rosie is roxy is roshan

The road runs through the capillaries of life --ff 

 

I am tying together loose ends. I have some things to say and I'll be saying them over the next two days in a couple of blogs. And then it'll have to be a wrap.

I know I've said it before and I know that when I've finished, some of you will believe me and others won''t. And some will understand and others won't. Well, as my mother would say, that's what makes horse racing.

 

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for all of you

 

Forough and me

 

This is my translation of the poem by Forough that inspired me to learn Persian back in 2004. The following year I was able to translate it  because I'm kind of a linguist. It was published here when the blogging had recently begun. The story of the process is on the thread and also a couple of changes the readers helped me with. That was some community. I'm only posting the link because the poem is too long. But it expresses the song I came with when I first came here. That same song is in all my work from when I was the first Rosie T. from October '07-January '08, and it's all in that account. It's the song I brought here and it's the one I want to leave you with. Maybe you'll listen, maybe you won't. Maybe you'll hear, maybe you won't. But as my mother would say, that's what makes horse racing.

 

//iranian.com/main/2007/forough-and-me

I am reclaiming my song.

 

 

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for some of  you

 

I wrote this at the end of last summer, at the time I left here. I thought it was for good but I came back at the beginning of this year. And I shouldn't've. It's almost been like a kind of desert. I had to fight so hard for water. But the goldfish have always been my base and I've always known that. So this one (with one edit that makes it current) is for them.

 

for the goldfish

 

I have been thinking about the goldfish. The kind of goldfish who'd swim up to me every now and then, could be anywhere on the site, and say you know Rosie I try to read everything you write. No I didn't know. And then they'd swim away. 

But they are not anonymous.

Or the kind of goldfish who'd post links on threads that clarified everything I was struggling to say in words, a link to the perfect song about hope, the perfect video about attrocity. That kind of goldfish. Or the kind of goldfish who'd teach and discuss with me for days. Before they swam away.

They are not anonymous.

And especially I've been thinking about the kind of goldfish like the one who swam up to me yesterday and said: You are an extraordinally, caring individual whose profound contribution is all over Iranian.com, please accept our gratitude and appreciation. Now hear from me (Oldie-woman) - Please repeat following statement before going to bed every night , and each morning before moving around: I am strong; nothing and nobody could break me down. I challenge all difficulties and miseries which come in my way .Nobody and nothing could break me down. Hear me God, nobody, even you, could not break me down.Ok Rosie jan at the end, you send some Salavat (Islamic prayer). Take care of yourself nazanin Rosie.

And as I've thought about these goldfish I remembered Sojourner Truth, the escaped slave and writer and nurse and fighter for freedom, and why she chose her name.  Because like the journey she first undertook when escaping on the Underground Railroad, a sojourn is a quest. And a sojourner is so much more than a traveller. A sojourner is a seeker. And truth, her truth, was the purpose of Sojourner's quest.

And I've been thinking about how here right here, I kept struggling to say, in so many different words and ways, here could be the place of that quest. Nobody can know the truth. But we can all know the quest. And so I've  thought of these goldfish these past days  They are not anonymous. For me they have a name.

Their name is Sojourner Truth.

 

I believe God is an ocean of love and we swim in His bosom like the fishes.   -- Sojourner Truth

//www.nps.gov/wori/historyculture/images/sojourner_truth.jpg

 

 

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for someone

 

I also wrote this when I was leaving at the end of last summer. I shouldn't have come back. It was a terrible mistake. You wouldn't let me sing my song. Until I could barely remember it. Well anyway, right now this poem is what I want to say.

 

 

what is the color of love

(range eshgh)

 

there's a black wind that blows in you

above a black river that flows in you

beside a black tree that grows in you

and you warned me about this black wind

how you don't understand it

and you cannot control it

and as i came to know your black wind

i began to wonder

what is the color of love?

 

and i thought well love must be white

because love is life

and life is all and all is life 

and white is the presence of all colors

so love must be clear and bright like a diamond

when the diamond meets the light.

and then i began to ponder

 

how love must be orange like the sun when it rises

and golden like sun giving life

and love must be green like the grass when it grows

and blue when it dreams and red when it struggles

and deep deep inidigo night when it mourns

but love can never be black

because black is the absence of all colors

so how is it your love is so black?

and then i began to reason.

 

supposing black is not absence but turning

turning one's back on the diamond

simply because one is afraid

afraid to be blinded by light

then 

what if you just kept on turning turning

wouldn't you eventually

have to face the diamond

and see in your blindness and

stop

 

and find the clear wind that blows in you

the deep blue river that flows in you

and green everything that grows in you

and return

and be one with light

 

 

to all thing there is a season

turn

 

 

 

 

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(Sorry, no, you haven't yet.

I am reclaiming my song).. .

//images.artnet.com/artwork_images_425455742_439813_-lixiaoqi.jpg

 

 

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