The poetry of the great Iranian poet Forugh Farrokhzad فروغ فرخزاد Translated into English Photos and Interviews Let us Believe in the dawn of the cold. Forugh Farrokhzad, Another Birth, Selected Poems Translated by Ismali Salami Zanbankadeh Publication Modern Persian Poetry Page 20 ISBN: . Forugh Farrokhzad Home Page Poetry of Forugh in French by Editions Lettres Persanes, Le conquete du jardin. Publication of Selected.
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What is silence, what is it, my trusted friend?
How long can he or she survive this isolation, conversing only with the door and the four walls? Maybe life is the act of lighting a cigarette in the listless pause between lovemaking, or the vacant glance of a passerby who tips his hat and says, Good morning!
Let us believe in the farrokhzar of imaginary gardens, in idle inverted scythes, in confined seeds. I sinned surrounded by arms that were hot and avenging and iron. Once more I will greet the earth who, in her lust to re-create me, swells her flaming belly with green seeds. That time a man passed by wet trees… Why did I not look?
The Wedding Band Poem by Forough Farrokhzad – Poem Hunter
Finding in my morrows a place to sleep Permeating my world deep and deep. In my burning body you are a turning gyre In the shade of poemz eyelashes you are a blazing fire. It is natural that a woman, because of her physical, emotional, and spiritual inclinations, may give certain issues greater attention, issues that men may not normally address.
Sexual Politics in Modern Iran. March Featuring four writers from the Iranian diaspora and a survey of post-apartheid South African crime fiction.
The Wedding Band – Poem by Forough Farrokhzad
One can draw back the drapes with wrinkled fingers forouhh watch rain falling heavy in the alley a child standing in a doorway holding colorful kites a rickety cart leaving the deserted square in a noisy rush. I am a descendant of the house of trees. In my burning body you are a turning gyre In the shade of my farrokhzac you are a blazing fire.
I clasp to my breast the unripe bunches of wheat and breastfeed them. These songs and these silent nights? There is an alley where boys who once loved me still stand with the same tousled hair, thin necks, and scrawny legs, contemplating the innocent smiles of a young girl swept away foorough night by the wind. University of Arkansas Press.
Desire surged in his eyes red wine swirled in the cup my body surfed all over his in the softness of the downy bed. Selected Works in Persian. We lost everything we must have lost we started treading without a lantern and moon moon the kind Feminine was always there poemz the childhood memories of a clay and straw rooftop and above the young plantations dreading the swamp of crickets. Look how the farrokhsad who spoke with words, caressed with eyes, and was tamed by touch was nailed to the cross of apprehensions; how the branches of your fingers like five letters otf truth left a mark on her cheek.
I know a sad little fairy who lives in the sea and plays the wooden flute of her heart tenderly, tenderly. My brother thinks the cure for the garden lies in its destruction.
Forough Farrokhzad Poems – Poems of Forough Farrokhzad – Poem Hunter
Ah This is my lot This is my lot My lot Is a sky, which the dropping of a curtain seizes from me My lot is going down an abandoned stairway And joining with something in decay and nostalgia My lot is a cheerless walk in the garden of memories And dying in the sorrow of a fafrokhzad that tells me: I smell the four-petal clover which has grown on the tomb of archaic meanings.
The journey of a form along the line of time inseminating the line of time with the foroough a form conscious of an image coming back from a feast in a mirror And it is in this way that someone dies and someone lives on.
You are more verdant than a wheat foroughh My whole being is a dark chant which will carry you perpetuating you to the dawn of eternal growths and blossoming in this chant I sighed you sighed in this chant I grafted you to the tree to the water to the fire.
After you, we betrayed each other after you, we cleansed your memories by lead particles and splattered blood-drops off of the plastered temples of alley walls.
Gift – Poem by Forough Farrokhzad
My hair trailing deep-soil scents. All my being is a dark verse that repeats you to the dawn of unfading flowering and growth. With each hurried step it was as if she carried the virginity of my lavish dreams to the dark bed of night.
Neshat Esfahani Abbas Foroughi Bastami —