1 SIMIN BEHBAHANI THE LADY OF MODERN PERSIAN LYRIC Written and translated by G. Samigorganroodi June 2007 The renowned contemporary Persian poet, Simin Behbahani, was born in 1927 in Tehran to a well-educated and learned family of poets, writers and journalists. Her father was a novelist and her mother, a prominent feminist, writer and teacher. Behbahani started writing and reciting poems from the age of fourteen. From school days, she proved to be a rebellious writer; She was expelled from midwifery school for writing an scathing expose of the horrible school conditions. She received a medal of peace for writing a poem called Unknwon in 1952. She took part in the IranoAmerican writers meetings and, on her visit to England, met members of the British Writers’ Guild. She joined Iran Radio Council of Poetry along with other notable Iranian poets in 1969. Behbahani expanded the poetic genre, known in Iran as “ghazal” (a type of lyric), by simplifying its language and by introducing new conversational elements into it. She wrote the first manifesto of modern Persian “ghazal” and created modern ghazals out of this traditional and male-dominated genre, which, unlike the old ghazals, centre around the passions and feelings of a woman. For this achievement, Iranians refer to her as “the lady of modern Persian ghazal”. She is the most eloquent voice of Iranian social literature after the Islamic Revolution. She has recorded the events of the last twenty five years or so of Iranian history in her poetic observations and protest pieces. This includes turbulant events in recent Iranian history such as the devestating eight year war between Iran and Iraq. Behbahani has authored many books of poetry, including: The Broken Lute [Se-taar-e Shekasteh, 1951]; Footprint [Jaa-ye Paa, 1954]; Candelabrum [Chelcheraagh, 1955]; Marble [Marmar, 1961]; Resurrection [Rastaakhiz, 1971]; A Line of Speed and Fire [Khatti ze Sorat va Aatash, 1980]; Aarzhan Plain [Dasht-e Aarzhan, 1983]; Paper Dress [Kaghazin Jaameh, 1992]; A Window to Freedom [Yek Daricheh Aazaadi, 1995]. Behbahani was a nominee for the Nobel Prize for Literature in 1997. She was awarded a Human Rights Watch-Hellman/Hammet grant in 1998 and the Carl von Ossietzky Medal in 1999. Her selected poems A Cup of Sin was published in English in 1999. The German translation of her poems Jenseits von Worten has been published in Germany. Behbahani’s complete book of poems were published in 2003. Behbahani is an active member of Iranian Writers’ Association and has, for many years, fought for freedom of expression and human rights. Here are my translations of some of her memorable poems: 2 SHE CAME IN BEAUTY FROM AFAR … She came in beauty from afar … dressed in blue silk an olive branch in hand and many tales in her eyes Running towards her, I greeted her And took her by the hand: You could still feel the blood pulsing through her veins Her body was still warm I said, “Oh! Y ou are dead, mother! You died years ago.” She did not smell of camphor Nor was she wrapped in a shroud I took a glance at the olive branch; She said with a smile: “Take it! It is a sign of peace.” She was looking at me I took it from her and said: “Oh yes! a sign …” Suddenly, a horseman came And I saw he was hiding a sword under his garment! He cut the olive branch into a stick, saying: “Ah! Not a bad cane for punishing the sinners it had an excruciating pain He opened his saddlebag … Wherein he hid the cane I saw a dead pigeon A string tied around its neck! Mother walked away in anger My eyes followed her: Like mourners She was now dressed in black silk … 3 IT MAY BE THE MESSIAH … The horizon’s womb is fertile with light The sun is the darling of this blind darkness The morning will spread its body over this roof The morning which is beyond your eyes’ belief Tomorrow the face of the sun over the snowy mountain top Will be the image of dahlias and a crystal vase Over the expanse of this clean damp blue That is not a rainbow but the gate of light A cluster of rays visible from behind the clouds It may be the Messiah passing by … What is this? This is hope, this is mirth, this is not air It is joy and passion in every breath we take In the green caressing eyes of friends It is a gift of joy and a flowering mirth In the garden of my heart, the shrub of faith is full of flowers It’s morning, Oh God! This is neither deception nor pride. INHERITANCE Calm down, my child, calm down Stop this childish prance Look how old my body is with pain Stop your boundless indolence. Calm down, my child, calm down I am distressed, restless and desolate Crazy, confused and wandering I mourn the death of true friends. Today, sit by my side for a while Put your head on my bosom Open your little delicate arms Embrace your mother tight Wipe her tears with your soft fingers Pat her with your tender hands Look with your curious eyes 4 Into her eyes whose secrets you understand Oh dear child! On such a day as this They tore away the book of love: They threw the book of love Into the fire of wrath and spite. Oh dear child! On such a day as this Many buds of love and desire withered away: The wind blew away many buds of love and desire Into the grave of the unknown. Today, alas! not even a cloud weeps over their tomb Today, alas! not even a wind brings their fragrance to you. Oh dear child! You do not know How heavy the pain is in my body I die and do not moan, I have kept my mouth shut - what else can I do? Take the vengence you have seen in my eyes And keep it in your heart! Of everything in this world, keep this inhertance Which comes from me to you. 5 GREEN BLOOD O bird of damnation! You have annoyed my ears with your moans O heavy burden! You have taken your abode in my tired shoulders O horror! O you who have smeared my body with my blood and life In my every single heartbeat I hear your footsteps O flowerstalk who are familiar with snow! Where is the hope of blossoming When the green blood of life Is frozen in the veins? O everlasting famine! O the arid flowergarden of soul! No tulip has bloomed Since my bosom became your flowerbed You are a terrible nightmare You are a maddening sleep Your agonizing world Devours me every night If, like a fairy, I smile a moment with charm and coquetry The demon of your thoughts Slaps me on the face My temper is tired of your cruelty My poetry is tied up to your chains Your captive eloquence Has stopped talking No sperm of desire in her She is not even pregnant with wishes Your barren bedfellow Is a stone in the shape of a woman.