Esmail Khoi
Esmail Khoi
From Forough's Grave,
Translated to English by M. Alexandrian
I'm returning from Forough's grave,
Dark.
I had never seen
A cloud
Stretch its thousand fragments of grief
On the strange realm of a lonely folk
So kindly
And so devotedly.
Should we weep
With the sweetest ode of unity
In a mourning ceremony?
I know death
From a distance.
Yes,
But how can
That boundless perfume cease to exist?
I can't believe
That I am returning from Forough's grave.
As if that mature and warm perfume
Is still blowing from the end of every breeze.
I can't believe.
I can't believe
That this weeping cloud is a lie.
When I Was A Child
When I was a child,
The flight of a kite,
Carried me from the rooms of early waking eye-lid
To
The sun's orange grove.
Ah,
That short distance.
When I was a child,
Goodness was a lady
Who smelled of cigarette;
And her big tears
Behind her magnifying glass,
Mixed with the sound of Quran.
When I was a child,
Water, earth and air were larger;
And the crickets
Sung
At nights
Within the melody of moon and a deep silence.
When I was a child,
Joy was to throw
A stone
At a howling sick and old dog.
Ah,
Those criminal and innocent hands.
When I was a child,
You could see
That impotent pigeon
Whose wing
Flow to the air
From the other side of the scissors.
Yes
You could see,
And to laugh only
With pride, with savagery and without deceit.
When I was a child
Out of a thousand and one night,
There was a tale,
And the tales were brimful
Up to sleep and slumbering awakening.
When I was a child,
God was stronger.
When I was a child,
On the windows of smile
The tame starling of joy nestled.
Ah
In those days thinking carts
Were not many.
When I was a child,
Folk did not exit.
When I was a child,
There was sorrow,
But
A little.
Lyric Poem
When I turn my face from everybody
Inside the crystal glass
The lights grow beautiful
And
As if they issue from your shoulder in the moonshine
Or from your eyes,
When you are smiling.
What a winter,
With all this
Ahs?
What an untimely winter,
It must slowly cover us!
Do you know?
Is
There no other path
Except this death which is approaching?
No,
No
Shelter?
* Forough Farokhzad Is a famouse Iranian poet. She died at the age 35 in a car accident.
From Forough's Grave,
Translated to English by M. Alexandrian
I'm returning from Forough's grave,
Dark.
I had never seen
A cloud
Stretch its thousand fragments of grief
On the strange realm of a lonely folk
So kindly
And so devotedly.
Should we weep
With the sweetest ode of unity
In a mourning ceremony?
I know death
From a distance.
Yes,
But how can
That boundless perfume cease to exist?
I can't believe
That I am returning from Forough's grave.
As if that mature and warm perfume
Is still blowing from the end of every breeze.
I can't believe.
I can't believe
That this weeping cloud is a lie.
When I Was A Child
When I was a child,
The flight of a kite,
Carried me from the rooms of early waking eye-lid
To
The sun's orange grove.
Ah,
That short distance.
When I was a child,
Goodness was a lady
Who smelled of cigarette;
And her big tears
Behind her magnifying glass,
Mixed with the sound of Quran.
When I was a child,
Water, earth and air were larger;
And the crickets
Sung
At nights
Within the melody of moon and a deep silence.
When I was a child,
Joy was to throw
A stone
At a howling sick and old dog.
Ah,
Those criminal and innocent hands.
When I was a child,
You could see
That impotent pigeon
Whose wing
Flow to the air
From the other side of the scissors.
Yes
You could see,
And to laugh only
With pride, with savagery and without deceit.
When I was a child
Out of a thousand and one night,
There was a tale,
And the tales were brimful
Up to sleep and slumbering awakening.
When I was a child,
God was stronger.
When I was a child,
On the windows of smile
The tame starling of joy nestled.
Ah
In those days thinking carts
Were not many.
When I was a child,
Folk did not exit.
When I was a child,
There was sorrow,
But
A little.
Lyric Poem
When I turn my face from everybody
Inside the crystal glass
The lights grow beautiful
And
As if they issue from your shoulder in the moonshine
Or from your eyes,
When you are smiling.
What a winter,
With all this
Ahs?
What an untimely winter,
It must slowly cover us!
Do you know?
Is
There no other path
Except this death which is approaching?
No,
No
Shelter?
* Forough Farokhzad Is a famouse Iranian poet. She died at the age 35 in a car accident.