Arts and Literature

Behind the Garden Door - Love

For the most part it was the circumstances – we were literally thrown together by the restrictions imposed on us from the outside and, like prisoners in a jail cell, we turned to each other out of necessity. It was really quite ironic – the very things that should have kept us apart: our different religions, the tyrannical nature of the regime and its constant attempt to control intermingling between man and woman, the political intrigues, our very cultures and mindsets – all these were washed away in the tidal wave of the revolution like matchsticks, causing us to become closer, and, having no one but each other to turn to, ever closer still>>>

"دل بسته اي ؟‌"

درچشمهی ِ ديوانگي
در زجر ِ ناهنجار ِ اين آوارگي
در ساحت ِ بيگانگي
پايان ِ دورافتادگي
برديده اي ؟
برعمق ِ اين گم گشتگي
خنديده اي ؟ >>>

The Girl Who Didn't Know About All This

The girl who didn't know about all this knew something. I didn't even know if it was all this that she didn't know about. It may have been some of this. It seemed like it was all of it for me because it didn't matter where I went - around the campus or in the neighborhood of the university or downtown to the heart of the city, it seemed like it was the same questions about life and what was going to happen with it and whether the way I felt about people was full of love or full of something else. But it looked like she didn't know about all this because she had a notebook in front of her, and she had it in front of her sitting on a step in the city square>>>

A call to love with Zarbang

Sorry for the short notice, but there are certain occasions that you just can NOT afford to miss. Yes, that applies to even us, spoiled residents of southern California, who are enticed with a new event each week. We are a privileged community to drink from this continuous stream of entertainment that temporarily satisfies our eagerness for all things Iranian, but tell me … If you woke up one morning to find that the ocean had come to you instead, running itself into your little stream, would you not run out to meet it and perhaps quench your ripened thirst? >>>

The Obliterator

A while ago, the Hilarious Hillary “ate sugar” and threatened to obliterate Iran, the land that has given so much to the world. These contributions along with other images began to haunt my distressed head in seemingly endless spurts. I remembered the day when my friend Ali was driving me around in New York City and I had stopped him in front of the biggest post office in the world to proudly photograph the words of Cyrus the Great that adorns the building: “Neither snow, nor rain, nor gloom of night stays these couriers from the swift completion of their appointed rounds.”>>>

نتيجه نهاييِ زندگيِ آن زن

همان روز بود، آخرين روز، كه وقتي آن زن به چشمهاي مردي كه دوستش مي داشت نگاه كرد، تصميم گرفت كه خودش را بفروشد. نه به او ... خريدارش را خودش مي بايست انتخاب كند. مردي براي تمامي سالهاي باقيمانده عمرش ... در نگاهش، ــ در نگاه همان مردي كه دوستش مي داشت ــ ديگر نه عشق بود، نه تمنايي براي لمس وجودش . . . وقتي زن مي گفت "وجود"، منظورش فقط جسمش نبود، بلكه چيزي ماوراء جسم. چيزي نامريي و لمس نشدني . . . در خيرگي نگاهِ مرد، تنش ناگهان يخ كرد. خيلي سعي كرد كه گرمي را به تنش بازگرداند، آن چشمها، آن چشمها كه او را نمي ديد، از پشت چشم هاي بسته اش به او زل مي زد. >>>

Sick of Goodbyes

I woke up by the morning light. It was still too early, everyone else was sleeping. I panted in silence. Our new cell had long windows with a view of the prison backyard. A view to the sky. I looked at grey clouds and didn’t worry about the rain. The shadows of the night slowly disappeared and I distinguished shapes and objects, brightened by a timid blue sunrise. On the dirty wall by the bed, I recognized handwritten messages of old prisoners>>>

خواهر مرجان

فرانسویان سخت شان است که نام مرا تلفظ کنند. "ه" را به کل حذف می کنند و نامم تبدیل می شود به "مایستی" طوری که گاهی دیگر با شنیدنش خودم را دیگر به جا نمی آورم. با لئا کمی تمرین تلفظ کردیم ولی می دانم یادش خواهد رفت. آدمها با شما آشنا می شوند با روحتان نزدیک می شوند و بعد،... دفعه ی بعد حتا اسمتان را هم یادشان نیست. این سالها خیلی ها مرا "خواهر مرجان" خطاب کرده اند ولی در سالهای اول سکونتم در فرانسه هرگز کسی مرا "خواهر مهتاب" صدا نزد. سالهای جنگ بود و جو ضد ایرانی خیلی قوی و رایج بود. بیخود نیست که مرجان ساتراپی وقتی داستان همان سالها را می نویسد در دوره ای از ایرانی بودن خود خجلت زده است و یک بار به ناچار خود را فرانسوی جا می زند و خود را "ماری ژان" معرفی می کند. >>>

Behind the Garden Door

I am sitting alone in the back yard of my house. It is summer, in the early afternoon, and the scorching sun has laid everyone low. All around me is quiet, not a car stirring anywhere in this little patch of American suburbia. I sit on a plastic chair in the midst of all the fruit trees my wife and I had planted. There are only a few and still quite young: a sour cherry, albaloo, that hangs its ruby fruit like jewels over my head, a peach, a pear and an apple tree. I look down to where a small fig is gathering root and spreading its leaves alongside the river of stone we had put down. There is a meandering path leading past a bench hidden by the branches of the California oak, and next to that, a sudden exhilarating shot of white from the stand of tall cala lilies, their petals open to the sky>>>

I Witnessed Two Murders

It was two in the morning and I was the last customer left in the bar. I decided it was time to leave and head home. Since my car was parked in the rear of the building, I decided to exit from the back door and use the alleyway as a shortcut. It was very dark out there except for the full moon that gave a silvery hue to everything it touched. As I walked toward the main road, I heard a faint cry coming from somewhere to my left. I was afraid to get involved but my inborn curiosity was too strong to overcome. Very quietly I headed toward the sound>>>

درس جغرافیا

مریم دانش آموز کلاس پنج ابتدایی ست و در تنها مدرسه ی دخترانه ی ماسوله مشغول تحصیل است.
مریم در اوقات فراغت عروسک های کوچولو می بافد.
او بافتن عروسک را در مدرسه فراگرفته است.
مریم عروسک هایش را روی تکه مقوایی سنجاق می کند.
بعد از ظهرها که مریم از مدرسه به خانه می آید، عروسک ها را کنار در خانه می گذارد و تا هنگام نماز مغرب و عشاء، روی سکوی پیش روی در، کنار عروسک هایش می نشیند.
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