Anahid Hojjati

صمد آقا , صمد آقا

صمد آقا اول صبحی , قلبم را شکستی ! حالا ول گشتی , انگشت تو چشم کسی, امیدوارم نکردی .

بی‌ تو مهتاب

بی‌ تو مهتاب شبی‌ باز از آن کوچه گذشتم

فکر نکن یاد تو بودم، کار نداشتم ول می‌گشتم

هوشنگ جان , ممنون از لینک به شعرِ گرگ

هوشنگ جان , در نوجوانی من تمایلم به شعرایِ سیاسی تر بود , البته شعرِ کوچه مشیری را خیلی دوست داشتم . دیشب کتاب «زیبای جاودانه» را می خواندم که بر جلدش نوشته :«منتخب دوازده دفتر شعر» . دیشب که میخواندم از اینکه چقدر شعر هایش موزیک خوب داشت و طبیعت را به نحو عالی شاعرانه وصف می کرد , خوشم آمد . درضمن در دوران جمهوری اسلامی , فکر میکنم که شعرهایش سیاسی تر شد. این کتاب شعر گرگ را در قسمتی گذاشته با عنوان دفتر « آه , باران ...» تهران , ١٣٧١

از شعرهای جالب این دوره اش (به نظر من) شعر «چگونه می سرائی؟» است و از دفتر بعد شعر«نقش» او من  را یاد شعر آخر خودم انداخت چرا که هر دو شعر در مورد اهمیت نقش انسان هستند. البته من شعرم را قبل خواندن شعر او نوشتم و شعر ایشان استادانه است اما منظورم گفتگو از نقش است.خلاصه , هر شاعری جای خود دارد و استاد مشیری هم شعرهای بسیار زیبا سروده است .

شعر گرگ از فريدون مشيری

anahid jan thanks for this entry on Moshiri. Honestly I was never a big fan of his, but I  just can't get this 'Gorg' out of my mind. I've sent it to all my friends, maybe I'll translate it for this here as well, enjoy, cheers

سه شعر کوتاه در باره دریا از مشیری

فریادهای خاموشی

دریا , - صبور و سنگین -
می خواند و می نوشت:
-«... من خواب نیستم !
خاموش اگر نشستم ,
مرداب نیستم !
روزی که بر خروشم و زنجیر بگسلم ؛
روشن شود که آتشم و آب نیستم ! »

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بی کرانه

نه آن دریا , که شعرش جاودانه ست
نه آن دریا , که لبریز از ترانه ست.
به چشمانت بگو بسپار ما را ,
به آن دریا که ناپیدا کرانه ست !

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به هر موجی که گفتیم ...

به دریا شکوه بردم از شبِ دشت ,
وز این عمری که تلخ ِتلخ بگذشت ,
به هر موجی که می گفتم غمِ خویش ؛
سری می زد به سنگ و  باز می گشت !

شعری از استاد مشیری از مجموعه «تشنه توفان»

نا یافته

گفتی  که:
-«چو خورشید , زنم سویِ تو پَر.
چون ماه , شبی می کشم از پنجره سر!»
اندوه , که خورشید شدی ,
تنگِ غروب !
افسوس , که مهتاب شدی
وقتِ سحر !

More on Fereidoon Moshiri's life and poetry styles

 On a moonlight lit night, once again .

On a moonlight lit night, once again Through the Alley I wandered My body, an eye gazing in search of you My soul, a cup teeming with anticipation Of seeing you, Now, I became the mad lover, anew! Deep in my soul's treasure-chest, A flower, your memory, gleaming The scent of a thousand memories smiling  The garden of a thousand memories, beaming

Fereydoon Moshiri is a similar face to literary figures and ordinary people. Many educated and uneducated people in Iran, Afghanistan and Tajikistan know him and his poems. Moshiri was born in a cultivated family in Tehran in 1926. His mother used to write poems. He had always great enthusiasm to learn. In this regard Moshiri has said: "When I was a preschooler, aged between four or five, I could read everything. When I was out in the streets I used to read aloud the writings on shops. My parents were surprised at the way I had learned to read to such an extent." Moshiri started primary education in Tehran at six but later because of his father's job they moved to the holy city of Mashhad, where he finished his junior high school. Since childhood he was very much fond of poetry and literature and the cultural atmosphere pervading his family played an effective role in shaping his literary personality. Since childhood he became familiar with the complete works of prominent Iranian poets and memorized most of their poems. Moshiri's birth came four years after Nima Yushij had written a collection of poems called "Legend" and they new Persian Poetry had begun but not yet popular. Therefore, the overall atmosphere of the poem was Classic. The New Persian Poetry was shaping at the time when Moshiri was growing. Moshiri started his first poems when he was a teenager, some of his first poems have been compiled in one of his collections of poems called" Thirsty for Typhoon". When his first poem called "Our Tomorrow" was published, it drew the attention of the men of letters. After this poem many of his works were published in different art and literary journals. Years later he became in charge of poetry pages in journals. He was very interested in the press. Some times he used to compile reports and some other times he used to write. He was always eager to write poems. Moshiri started his career as a poet with love poems. First he tested his poetic talent but later he changed his style and joined the followers of the poetic style of Nima Yushij. Here is Grief, here is Grief, knocking at the Door Every knock of it Cuts the Chest like a Sword O Heart! Kill or be killed but no let in the Grief Coz' the Grief Burns the House and the Soul, Literary critics believe that if Moshiri had not met Nima Yushij and not become familiar with his poem he would have published a collection of lyrics and could have shared his experience in the field of Lyrics with his readers. In 1944 Moshiri became in charge of the literature page of a magazine called "Rowshan Fekr" and enthusiastically remained on the job for 18 years. During this period he became familiar with Nima Yushij. Moshiri's acquaintance with Nima brought him a deep understanding of the current of new Persian poetry. Nima used to talk to Moshiri about his poems and attempted to make him acquainted with the principles and style of his poems and the reason for development and innovations in Persian Poetry. According to Moshiri he learned two points from Nima: How to look at the life and the nature and how to write his poems in the Nima-Style by freely using prosody. According to literary critics although, Moshiri's poems are placed between the Classic and the Nima style he has been successful in drawing the young generation toward the movement of new Persian poetry. "Thirsty for Typhoon" is the title of the first work by Moshiri published in 1955, which received good welcome from both the public and critics. After this book Moshiri did not write many poems until 1977. But after the victory of the Islamic Revolution in 1978 he made a strong comeback to the world of poetry and released several collections of poems. Moshiri's poems have always been welcomed. People from different walks of life read and memorize his poems. Public appreciation of Moshiri's poems has become a regular occurrence. Moshiri himself did not why the public love his poems. The social and cultural life of Fereydoon Moshiri did not change much during the march of times and periods. Actually, Moshiri led a peaceful life. The impact of which on his poems cannot be ignored. 

 Above information is from the link

//english.irib.ir/programs/iran/item/54483-fereydoon-moshiri

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Dear yolanda and R2-D2, thanks for your contributions

Dear R2-D2 and yolanda, I appreciate you contributing to this blog with the translation and the video link. If any other friend can participate by including any of Moshiri's poems in comments or any video link, that would be great.

آناهید :)

"کـوچه" - شعـر و دکلمـه: فریدون مشیری

.....

Thank you, Anahid, for the blog! I like his "The Alley" very much.....it is so beautiful and romantic.........it blew me away!

The Alley

On a moonlit night, once again
Through the alley, I wandered, without you.
My body, an eye gazing in search of you.
My soul, a cup teeming with anticipation
Of seeing you,
Now, I became the mad lover, anew!

Deep in my soul’s treasure-chest,
A flower, your memory, gleaming.
The garden of a thousand memories, smiling.
The scent of a thousand memories, beaming.

That night, I recalled,
Through the alley, we wandered, side by side.
Wings wide-open, in cherished solitude, soaring.
For a time, by the brook, resting.
You, all the world’s secrets in your black eyes,
I, by your glances, mesmerized.
Clear skies, quiet night,
Faith smiling, time tame.

Moonlight, grapes pouring down into the water.
Tree branches, fingers reaching up to the moon.
The night, the meadow, flowers and rocks,
Silently charmed by the nightingale’s song.

Your words of warning, I recalled,
Avoid this love!
Behold this brook for a while!
Water mirrors timid love.
Today, you care for a glance of your lover,
But, tomorrow, your heart will belong to another.
Leave this town,
Forget this love.

How would I avoid this love,
I do not know how, I said.
How would I leave your side,
I can not now, nor ever, I said.

That first day, my heart became a bird of desire.
Like a dove, I perched on your roof,
Rocks, you cast at me,
I did not fly away.
I did not fall apart.

A prairie deer am I, you the hunter.
Round your traps I wander and wander,
For to be captured by you, to surrender.

How would I avoid this love,
I do not know how, I said.
How would I leave your side,
I can not now, nor ever, I said.

From a branch, a teardrop, falling.
A bitter moan, an owl, flying.
Tears in your eyes, gleaming.
Moon, at your love, beaming.

You fell silent, I recall.
Covered by a blanket of gloom,
I did not fly away.
I did not fall apart.

Many a night have passed in melancholy darkness.
You have abandoned your tormented lover.
You would not set foot in that alley again.
Oh, but how, but how,
Through the alley, I wandered, without you.

Translated by Franak Moshiri
Fall 1997

copyright © 1997-2009