Arts and Literature

Shape and purpose

Quite by accident, I came to know an accomplished Iranian artist in our community in Berkeley. His name is Farrokh Shehabi, and he is a ceramics artist. Though he is an engineer by education and profession and managed his construction business for many years, for the past ten years he has found his lost love and passion, pottery. He says about that passion: “It was as though all my life I had been longing for the way clay feels in my hands, as it finds shape and purpose, each piece telling its own story.” >>>

My Liberty

In your jewel studded dress now
you strike your favorite pose
amidst ruined houses of clay.

I lament death for sure,
but also the transformation
of your beacon of Hope
to this burning sword. >>>

خانه ای از شن و ماسه

برایم نوشتی که مرز رویا و واقعیت را گم کرده ای و این چه خوب است و دلت می خواهد در این مرز توهم بمانی نه برای همیشه که چند گاهی ! اسامی فراوانی برای خواندن تو هر روز تمرین می کنم هر روز به تنم آب می زنم خوش بو ترین عطر ها را به پوستم می زنم لباس جدیدی برای خودم می خرم هر روز جلوی آینه می ایستم و خودم را برانداز می کنم تا غبار زمانه را از خودم بر چینم.>>>

War on error

Lounging contentedly on the bed in her apartment some thirty-five stories directly above the FDR, Roxana looks at me standing over her and proclaims, "Interview me," as though she were Julia Roberts promoting her next blockbuster. I know this is going to be difficult. I have known Roxana for over eight years now. We met in college at Wesleyan when she was a senior and I was a freshman, and within days, we were inseparable. She was the only other Iranian girl I had heard of at Wesleyan, and she seemed to know everything and everyone there was to know there. We were both loud,opinionated, sarcastic, and naive.We were also both virgins and agreed that men were useful almost solely for opening unyielding jars of pickles and hooking up electronic equipment>>>

Day 52

With the Christmas season in full swing and the day rapidly approaching, I thought it might be a good idea to recollect on a Christmas past. The date was December 25, 1979. The location was Tehran, the American embassy, a building on the grounds known as the Mushroom Inn. This was day 52 of the global shift known as the hostage crisis. “Hello, my name is Joseph Subic Jr. I am a Sergeant in the Marine Corp. I would like to begin my statement with the personal. I traveled this country before the embassy takeover. I saw different towns, different villages. I saw a way of life>>>

غزل -١

جهان را کند مهر درونٍ سینه بند

چه کوهها وچَرَا چوپان و گوسفند

شکرِ خداتعالی که چشمم نمی رسد

سرِ شانه مار هستند که دِلم راگزند

>>>

در باب غنی سازی اورانیوم

- میگم عباس آقا، این جریان آقای بوش چیه که میگن دستگاهای اطلاعاتیش ریدمون زدن، و هرچی در مورد غنی سازی اورانیوم در ایران میگفتن غلط از آب در اومده؟ راسته؟

- نه بابا، اینا همش برنامه است. مگه بلا نسبت شما، اینا خرن، که بیان برضد خودشون حرف بزنن ورئیس جمهورو بیخودی کنف کنن و بگن اشتباه کردیم؟ این از جای دیگه آب میخوره.

- آخه اینا که میدونی آمریکائی ان، تا یخورده دستشون به آدم میخوره، زود میگن "آیم ساری" شاید ازین نظره؟
 

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Familiography

I was born in Tehran, Iran also known as the ancient Persia the land of Cyrus and Darius the great. I was born on January 26, 1984 in a hospital called Mehr which is located near the state building in Tehran. Since I was over 11 pounds in weight and over 55 cm in length my grandfather called me Rostam which is an old Hero (like Hercules in Greek writings) in Persian writings by Ferdousi (an ancient writer who wrote the Shahnameh that resembled the true culture of Persians and their tales of bravery and loyalty toward the King). I was raised in Northern Tehran an area that is called Tajrish and nowadays is considered uptown Tehran due to the great numbers of buildings and shopping malls>>>

It's called a crush!

The rain has just stopped
I’m sitting on a bench
Listening to the music
Played by the notes of the fountain on the campus
I look at the water
It used to be very calm
Until someone turned it on
Now it jumps to the sky
And makes a free fall to the ground
>>>

Shall I light another cigarette?

What should I do? Go out and face them under the pretence of lighting another cigarette? Or shall I hide and try to save what can be saved? What would it serve and to what end would I face them anew? Another round of me pushing them back, showing my own teeth and they barking at me as lose dogs, once beaten by me in the past? Naaaa …. I chose to stay in. No point in indulging them a re-run of our past encounters.>>>

با خودم به بهانه ی زهرا...

اعتراف می کنم که هيچ وقت نتوانستم هيچ خبری و گزارشی و نوشته يی را در باره ی زهرا تا آخر بخوانم. هميشه وقتی شروع به خواندن می کردم بغض گلويم را می گرفت. و می ترسيدم. می ترسيدم که گريه کنم. نه اين که از گريه کردن می ترسيدم. نه. هيچ وقت از گريه کردن نترسيده ام من. امّا آن که زهرا را کشت، می خواست که من گريه کنم. و من نمی خواستم. درست به خاطر اين که او می خواست. اين اندازه را امّا در سرگذشت زهرا خوانده ام که او همسن انقلاب است. انقلابی که آخوند آن را نربود؛ بلکه خود ما آن را به او تقديم کرديم.

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This is new

i see you in my dreams
I ike a lover returning to his beloved
without warning
but with the assurance that his presence
will evoke nothing but joy
your voice shakes my heart
surpassing my expectations

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The "Inevitability" Of "Fate"

In All "Earnest" ..
Where does "God" End ..
And, "Man" Begin ..

To "Those" Of "Great" Faith ..
The "Sovereignty" Of God Is "Obvious"
Without Whose "Plans" ..
Nothing "Exists" ..

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I paint

last night I began to paint.
I painted and painted all night until
she opened her eyes and ran out screaming.
My choice of canvas may have shocked her.
I thought it would be a good idea to paint us,
a beautiful portrait of us.
From when things were good and beautiful and real.
I started looking for something to paint on and
that’s when I started to paint us inside my eyelids. >>>

مرگ پدر بزرگ

ساعت 7 روی تخت "برادر کوچک" ام بیدار شدم
محروم از خواب، بوی ملایم مرگ را شنیدم 
از جا پریدم، یک ساعت دیگر امتحان روانشناسی داشتم
باید به خانه ی خودم می رفتم برای صبحانه و حمام
اما هنوز وارد خانه نشده، تلفن زنگ زد
پدرم بود که می گفت بابابزرگ در بستر مرگ است
شماره ی اصفهان را گرفتم و به خانه اش زنگ زدم
و از مامان بزرگ پرسیدم آیا بابابزرگ به ابدیت پیوسته؟
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