Arts and Literature

'Rational' Americans vs 'Irrational’ Iranians

Despite Limbert’s unquestionable mastery of the subject, commendable intentions and deep affection for Iranians, it should be recognized that this book is written by an American diplomat for (primarily) American readers, in the vernacular they are at ease with. Its goal is not to make waves, or to challenge their self-perception, worldview, or institutionalized narrative. For an astute Iranian-American reader however, "Negotiating with Iran," with its mild tint of Orientalism and a patronizing tone, is somewhat unsettling: not necessarily offensive, but more like an alarm clock going off in a hazy Sunday morning>>>

سرزمین مردم نیک (2)

شب به پایان می رسد. سپیده دم و دروازۀ شهری. مرد به شهر در آمد و تماشا گرفت. کوچه و بازار لخت و خالی و خاموش. از روبرو یک رهگذر سر را خراب از باده بسیار نوشیده نجوا کنان آهنگ بی رنگی قدم می زد. مرد گوش فرا داد. هر باده ای با بوسه ای، هر بوسه ای با باده ای. و چه زیر خندی بر لبهای مست نشسته بود. مرد راه خود گرفت؛ او چه می داند از آن ارزشهای زیبای زندگی>>>

Sunday in the Park

There were Iranians for as far as the eye could see, if those eyes were those of 13-year-old Bahman Sohrabi, and the first thing he felt when he arrived at the park was that he was a blank piece of paper, and in this place he could be what he showed himself to be, nobody had any expectations of him except for the expectations they had of themselves - to be a speaker of the language, an appreciator of the food and the music and of nature, and a general participator in the whole thing. At school he found the spaces for a guy who did not want to be a participator in the whole thing right away. He found them in himself and in the school>>>

اندر نوجوانی تا انقلاب

به تهران رسیــــــــــدند با خان و مان
بدیدنــــــــد آزاد شهـــــــری کـلان

یکی شاه باشد در آنجـــــــــــا به تخت
یکی همچـــو جمشیدِ کِی، نیکبخت

همه مردمــــــــــــان از پی روزی اند
همه دوستــــــــداران بهـروزی اند >>>

Saaleh Akhar

...>>>

On Hair

All my life I’d had long hair. While the rest of me didn’t look distinctively Iranian, I had the long, thick, wavy hair Persian girls are known for. Little did I know while I had a full head of it, that my hair was an integral part of me, as superficial as that sounds, but it was. A few weeks after I was diagnosed with breast cancer, my nurse Tammy talked to me about the eight rounds of chemo that I was set to receive before surgery. I saw a look of trepidation cross her face as she started to talk about me losing my hair>>>

Master Builders

The glorious Achaemenid Persian empire dominated all of the Middle East commencing from 550 to 330BC , Alexander the great conquered the Persian kingdom and destroyed the capital city of Persepolis .By all means the Sassanians (who were the descendants of the Achaemenid Empire) wished to revive the former glory of the Achaemenid Empire, this included their structural design, the Greek conquest of Persia inaugurated the spread of Hellenistic art into Western Asia; but if the East accepted the outward form of this art, it never really assimilated its spirit>>>

انصراف

بگذار اشنایی را دوباره بنویسیم
و عشق را همیشگی کنیم
فردا
بگذار انتخاب کنیم >>>

Waiting for Azrael

Directors Marjane Satrapi and Vincent Paronnaud were back on the French Croisette in Cannes, but this time not to present a new movie but announce the making of two in a near future. The first En Attendant Azrael aka Waiting for Azrael will start shooting on the 19th of July at the Legendary Babelsberg Studios in Berlin and will be followed by Le Onzième Laureate aka The Eleventh Laureate described by it's creators as something of a Western Spaghetti with a Persian flavour, set on the Caspian Sea>>>

Sherlock Holmes' Daughter (10)

Katayoon and I spent the night together at her house the night before her business trip with Paul. Tradition be damned, I didn’t want to waste the last few hours of our romance yelling futile accusations and hearing pointless denials. But I felt justified in being irked at her for what she had pulled on me in front of Paul. That morning while he and I were huddled over a project, she came from behind and hugged me around the neck. She had thrown down the gauntlet, and there was nothing I could do but let my feelings do the reacting>>>

سلول

قاضی محمدی در سلول راه می رود و مدام با خود حرف می زند. می نشیند، بلند می شود، می نشیند، دوباره بلند می شود. بوی دلزننده ی معده اش توی دهانش پیچیده و کلافه اش کرده است. مدورانه قدم می زند، می ایستد، دوباره قدم می زند. خودش را روی تخت آهنی و درب و داغون توی سلول می اندازد. صدای قژقژ تخت اعصابش را بیشتر خورد می کند>>>

Awakening Cyrus the Great

Iranians called him the father, Babylonians called him the protector, Jews called him the messiah and Greeks called him the law giver. The outstanding leader, Cyrus embraced the known world and established security for the oppressed and became one of the most important figures of ancient history. He is also mentioned in the Quran known as Zulqarnain. For the first time, a national film will be made about Koorosh-e-Kabir, also known as Cyrus the Great in the English speaking world>>>

Nobody thanked me

I turned on the radio, and dreamed of beating up Tehran’s anti-god semi-intellectuals, smart asses who wore farangi brands, who grew up in Suisse, who knew French and Italian, laughed in English, and spoke Persian with an accent. I was appalled at the sight of Tehrani girls who wore tight dresses, short pants and small scarves just to show off their bodies and their immodest bareness. They all looked the same. The same makeup, the same cut face, the same sinful glare>>>

سرزمین مردم نیک

مرد در خود اندیشه می پرورد. نمی توان. نمی توان بدینگونه زیست. نباید چنین باشد. این نیست آنچه از افسانه ها فرا گرفته ام. باید یافت. خواهم یافت سرزمینی که مردمانش عشق را باور داشته باشند. گذشت را بدانند چیست. دروغ و ریا را نیاموخته باشند. مرد با خود اندیشه می کرد. راهواری پر از اندیشه های شیرین. پر از امید. راه به کدام سوی باید برد؟ کدامین راه به سرزمین مردمان نیک می انجامد؟ چوپانی در پی چند گوسفند چوب بر دوش گام می زد. >>>

تق‌تق ... تتق تق ... دوداسکادن

دو روز به عید مانده بود. باران ریز بی امان می‌بارید. درها بی رمق بسته می‌شد. پارس سگ ها، آوای غوکان سبز در انبوه درختان، هجوم بی نتیجه پرندگان وحشی به امنیت خشک جنگل و دیوار محلات قدیمی همه در انبوه ریز باران از نفس افتاده بودند. در این میان ریشه‌های درختان گردو، تیرهای کپک زده برق و حتی آدم‌ها خیس بودند. این همه ارمغان خیس‌ترین بهاری بود که می‌رفت برای خیلی ها تکرار نشود. اما، بند ٥٠ نفره ما خیس نبود>>>