امروز دیدم. در دستشویی خانه ام. داشت دندانش را می شست. چراغ روشن بود وارد که شدم. تصویرش در آینه منعکس شده بود کنار یک لیست لغت به زبانی بیگانه که به آینه چسبانده بود و جایی برای تصویر من باقی نگذاشته بود. مردی لاغر بود. و تمیز. بهش می آمد وسواسی باشد. کلاه گیس قاضی ها یا نجیب زاده هارا بر سر داشت. چهره ی فیلسوفی را داشت که تصویرش روی کتاب نقد عقل محض بود: با چهره ای استخوانی و خیلی جدی که وقار، نه پیری، آن را سایه زده بود. با دقت بیش از اندازه، در همان حالی که لغت حفظ می کرد، بین دندانهایش را نخ می کشید. در مورد زمان خیلی با ملاحظه بود: از هر ثانیه یِ پانزده دقیقه فرصتی که بین دیدار دو آدم خردمند داشت، عاقلانه استفاده می کرد: دقیقا بیست و هشت ثانیه صرف هر دندان، صرف حفظ هر کلمه جدید می کرد. >>>

مورچه های مقدس

اینجا سرزمین مورچه های مقدس است
و موریانه ی مولانا
مهربان است
اما نیش می زند
مادرم در این خانه مدام سکته می کند
و درست بوقت ظهر چشمهای حیرت زده اش
زندگی را با مردی که هیچ نمی شنا خته
قمار می کند >>>

Parsa's Bride

We have known each other through our childhood and college years, and as each of us has started working in a professional field, we have kept in touch, visiting each other once a month at a small marina café. It is our time to be that which defines our identity, so drastically different from that of our parents', and still very different from non-Iranians. We are the odd Iranian American bunch of our metropolitan city. One of us is a graphics artist, another a dental student, a third one a psychologist interning with the prison system, and there are two software engineers, a teacher, and a bartender in our midst. I am still attending law school. Every first Sunday of the month, we get together at the corner table of the noisy Café Roma, where we have breakfast and catch up with each other>>>