The ship stood by the shore

A poem by Alireza Abiz

translated by Alireza Abiz and W.N. Herbert

The ship stood by the shore

And the one-eyed captain went on deck

A huge fire could be seen on the beach

And in the cathedral bells were tolling

We thought the ship was burning

And threw ourselves into the water in terror

The fire was still ablaze on the shore

And the natives were dancing around

We were in the ship and the ship was in us.

Cappadocia by Hassan Safdari

Hassan Safdari is an Iranian poet and a very good friend of mine. Cappadocia is a series of 14 connected poems which depict the poet's reflection on the historical Cappadocia in Turkey. There is more than a mere tourist look in this series of poems. The poet starts with the description of a love in an ancient cave and proceeds to look at the history and mythology and thus connects with the spirit of the past and the ancient people. I personally liked this poem. The English translation by Alireza Abiz was first published in ART Monthly in Mashhad, Iran.

Cappadocia


1
In each others' arms
We spend a night in the Cave
Surrounded by ethereal gray walls
Listening to the celestial song of a goldfinch

who flies her voice in the sacred halls like a cross


2
When the dark falls
We return to our ancestors
And measure the density of hearts
That never beat outside the sanctuary of silence

You come from the abyss of the untold
And your dream does not live in me


3
Embrace the inversed city slept on the happy soil!

Your ancestor is a lark
Come and plant a forest
On this wasteland you are treading on now!


4
Statues that came out of the earth
Are saying their prayers of horror
Toward the Kiblah of life

Twenty three other hours is left
To the earthquake in Zelve
The Kurd girl of Foreme
Is packing up her peddling job

How beautiful is
Sleeping in the earthquake nights!



5
Here, the names are blowing in the wind
Wine is dripping from the grapevine
Dancing and whirling sun
Suddenly stops in the middle of Inhlara valley
-Worried about you-
Wakes up your startled hands

It is at this moment that the Saints
Play their instruments in your mouth from faraway
As "water which speaks nonstop
Without repeating a single word"




6
Ah… Cappadocia!
The land of slaughtered dynasties
Where the song of Jesus
Is petrified in the heart of rocks
Whose fingerprints are still visible
On the jar of wine
In the Serpents Church?
How did spearmint and sweet basil
Drank themselves
And got drowned in themselves?

In this vast universe
No one reaches the waterfall by himself.




7
The orange trees
Are lost in the density of Seata
A book of silk
On the entrance of the cave
The soothsayer sits to soothsaying
With an alligator face
She drowns in her past so deep
That we believe her human brilliance

Windblown dusts of gold
Are left on Cappadocia shrubs

Here, the virgins dance on the skull of saints
In the gypsy night
Who is able to see and forget?


8
In the dark church of Karanlik
In my mother's womb
I remembered my name
Like a child who has a shell in his hand
And doesn't know the name of his pearl
Suddenly I remember
My name is Death!



9
At this very moment
When the sour cherry flowers
Are tottering in the peaceful night
And unknown illusions can be heard
From the dry boughs
The sound of wavy ivories
In the bright ponds
It is the Death who is calling me by name


10
Now I have many names
For the heavens
From above Ihlara Valley
Wherein the roaring river
Twists like a nude woman
And the owl who is hanging
From the Cave pinnacle
Like an amber star



11
I won't recall night
The night who has killed her sun
I tasted the light nowhere
But in a dark shell

Ah… Cappadocia!
The shadow of these nights
Is constantly dancing in my silence


12
The azure voice of the girl
Left alone amidst the day
Was springing from the kiwi gardens of Neveshir
Kaymakli, the city talking of rocks
The weighty rocks of circle interlock
So that the legend may sprinkle pearl
From the mouth of the shell



13
In "Helen & Son" tavern
-Neighbor to Yilanli Church-
I put down the last glass
With a poem by "Fodhuli"




14
In Karanlik tavern
A broken loaf of bread grows
Cappadocia
Covers face in a heavy fog

Yesterday, Today, Tomorrow

Yesterday:
Snow covers our footprints
"Dig well brother! or give me the shovel"
The dark soil receives our commander
Easrth is truly a loving mother


Today:
The window frames the sky
Birds fly over the frozen lake
Two girls are making a snow dog
I take their picture and smile


Tomorrow:
Are these the same birds I saw last year?
Are those two girls still friends?
I look at the room that used to be mine
Windows closed , curtains drawn

Snow

Snow is a long poem by Mehdi Akhavan Saleth translated from Persian by Alireza Abiz

Snow

1

A quarter of the night was gone

And the snow was falling like the scattering feathers of the fairies

In the thousands of legends and tales long forgotten

Like an invisible commander,

The wind was crazily ruling orders

On a tired and sad and bewildered army

The snow was falling and we were silent

- Devoid of any worries-

Treading our way step by step

A quiet garden alley spreading before our feet

It seemed as if in every few steps

A light was on for us on a cypress tree

With a pale and dim flicker

Lost in the darkness of this winter snow

The snow was falling and we were walking

Slowly, sometimes alone, sometimes together

What sorrowful complaints we brought

What sweet stories we retold!

None of us knew

On what moment of the night this snow has begun

Nor did anyone knew

Where this turning and curling road was dragging us

The snow was falling and people had gone

On this road before us, under this quiet snow

People like us, happy and unhappy,

They had gone and their footprints could be seen

2

A quarter of the night was gone and our countless companions

Were walking silently under this sad and messy snow,

Sometimes joyful and happy and bold,

Sometimes as if frightened by the abyss of a hidden fear,

Looking for footprints

And telling the legends of the steps

Who had trodden this way before

Like a fatling wolf cub, free and at large,

I was running here and there

Singing heartily a happy song in each step

Saluting joyfully this divine kingly blessing

That was falling on every head and in every direction

It was all road and the road- this lying whore- this twin of the man's foot since the first day

It was all snow and snow- this turbulent messenger- this cold message of pureness and of age;

And the quiet peaceful silence,

Endless and melancholic

We were walking and from time to time,

I was asking myself:

" Hey, let me see! You the drunk, the intoxicated!

Is this you? – So joyful and merry?

Moving in this long and fearful journey?"

[And it was me, so infatigable,

Vigil in eyes and aware in heart,

Leaning against the wall of silence,

All ears to hear the mildest sound,

Walking happily, blissfully over the moon!

3

Now we were passing under a lamp with a watery light

Everything pale and dead in soul – near or far-

And at this time I noticed a sad stork sitting on a hunchback tree

The tree loaded with snow

With no friend and no companion but snow

Left behind the emigrating caravan

The stork was talking to itself:

" A horrifying wilderness this is

And the silent gray is snowing and snowing

And then old quiet silence brings no message

Behind those invisible faraway lands

There may be heat and light and music;

There may a familiar warm wing;

But me, alas!

I am but a very lonely old bird –left behind

My inabilities a chain on my legs

And if I open arms to the wind, hardly but zealously,

The will of my wings cannot turn any wheel,

Like the broken wheel of an old and deserted windmill

The sky is tight with no window

On earth, the snow has covered the traces of caravans

Who have gone in the wilderness to unknown lands

The wind is like a rain of needles, water is like iron

All signs are sunk in the no-sign

I remember the bountiful days of youth

And the joy of pioneering in flight

Which was so elegant and so sweet!

No one could forerun me

Never did I follow others

Needless of the humility of obeying rules and rituals

The road was what I would take

The rituals were what I would do

Now, but , alas!

Oh, the heavy dark and cruel night…"

The sad stork had opened its heart to its own privacy.

We were still on the way and it was snowing

Whoever could see in front of him

Was looking for a footprint

But me, I had lost my joy and my merriness

My youthfulness was hurt by a cold contemplation

Ashamed of the footprint I treaded,

I would tell myself every now and then:

" When will you separate your way from these flocks whose leader is the goat?

When will you send your courage to forerun like a flag

And to leave footprints of his own

On the roads not trodden before?

4

It was still snowing, sad and gloomy

But I was happy once again.

Now I was away from the goats and the sheep

I was myself the herd and the shepherd

On the vast empty snow-covered plains

I was advancing slowly and joyfully alone

Carrying my own flag

The pure and virgin snows

Gave a pleasant melody under my feet

In every step, my foot was planting the seed of its virgin trace

On the snow

To deflower the treasures of mystery,

To imprint a new design of oneself in every step,

What a Godly pride it brought to my heart!

5

I don't remember well

How far I had gone,

When I heard a cry

Or I just had the desire

To look backward and thus I did

The trodden way was now laying before my eyes

A vast snow-covered plain had been my way

My feet had added my trace thereon

I turned back a few steps, it was snowing

I turned back, it was snowing

The footprints were fresh but it was snowing

I turned back, it was snowing

The footprints could be seen but it was snowing

I turned back, it was snowing

The footprints could still be seen but it was snowing

I turned back, it was snowing

It was snowing

It was snowing, snowing, snowing,..

Snow has covered my footprints too.

Tehran, March- April 1958

Persian Poetry in English

My aim in creating this blog is to introduce Modern Persian Poetry to the English readers. Persian Poetry is amongst the richest and the most varied poetry traditions in the world history. Poetry is still considered the national literary art in Iran and has always been an inseparable part of Iranian identity. You see poems in everyday usage by ordinary people. Lorry drivers and bus drivers write lines of poetry on the back of their vehicles. On most of the gravestones in every corner of Iran, you see beautiful pieces of poems engraved. People celebrate their weddings and mourn their dead by means of poetry. Great classical Persian poets are well-known to the world. Ferdowsi, the composer of the great epic Shahnama, Hafiz, Sa'di, Balkhi (better known as Rumi in the West) and Khayyam are just a few of the great poets Iran has raised.

However, Iran has not departed with its lofty tradition. Modern Persian Poetry which started by Nima Yushij (nicknamed Father of the Modern Poetry) around 90 years ago is still in bloom. Great figures like Ahmad Shamlou, Mehdi Akhavan Saleth, Forugh Farrokhzad, Sohrab Sepehri and many others contributed to the great achievements of Iranian poetry. Today, many Iranian poets inside the Country or in exile are telling the stories of their loved homeland and its beautiful people in verse. The stories of sufferings, struggles and fight for a better life. The story of fight for democracy, freedom and civil rights.

In this blog, I will present a variety of Persian poets through the works I translate personally or the works that other translators may contribute. From time to time, I may also write notes about Persian poetry or other things of interest to me.