Archive for August, 2007

Aug 17 2007

Ali Abdolrezaei

Published by admin under English

Ali Abdolrezaei - Photo by Parham Shahrjerdi

Ali Abdolrezaei was born in northern Iran in 1969. Aside from being a poet, he is also trained as a mechanical engineer. In 2003 he had to flee Iran due to the serious scrutiny and censorship of his work. He has lived in London ever since. He has published 10 books of poetry, and has three forthcoming.

About the poetry of Ali Abdolrezaei

Ali Abdolrezaei is one of the most acclaimed poets of post Revolutionary Iran. His poems exert great influence on many younger poets. He managed to get published seven volumes of his work inside Iran. His last volume of poems, published on the internet, makes a poetic as well as a literary watershed.
Certainly poetry is essentially a private art form. Ali’s description of human hardship and suffering are not those of a man who can look at misery from a distance. The poets of his generation have an altogether sharper and more painful view of the suffering caused by a totalitarian regime seizing power in the wake of the 1979 Revolution. Among the poets of this time, there exists a sense of hopelessness in the face of world/ national events which they feel powerless to change or influence.
 Ali represents a group of poets who turned away from the legacy of Modern Persian poetry. They have relinquished the idea that the aim of poetry should be to express high emotion and the deepest feelings and forces of nature. Their subjects tend to be smaller and their language more colloquial with a sense that reality is also interwoven into the text.
Ali Abdolrezaei’s voice as a poet is clear and unmistakable; his style and subjects are completely his own. Ironically enough, his strongest poems are often those which describe personal experiences rather than world events. He sees changes in the forms and subjects of literature as a way of helping political and social change. This aspiration to change is reflected in the language of his poetry as well as the events it describes.
Early on in his career as a poet, Ali embarked upon a journey to find a language which could form the structure of his work. His language has great life and energy; it does not look back to the archaically traditions of poetry/ writing. He gives the feeling that language has been forced into new forms to communicate new experiences.
Further more, Ali does not use traditional forms of rhyme and rhythm. His own style depends on the counting of syllables and the sound-patters of the words, in a way which reflects the patterns of Old Persian poetry. Ali avoids adhering to great themes and grand language. His lengthy poems, in particular, are highly complex and often bring together a group of characters different in kind and time.
A guide is required to travel into his novel terrain which has all the semblance of the old, and yet is new. It is precisely this novelty clothed in the familiar that puzzles but also reinforces the reader’s desire to explore further into the twilight zone. There are buried layer upon layer of literary metaphors in his poetry. Ali’s protagonists are engaged with daily life and plainer language is used. Many of his poems have as their central subject the problematic relationship between the two sexes in that gender divisions are the result of culture rather than biology. They reflect the power relationships of society in such a way as to reject the notion of “human nature “. 
Ali Abdolrezaei’s latest themes become more universal and philosophical; his main subject is the problematic nature of language, knowledge and subjectivity. This is a language that speaks in itself and not through something outside of itself; image and language are inseparably made into oneness. He draws on a stylistic fusion of the two discourses that had for many years been deemed separate.
Ali’s poetic language also reflects a series of philosophical preoccupations. That is to say; the language of referentiality; the relation between sign and thing. No singular construction of meaning is actually created through his poetic linguistic behaviour.
What is characteristic of Ali’s poetry is the intelligibility of the unknown whose existence is tightly implicated into the known. Knowledge and subjectivity co-exist in the reality of language where knowing is coupled with not-knowing and being with not-being. It is in this sense that his poetry demonstrates the simultaneous occurrence of linguistic flow and ambiguous meaning-making activities. Ali’s is a language that speaks the impossibility of expression and, in so doing, exists in the space of its own negativity.
In the section below, you find an anthology of Ali Abdolrezaei’s poetry revolving around a wide range of subjects.
In poems 1&2, the poet finds a basis of faith in memories of childhood, before the business of the world has surpassed the magic realm of being. Here he remembers the themes and stories of his early life. Whilst playing with verse, he recognises that he was attracted by their appearance and not by what they claim to be their true substance. 
Poems 3-5 communicate a strong sense of vainness and loneliness. They do not suggest that life is a bitter tragedy. Quite the contrary, they show great drive in intervention on the one hand and acceptance, i.e. going with the flow, on the other hand. Much of his anger in these poems is directed against the pointlessness of adherence to an ideal type.
Poems 6-8 illustrate the urge to engage with the ambiguity as part of the creativity nature of poetry. The circular movement of life is reflected in these poems. There exists an expression of the idea that, as well as going to a life without end, we come from another life.
Two short poems (9&10) contain tricks of style and unusual images to depict the melancholia. Temporality appears to take centre stage in these. The greatness of the work is not in the thought or story it conveys, but in the music of the verse and the magical atmosphere it creates. All this is described in ordinary words which produce a strange and magical picture.
In poems 11-14, the misery of war and natural disasters take centre stage. These poems of fine qualities are against the futility of war and against the senior officers who avoid realising the death and destruction that their orders will cause to the men they command.
Death and sorrow are intertwined into wider social problems.
Poems 15&16 demonstrate the full swing away from the formal classical style of verse writing. Ali’s difficult style is the result of his unusual knowledge of words and bold ways of building sentences.
In poems 17-20, life in exile is a central image. Nothing can be heard besides the voice of the protagonist whose floating thoughts are searching for a new semiotic system of meanings. 
The longer poems (21-23) are on the subject of love. In these poems, there is a kind of coldness, as if he was writing without much feeling. The setting is an undefined location at an undefined time. In poem 20, the hotel, as an enclosed space, circumscribes the narrative. The hotel is the quintessential example of the exilic experience: solitary and mysterious. 

August 2007  
Written by: Mansor Pooyan

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Aug 17 2007

Büyükanne

Published by admin under Turkish

aç?yor penceremi
- günayd?n !

ve elmalar koyuyor masam?n üzerine
sararan yapraklar?n? istemeyen bir dal

nedir bu çöküntü böyle
daha ne kadar kalabilirsin bu kuytuda, haydi!

durmu? balkonda
gençliklerimi izliyorum
?imdi senin büyümü?lü?ünün k?y?s?ndan geçiyor
ve günlerin y?k?nt?lar? üzerinde balkonda duruyorlar
bamba?ka bir yerde sona erinceye kadar bazen bak???m?n ninnisiyle sallan?yor elma dallar aras?nda
bazen büyükanne bir ihtiyar delikanl?y? dü?ünüyor
bazen sar? elmalar reddediyorlar sonbahar?
bazen büyükanne…
bazen elmalar…
dün gece bir rüya gördüm
ya?am?m gibi
              ölüyordum!

çeviren: m. bülent k?l?ç

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Aug 17 2007

Applaud!

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April puts blossoms on branches, my mother said.
My father said, a passing man footprints in snow.
February* stormed to the streets when
I wasn’t there to sing.
These dreams don’t fool me, I speak.
I strike so that I’m not stricken, you with me?
This horse needs a giving
Not a heavy hand, let me be!
For I’ve been lost in this poem.
My mark is that I’ve dreamt somewhere
In this world they have duped the cat,**
Her sleeping limbs spread out 
And stuck in the Gulf: She
Neither rose up against the arms commanding STOP!
Nor did she turn into stones rising, up in arms.

They stuck together to strike and were struck down.
Torture us!
In piles.
One by
One.
We have become accustomed
To the cobblestones of these alleys.
Kick us!
Some part of this shattering glass
will crack a smile.

You are folded over
The windows of this world–
Which you mistake for your toilet.
Let go of those opiumed-out cocks,
Catnapping petrol dreams.
This man, tied in thought over
His shoestrings, sheds his shoes.
This piss puddle of yours is in vain,
I’ll let you cast this earth into the sea.
Go ahead!
For concocting this ball
That you must drop,
Laud! Applaud!  
Applaud yourselves!

*The Iranian Revolution culminated in February 1979.
**The map of Iran is in the shape of a “resting cat”, with the Persian Gulf to its south.
This poem is from a volume titled, This Dear Cat.

tr. Niloufar Talebi©2004 

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Aug 17 2007

Shake!

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Permission to speak, Sir!*

If the bull slipped**
If the rooftop dropped
Would we always die under all the steel beams?

Teacher stirred his face
Peeled his hands from the pit of his pockets
And the sky sat on whatever grade it was.

Crushed desks!
The lessons that fell out of the children’s hands!!
And the walls, what they did not dream for the people!!!
A little hand crops up from the rubble
And a single finger speaks!!

Permission, Sir!
May I rise up?

tr. Niloufar Talebi©2004

*Schoolchildren in Iran ask permission for XYZ by raising their hand above their head indicating their index finger.

** According to an ancient Persian Myth of Creation, the earth rotates on the horn of a bull. Legend was if the bull coughed, the earth would slip off its horn, causing an earthquake.

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Aug 17 2007

Escape

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I walk out of old picture frames
step into the street
return to the other side of muddy walls
to empty myself of boredom of seeing the old man who is standing in the shade
he walks out of old picture frames
and escapes into himself
so that the face that has survived in a letter in my book
can return to the opposite walls.

Translation: M. Alexandrian

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Aug 17 2007

Highway

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Neither am I in the corner of the store
which was full of old shoes
nor the corner of the world
which is the store of the dead
I’m here
ah mirror, watch me for a while!
Should I die
what matters
if the sun shines
or there is no kerosene,
your mistake happened always in that highway
which said return!

Translation: M. Alexandrian

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Aug 17 2007

Poetry

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I was reciting poem when she knocked the gate
I jumped over the sofa and Granazi flowerpot
and in the silence that was thrown on the water
I heard the sound of turning lock and the door that was pulled back
I saw myself behind the door
like the day that I was in the mirror
still he was ringing the bell
without saying anything like the day I was in the mirror
it entered the house and shook my hands
the hand that shut the gate and throw it out of the house.
 
I have not walked this long poem to return
I am standing behind the gate and ringing again and again
I know! The last couplet lines in this alley.

Translation: M. Alexandrian

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Aug 17 2007

Making“Ly”

Published by admin under English

There’s nothing of any Accident that happens is not accidentally
Even in the world that I didn’t want it surely
Was accidental
I should take for formerly
I don’t have any time for subsequently
There’s no benefit in so many times that …ing merely
For a lifetime I was lady’s affairs for actually
For example in the name of ever haven’t registered to make a household position less
Anyone who passed by my directions
Directed that way that doesn’t have fairly       so never mind
Was twisting in my lines
Doesn’t have kindly            so never mind
Was taking nothing
Off course I’m not too much I wrote too much
Subsequently someone will come & erase all the things that I didn’t write
In the directions of my biography
In my view I’m viewed so much
I view the woman from another view in vain
There’s no doubt that I wasn’t that much ,they were
Same as committing suicide
Or same as committing suicide
In same as have been ruled somewhere I pandered/ ruled somewhere
I have lain somewhere
That’s convening violating doubts
In the words that I have heard from the certain
When I don’t have the certainly
Too keep a kindness for subsequently
I don’t have a hand in the style of kindly
To put on the hair of comparatively
I did have too much such as the wife, formerly
I didn’t too much of it heartily
Don’t have with kidding
Don’t kidding against the anymore
Same as with anything that is, I had an especial feeling
I’ve an especial being with anything that was
I don’t make forgiving on & off
My now doesn’t let that drunkenness has passed from fearing
Results from an I don’t fear who had a fearless head
To not fear that was resulted to this fear
Fearing of real when passes   doesn’t heed
Doesn’t leave from really but not
There’s an accident that’s happening in the accidentally
 
Translated by :Ali Masoodi Nia

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Aug 17 2007

I was stubborn

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May be earth is hand full of dust
Fall in hear  down hear
May be thay have left it in a little river
Like a paper boat
That I fluid it in my childhood
I knew jografi as mach as a little vally
 that would end me to her house
that vally had seven windows
and every window had senenty girls
that every day was opening on the middle of the moon
may be stil hand full of dust
have fallen up there moon
how dose anyone would know
may be the kid send his kite to the sky
that he dosent know
what has happened to it

I was stubborn
That I turned to pices

Translation: Jennifer Langer

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Aug 17 2007

Father

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Do not worry my son
Her brothers are gone
And her sisters never come back
Mother has got a lot to cry
Father dosent leave her a lone
Lets pray for her a bit
She will be alright my son
Don’t cry any more
I will be better
yes
I promises

Translation: Jennifer Langer

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