poetry & translations

dedicated to the poets and artists of Iran And Hannibal Alkhas Buna Alkhas

And Mehrad moareknejad Leyla taheriyan Rasoul Moareknejad

Translators ‫مترجمان‬

Buna Alkhas ‫تًَا الخاص‬

Hosein Mackizadeh ُ‫حعیي هکیزاد‬

Sohrab Rahimi ‫ظْراب رحیوی‬

Saber Hosseini ‫صاتر حعیٌی‬

Massoud Salari ‫هععَد ظاالری‬

Nadia Vyshnevska ‫ًادیا ٍیشٌَظکا‬

Translators ‫مترجمان‬

adrianne alkhas ‫آدریاًا الخاص‬

Minoo Shahrestani ‫هیٌَ شْرظتاًی‬

Shahla Esmaeilzadeh Mohsen Bolhasani ُ‫شْال اظواعیل زاد‬ ‫محسه بًالحسىی‬

Ali Abedi ‫علی عاتذی‬

Mana Aghaei ‫هاًا آقایی‬

Fereshteh Vaziri Nasab ‫فرشتِ ٍزیری ًعة‬

Poets

Sirous Nozari ‫ظیرٍض ًَرری‬

‫شاعران‬

Fereshteh Panahi ‫فرشتِ پٌاّی‬

shahrzad alimohammadi ‫شْرزاد علیوحوذی‬

Hamid Reza Vatankhah ُ‫حویذرظا ٍطي خَا‬

Gholamhossein Marjan Saebi ‫هرجاى صائثی‬ Mardanian ‫غالهحعیي هرداًیاى‬

Hengameh Hoveyda ‫ٌّگاهِ َّیذا‬

Rasoul Moareknejad ‫رظَل هعرکًصاد‬

Massoud Salari ‫هععَد ظاالری‬

GHazal Borhani ‫غسل ترّاًی‬

Poets

Sohrab Rahimi ‫ظْراب رحیوی‬

Lili Taheri ‫لیلی طاّری‬

‫شاعران‬

Shabnam Azar ‫شثٌن آرر‬

Reza Kazemi ‫رظا کاظوی‬

Reza Rajaei ‫رظا رجائی‬

Sara Siamaki ‫ظارا ظیاهکی‬

Elham Kianpoor ‫الْام کیاًپَر‬

Hosein Mackizadeh ُ‫حعیي هکیزاد‬

Hamed Ebrahimi ‫حاهذ اتراّیوی‬

Nasrin Behjati ‫ًعریي تْجتی‬

Poets

Minoo Shahrestani ‫هیٌَ شْرظتاًی‬

Fahime Jalali ‫فْیوِ جاللی‬

‫شاعران‬

Ali Abedi ‫علی عاتذی‬

Saber Hosseini ‫صاتر حعیٌی‬

Sara Alimardani (Azar) ‫ظارا ( آرر ) علیورداًی‬

Shirin Besharati ‫شیریي تشارتی‬

Rahim Majidi ‫رحین هجیذی‬

Mazaher Shahamat ‫هظاّر شْاهت‬

Haleh Homayuni ‫ّالِ ّوایًَی‬

Mahsa Zahiri ‫هْعا زّیری‬

Poets

Faranak Dehghani ‫فراًک دّقاًی‬

‫شاعران‬

Afrouz Kazemzadeh ُ‫افرٍز کاظنزاد‬

Benyamin Javadi ‫تٌیاهیي جَادی‬

Leila Nouri Naini ‫لیال ًَری ًائیٌی‬

Moaddab Miralaei ‫هَدب هیرعالیی‬

Minoo Khajeh Aldin ‫هیٌَ خَاجِالذیي‬

Azadeh Besharaty ‫آزادُ تشارتی‬

Dariush Moftakhar Hosseyni

Nima Haj Seyed Javadi ‫ًیوا حاجظیذجَادی‬

‫داریَغ هفتخر حعیٌی‬

Mahdis Mohammadi ‫هْذیط هحوذی‬

Poets

Fereshteh Hesaraki ‫فرشتِ حصارکی‬

‫شاعران‬

Soshians Avazfard ‫ظَشیاًط عَض فرد‬

Zeynab Choghadi Zahra Heydari ‫زیٌة چَقادی‬ ‫زّرا حیذری‬

azadeh Hazemizadeh ُ‫آزادُ ّاظویزاد‬

Mohamad Masoud Fereshteh Rasouli Karami ‫فرشتِ رظَلی‬ ‫هحوذ هععَد کرهی‬

Mohammad Hosein Moones Mahmoodi Saffarian ‫هًَط هحوَدی‬ ‫هحوذ حعیي صفاریاى‬

Reza Mahmoodi ‫رظا هحوَدی‬

Poets

Rouzbeh Sohani ‫رٍزتِ ظَّاًی‬

Nooshin Zarnani ‫ًَشیي زرًاًی‬

‫شاعران‬

Neda Pirestani ‫ًذا پیرظتاًی‬

Farzaneh Ghavami ‫فرزاًِ قَاهی‬

Kaveh Oveisi

Simanaz Mehrazar

‫کاٍُ اٍیعی‬

‫ظیواًاز هْرآرر‬

Arvin Karimi ‫آرٍیي کریوی‬

Jaleh Abyas ‫شالِ اتیط‬

Setareh Ansari ‫ظتارُ اًصاری‬

Samaneh Sarchami ‫ظواًِ ظرچوی‬

Poets

Khatere Hemmati ‫خاطرُ ّوتی‬

Romina Abedi ‫رٍهیٌا عاتذی‬

‫شاعران‬

Mehdi Azizof ‫هْذی عسیسف‬

Mohammad Dalalbashi Esfahani ‫هحوذ داللثاشی اصفْاًی‬

Fatemeh Mohsenzadeh ُ‫فاطوِ هحعيزاد‬

Katayoon Rizkharati ‫کتایَى ریسخراتی‬

Mohsen Bolhasani ‫هحعي تَالحعٌی‬

Mahdi Jalili ‫هْذی جلیلی‬

Maryam Firuzi ‫هرین فیرٍزی‬

Mahsa Javadi ‫هْعا جَادی‬

Poets

Adel Ghazvini ‫عادل قسٍیٌی‬

Paria Tofangsaz ‫پریا تفٌگ ظاز‬

‫شاعران‬

Mana Aghaei ‫هاًا آقایی‬

Mehri Rahmani ‫هْری رحواًی‬

Sahar Norouziyan ‫ظحر ًَرٍزیاى‬

shahriyar Atai ‫شْریار عطایی‬

Arash Afshar ‫آرغ افشار‬

Farnaz Farazmand ‫فرًاز فرازهٌذ‬

Farnaz Jafarzadegan ‫فرًاز جعفرزادگاى‬

Morteza Rajabi ‫هرتعی رجثی‬

Poets

Sanaz Golbarg ‫ظاًاز گلثرگ‬

Saghar Radakhlaghy ‫ظاغر راداخالقی‬

‫شاعران‬

Aref askari ( kiyan) )‫عارف ععکرى(کیاى‬

Mohammad Rafiei ‫هحوذ رفیعی‬

Roya Bijani ‫رٍیا تیصًی‬

Behrang Ghassemi ‫تْرًگ قاظوی‬

Mahdieh Latifi ‫هْذیِ لطیفی‬

Sharareh Jamshid ‫شرارُ جوشیذ‬

Mohammad Memariyan ‫هحوذ هعواریاى‬

Andisheh Shahi ‫اًذیشِ شاّی‬

Poets

Azita Ghahreman ‫آزیتا قْرهاى‬

Roqieh Askari ‫رقیِ ععکری‬

‫شاعران‬

Ashkan Samsam ‫اشکاى صوصام‬

Pirayeh Yaghmaii ‫پیرایِ یغوایی‬

Eve Lilith ‫ایَ لیلیج‬

Sahar Bayani ‫ظحر تیاًی‬

Farshad Ghasemi Nejad ‫فرشاد قاظویًصاد‬

Kourosh Shiva ‫کَرغ شیَا‬

Poets

Farnaz Zabetian ‫فرًاز ظاتطیاى‬

Ali Asadollahi ‫علی اظذاللْی‬

‫شاعران‬

Shadi Mirzaei ‫شادی هیرزایی‬

Roja Chamankar ‫رٍجا چوٌکار‬

Mina Dehnavi ‫هیٌا دٌَّی‬

Farzaneh Bagheri

Bahareh Ziyaei ‫تْارُ ظیایی‬

‫فرزاًِ تاقری‬

Afshin Salehi ‫افشیي صالحی‬

Arash Mousavi ‫آرغ هَظَی‬

Neda Fazli ‫ًذا فعلی‬

Poets

‫ظًَای آکي‬ Sunay akın

َ‫فَهی ظایت‬ Fumi Saito

‫شاعران‬

‫ًاظن حکوت‬ NAZIM HİKMET

‫اٍرّاى ٍلی‬ : Orhan Veli Kanık

‫الرض گَظتاٍظَى‬ Lars Gustavsson

‫پل الَار‬ Paul Éluard

‫اکتاٍیَ پاز‬ Octavio Paz

Poets

‫ًسار قثاًی‬ Nizar Qabbani

‫شاعران‬

‫شٍل ظَپرٍییل‬ Jules SUPERVIELLE

‫رهکَ کاهپرت‬ Remco Campert

‫ ظخاخي‬.‫ی‬ J.C. van Schagen

‫تذ ّیَز‬ Ted-Hughes

‫یَدیت ّرزترخ‬ Judith Herzberg

‫کٌج رکط راث‬ Kenneth Rexroth

٥‫ؾـ‬ٞٛ ‫ن‬ٝ‫ف‬٨‫ و‬:‫ٌبػف‬ Poet: Sirous Nozari ‫ ٌؽ‬٠ٜ١‫ ٌت ثف‬ٙ‫٘ب‬١ That same night he got naked ‫بؼ‬٢ٛ ٙ‫ب‬٨ٗ ‫ ـاقي ـا ؼـ‬ٝ And let his secret be known ‫ك‬٨٧‫ دب‬Autumn

Translated by Alkhas

َ‫ب آػب‬ٛٞ‫ ث‬:ٖ‫ٗشفخ‬

‫ػٍن‬ ٙ‫ب‬٢ُ‫ب‬ٛ ٠‫ ث‬ٙ‫ب‬ٜ‫ز‬ ٦ِٜ‫ و‬٠ً ٙ‫اق آو٘ب‬

Love In a blink of the eye Like a rock Falling from the sky

٦‫س‬ٞٔ‫ غ‬Privacy ‫ـ ٗب‬ٕٞ‫ ؼـ ض‬In our presence ‫ ػبٌن‬٥٠‫ ُفث‬ٝ‫ ؼ‬Two cats in love

‫ؼ‬ٝ‫ـ‬٦ٗ ٠‫ب ز‬١٠‫ك‬ٌٞ​ٌ‫ ثف‬What goes to the blossoms ٖ٨‫ى‬ٛ ‫ ثب‬With a breeze ٦ًٜ٦ٗ ‫ـ‬ٞ‫ اق ٗب ػج‬٠ً That you cross over us

َ‫ب آػب‬ٛٞ‫ ث‬:ٖ‫ٗشفخ‬

Translated by Alkhas

ٖ٨‫ ـكش‬٦ٗ ٟ‫ب ـا‬١ ‫ ثفف‬٥ٝ‫ ـ‬ٟ‫بؼ‬٨‫د‬ ٍ‫ ثكـ‬، ٟ‫ٗب‬ ‫ ٌؽ‬ٙ‫٘ب‬١‫وؽ ـا‬ ‫ق‬ٜٞ١ ٝ ‫ؽ‬٨‫ؽ ول‬٨‫ول‬ ‫ؽ‬٧‫ ثبـ‬٦ٗ ٙ‫ ًُش٘ب‬٥‫ب‬١ ‫ت‬٨‫ؼوز ؼـ خ‬ ‫ب‬١ ‫ ثفف‬ٙٝ‫ ـا ؼـ‬ٟ‫ٗب‬ ٖ٧‫ب ًفؼ‬١‫ـ‬ ٖ٧‫ ؼاؼ‬٠ٗ‫ اؼا‬ٙ‫٘ب‬١‫ ـا‬٠‫ ث‬٦ٌ٧‫ؼـ سبـ‬ ٟ‫ ٗب‬٦‫ ث‬، ‫ ثفف‬٦‫ ث‬، ٠٧‫ وب‬٦‫ث‬ .‫ٗب‬

Poet: Rasoul Moareknejad ‫ماؼ‬ٛ‫ّ ٗؼفى‬ٞ‫ ـو‬:‫ٌبػف‬

We crossed over the snow on foot The moon, big Blocked our way And still White as white Fell through the night Our hands in our coats We let the moon free in the snow And in the dark continued to go No shadow to see, no snow to see, no moon to see We.

Poet

‫ضاعز‬

Translated by Sohrab Rahimi

ٙ‫ب‬٨ٛ‫ ٗفؼا‬ٚ٨‫ ؿالٗطى‬:‫ٌبػف‬ Poet: Gholamhossein Mardanian

Le temps est froid dehors Il y a un dehors où le temps est froid Il y a un temps qui est froid Dehors est là Le temps est là Le froid est là Mais le « est » ?

‫ا وفؼ اوز‬ٞ١ ٙ ٝ‫ف‬٨‫ث‬ ‫ً وفؼ اوز‬٧‫ا‬ٞ١ ٠ً ‫ىز‬١ ٦ٛٝ‫ف‬٨‫ ث‬Est ‫ وفؼ اوز‬٠ً ‫ىز‬١ ٦٧‫ا‬ٞ١ Est-ce dehors ou est-ce le temps ou est-ce froid ?

‫ا وفؼ‬ٞ١ ‫ؽ‬٧‫ؽ‬ٜ‫لبً ؼـ ـا ثج‬ٙٓ

Translated by Massoud Salari

‫اوز‬ ‫ب وفؼ اوز؟‬٧ ‫اوز‬ٞ١ ‫ب‬٧ ‫ اوز‬ٙٝ‫ف‬٨‫ث‬ ‫ىز‬٨ٛ ‫ اوز‬ٝ ‫ وفؼ اق اوز اوز‬ٙٝ‫ف‬٨‫ ث‬٥‫ا‬ٞ١ ‫اوز‬ ‫بوز‬١ ‫ ثف‬ٝ ‫ـ‬ٝ‫ ؼ‬ٚ٨٘١ ٦٧‫خب‬ ً٧ٞ‫ِ غ‬ٚ‫ُفٕ اوش‬

Fermez la porte s‟il vous plaît le temps froid

٥‫ؼ وبالـ‬ٞ‫ ٗىؼ‬:ٖ‫ٗشفخ‬

‫ىز‬١ ٙٝ‫ف‬٨‫ث‬ ‫ىز‬١ ‫ا‬ٞ١ ‫ىز‬١ ‫وفؼ‬ ‫؟‬٦‫ده اوز ز‬

Dehors le temps est froid de « est » et le « est » n‟est pas là Le « est » Est quelque part dans le coin En plein d‟être chaudement

- ٌٚٝ‫ؼر ـا ـ‬ٞ‫ِبـ غ‬٨‫ و‬ٝ ٦ٌٞٛ ٦ٗ ‫سٔع‬ ‫ؼ‬ٝ‫ ثؼؽ اق ؼ‬ٝ ٚٗ ‫ِبـ‬٨‫ِ و‬٠‫ ثب س‬٦ًٜ ٦ٗ

ٕ‫ؽ‬٧ٝ‫ ـا ًب‬ٞ‫ س‬ٙ‫دب‬ٜ‫ ك‬٠‫ثب ظفاكز س‬ ‫ؼ‬ٞ‫ ث‬٦‫ث‬ٞ‫ ز‬٦ٓ‫ؽ‬ِٜ ‫سب‬ٝ‫ك ؼ‬٨ٗ ‫ي‬٧ ‫دٍز‬ ‫ت‬٧‫ؽ ؿف‬ٛ‫ؼ‬ٞ‫ ث‬ٟ‫ قّ قؼ‬ٚٗ ٠‫ ػّف ث‬ٙ‫ ؼـ آ‬ٝ ‫ؼ‬ٞ‫ زٍٖ ًج‬ٝ‫ ؼ‬٠ً ٟٞ٢‫ دف اق ه‬ٙ‫دب‬ٜ‫ ك‬ٝ‫ ؼ‬٠ٛ

Blow smoke rings on the other side of yourself A ghost resembling you sitting in a smoky cloud Gracefully into the bottom of your cup I intrude Behind a table there were two chairs of wood And that afternoon they stared at me strangely the two black eyes not two cups of coffee brewed

Translated by Alkhas

‫ؼر‬ٞ‫ غ‬٥ٞ‫ و‬ٙ‫ آ‬٦ٛ‫ ق‬٦ٗ ْ‫ د‬ٟ‫ف‬٧‫ ؼا‬ٟ‫ف‬٧‫ؼا‬ ‫ؼ‬ٞٓ‫ؼ آ‬ٝ‫ ؼ‬٦‫َ ر ٌجط‬٠٨‫ اوز ٌج‬٠‫ٍىش‬ٛ ٠ً

There, you drank it bitter and lit you cigarette With the butt of mine and then you would

َ‫ب آػب‬ٛٞ‫ ث‬:ٖ‫ٗشفخ‬

Poet: Hamid Reza Vatankhah

ٟ‫ا‬ٞ‫ غ‬ٚ٘ٝ ‫ؽـٔب‬٨٘‫ ض‬:‫ٌبػف‬

‫ؼ‬ٞ‫ ث‬٦‫ث‬ٞ‫ِ ز‬٦ٓ‫ؽ‬ِٜ ‫ سب‬ٝ‫ك ؼ‬٨ٗ ‫ي‬٧ ‫دٍز‬ ‫ؼ‬ٞ‫ سب زٍٖ ًج‬ٝ‫ ؼ‬ٟٞ٢‫ دف اق ه‬ٙ‫دب‬ٜ‫ ك‬ٝ‫ ؼ‬ٝ

Behind a table there were two chairs of wood Two black eyes and two cups of coffee brewed

Translated by Alkhas َ‫ب آػب‬ٛٞ‫ ث‬:ٖ‫ٗشفخ‬

ٖ‫ ضٔو‬٥‫ ال‬٠‫ ؼـ ال ث‬٥‫ؽ‬٨ًٍ ‫ؾ‬٨‫خ‬ ‫ب‬١‫ب اق ؼـق‬١ ٠‫ـز‬ٞٗ ‫ؽ‬ٛ‫ آٗؽ‬ٙٝ‫ف‬٨‫ث‬ ‫ؽ‬ٜ‫ ـا ؼـ ؼوز ُفكش‬ٙ‫ٍب‬٧‫ب‬١‫ـ‬ٞ٨٨ٌ ‫ؽ‬ٜ‫اغش‬ٞٛ ٝ ‫ غبى‬٥‫ثفا‬ ٙ‫ ُب‬ٟ‫ؽ‬ٛ‫ ق‬ٝ ٙ‫ ٗفؼُب‬٥‫ثفا‬ ‫ؽ‬ٛ‫ا‬ٞ‫اق غ‬ٝ‫ثبؼ آ‬ ‫ هٔجً ـا ٌ​ٌبكز‬٥‫ ا‬ٟ‫وشبـ‬ ‫ آؿبق ٌؽ‬ٚٗ ٙ‫ب‬٢‫ خ‬ٝ

You screamed from inside my throat The ants came out From the crevices Holding their trumpets in their hands And they made music For the dirt For the dead and the living The wind sang a song A star cut open its heart And my world commenced

Poet: GHazal Borhani

٦ٛ‫ب‬١‫ ؿكّ ثف‬:‫ٌبػف‬

Poet: Rasoul Moareknejad

‫ماؼ‬ٛ‫ّ ٗؼفى‬ٞ‫ ـو‬:‫ٌبػف‬

‫اكشؽ‬٦ٗ ٟ‫دف‬ٜ‫ د‬٥٠‫ ثف ٓج‬ٟ‫ٌجبـ‬٧ ٠‫ث‬ ٙ‫بثب‬٨‫ف ثفم غ‬٨‫ـ س‬ٞٛ ٕ‫ ٗبؼـ‬٥‫وف‬ٝ‫ ـ‬ٝ .ٟ‫ ػّفِ ً​ًآٗؽ‬ٚ٧‫ؼـ ا‬

Одночасно на підвіконня впало Світло вуличного ліхтаря І хустина моєї матері Цього неквапливого надвечір‟я.

Translated by Nadia Vyshnevska ‫وٌب‬ٍٜٞ٧ٝ ‫ب‬٧‫بؼ‬ٛ :ٖ‫ٗشفخ‬

Poet: Rasoul Moareknejad

‫ماؼ‬ٛ‫ّ ٗؼفى‬ٞ‫ ـو‬:‫ٌبػف‬

‫اكشؽ‬٦ٗ ٟ‫دف‬ٜ‫ د‬٥٠‫ ثف ٓج‬ٟ‫ٌجبـ‬٧ ٠‫ث‬ ٙ‫بثب‬٨‫ف ثفم غ‬٨‫ـ س‬ٞٛ ٕ‫ ٗبؼـ‬٥‫وف‬ٝ‫ ـ‬ٝ

.ٟ‫ ػّفِ ً​ًآٗؽ‬ٚ٧‫ؼـ ا‬

At once it fell on the window sill The light from the street lamp And my mother‟s scarf In this stretched out afternoon

Translated by Alkhas َ‫ب آػب‬ٛٞ‫ ث‬:ٖ‫ٗشفخ‬

Ein Gedicht von Rasoul Moareknejad Übersetzt von Fereshteh Vaziri Nasab

‫ىت‬ٛ ٥‫ف‬٧‫ق‬ٝ ٠‫ كفٌش‬:ٖ‫ٗشفخ‬

Poet: Rasoul Moareknejad ‫ماؼ‬ٛ‫ّ ٗؼفى‬ٞ‫ ـو‬:‫ٌبػف‬

Translated by Fereshteh Vaziri Nasab

der Mond ٟ‫ٗب‬ nein, ٠َٛ ‫ؽ‬٨ٌ‫ـ‬ٞ‫غ‬ die Sonne ‫ه‬٨‫ غ‬ٝ ٠ٓ‫ٗسب‬ feucht und verknüllt ‫ ػّف‬٥ ٠ٗ‫ب‬ٛ‫ق‬ٝ‫ ـ‬ٙ‫ب‬٨ٗ ‫اق‬ geht unter ‫ك‬٨ٗ ٥ٝ‫ِ ـ‬٥‫ب‬٨ٌ‫ؼـ اقؼضبٕ ا‬ durch die Abendzeitung ‫ؼ‬ٞ‫ غ‬٥ ٠٧‫ ؼـ وب‬٠ً durch die Objekte ‫ؽ‬ٛ‫ ا‬ٟ‫ؽ‬٨ٗ‫آـ‬ des vollgestopften Tisches ‫ اكشؽ‬٦ٗ ٝ‫كف‬ die in ihren eigenen Schatten ٦ٛ‫ٍِشب‬ٛ‫ ا‬ٝ schlummern ‫ؽ‬٧‫ثب سفؼ‬ ‫ ـا‬٠ٗ‫ب‬ٛ‫ق‬ٝ‫ ـ‬٥‫ب‬١ ٍ‫ثف‬ die Finger ‫ؽ‬ٜ​ًٜ ٦ٗ ‫ـ‬ٝ‫ٗف‬ blättern skeptisch die Zeitung. ٠٧‫ وب‬ٚ٧‫آغف‬ der letzte Schatten ‫ك‬٨ٗ ٥ ٠‫اق ٓج‬ fällt ‫ؽ‬ًٜ ٦ٗ ٖٞ‫وو‬ von dem Tischrand nieder ‫ؽ‬٨ٌ‫ـ‬ٞ‫ غ‬ٝ und die Sonne, ٠َٛ nein ٟ‫ٗب‬ der Mond ‫ ِؽا‬٦‫ ث‬ٝ ٕ‫آـا‬ ٦ٓ‫ؽ‬ِٜ ٥ ٠‫اق ده ؼوش‬ steigt sanft und leise .‫ـؼ‬ٝ‫ آ‬٦ٗ ‫وف ثف‬ hinter einer Stuhllehne empor

A Poem by Rasoul Moareknejad Translated by Fereshteh Vaziri Nasab

‫ىت‬ٛ ٥‫ف‬٧‫ق‬ٝ ٠‫ كفٌش‬:ٖ‫ٗشفخ‬

Poet: Rasoul Moareknejad ‫ماؼ‬ٛ‫ّ ٗؼفى‬ٞ‫ ـو‬:‫ٌبػف‬

Translated by Fereshteh Vaziri Nasab

ٟ‫ٗب‬ The moon, ٠َٛ No, ‫ؽ‬٨ٌ‫ـ‬ٞ‫غ‬ The sun ‫ه‬٨‫ غ‬ٝ ٠ٓ‫ٗسب‬ Damp and rumple ‫ ػّف‬٥ ٠ٗ‫ب‬ٛ‫ق‬ٝ‫ ـ‬ٙ‫ب‬٨ٗ ‫اق‬ Sets ‫ك‬٨ٗ ٥ٝ‫ِ ـ‬٥‫ب‬٨ٌ‫ؼـ اقؼضبٕ ا‬ Through the evening newspaper, ‫ؼ‬ٞ‫ غ‬٥ ٠٧‫ ؼـ وب‬٠ً Through the crammed objects on the table, ‫ؽ‬ٛ‫ ا‬ٟ‫ؽ‬٨ٗ‫آـ‬ Which slumber ‫ اكشؽ‬٦ٗ ٝ‫كف‬ Under their own shadows. ٦ٛ‫ٍِشب‬ٛ‫ ا‬ٝ And fingers ‫ؽ‬٧‫ثب سفؼ‬ Thumb through the newspaper ‫ ـا‬٠ٗ‫ب‬ٛ‫ق‬ٝ‫ ـ‬٥‫ب‬١ ٍ‫ثف‬ Skeptically ‫ؽ‬ٜ​ًٜ ٦ٗ ‫ـ‬ٝ‫ٗف‬ The last shadow ٠٧‫ وب‬ٚ٧‫آغف‬ Falls ‫ك‬٨ٗ ٥ ٠‫اق ٓج‬ Off the edge of the table ‫ؽ‬ًٜ ٦ٗ ٖٞ‫وو‬ And the sun, ‫ؽ‬٨ٌ‫ـ‬ٞ‫ غ‬ٝ No, ٠َٛ The moon ٟ‫ٗب‬ Rises silently and softly ‫ ِؽا‬٦‫ ث‬ٝ ٕ‫آـا‬ From behind the arm of a chair ٦ٓ‫ؽ‬ِٜ ٥ ٠‫اق ده ؼوش‬ .‫ـؼ‬ٝ‫ آ‬٦ٗ ‫وف ثف‬

٦١‫ب‬ٜ‫ د‬٠‫ كفٌش‬:‫ٌبػف‬ Poet: Fereshteh Panahi

Translated by Alkhas َ‫ب آػب‬ٛٞ‫ ث‬:ٖ‫ٗشفخ‬

‫ِجص‬ ٥‫ا‬٠‫ـكش‬ ٚٗ ٥ٝ‫ ـ‬ٚ٢‫آكشبة د‬ * ٥‫ زب‬ٙ‫دب‬ٜ‫ ك‬ٝ‫ثػبـ ؼ‬ ‫كؼ‬٨ٗ‫آ‬٦ٗ ٖ١ ‫ؼـ‬ ‫ك‬٨ٗ ‫وز دٍز‬٦ٓ‫غب‬ * ٦‫ ا٘ٔى‬٥ٞ‫ث‬ ٥‫ا‬٠٧‫٘ىب‬١ ‫اق سفان‬ ٚٗ ‫ ثب‬ٚ٨ِٜ‫وفو‬ * ٥‫ا‬ٟٞ٢‫ ه‬٥‫ا‬٠‫ٗالك‬ ٕ‫ ًف‬٥‫ا‬٠‫ٗالك‬ ‫اكشؽ‬٦٘ٛ ٦‫ ٗب اسلبه‬ٙ‫ب‬٨ٗ * ‫ن‬ٝ‫ ًلً ػف‬٠ِٜٓ ٠‫فق ثبؿس‬١ ٥‫ب‬١‫ ػٔق‬ٙ‫ب‬٨ٗ * ‫اـ‬ٞ٧‫زلز ؼ‬ ٕ‫ا‬ٟ‫ؽ‬٨ًٍ ‫ؼـاق‬ ‫ب‬٢ٜ‫ س‬٥ٙ‫ ق‬٥٠٧‫بـ وب‬ًٜ

Morning You‟ve gone The sun spreads itself on me The steam from two cups of tea Entwines It is empty behind the table The smell of the petunias From the neighbor‟s terrace Is ignoring me Brown sheets Beige sheets Nothing is going to happen between us One of the bride‟s slippers Among the garden weeds I lay down Pressed to the baseboards Next to the shadow of a lone woman

٦١‫ب‬ٜ‫ د‬٠‫ كفٌش‬:‫ٌبػف‬ Poet: Fereshteh Panahi

Translated by adrianne alkhas

‫ِجص‬ ٥‫ا‬٠‫ـكش‬ ٚٗ ٥ٝ‫ ـ‬ٚ٢‫آكشبة د‬ * ٥‫ زب‬ٙ‫دب‬ٜ‫ ك‬ٝ‫ثػبـ ؼ‬ ‫كؼ‬٨ٗ‫آ‬٦ٗ ٖ١ ‫ؼـ‬ ‫ك‬٨ٗ ‫وز دٍز‬٦ٓ‫غب‬ * ٦‫ ا٘ٔى‬٥ٞ‫ث‬ ٥‫ا‬٠٧‫٘ىب‬١ ‫اق سفان‬ ٚٗ ‫ ثب‬ٚ٨ِٜ‫وفو‬ * ٥‫ا‬ٟٞ٢‫ ه‬٥‫ا‬٠‫ٗالك‬ ٕ‫ ًف‬٥‫ا‬٠‫ٗالك‬ ‫اكشؽ‬٦٘ٛ ٦‫ ٗب اسلبه‬ٙ‫ب‬٨ٗ * ‫ن‬ٝ‫ ًلً ػف‬٠ِٜٓ ٠‫فق ثبؿس‬١ ٥‫ب‬١‫ ػٔق‬ٙ‫ب‬٨ٗ * ‫اـ‬ٞ٧‫زلز ؼ‬ ٕ‫ا‬ٟ‫ؽ‬٨ًٍ ‫ؼـاق‬ ‫ب‬٢ٜ‫ س‬٥ٙ‫ ق‬٥٠٧‫بـ وب‬ًٜ

La mañana Te has ido El sol se estira sobre mi El vapor de dos tazas de te Envuelve Esta vacio detras de la mesa El olor de las petuñas De la terraza del vecino Me esta ignorando Sabanas marrones Sabanas crema No nos pasara nada Uno de los zapatos de la novia Entre las mala hierbas del jardin Me tumbo Tambien me estiro Alado de la sombra de una mujer sola

Poet: Reza Rajaei ٦‫ ـٔب ـخبئ‬:‫ٌبػف‬

ٕ‫ـ وف‬ٝ‫إ ؼ‬ٟ‫ف ـا ثفؼ‬٢ٌ ٥‫ـ‬ٝ‫آ‬٦ٗ ‫ ثبال‬٠٧‫ وب‬٠‫ز‬ًٞ ٠‫ز‬ًٞ ‫ؽا‬٨‫ د‬٦ً٘ ٙ‫بثب‬٨‫ُؿاـٕ ثـْ غ‬٦ٗ

ٚ٨ٗ‫ ق‬٠‫ ثسىجؽ ث‬٦‫ ؼوش‬ٝ‫بٕ ؼ‬١ٞٛ‫ قا‬٠‫ٍٗز ث‬ ً٧ٝ‫ب ـ‬٢ُ‫ ُف‬،ٕ‫ا‬٦ٛ‫ٍب‬٨‫ اوز د‬٥‫ٌبـ‬١‫آظ! ٌب‬ Translated by Alkhas َ‫ب آػب‬ٛٞ‫ ث‬:ٖ‫ٗشفخ‬

!‫ؽ‬ٜ​ًٜ٦ٗ ‫ًق‬

I have taken the city around my head Street by street you raise the shadows I place it by the street just a bit visible Fists against knees two handed stuck to the ground Oh! My forehead is a masterpiece, the wolves foam At the mouth on it!

Poet: Reza Rajaei ٦‫ ـٔب ـخبئ‬:‫ٌبػف‬

ٕ‫ـ وف‬ٝ‫إ ؼ‬ٟ‫ف ـا ثفؼ‬٢ٌ Translated by Roya Hosseini ‫ رٌّا حسٌٍی‬:ٖ‫ٗشفخ‬

٥‫ـ‬ٝ‫آ‬٦ٗ ‫ ثبال‬٠٧‫ وب‬٠‫ز‬ًٞ ٠‫ز‬ًٞ ‫ؽا‬٨‫ د‬٦ً٘ ٙ‫بثب‬٨‫ُؿاـٕ ثـْ غ‬٦ٗ

ٚ٨ٗ‫ ق‬٠‫ ثسىجؽ ث‬٦‫ ؼوش‬ٝ‫بٕ ؼ‬١ٞٛ‫ قا‬٠‫ٍٗز ث‬ ً٧ٝ‫ب ـ‬٢ُ‫ ُف‬،ٕ‫ا‬٦ٛ‫ٍب‬٨‫ اوز د‬٥‫ٌبـ‬١‫آظ! ٌب‬ !‫ؽ‬ٜ​ًٜ٦ٗ ‫ًق‬ Я взял на себя город вокруг моей головы улица за улицей вы поднимаете тени Я ставлю его на улице чуть видимый кулаками двумя руками колени сосать на землю Ах, мой лоб шедевр, пена волков в устье на это!

He was in the doorway He had pushed it open a bit and his eyes Had rings around them He was wearing house clothes

ٟ‫ىشبؼ‬٧‫ا‬ ‫ة ٌت‬ٞ‫بـ ز‬٢‫ ز‬٠‫ ث‬ٟ‫ؽ‬ٛ‫ة ٗب‬ٌٞ‫ػ‬٨ٗ ‫ؼ‬ٞ‫ ث‬ٟ‫شكاق ٗفٍ ؼـ آٗؽ‬١‫ ا‬٠‫ث‬ ‫شظبـ‬ٛ‫ اق ا‬ٟ‫ؽ‬٨ًٍ ‫ؼوز‬ ٦ٌٞٗ‫ كفا‬٥ ٠‫ؿفه‬ ‫ـ‬ُٞ ‫ؼـ‬ ‫ؼ‬ٞ‫ ث‬ٟ‫ؽ‬٨ٗ‫آـ‬ ٠ٛ‫ؼغب‬ٝ‫بـ ـ‬ًٜ ٝ ‫ؽ‬٨ّ‫ ـه‬٦ٗ

َ‫ب آػب‬ٛٞ‫ ث‬: ٖ‫ٗشفخ‬

‫ؼ‬ٞ‫ ث‬٠ٛ‫ؼـآوشب‬ ‫بي‬٢ٍ٘‫ ز‬ٝ ‫ؼ‬ٞ‫ ث‬ٟ‫ؼ‬ٍُٞ ‫ؼ‬ٞ‫ ث‬٠‫ ـكش‬ٝ‫كف‬ ‫ ؼاٌز‬ٚ‫ س‬٠‫ٓجبن ػّف ث‬

He had ceased waiting Drowning in forgetfulness In the grave He had found comfort And beside the river He danced

Translated by Alkhas

Poet: Shabnam Azar

‫ٖ آؾـ‬ٜ‫ ٌج‬:‫ٌبػف‬

Standing He was frozen in place to the framework of night He was flaunting death

Two Gilaki Poems (Gilaki is the language of Gilan, the province in northern Iran along the southeastern coast of the Caspian Sea)

‫دو شعر گیلکی‬ ‫ الهام کیانپور‬:‫گیلکی و ترجمه فارسی از‬

‫ـ‬ٞ‫ذ‬ٛ‫ب‬٨ً ٕ‫ب‬٢ٓ‫ ا‬:‫ٌبػف‬

Poet: Elham Kianpoor

Translated by Alkhas َ‫ب آػب‬ٛٞ‫ ث‬:٦‫ى‬٨ِٔٛ‫ٗشفخٖ ا‬

2 ْ٧‫ؼاـˇؼ‬ ٦‫ س‬٦‫ س‬٠‫ـ خ‬ٞ‫د‬ ٠ٛ‫ٗي ق‬ٞ‫ثبؼ ز‬

1 ٠ًٍ ‫له‬ٛ ‫ ؼاـ‬ٟ‫ن ثك‬ٞ‫غ‬ٞ‫ك‬ ٙٝ‫ـ‬ٝ‫ؽ ؼ‬ٜ‫ الك‬٦ُٓٞ ٦ٗ

‫ؼّ ؼـغز‬ ٠‫ك‬ٌٞ​ٌ ‫دف اق‬ ‫ؽ‬ٛ‫ ق‬٦ٗ ‫ثبؼ زٍ٘ي‬

‫ ًٍؽ‬٦ٗ ‫له‬ٛ ٟ‫ؼـغز ثػشي قؼ‬ ٖٛ‫ـ ُفؼ‬ٝ‫بة ؼ‬ٜ٘ ٙ‫ب‬٨ٗ

The heart of a tree Full of blossoms The wind winks

It takes breaths This nightmare paralyzed tree Along with this rope around my neck

َ‫ب آػب‬ٛٞ‫ ث‬:ٖ‫ٗشفخ‬

‫ؽا‬٧ٞ١ ٠ٗ‫ِب‬ٜ١ :‫ٌبػف‬

Translated by Alkhas

Poet: Hengameh Hoveyda

ٝ ٚٗ ‫ؼـ‬ ٚٗ ٥ٞٗ ٥‫ب‬١٠‫ ضٔو‬٠‫ضٔو‬ ‫ُٖ ٌؽ‬ ًٞ‫جب‬ٜ‫ ؼـ كّْ س‬٥‫ف‬٢ٌ ‫ُفؼ‬ُٞ ٙ‫ ثبـا‬ٝ ٥‫ف‬٢ٌ ٙ‫ اق آو٘ب‬٠‫ػش‬٧ٝ‫آ‬ ‫الؼ‬ٞ‫ د‬ٝ ٚ١‫ ا‬ٙ‫ى٘ب‬٧‫ثب ـ‬ ‫اٗب‬ ‫ُؿٌز‬٦٘ٛ ‫ غبى‬ٙ‫ب‬١‫ٗفٍ اق ؼ‬ .ٞ‫بّ س‬٨‫ اق غ‬ٚٗ

Within me and The rings and ringlets of my hair Were lost A city in the season of tobacco And sulfur rain A city Suspended from the sky By iron and steel cables But It did not exit Death from the dirt‟s mouth I from your thoughts

٦ٛ‫٘فؼا‬٨ٔ‫ وبـا ( آؾـ ) ػ‬:‫شاعر‬

Poet: Sara Alimardani (Azar)

)1 ‫ـ‬ٞ‫ خ‬٥ ٠ِٔٝ ‫ـ ثبي‬ٞ‫بخ‬ٛ ٦٧‫ب‬٢ٜ‫ س‬ٚ٧‫ا‬ ‫ ار ـا‬٦‫شبث‬٢ٗ ‫٘فظ‬٨ٛ ًٚ ‫دبم‬ٜ‫و‬ .... ٕ‫ ا‬ٟ‫لف‬ٛ ‫ سي‬٥‫ب‬٢‫ س٘بٕ ػٌى‬٠‫ث‬ )2 ٕٝ‫ـ‬٦ٗ ٟ‫ ـا‬٠ً ٖ٧‫ب‬٢‫ ؼوش‬٥ٝ‫ـ‬ ‫فؼ‬٨ُ٦ٗ ٖٔ‫ ه‬٥ٞ‫ ث‬ٚ٨ٗ‫ق‬ ‫بـ غبى‬٨ٌ ‫اق‬ ‫ؽ‬٧ٝ‫ـ‬٦ٗ ‫ٌؼف‬ ‫ ٌؼف‬٥‫ب‬١٠ٛ‫اق ٌب‬ ...‫ك‬٨ٗ‫ وطفآ‬٥‫ب‬٨‫ث‬ٞٓ ٖ‫ي هؽٕ سب ثفو‬٧ ٟ‫ؽ‬ٛ‫ٗب‬ . ...ٞ‫إ اق س‬ٟ‫ؽ‬٨‫س‬ٛ ٥‫ب‬١٠‫و‬ٞ‫ ث‬٠‫ث‬

1) Matching patch Check out this mismatched loneliness Pin you profile handsome as the moon To all my pictures of myself alone….

2) When I walk on my hands The ground smells like fountain pens Poems grow out From the impressions in the dirt From the shoulders of the poems Magic beans…

In one more step I will reach The kisses I left unpicked from you….

َ‫ب آػب‬ٛٞ‫ ث‬:ٖ‫ٗشفخ‬ Translated by Alkhas

٦ٓ‫ خال‬٠٘٨٢‫ ك‬:‫ٌبػف‬ Poet: Fahime Jalali

‫ؽ‬ٛ‫ ُؿـ‬٦ٗ ٖٛ‫ب اق زٍ٘ب‬٨ٌ‫ا‬ ‫ؽ‬ٛ‫ ٗب‬٦ٗ ٖ٧‫ب‬١ ٚ‫بغ‬ٛ ٥‫ثبؼ ال‬ٝ ٞ‫ اق س‬ٚٗ ٙٞ‫٘س‬١ ٖ٧‫ب‬١ٞٗ ‫ ؼـ‬ٞ‫ س‬ٝ

‫ز‬ٛ‫ ؼـ زٍ٘ب‬ٟ‫ ٌؽ‬٦٧‫ب‬٨ٗٞٗ ٠ً ٥‫ف‬ٙ‫ثب ػ‬

Things pass before my eyes And the wind stays in my nails Just like you and I And you in my hair With a perfume that has mummified in your eyes Translated by Alkhas َ‫ب آػب‬ٛٞ‫ ث‬:ٖ‫ٗشفخ‬

‫ٗفًت‬ ‫ ًالؽ‬٥‫ب‬١‫ثف دف‬ ٝ ‫ؽ‬٧ٝ‫ؼ‬٦ٗ ‫ؼـغز‬ ٦١‫ً ثف ًبؿؿ ًب‬٧‫ب‬١٠‫ٌبغ‬ ‫ا‬ٞ١٦‫ ث‬٠‫ز‬ ‫فؼ‬٨ُ٦ٗ ٌْ​ٌ ‫ز‬٧‫اثؽ‬ ٟ‫سب‬ًٞ ٦‫س‬ٌٞ‫ؼـ و‬ The ink runs on crow's feathers and the tree branch on straw paper Suddenly eternity is formed in a brief silence.

Translated by Minoo Shahrestani

٦ٛ‫فوشب‬٢ٌ ٜٞ٨ٗ :ٖ‫ٗشفخ‬

‫ماؼ‬ٛ‫ّ ٗؼفى‬ٞ‫ـو‬:‫ٌبػف‬ Poet: Rasoul Moareknejad

‫ماؼ‬ٛ‫ّ ٗؼفى‬ٞ‫ـو‬:‫ٌبػف‬ Poet: Rasoul Moareknejad

Inside this coffee shop All these tables The wrought iron chairs End up as a cup Full of coffee That your memory Makes Even more bitter

َ‫ب آػب‬ٛٞ‫ ث‬:ٖ‫ٗشفخ‬

Translated by Alkhas

‫ ٌبح‬٦‫ ًبك‬ٚ٧‫ ا‬ٙٝ‫ؼـ‬ ‫ب‬١‫ك‬٨ٗ ٚ٧‫ ا‬٥ ٠٘١ ٟ‫ل‬ٞ‫ كفك‬٥‫ب‬١ ٦ٓ‫ؽ‬ِٜ ‫ؽ‬ٌٛٞ ٦ٗ ٖ‫ غش‬٦ٛ‫دب‬ٜ‫ ك‬٠‫ث‬ ٟٞ٢‫دف اق ه‬ ٞ‫بؼ س‬٧ ٠ً ‫ ـا‬ٙ‫آ‬ ‫ؽ‬ًٜ ٦ٗ ‫سٔع سف‬

‫ ـا‬ٟ‫خبؼ‬ ُٖ‫ وفؼـ‬٦‫ ًالك‬ٙٞ‫٘س‬١ ‫ٖ قؼ‬١‫ا‬ٞ‫ غ‬ٟ‫ُف‬ ٠ٜ٧‫ آ‬ٙٝ‫ ؼـ‬٠‫ث‬ ‫ٖ ًفؼ‬١‫ا‬ٞ‫دفسبة غ‬ ‫ٖ ٌؽ‬١‫ا‬ٞ‫ثفف غ‬ ‫ رسْل هعزکًژاز‬:‫ضاعز‬ Poet: Rasoul Moareknejad

‫ ـا‬ٞ‫ س‬ٙ‫ ؼوشب‬٠٧‫ وب‬ٝ The road Like a tangled ball of yarn I will tie in knots I will throw it Into the mirror I will turn into snow And I will cover over the shadow of your hands That moves In the frame of the mirror And my footsteps

٠ٜ٧‫ آ‬٠٨ٌ‫ ؼـضب‬٠ً ‫ؽ‬ٛ‫ـ‬ٞ‫غ‬٦ٗ ٙ‫سٌب‬ ‫ٖ ـا‬٧‫ ـؼ دب‬ٝ

.‫ؽ‬ٛ‫ٌب‬ٞ‫ٖ د‬١‫ا‬ٞ‫غ‬

‫ تًْا الراظ‬:‫هرزجن‬ Translated by Alkhas

٦ٛ‫فوشب‬٢ٌ ٜٞ٨ٗ :‫ٌبػف‬ Poet: Minoo Shahrestani

Translated by Alkhas َ‫ب آػب‬ٛٞ‫ ث‬:ٖ‫ٗشفخ‬

‫ ثبؼ‬٥ ٠ٛ‫ب‬٢‫ ث‬٠‫ـهُ ثفٍ ث‬ ، ‫بؼ‬٧ ِ ٙ‫ؽ‬٨ّ‫ ـه‬ٝ . ‫ؽ‬ٛ‫ ق‬٦ٗ ٖ‫ ـا ـه‬٠ّ‫ ًالؽ آغف ه‬٦ُ‫اـ‬ٝ‫آ‬ ‫ؽ‬ٌٜ​ٌ ٦ٗ ‫ ـا‬٠ٜ٧‫ثـٓ آ‬ ٦٘٢‫ ثل‬ٞ‫سب س‬ ٕ‫ ُٗفؼ‬٠ٌ‫ س‬٠ٌ‫س‬ ٟ‫ ؾـ‬ٟ‫سب ؾـ‬ ... ٥ٌٞ ‫جب‬٧‫ق‬ A dancing leaf, its excuse a breeze And dancing our memories, A crow left to roam writes the end of the story It makes a mirror break down and cry Until you realize I died piece by piece So that bit by bit You would become beautiful…

٦٘٨١‫ ضبٗؽ اثفا‬:‫ٌبػف‬ Poet: Hamed Ebrahimi

Translated by Alkhas

َ‫ب آػب‬ٛٞ‫ ث‬:ٖ‫ٗشفخ‬

‫ٍُز‬٦ٗ‫وجٌجبّ ثف‬ ٞ‫ س‬ٙ‫ا‬ٞ٧‫ ا‬٠‫ ث‬٠ً ٦ٜ‫اثف آثىش‬

...‫ؼ‬ٞ‫ ث‬ٟ‫ؽ‬٧‫ثبـ‬

It was returning lighthearted The pregnant cloud that on your porch Had rained …

1) I have seen you in my dreams On that same sofa Like we always did You came, you laughed, you kissed And left without waking me A stairway smells like you

Translated by Alkhas

َ‫ب آػب‬ٛٞ‫ ث‬:ٖ‫ٗشفخ‬

2) His place is still warm with me And you are his new warmth The shadows playing in your room‟s windows Makes me feel sorry for myself

)1 ٕ‫ا‬ٟ‫ؽ‬٧‫اثز ـا ؼ‬ٞ‫غ‬ ٠‫بد‬ٛ‫ ًب‬ٚ٨٘١ ٥ٝ‫ـ‬ ٙ‫٘ب‬٧‫ب‬١٦ٍِ٨٘١ ْ‫ٗث‬ ٥‫ؽ‬٨‫و‬ٞ‫ ث‬،٥‫ؽ‬٧‫ؽ‬ٜ‫ غ‬،٥‫آٗؽ‬ ٦‫ ـكش‬ٟ‫ٌفؼ‬ٛ ‫ؽاـ‬٨‫ث‬ ‫ؽ‬١‫ؼ‬٦ٗ ٞ‫ س‬٥ٞ‫ ث‬٥‫ا‬٠ٔ‫ د‬ٟ‫ـا‬ )2 ٕ‫ ُف‬ٚٗ ‫ق اق‬ٜٞ١ ً٧‫ خب‬ٝ‫ا‬ ً٧‫ب‬١٦ُ‫ ُفٕ سبق‬ٞ‫ س‬ٝ ٕ‫ؼ‬ٞ‫ غ‬٥‫قؼ ؼٖٓ ثفا‬ٞ‫و‬٦ٗ ‫ اسبهز‬٥ٟ‫دف‬ٜ‫ د‬٥‫ب‬١٠٧‫ وب‬٥‫اق ثبق‬

٥‫ف‬١‫ ٘ب‬٦ٓ٦ٓ :‫ٌبػف‬ Poet: Lili Taheri

َ‫ب آػب‬ٛ‫ب‬٧‫ آؼـ‬:ٖ‫ٗشفخ‬

)1 ٕ‫ا‬ٟ‫ؽ‬٧‫اثز ـا ؼ‬ٞ‫غ‬ ٠‫بد‬ٛ‫ ًب‬ٚ٨٘١ ٥ٝ‫ـ‬ ٙ‫٘ب‬٧‫ب‬١٦ٍِ٨٘١ ْ‫ٗث‬ ٥‫ؽ‬٨‫و‬ٞ‫ ث‬،٥‫ؽ‬٧‫ؽ‬ٜ‫ غ‬،٥‫آٗؽ‬ ٦‫ ـكش‬ٟ‫ٌفؼ‬ٛ ‫ؽاـ‬٨‫ث‬ ‫ؽ‬١‫ؼ‬٦ٗ ٞ‫ س‬٥ٞ‫ ث‬٥‫ا‬٠ٔ‫ د‬ٟ‫ـا‬ )2 ٕ‫ ُف‬ٚٗ ‫ق اق‬ٜٞ١ ً٧‫ خب‬ٝ‫ا‬ ً٧‫ب‬١٦ُ‫ ُفٕ سبق‬ٞ‫ س‬ٝ ٕ‫ؼ‬ٞ‫ غ‬٥‫قؼ ؼٖٓ ثفا‬ٞ‫و‬٦ٗ ‫ اسبهز‬٥ٟ‫دف‬ٜ‫ د‬٥‫ب‬١٠٧‫ وب‬٥‫اق ثبق‬

٥‫ف‬١‫ ٘ب‬٦ٓ٦ٓ :‫ٌبػف‬ Poet: Lili Taheri

1) Te he visto en mis sueños En ese mismo sofá Como éramos siempre Veniste, reíste, besaste Sin despertarme te fuiste Hay una escalera que huele de ti 2) Su sitio en mi aun esta caliente Y tu su calor de novedad Me doy lastima Del juego de las sombras de la ventana de mi habitación

Translated by adrianne alkhas

َ‫ب آػب‬ٛٞ‫ ث‬:ٖ‫ٗشفخ‬

Translated by Alkhas

ٚٗ ٥‫ب‬١ّ‫ف ثب‬٧‫ق‬ ٠٧‫وب‬ ٠ً ‫ىز‬١ ‫وؽـ‬ٛ‫آ‬ ...‫ؽ‬ٛٝ‫ؼ‬٦ٗ ٟ‫ آكشبة قؼ‬٥ٟ‫قٗف‬ ٥‫ق‬ٝ‫ـ‬ ‫ؽ‬٧‫آ‬٦ٗ ٝ‫كف‬ ٦١‫ثبقِ ٌب‬ ٥‫ا‬٠٧‫وب‬٦‫ ث‬٥‫ا‬ٞ١ ٠‫ث‬ ...‫ىز‬٨ٛ ٠ً ‫ ؼوز‬ٙ‫اق آ‬ ‫اٗب‬

Under my wings ...‫ؽ‬٧‫آ‬٦ٗ ‫ؼ‬ٝ‫كف‬ There is so much shade That the sun-struck masses run for shelter… .

One day A royal hawk That is not of the others Will land In search of this shadelessness…

Yet still It will land…

٦ٜ٨‫ي ٗلشػف ضى‬ٞ٧‫ ؼاـ‬:‫ٌبػف‬ Poet: Dariush Moftakhar Hosseyni

ٝ ‫ب‬١٠‫ٓطظ‬ ٕ‫ ـا اق ؼوز ؼاؼ‬ٞ‫س‬ ٖٛ‫ٗب‬٦ٗ ٖٛ‫ٗب‬٦ٗ ‫ف‬٨‫سب د‬ ‫ ٍُز‬٦١‫ا‬ٞ‫ ثبقغ‬ٟ‫ثبـ‬ٝ‫ ؼ‬٥‫ق‬ٝ‫ـ‬ ...‫ؽ‬٧‫ٌب‬ ...‫ؽ‬٧‫ٌب‬ Translated by Alkhas ٦ً‫ ضّبـ‬٠‫ كفٌش‬:‫ٌبػف‬ Poet: Fereshteh Hesaraki

I‟ve lost moments in time And you I will remain Remain till old One day you will return again Maybe…

Maybe…

I started today And I forget how long flowers live The days run by Is today Sunday or tomorrow?

It‟s no matter As long as you are here God is here Our neighbor is here That is enough

َ‫ب آػب‬ٛٞ‫ ث‬:ٖ‫ٗشفخ‬

٦ً‫ ضّبـ‬٠‫ كفٌش‬:‫ٌبػف‬ Poet: Fereshteh Hesaraki

Translated by Alkhas

ٕ‫ق ـا آؿبق ًفؼ‬ٝ‫اٗف‬ ‫ب زوؽـ اوز‬١ُْ ‫ٖ ػ٘ف‬ًٜ٦ٗ ‫ي‬ٞٗ‫ كفا‬ٝ ‫ؽ‬ٜٛ‫كا‬٧‫ٖ ُف‬١ ‫ب‬١‫ق‬ٝ‫ـ‬ ‫ؽ كفؼاوز؟‬٧‫ب ٌب‬٧ ‫ اوز‬٠‫ج‬ٌٍٜ٧ ‫ق‬ٝ‫اٗف‬ ‫ىز‬٨ٛ ٖ٢ٗ ٦‫ىش‬١ ٞ‫ س‬٠ً ٚ٨٘١ ‫ىز‬١ ‫غؽا‬ ‫ىز‬١ ٙ‫ٗب‬٠٧‫٘ىب‬١ ‫ اوز‬٦‫ًبك‬

A little rebel Plucks my notes My pages turn In a sorrowful possibility It‟s only that He knows hours before you do.

And I Have been planted in dust And the pain of a dream that turned its back on me I fold myself up Within the bedsheet‟s of life.

َ‫ب آػب‬ٛٞ‫ ث‬:ٖ‫ٗشفخ‬

‫دبوز‬ٜ٧‫كوٗ ا‬ .‫ؽ‬ٛٝ‫ؼ‬٦ٗ ٞ‫ؼسف اق س‬ٝ‫ب ق‬١‫ وبػز‬٠ً ٚٗ ٝ ٕ‫ا‬ٟ‫ ٌؽ‬٠‫ؼـ ؿجبـ ًبٌش‬ ٟ‫ دٍز ًفؼ‬ٚٗ ٠‫ ث‬٠ً ٦٧‫ب‬٧ٝ‫ ؼـؼ ـ‬ٝ ٦ُ‫ؽ‬ٛ‫ ق‬٥‫ب‬١٠‫ ٗالك‬٥‫ال‬ .ٕ‫ـ‬ٞ‫غ‬٦ٗ ‫سب‬

Translated by Alkhas

Poet: Afrouz Kazemzadeh

ٟ‫ق ًبظٖقاؼ‬ٝ‫ اكف‬:‫ٌبػف‬

‫زي‬ًٞ ٥‫ثِف‬ٌٞ‫آ‬ ‫اقؼ‬ٞٛ٦ٗ ‫ ٗفا‬٥‫ب‬١‫ز‬ٛ ٚ٨ِ٘‫ي اضش٘بّ ؿ‬٧ ‫ؼـ‬ ٕ‫ـ‬ٞ‫غ‬٦ٗ ‫ـم‬ٝ

٦٧‫فػال‬٨ٗ ‫ؼة‬ٞٗ :‫ٌبػف‬ Poet: Moaddab Miralaei

‫اوز‬ٟ‫ ؼاؼ‬٠٨ٌ‫ س‬٥‫اـ‬ٞ٧‫ثف ؼ‬ ً٧‫ب‬١‫ؼوز‬ ‫اي‬ٟ‫ف‬٢‫ز‬ ‫ؽ‬ٛ‫ؼا‬ٞ‫ِبـ اق وفٗب ًج‬ٛ‫ا‬

‫ىز‬٨ً ٰ‫ؽ‬ٛ‫ؼا‬٦٘ٛ ‫رًه‬٨١ .‫ اوز‬ٟ‫ؽ‬٨ًٍ ٠‫ ز‬ٝ

He is leaning on a wall His hands His face As if they are bruised by the cold No one knows who he is Or what he has had to take َ‫ب آػب‬ٛٞ‫ ث‬:ٖ‫ٗشفخ‬ Translated by Alkhas

٦‫ ثٍبـس‬ٟ‫ آقاؼ‬:‫ٌبػف‬ Poet: Azadeh Besharaty

ٍ‫ ٗف‬٦‫هش‬ٝ ‫ ـا كٍفؼ‬ٙ‫فٗب‬٨‫ د‬٥‫ب‬١‫ اـؼى‬٥ُٞٔ ‫ؽ‬٧‫ؽ‬ٛ ‫ ـا‬ٙ‫ٗب‬٦ٓ‫ غب‬٥‫ب‬١‫ؼوز‬ ‫ ثبؼ‬٦‫هش‬ٝ ‫ ـا ٌ​ٌىز‬ٙ‫ا‬ٞ‫ت خ‬٨‫ و‬٥٠‫ٌبغ‬ ‫ز ـا‬٧‫ب‬١ٍٖ‫ ز‬ٟٝ‫ؽ‬ٛ‫ٗكاـع ا‬ .‫ؼ‬ٞ‫ ث‬ٟ‫بؼ ثفؼ‬٧ ‫اق‬ When death Wrung the necks of our old ducks It did not see our empty hands When the wind Broke a young branch of an apple tree The fields had forgotten The sorrow in your eyes..

َ‫ب آػب‬ٛٞ‫ ث‬:ٖ‫ٗشفخ‬ Translated by Alkhas

٥‫اؼ‬ٞ‫ؽخ‬٨‫٘ب ضبجو‬٨ٛ :‫ٌبػف‬ Poet: Nima Haj Seyed Javadi

‫اـ اوز‬ٌٞ‫ ؼ‬٠‫ز‬ ٚ‫ ـكش‬ٟ‫ ـا‬ٚ٨ٗ‫ ق‬٥ٝ‫ثف ـ‬ ‫بـر‬ًٜ ‫ ؼـ‬٦‫هش‬ٝ ٕ‫ ؼاـ‬٥‫ا‬ٟ‫ؽ‬ٛ‫ضه دف‬ .‫ اوز‬ٟ‫ؽ‬٧‫ ضّبـ هله ـا ؼـ‬٠ً

َ‫ب آػب‬ٛٞ‫ ث‬:ٖ‫ٗشفخ‬ Translated by Alkhas

How challenging it is To walk on this earth When by your side I feel like a bird Who has ripped apart the bars of a cage.

)1 !‫ ٗفؼ‬ٚ٧‫ اوز ا‬ٙ‫فثب‬٢ٗ ٠‫ ز‬:‫ؽ‬ٜ٧ُٞ ٦ٗ ٠٘١ ‫ؽ‬ٛ‫ؼا‬٦٘ٛ ٦‫ ًى‬ٝ ٖ٧‫ب‬١‫ ٓت‬٥ٝ​ٝ‫اوز ـ‬ٞ‫ؽ س‬ٜ‫ٓتغ‬ ‫ب‬١‫ب‬٧‫ ؼـ‬٥ٝٞ‫و‬ٙ‫ آ‬٦‫هش‬ٝ ٦ًٜ٦ٗ ٕ‫بؼ‬٧

٦٘‫ ـٔب ًبظ‬:‫ضاعز‬ Poet:Reza Kazemi

)2 ٕ‫ا‬٦٧‫ب‬٢ٜ‫ س‬٥٠ٔ٨‫د‬ ‫هز‬ٝ‫ر‬٨١ ‫ٍؽ‬ٛ ٠‫ٌ​ٌلش‬ !‫ ثبى‬٠‫اٗب ز‬ !‫إ ضبال‬ٟ‫ر ٌؽ‬ٚ١‫فا‬٨‫ٍٖ د‬٧‫اثف‬

1) Everybody says, “What a kind man he is!”

Yet nobody knows It is your smile oon my lips When oover the ocean You think of me

2) The cocoon of my loneliness Never hatched.

But no mind!

I‟ve now become the silk in your blouse!

‫ تًْا الراظ‬:‫هرزجن‬ Translated by Alkhas

Translated by Alkhas

An apple spun And fell to the ground And from that point on Everything hung in the air; Words, Loves…

Voices got stuck in the throat Beliefs turned to stone No one took the decaying Law of gravity seriously

ٝ ‫ـؼ‬ٞ‫ زفظ غ‬٦‫ج‬٨‫و‬ ‫ اكشبؼ‬ٚ٨ٗ‫ ق‬٠‫ث‬ ‫ ثؼؽ‬٠‫ ث‬ٙ‫اق آ‬ ‫ؽ؛‬ٛ‫ا ٗؼّٔن ٗب‬ٞ١ ‫ك ؼـ‬٨‫ ز‬٠٘١ ، ‫ب‬١ ٟ‫ال‬ٝ ...‫ب‬١ ‫ػٍن‬ ‫ ٌ​ٌىز‬ُٞٔ ‫ب ؼـ‬١ ‫ِؽا‬ ‫َ ٌؽ‬ٜ‫ب و‬١ ‫ـ‬ٝ‫ثب‬ ‫ِفكز‬ٛ ٥ّ‫ خؽ‬٦‫ًى‬ ‫ ـا‬٠‫ خبؾث‬٥ ٟ‫ؽ‬٨‫و‬ٞ‫ د‬ٙٞٛ‫هب‬

َ‫ب آػب‬ٛٞ‫ ث‬:ٖ‫ٗشفخ‬

٦ٜ٨‫ ِبثف ضى‬:‫ٌبػف‬ Poet:Saber Hosseini

َ‫ب آػب‬ٛٞ‫ ث‬:ٖ‫ٗشفخ‬

Translated by Alkhas

ًٚ ٟ‫ِب‬ٛ ٙ‫ قٗب‬٠‫ ث‬٦ِٜ‫ و‬٥‫ب‬١ٍٖ‫ثب ز‬ .ًٚ ٟ‫ِب‬ٛ ‫ب‬١َٜ‫ و‬٠‫ ث‬،٦ٓ‫ غب‬٥‫ب‬١ٍٖ‫ثب ز‬ ًٚ ٟ‫ِب‬ٛ ‫ب‬١ٍٖ‫ ز‬٠‫ ث‬٦ِٜ‫ و‬٥‫ب‬١ ٟ‫ىشِب‬٧‫اق ا‬ ٦١‫ سبة ثؽ‬٦١‫ ثؽ‬ٙ‫ سٌب‬٦ٜ٨ٍٜ‫ث‬ ٦ٌ‫ ثب‬٠‫ؼوشز ـا ؼـ ؼوز ؼاٌش‬ ٠٧‫ ؼـ وب‬٦ٜ٨ٍٜ‫ ث‬٦ًٜ ‫اوشفاضز‬ ‫ آـاًٗ ـا‬٦‫بو‬ٍٜ‫ث‬ ٦ٛ‫ ثؽا‬٦ًٜ ‫ضه‬ ٥ٌٞ‫ب‬ٌٜ‫آ‬ ‫ز ـا‬٧‫ب‬١‫له‬ٛ ٥‫ـ‬ٝ‫ب‬٨‫جٓار ـاثدب ث‬ٛ

Look at time with eyes of stone Look at the stones with empty eyes From stoney stations look at eyes Sit, rock, swing Hold on to your hand in your hand Relax sit in the shade Understand the calm Feel know Get aquainted Bring your pulse to its place your breaths

َ‫ب آػب‬ٛٞ‫ ث‬:ٖ‫ٗشفخ‬

Translated by Alkhas

ٖٛ‫ؽا‬٨٘ٛ ‫ب ـا‬١ ٕ‫وشز ؼاـ‬ٝ‫ؼ‬ ٥‫ؼ‬ٞ‫ ث‬ٟ‫ ًفؼ‬ٙ‫ب‬٢ٜ‫جز د‬٨‫ؼـ ًؽإ خ‬ ٖ‫ ٍُش‬٠‫فز‬١ ٠ً !ٕ‫ٌفؼ‬ٛ ‫ؽا‬٨‫د‬ ٚٗ ٕ‫ب ٌؽ‬١ ٟ‫ال‬ٝ ٦ٛ‫هفثب‬ ‫ ثبـ‬ٚ٨ٓٝ‫ ا‬٥‫ ثفا‬٦‫هش‬ٝ ‫ؽ‬ٛ‫ؼ‬ٝ‫ـا وف‬ٞ‫س‬ !‫ن‬ٞ‫ اكى‬ٝ ‫ؼ‬ٞ‫ ث‬ٟ‫ب‬٨‫ و‬٥‫ هؽـ‬٠‫ٖ ث‬٧‫ب‬٢ٍ٘‫ز‬ ‫ اي ـا‬٠‫غش‬ٞ‫ و‬٥‫ب‬١‫ ٌؼف‬٠ً ...٥‫ؽ‬٨٘٢‫ل‬ٛ ٥‫ ا‬٠‫ٓطظ‬

I don‟t know In which pocket you had hidden Your „I love you‟s That however hard I looked I couldn‟t find them!

I Became a sacrifice to words When for the first time They composed you What a pity!

My eyes were so black That their burnt verses You did not comprehend for even a moment…

٦ٛ‫وب‬١‫ي ؼ‬ٛ‫ كفا‬:‫ٌبػف‬ Poet: Faranak Dehghani

‫زارم ذٍال هی کٌن اس ضة گذضرَ ام‬ ‫تز گززٍ ُای سٌگی هاُی ضکسرَ تال‬ ‫زارم کٌار عکس ذْزم زّز هی ضْم‬ ‫ چَ ذٍالی اسد اٌي ذٍال؟‬... ‫اها ٌُْس ُن‬

And believe I still have the desire to be Until the earthen stairs of the night surround me And higher than ever now these two brownish moons For my weariness they just might brew me some tea I am imagining I have passed the night through On the stony sides of a broken winged fish I am turning to smoke besides my own pictures Yet however…What kind of a wish is this wish?

‫ تاٌس اذاق کْچک ذْز را عْؼ کٌن‬I have to get out of this small room of mine

Translated by Alkhas

‫تاّر کٌن ٌُْس پز اس هٍل تْزًن‬ ‫ذا پلَ ُای ذاکی ضة زّرٍ ام کٌ​ٌس‬ ‫تاال ذز اس ُوٍطَ زّذا هاٍ لٍِْ ای‬ ‫ضاٌس تزای ذسرگٍن چای زم کٌ​ٌس‬

At the end of a hallway that no longer Arrives at any unstained or lighted view I must set to rest my writing desk and chair And believe as you sit no breath escapes you

Poet: Paria Tofangsaz

‫زر اًرِای راُزٌّی کَ ًوی رسس‬ ‫زٌگز تَ ٍُچ هٌظزٍ ی پاک ّ رّضٌی‬ ّ ‫تاٌس کَ هٍش ّ غٌسلٍن را تثٌسم‬ ‫تاّر کٌن ًطسرَ ای ّ زم ًوی سًی‬

These hands hold the waist of this bitter tea glass At the foot of my quiet gaze making a nest Is it the bubbling sound of this ancient moment That brings insanity and puts the night to rest

‫ تًْا الراظ‬:‫هرزجن‬

‫اٌي زسد ُا تَ گْزی ٌک اسرکاى ذلد‬ ‫پای ًگاٍ ساکد هي الًَ کززٍ اًس‬ ‫ضاٌس غسای غلغل اٌي لحظَ ُای پٍز‬ ‫ضة را تَ ذْاب تززٍ ّ زٌْاًَ کززٍ اًس‬

There is a strange sadness in my voice these days For my weariness I must brew pot of tea I need to be a bit warmer than this room And do something to alleviate this ennui

‫ پزٌا ذفٌگ ساس‬:‫شاعر‬

‫اٌي رّسُا عجٍة غساٌن گزفرَ اسد‬ ‫تاٌس تزای ذسرگٍن چای زم کٌن‬ ‫تاٌس اس اٌي اذاق کوی گزم ذز ضْم‬ ‫فکزی تَ حال ذسرگی هفزطن کٌن‬

٥‫هبؼ‬ٞ‫ت ز‬ٜ٧‫ ق‬:‫ٌبػف‬ Poet: Zeynab Choghadi

‫ٖ ـا‬ٛ‫ب‬٢‫ ُٖ ًفؼٕ س٘بٕ اِل‬ٞ‫ ثب س‬ٚٗ ‫ٖ ـا‬ٛ‫ب‬٢‫ّق خ‬ٛ ًٖٜ ‫ؽا‬٨‫سب ػبهجز د‬ ٚٗ ٥ٞ‫ ؼـ زبـو‬ٞ‫سب ٍِٓف سبسبـ س‬ ‫ٖ ـا‬ٛ‫ب‬٢‫ اِل‬٥‫ب‬١ ٟ‫ؽ‬ٛ‫ؽ ده ٗب‬ًٜ ٙ‫فا‬٧ٝ ‫ؽ‬٧‫ إ ـا ثبق ثٍِب‬٦ٛ‫ىشب‬١ًٞ ٥‫ب‬١‫ؼل‬ ‫ٖ ـا‬ٛ‫ دبوجب‬٦‫ ث‬٤ٜ٨‫د‬ُٜ ‫ؽ‬ًٜ ‫ؿبـر‬ ٙ‫فا‬٧ٝ ٥ٝ‫ ثبـ‬ٚ٧‫ٖ ؼاؼ ثف ا‬١‫ا‬ٞ‫ثف ثبؼ غ‬ ‫ٖ ـا‬ٛ‫ا‬ٞ‫ ٗـك اوشػ‬ٞ‫ك س‬٨ِٜ‫َ ز‬ٜ‫اق ز‬ ‫ز‬٧ٞ‫ى‬٨ُ ٦٘٨ٔ‫وً ثٌف او‬ٛ ‫سب‬ ‫ٖ ـا‬ٛ‫ا‬ٝ‫ام اثف‬ٝ‫ؽ ـ‬ٛ‫ٌب‬ٞ‫ ثذ‬ٞٛ ‫اق‬ !ٙ‫ب‬٧‫ف ػف‬١‫ ثبق ثبثب٘ب‬ٙ‫سب‬٨‫ؼ ثذ‬ٞ‫ؼـ غ‬ ‫ٖ ـا‬ٛ‫ا‬ٞ‫بس‬ٛ ٙ‫ا‬ٝ‫ ثبق‬٦‫ش‬٨‫ ث‬ٝ‫ٗثْ ؼ‬ ‫ ر‬٥‫ب‬١ ‫ؽاـ دٍز دٔي‬٨‫ إ ث‬ٟ‫ؽ‬ٛ‫ ٗب‬ٚٗ .‫ٖ ـا‬ٛ‫ب‬٢‫وً خ‬ٛ ٣‫اق‬ٝ‫ ؼـ‬٦ًٜ ‫ا‬ٝ ‫سب‬

Translated by Alkhas َ‫ب آػب‬ٛٞ‫ ث‬: ٖ‫ٗشفخ‬

Together with you I have lost all of my Isfahan Until one day when I find where half my world has gone Until the time I am surrounded by your Tatar hordes Till all is destroyed of what is left of my Isfahan Completely open up the fortresses of my mountains Plunder and pillage my treasure guarded by no one On these crumbling castle walls I will give my bone marrow To the wind to keep them from your gangs of Gengis Khan Until the untouched Islamic patterns of your tresses Once more over the porticos of my eyebrows is drawn As rhyming couplets take my two worthless arms and wrap Them around yourself like Baba Taher Orion!

I have been keeping myself awake behind your eyelids Until you open the gates of my Naghshe Jahan* *-Translates to “image of the world” the central square in Isfahan, 160m by 508m, surrounded on its four sides by the “the Shah’s Mosque, the Sheikh Abdolla Mosque, Ali Qapu Palace, and the bazaar.”

ٓ٨‫ اث‬٠ٓ‫ لا‬:‫ٌبػف‬

Poet: Jaleh Abyas

َ‫ب آػب‬ٛٞ‫ ث‬:ٖ‫ٗشفخ‬ Translated by Alkhas

‫ب ـا‬١ ٟ‫ غب٘ف‬٠٘١ ٓ‫ٖ ثـ‬ًٜ ٠٧‫سب ُف‬ ‫ب ـا‬١ ٟ‫بوف‬ٛ ٖ١‫ ثؽ‬ٙ‫كب‬ٞ‫ س‬٠‫ ث‬٠ً ‫ؽ‬٧‫ ثب‬Before I let out the tears for memories that remain

I have a need to relinquish all the knots to the rain

‫اـ‬ٞ٧‫ ؼ‬ٝ ٟ‫ غجف اق دفؼ‬٦‫ ث‬٦‫ ٌج‬٠ً ‫ؽ‬٧‫ثب‬ One night without giving heed to the curtains or the walls ‫ب ـا‬١ ٟ‫دف‬ٜ‫ س٘بٌب ثجفٕ د‬٠‫ؼ ث‬ٞ‫ثب غ‬ I must sit alone and take a look at the window pane

ٌٖٜٞ‫ ق ـٍ ثبؽ ث‬٦ٗ‫ خب‬٠‫و‬ٝ‫ؽ ؼ‬٧‫ ثب‬In order to disrupt the sleep of every cricket ‫ب ـا‬١ ٟ‫دف‬ٛ‫ ق‬٠٘١ ‫اة‬ٞ‫ٖ غ‬ًٜ ٠‫ ًأٌلش‬I need to drink two or three goblets from the garden‟s vein ‫ٖٕ؟‬ٛ‫ ثف ٌت ثشٌب‬٠ً ‫ؽ‬٨ٌ‫ـ‬ٞ‫ٓي غ‬ٞ‫ د‬ًٞ Where are the sun‟s sequins for me to jingle in the night? ‫ب ـا‬١ ٟ‫ ٌت دف‬٠٘١ ٠ٛ‫ٖ اق غب‬ًٜ ٙٝ‫ف‬٨‫ ث‬To rid this house of moths so they never come back again To refresh my breath without anxiety or sorrow

ً٧ٍٞ‫ س‬ٝ ٖ‫ ؿ‬٦‫ٖ ث‬ًٜ ٟ‫ سبق‬٦‫لى‬ٛ ‫ؽ‬٧‫ثب‬ I have to give this heart water to rid it of all pain ‫ب ـا‬١ ٟ‫ف‬٢ٓ‫ٖ ؼ‬١‫ ؼّ آة ؼ‬٠‫ؽ ث‬٧‫ثب‬

ٖ٨ًٜ ‫ ضىبة‬٠ً ٖ١ ٦‫ٍِش‬ٛ‫وف ا‬ ٥‫ٌبـ‬١‫ ثؽ‬ٚٗ ٠‫ ث‬ٞ‫س‬ ‫ـ‬ٝ‫ب‬٨‫ز ـا ث‬ٛ‫ٍِشب‬ٛ‫ا‬ ٚٗ ٙ‫ٍِشب‬ٛ‫ اق ا‬ٟ‫ ؼ‬٥‫ؽ‬٧‫ؼ‬ ‫ؽ‬ٛ‫ا‬ٞ‫ س‬ٙ‫ؼـ ؼوشب‬ ‫ تًْا الراظ‬:‫هرزجن‬ Translated by Alkhas

‫بة‬٧‫ٗفا ؼـ‬ . ٦ٌٞ‫ آؿ‬٠‫ث‬ And even if we count the fingertip You owe me Let me see your fingers Did you see that ten of my fingers Are on your hands Grasp who I am In an embrace.

‫ رحٍن هجٍسی‬:‫ضاعز‬ Poet: Rahim Majidi

Poet: Shirin Besharati

‫ ضٍزٌي تطارذی‬:‫شاعر‬

ٝ ٓ‫ثـ‬ ‫ٖ قؼ‬١ ‫ثف‬ ٝ ‫وً آة‬ٛ‫ا‬ ‫ؽ‬٨ًٍ ٟ‫آ‬ ‫آة اق‬ ٖ٧‫ا‬٦ٛ‫ا‬ٞ‫ خ‬٥‫ب‬١ ٙ‫ا‬ٞ‫ؼـؼِ اوػ‬ ، ٥ ‫ إٗب‬٥‫ؼـ ـؼ دب‬ !‫ـ‬ُٞ ‫ ؼـ‬ٙ‫ ٗفؼُب‬٦٘٢‫ًح ك‬ A dam of tears and Things thrown around Drawing water And a sigh The water from The aches of my young bones In the footsteps of a signature, To hell with the misunderstandings of men!

Translated by Alkhas ‫ تًْا الراظ‬:‫هرزجن‬

)2 ‫ة‬ٝ‫ؿف‬ ٟ‫ب‬٨‫ي و‬ٜ٨‫ؽ ػ‬٨ٌ‫ـ‬ٞ‫غ‬ ‫ؽ‬ٛ‫ق‬٦ٗ ٍٖ‫ ز‬٠‫ث‬ ‫هز ؿكّ اوز‬ٝ ٖ٧‫ب‬١ّ‫ثب‬ ‫ اوز‬٠‫غىش‬ ‫ي‬٧‫كؼ‬ٛ ٥‫ا‬ ٌٚٛ ٖ٧‫ب‬١‫ـ‬ ٥ٝ‫آـق‬ .ٕ‫اق ؼاـ‬ٝ‫دف‬

1) Shells The only excuse That my fingers joint by joint In the joint…

A white seagull Paints At the end of the horizon Its freedom 2) Dusk The sun puts on Sunglasses Its sonnet time My wings Are tired Oh close one Don‟t leave me I wish To fly

Translated by Alkhas

‫ ضٍزٌي تطارذی‬:‫ضاعز‬ Poet: Shirin Besharati

)1 ‫ب‬١‫ِؽف‬ ٠ٛ‫ب‬٢‫ب ث‬٢ٜ‫س‬ ٖٛ‫ٍِشب‬ٛ‫ؽ ا‬ٜ‫ؽ ث‬ٜ‫ ث‬٠ً ‫ؽ‬ٜ‫ؼـ ث‬ ‫ ًفؼ‬٦ٌ‫وب‬ٛ ٦٧‫ب‬٧‫ؽ ؼـ‬٨‫ٗفؽ ول‬ ،‫ اكن‬٥‫ب‬٢‫ش‬ٛ‫ؼـ ا‬ ‫اي ـا‬٥‫آقاؼ‬

‫ تًْا الراظ‬:‫هرزجن‬

“THIRTEEN” Somebody is coming- with no coming Even without the existence of coming Knocking at the door SIX or SEVEN times You open the door Coming in Sitting in front of you Like a mirror Reading a poem for you- with no reading Even without the existence of any poetry *** Later...

Sitting there at the symmetry of its existence’s image and you are not there anymore...

”ٟ‫كؼ‬٨‫"و‬ ‫ؽ‬٧‫ آ‬٦ٗ ٦‫ًى‬ ‫ ثبٌؽ‬ٟ‫ آٗؽ‬٠ً ٙ‫ آ‬٦‫ث‬ ٦ّ‫ ؼـ ًبـ ثبٌؽ ضش‬٦ٛ‫ آٗؽ‬٠ً ٙ‫ آ‬٦‫ث‬ ‫ثَؽ‬ًٞ ٦ٗ ‫ ؼـ‬٠‫ ث‬٠‫ؽ ٔفث‬ٜ‫ز‬ ٠‫لز ٔفث‬١ ‫ب‬٧ ‫ٌٍز‬ ٦ًٜ ٦ٗ ‫ؼـ ـا ثبق‬ ‫ؼ‬ٌٞ ٦ٗ ْ‫ؼاغ‬ ‫ؽ‬ٜ٨ٍٛ ٦ٗ ‫َز‬٧ٝ‫ ـ‬٠‫ ث‬ٝ‫ـ‬ ٥‫ ا‬٠ٜ٧‫ آ‬ٙٞ‫ز‬ ‫َؽ‬ٛ‫ا‬ٞ‫ غ‬٦ٗ ٥‫َز ٌؼف‬٧‫ثفا‬ ‫ ثبٌؽ‬ٟ‫ؽ‬ٛ‫ا‬ٞ‫ غ‬٥‫ ٌؼف‬٠ً ٙ‫ آ‬٦‫ث‬ ٦ّ‫ ؼـ ًبـ ثبٌؽ ضش‬٥‫ ٌؼف‬٠ً ٙ‫ آ‬٦‫ث‬ *** ...‫ثَؼؽ‬ ‫ اوز‬٠‫ٍىش‬ٛ ‫ خب‬ٙ‫ آ‬ٝ‫ا‬ ‫ اي‬٦ِٜ٨٧‫ِ آ‬ٙ‫ؼـ سوبـ‬ ٞ‫ س‬ٝ ...٦‫ىش‬٨ٛ

‫ماؼ‬ٛ‫ّ ٗؼفى‬ٞ‫ ـو‬:‫ٌبػف‬

Poet: Rasoul Moareknejad

Isfahan

ٙ‫ب‬٢‫اِل‬

…‫آة‬ Water… ...‫ثبؼ‬ Wind…

Constant steps ٦٧‫ب‬١ ٕ‫ُب‬ That wind around the stairs ‫ب ـا‬١ ٠ٔ‫ د‬٠ً The song of a traveler ‫ك‬٧‫ٌف‬٧ ً‫ؼـ زفغ‬ Reaches the ears ‫ؽ‬ٛ‫ ق‬٦ٗ ‫ـ‬ٝ‫ؼ‬ From the behind this monotonous crescent moon ٥‫اق ٗىبكف‬ٝ‫آ‬ Eyes fixed ‫ ٌٗفـ‬٥‫ب‬١ ٦ٓ‫ال‬١ ٚ٧‫اق ده ا‬ On fragile hands and ‫ ـوؽ‬٦ٗ ‫ي‬ُٞ ٠‫ث‬ Goblets broken on the wall ٟ‫ف‬٨‫ غ‬٦٧‫ب‬١ ٍٖ‫ز‬ ٝ ‫بقى‬ٛ ٥‫ب‬١ ‫ثف ؼوز‬ A sound so far ‫اـ‬ٞ٧‫ ثف ؼ‬٠‫ ٌ​ٌىش‬٥‫ب‬١ ٠ٛ‫٘ب‬٨‫د‬ From within the travelers luggage

And antiques Forgotten for years Are lugged around.

َ‫ب آػب‬ٛٞ‫ ث‬:ٖ‫ٗشفخ‬ Translated by Alkhas

‫ـ‬ٝ‫ ثه ؼ‬٦٧‫ِؽا‬ ‫ ٗىبكف‬ٙ‫ ز٘ؽا‬ٙ‫ب‬٨ٗ ‫اق‬ ‫ب‬١ ٠‫و‬٨‫ ػش‬ٝ ‫بوز‬١ ّ‫وب‬ ‫ي‬ٞٗ‫كفا‬ .‫ؽ‬ٌٛٞ ٦ٗ ْ٘‫ض‬

Poet: Rasoul Moareknejad

‫ماؼ‬ٛ‫ّ ٗؼفى‬ٞ‫ ـو‬:‫ٌبػف‬

Есфаган ٙ‫ب‬٢‫اِل‬ Вода... Вітер... Кроки, що сходинки Удар за ударом Віддаляють Пісня подорожнього, Яка з-під цих півмісяців склепінь [моста] Чується

Хмільні очі На тонких руках Глиняні чаші, розбиті об стіну Голос дуже далекий

Translated by Nadia Vyshnevska

Між чемоданом мандрівника І старожитностями Роки Забуття проминали

…‫آة‬ ...‫ثبؼ‬ ٦٧‫ب‬١ ٕ‫ُب‬ ‫ب ـا‬١ ٠ٔ‫ د‬٠ً ‫ك‬٧‫ٌف‬٧ ً‫ؼـ زفغ‬ ‫ؽ‬ٛ‫ ق‬٦ٗ ‫ـ‬ٝ‫ؼ‬ ٥‫اق ٗىبكف‬ٝ‫آ‬ ‫ ٌٗفـ‬٥‫ب‬١ ٦ٓ‫ال‬١ ٚ٧‫اق ده ا‬ ‫ ـوؽ‬٦ٗ ‫ي‬ُٞ ٠‫ث‬ ٟ‫ف‬٨‫ غ‬٦٧‫ب‬١ ٍٖ‫ز‬ ٝ ‫بقى‬ٛ ٥‫ب‬١ ‫ثف ؼوز‬ ‫اـ‬ٞ٧‫ ثف ؼ‬٠‫ ٌ​ٌىش‬٥‫ب‬١ ٠ٛ‫٘ب‬٨‫د‬

‫ـ‬ٝ‫ ثه ؼ‬٦٧‫ِؽا‬ ‫ ٗىبكف‬ٙ‫ ز٘ؽا‬ٙ‫ب‬٨ٗ ‫اق‬ ‫ب‬١ ٠‫و‬٨‫ ػش‬ٝ ‫بوز‬١ ّ‫وب‬ ‫ي‬ٞٗ‫كفا‬ .‫ؽ‬ٌٛٞ ٦ٗ ْ٘‫ض‬

٦‫ ِبئج‬ٙ‫ ٗفخب‬:‫ٌبػف‬ Poet: Marjan Saebi

٦ًٜ ٦ٗ ٠٧‫زفا ُف‬ !‫ا‬ٞ‫! ض‬٦١ ٕ‫ا‬ٞ‫ثب س‬ ًٚ ‫ز ـا دبى‬٧‫ب‬٢ٌ​ٌ‫ا‬ ‫ؽ‬٧‫ب‬٨‫ ث‬٠ً ‫بـ‬٢‫ث‬ ‫ت‬٨‫ و‬ٙ‫ؼـغشب‬ ‫ؽ‬ٜ١‫ؼ‬٦ٗ ٠‫ك‬ٌٞ​ٌ ٞ‫ س‬٥‫كوٗ ثفا‬

What are you crying for Hey! Eve I’m talking to you Wipe your tears When Spring arrives The apple trees Will only blossom for you

َ‫ب آػب‬ٛٞ‫ ث‬:ٖ‫ٗشفخ‬ Translated by Alkhas

Poet: Haleh Homayuni

‫ ُالَ ُواًٌْی‬:‫شاعر‬

Translated by Alkhas ‫ تًْا الراظ‬:‫هرزجن‬

)1 ٕ‫ ُف‬٦ٛ‫ سبثىشب‬ٙ‫آو٘ب‬ ٦ًٍ ‫هز‬ٝ ‫ ـا سب‬ٚٗ ٠ِٔ‫ؽ كب‬ًٜ ٦ٗ ‫ دف‬٠ً ٥‫ ا‬ٟ‫دف‬ٜ‫ د‬ٝ ‫ف‬٢‫ ثؼؽ اق ظ‬٥‫اق‬ٞٛ ٙ‫٘ب‬٢ٗ ‫اسبم‬ ‫ز‬ٜ‫ ثبقٍُش‬ٚٗ‫ ٗؤ‬٥‫ب‬١ ٠‫و‬٨‫ؼه‬ .‫ؽ‬ًٜ ٦ٗ ‫ق‬٧‫ؽ ـا سؼف‬ٛٝ‫ غؽا‬٠ً ٥‫ ا‬٠ٛ‫غب‬ٝ )2 ‫ وز‬٦‫ٌجػش‬ٞ‫ غ‬٠ّ‫ ه‬ٙ‫ق‬ٝ ‫ِؽار‬ ‫ؽ‬ًٜ ٦٘ٛ ‫ ٗفا ضفاج‬ٚ١‫ ؾ‬٦ٛ‫ا‬ٝ‫ف‬٨ٌ ‫ ثبؼ‬٥‫ا‬ٝ‫آ‬ ‫ىز‬٨ٛ ‫ك‬٨‫ر ز‬٨١ ‫ خب خك ػٍن‬ٚ٧‫ا‬ ‫ؽ اوز‬٧‫اـ‬ٝ‫ اق ٗف‬ٞٔ٘ٗ ٖ١ ‫ر اسبم‬ٞ‫ٌج‬ٜ‫ ػ‬٥‫ب‬١‫سبـ‬ ‫ؼ‬ٌٞ ٦ٗ ‫ سف‬٠‫ىش‬١‫ آ‬٦٧‫ب‬٢ٜ‫ س‬٥ ٠ٛ‫سفا‬ ٦‫هش‬ٝ ‫فؼ‬٨ُ ٦ٗ ٕ‫ إ آـا‬ٟ‫ؼ‬ٞ‫ج‬ٛ ‫فُك‬١ ٦٢‫ س‬٥‫كٕب‬ )3 ٕ‫ ا‬ٟ‫ س٘بٌبر آٗؽ‬٠‫ث‬ ‫كبؼاـ اوز‬ٝ ٚٗ ٠‫ه ث‬٨ٔ‫ق اث‬ٜٞ١

1) The hot summer‟s sky And the window which fills the gap until I kill time The afternoon guest room The minutes that believe in your return The house that defines god 2) Your voice has the meter of a happy tale The sound of the roof‟s wind does not put me up for sale There is nothing else here but love The spider‟s web has also filled the room with pearls The lament of loneliness slows down When The empty space where I have never been calms down 3) I have come to watch you Lucifer is still faithful to me

Poet: Morteza Rajabi

٦‫ ـخج‬٦ٕ‫ ٗفس‬:‫ٌبػف‬ ‫ اوز‬ٟ‫ف ًفؼ‬٨ُ ٙ‫ٍِشب‬ٛ‫ ا‬ٙ‫ـؼ‬ٞ‫ ؼـ سبغ‬٦ِ‫غىش‬ ‫ؽ؟‬٨ًٍ ٕ‫ ؼ‬٦‫هش‬ٝ ‫كؼ‬٧‫ـ‬٦ٗ ٥‫ زب‬٦‫ ًى‬٠‫ز‬ ‫ اوز‬ٚ٨٘١ ‫آؼـن‬ ٖ٧‫ب‬٨ٛ ‫فُك‬١ ‫ؼ‬ٞ‫ هفاـ ث‬٠ً ٦٧‫دب‬ٛ‫٘ب‬١ ،‫ سف‬٠ٛ‫فا‬٧ٝ ٠ٛ ٝ ‫ؼ‬ٌٞ٦ٗ ‫ سف‬٠‫ وبغش‬٠ٛ ٙٝ‫شف‬٢‫ر اقٗبث‬ٞ‫ و‬٥‫ ِؽا‬٠‫ ث‬ًٚ ‫ي‬ُٞ ‫ٕ اوز؟‬ٞٔ‫بٗؼ‬ٛ ٝ ‫ي‬٧‫ح سبـ‬ًٜ ٕ‫اق ًؽا‬ ٦ٜ٨‫ ث‬٦ٗ ‫ؽ ٗفا‬ٛ‫ ا‬٠‫ ُفكش‬٦ُ‫ ثفؼ‬٠‫ث‬ .٥‫ ا‬ٟ‫ آقاؼٕ ًفؼ‬٠ً ٥‫ق‬ٝ‫ ـ‬ٙ‫٘ب‬١‫اق‬ Tiredness gets stuck on bending fingers Who pours tea after it is brewed?

This is the address itself That exact place where I was never supposed to be It will not be built up or destroyed any more Listen to the sound of the whistle of the genies and faeries From which dark and hidden corner is it from?

Do you see I have been taken into slavery From that very day when you set me free.

Translated by Alkhas َ‫ب آػب‬ٛٞ‫ ث‬:ٖ‫ٗشفخ‬

ٖٛ‫ؼا‬٦ٗ ‫ ـا ؼـ اسبم‬ٞ‫فِ س‬ٙ‫ػ‬ ‫ؽ‬ٜ​ًٜ٦ٗ ‫ٌبـ‬ٛ‫ا‬ ‫ غِٗ هفٗك‬ٝ ٚٗ ِ٥‫ب‬١٠‫و‬ٞ‫ِ ث‬٥ٝ‫ـ‬ ‫ؽ‬ٜ‫ًٍِــــــــ‬٦ٗ ٖ٧‫ب‬١‫ثِؿاـ ٌؼف‬ ‫ؽ‬ٛ‫خب ث٘ب‬ٚ٨٘١ ‫ؼ‬ٝ‫ ٗىؽ‬٥‫ب‬١‫ ًُؽ‬ٚ٨٘١ ِ٥ٝ‫ـ‬ ٝ ‫ـ اوز‬ٝ‫ ؼ‬٦‫س‬٨‫ اق ؼوزِ ه‬٠ً ‫ي‬٧‫كؼ‬ٛ ٞ‫ِ س‬٦ٛ‫ب‬٧‫ ػف‬٠‫ث‬ Poet: Arash Afshar

‫ آرش افطار‬:‫شاعر‬

I know They deny Your perfume in the room And they draw A red line Across my kisses Let my poems Stay right here With an unbroken code Keeping distant from scissors yet Near to your nakedness

Translated by Alkhas ‫ تًْا الراظ‬:‫هرزجن‬

َ‫ب آػب‬ٛٞ‫ ث‬:ٖ‫ٗشفخ‬

ٙ‫ب‬٨ٙ‫بق ٔبث‬ٛ‫ كف‬:‫ٌبػف‬

Translated by Alkhas

Poet: Farnaz Zabetian

‫ر ؼاـؼ‬ٌٞ‫زوؽـ و‬ ٚ‫ ثف س‬٠‫ٍىش‬ٛ ٚ١‫فا‬٨‫ د‬ٚ٧‫ا‬ .٠‫ غىش‬ٙ‫ ؼوشب‬ٚ٧‫ا‬ ،ٍ‫ٗف‬ ٕ‫ ا‬ٟ‫دف‬ٜ‫ ض‬٦ٓ‫ا‬ٞ‫ؼـ ض‬ ٟ‫ ًفؼ‬٠ٛ‫غب‬ ٠‫ ثىش‬٠‫ل‬ٙٛ ‫لفر‬ٛ ٖٗ‫ ثبقؼ‬ٝ ٕ‫ف ؼ‬١ ٙ‫ب‬٨ٗ ‫ ٌؼف‬ٚ٧‫ ؼاـؼ ا‬٦ٗ‫ؽا‬ٛ‫ ا‬٠‫ز‬ ‫ ثبق‬ٟ‫دف‬ٜ‫ د‬ٚ٧‫ثبق ثبؼ اق ا‬ ‫ـ‬ٝ‫ آ‬٠ٛ‫ غب‬ٚ٧‫ ا‬٠‫ ـا ث‬ٞ‫ س‬٥ٞ‫ث‬

How silent is This dress that sits on a body, These tired hands, Death, In the neighborhood of my vocal chords Has made its home Impregnated Hatred Between each inhaling and exhaling What a body this poem has Wind once again from this window Brings your scent into this house

Translated by Alkhas َ‫ب آػب‬ٛٞ‫ ث‬:ٖ‫ٗشفخ‬

، ‫ ار ـا‬ٟ‫قغـٖ غـٍُـي ٌـؽ‬ ُٚ‫ خـؽا ًـ‬ٟ‫ اٌِـبـ‬ٝ ‫ثـب كـٍـبـ ٌـّـز‬ ٚ‫ـً ًُـ‬ٜ‫ؼَكـ‬ ،٥‫ـِـبـ‬٨‫ـف غـبًـىـشـف ِوـ‬٧‫ق‬ .‫ـي اوـز‬٧‫ـكؼ‬ٛ ‫ ًـبٕ آغـفي‬٠‫ًـ‬ .‫قؼ‬ٝ ٦‫ثـبؼ ٗـ‬ ‫ ـكـز‬٥‫ـبـ‬ٜ‫ ًـ‬٠‫ ثـ‬٠‫ ًـ‬ٟ‫دـفؼ‬ ٙ‫ ثـ٘ـب‬ٟ‫ـف‬٨‫ زـفاؽ هـفٗـك غـ‬٠‫ثـ‬ ‫ؼ‬ٍٞ‫ـ‬٨‫وـجـك ٗـ‬ ‫ اكـٌـبـر ـا‬ٟ‫ضـفًـز ثـؽ‬ ٦‫ٌـ‬ٞ‫ كـفاٗـ‬٠‫ ثـ‬ٝ‫ـ‬ Pull off your scab With your thumb and index Bury it Under the cigarette ashes, The last puff is near.

The wind blows.

When the curtain moves aside Keep staring at the red light It will turn green Move your thoughts Towards forgetting

Poet: Mina Dehnavi

٥ٜٞ١‫ب ؼ‬ٜ٨ٗ :‫ٌبػف‬

Poet: Roqieh Askari

‫ رلٍَ عسکزی‬:‫شاعر‬

‫ف‬٨ِ‫ٖ ـا هفْ ث‬٧‫ب‬١ ‫له‬ٛ ٖٗ‫ز ثؽ‬٧‫ب‬١ ٠٧‫ف ؼـ ـ‬ٞ١ ‫ف‬ٞ١‫ثِؿاـ‬ ‫ن‬٨٘‫ػ‬ ٙ‫ث٘ب‬ ٙ‫ ضفف ثك‬ٝ ٕ‫ ا‬٠‫بـ ُؿاٌش‬ًٜ ‫ز‬٧‫ ثفا‬٠ً ٥‫ ا‬ٟ‫دف‬ٜ‫اق ض‬ ًٚ‫ دف‬ٟ‫ثبـ‬ٝ‫ٖ ـا ؼ‬٧ٞ‫ ثبًٓ دف ه‬ٝ ٙ‫ث٘ب‬ ٕ‫ـ‬ٝ‫ آ‬٦ٗ ‫ز‬٧‫ؼٕ ثفا‬ٞ‫جبـ غ‬ٜ٧‫ً ـا ا‬٧‫ب‬١‫دف‬ ‫ؽ‬ٛ‫ ا‬٠‫غىش‬ ‫ز‬٧‫ب‬٢‫ؼوش‬ ‫ـٕ؟‬ٝ‫ب‬٨‫ب ـا اق ًدب ث‬٢ٛ‫آ‬ ‫ غٍي ٌؽ اق آش٘بن‬ٙ‫ ٌب‬ٙ‫ب‬١‫ب ؼ‬١ ٦ٛ‫ٌ٘ؼؽا‬ ‫ ًفؼ‬٦ٗ ‫ـاظ‬ٞ‫ ـا و‬ٚ٨ٗ‫ ق‬٥‫ق‬ٝ‫ ـ‬٠ً ‫ ار ؟‬٥‫ب‬١‫ دب‬ٝ ‫اِال‬ ٖٛ‫ ق‬٦ٗ ٚ٨ٗ‫ؼٕ ـا ق‬ٞ‫غ‬ ًٚ ‫ سف‬ٚٗ ٙٞ‫ غ‬٠‫ ار ـا ث‬٥‫ب‬١ ً‫ًل‬ ‫ ثِؿـ‬ٝ ‫ف‬٧‫ ثذؿ‬ٚٗ ‫ٖ ـا اق‬ٛ‫خب‬

Translated by Alkhas ‫ تًْا الراظ‬:‫هرزجن‬

Borrow my breaths Let me put some huff and puff in your lungs Deep Stay And talk About the throat I put aside for you Stay a re-feather my goose down pillow I‟ll bring the feathers for you myself this time They‟re tired Your hands Where should I bring those from?

The candlestick‟s mouths are tired of pleading And your feet?

That once upon a time made holes in the earth I‟ll just Throw myself to the ground Wet your shoes with my blood And let it go Accept my life that I offer you

Poet: Eve Lilith

‫ اٌْ لٍلٍس‬:‫شاعر‬

‫ اوز‬٠‫ػش‬٧‫ؼي ـا ؼـ ثٍوبة ـ‬ٞ‫ اق غ‬٦ً٘ ٙ‫ق‬ ٖ١ ‫ ثبق‬:‫ؽ‬٧ُٞ ٦ٗ ‫ٗفؼ‬ ‫ؽ‬ًٜ ٦ٗ ‫ٕ ـا دف‬ٝ‫ ؼاـؼ ثٍوبة ؼ‬ٙ‫ق‬ ‫كفؼا‬ ‫ٕٖ اخكا ؼـ أالع‬١ ‫ُكاـي‬ ‫ؽ‬ٛ‫ ق‬٦ٗ ٙٝ‫ف‬٨‫ ث‬ٝ‫اق ثبق‬ ً‫هٔج‬ ًٛٞ‫غ‬ ‫خِفي‬ ‫ؽ ٌؽ‬١‫ا‬ٞ‫ػىًٔ غ‬ ً‫ أبكبس‬ٝ ‫ب‬١ ٠ٌُٞ ‫ اق‬٦‫س‬٨‫ثب د‬ ‫ػز‬٧‫ؽ ـ‬١‫ا‬ٞ‫السً غ‬ٕٞ‫ ك‬٠‫ث‬ !ٙ‫ـم ثك‬ٝ ‫ وز‬٥‫ً سٌفاـ‬٧‫ب‬٧ٝ‫ـ‬

Translated by Alkhas ‫ تًْا الراظ‬:‫هرزجن‬

Woman has served a bit of herself on a plate Man says, “Again.”

Woman is filling up a second plate Tomorrow The report of the digestion of the parts of the sides It protrudes from the biceps Her heart Her blood Her liver It will turn into her honey And her extra parts With a screw from the corners It will pour into her nosiness Turn the page!

Her dream is a repeat

َ‫ب آػب‬ٛٞ‫ ث‬:ٖ‫ٗشفخ‬

ٕ‫ ِّ٘ب‬ٙ‫ اٌ​ٌب‬:‫ٌبػف‬

Translated by Alkhas

Poet: Ashkan Samsam

٦ًٜ ‫شػبة‬ٛ‫ىز ا‬٨ٛ ‫ؼر‬ٞ‫ ؼوز غ‬٠ٍ٨٘١ ٦ًٜ ‫بة‬ٜ‫ ػٍن اخش‬ٚ٧‫ اقا‬٦ٛ‫ا‬ٞ‫س‬٦٘ٛ ‫ِبف اٗب‬ٝ ّ‫ قال‬٦٧‫ب‬١ ٠ٜ٧‫ٗثْ آ‬ٞ‫س‬ ٦ًٜ ‫اة‬ٞ‫ـ ـا خ‬ٞٛ ٗ‫ كو‬٠ً ٥‫ ا‬٠‫ٍىش‬ٛ ‫ ـا‬ٙ‫٘بق ثبـا‬ٛ ٖٛ‫ا‬ٞ‫ زوؽـ ثػ‬ِٞ‫ث‬ ٦ًٜ ‫ٌجبـ آكشبة‬٧ ٠ً ٠‫ؼٖٓ ُفكش‬ ٚٗ ‫ ثفغالف ضبخز‬٥‫ ٌؽ‬ٟ‫ؽ‬٧‫ آكف‬ٞ‫س‬ ٦ًٜ ‫ٍشفغفاة‬٨‫قٗفا ث‬ٝ‫ ـ‬ٝ ّ‫ ضب‬٠ً ‫ ػبٖٓ ـا‬٥‫ب‬٢‫ٍِش‬ٛ‫ؽ وفا‬ٜ١‫اُف ؼ‬ ٦ًٜ ‫ ٗفؼ ـا ضىبة‬ٚ٧‫ؼؿٖ ا‬ٌٞ٦٘ٛ ٖٛ‫٘ب‬٧‫د٘بؼ ا‬ٛ‫اة ـٍ ا‬ٞ‫ غ‬٠‫ ث‬ٙ‫ثك‬ !..٦ًٜ ‫ آة‬ٞ‫ة ٗفا س‬ٜٞ‫ت خ‬ٙ‫ ه‬٠ً ‫ِٗف‬

It is not always up to you to choose This love is not something that you can lose You are as clear as a crystal mirror You just sit here the brightness to refuse Tell me how many times I must pray for rain Waiting here for sunshine I sit with the blues You were created contrary to my pleas To destroy my days and my feelings abuse Even with all the fingers of the universe You wouldn‟t be able to total my sorrows Put to sleep the frozen veins of my faith Unless you totally submerge my caboose..!

Streets Around the Earth

ٚ٨ٗ‫ـ ق‬ٝ‫ ؼ‬٥‫ب‬١ ٠‫ز‬ًٞ

I still dream My red bike On the green beach of summer The shadow of my hair Wild in the water And my fists Full of grapes Growing up And getting taller was tough In the weather of thorns and rocks Giving up my colorful marbles one by one And friendless Sitting on the curb With a rusty bicycle in the storage room A picture of green roads on the wall.

Poet: Azita Ghahreman

ٖٜ٨‫ ث‬٦ٗ ‫اة‬ٞ‫ق غ‬ٜٞ١ ‫ هفٗكٕ ـا‬٥ ٠‫زفغ‬ٝ‫ؼ‬ . ٙ‫ثف وبضْ وجك سبثىشب‬ ‫ٖ ـا‬٧‫ب‬١ٞٗ ٠٧‫وب‬ ‫ ؼـ آة‬ٙ‫ٍب‬٧‫دف‬ ‫ٖ ـا‬٧‫ب‬١ ‫ ٍٗز‬ٝ . ‫ـ‬ِٞٛ‫ ا‬٥‫ب‬١ ٠‫دف اق ضج‬ ٙ‫ثكـٍ ٌؽ‬ ‫ؼ‬ٞ‫اـ ث‬ٌٞ‫ ؼ‬٦ٛ‫ؽ‬٨ًٍ‫هؽ‬ َٜ‫ و‬ٝ ‫ غبـ‬٥‫ا‬ٞ١‫ؼـ‬ َٛ‫ِبـ‬ٛ‫ ـ‬٥‫ب‬١ ٠ٔ٨‫ي س‬٧ ‫ي‬٧ ٙ‫اق ًق ؼاؼ‬ ٥‫٘جبق‬١ ٦‫ ث‬ٝ ٚ‫ٍىش‬ٛ ٠‫ز‬ًٞ ‫بـ‬ًٜ ‫جبـ‬ٛ‫ ؼـ ا‬٥‫ ا‬ٟ‫َ قؼ‬ٛ‫ ق‬٥ ٠‫زفغ‬ٝ‫ثب ؼ‬ . ‫اـ‬ٞ٧‫ وجك ثف ؼ‬٥‫ب‬١ ٟ‫ اق خبؼ‬٦‫ػٌى‬

ٙ‫فٗب‬٢‫شب ه‬٧‫ آق‬:‫ٌبػف‬

Translated by Alkhas َ‫ب آػب‬ٛٞ‫ ث‬: ٖ‫ٗشفخ‬

‫ آسٌرا لِزهاى‬:‫ضاعز‬ Poet: Azita Ghahreman Translated by Alkhas ‫ تًْا الراظ‬: ‫هرزجن‬ ‫ؼ‬ٌٞ ٦ٗ ُٖ ٠‫ج‬ٌٍٜ٧ ‫دب‬ٜ٧‫ ا‬Sunday Gets Lost Here Wind makes the margins of running clearer

‫ؽ‬ًٜ ٦ٗ ‫أص سف‬ٝ ‫ ـا‬ٙ‫ؽ‬٧ٝ‫ ؼ‬٦ٌ‫ا‬ٞ‫ثبؼ ض‬ Light has hidden porticos ‫ ؼاـؼ‬٦‫ ٗػل‬٥‫ب‬١ ٙ‫ا‬ٞ٧‫ـ ا‬ٞٛ ‫ؼ‬ٌٞ ٦ٗ ُٖ ٠‫ج‬ٌٍٜ٧ ‫دب‬ٜ٧‫ا‬ ‫ؽاـؼ‬ٛ ٙ‫ؽ‬٧‫بـ دف‬٨‫ اغش‬٠ً ٦ٜ١‫فا‬٨‫اق د‬ ْ٧‫ ٌ٘ب‬ٝ ٖٞٙ‫ غ‬ٝ ‫ص‬ٙ‫ و‬٠٘٢ٛ‫ آ‬ٙ‫ب‬٨ٗ ‫اق‬ ‫ي‬٧‫ ثبـ‬٥‫ب‬١ٝ‫ب اثف‬٢ٜ‫س‬ ‫ٌز‬ٞٛ ٦١‫سب‬ًٞ ‫وفٍٗن‬ ‫ؼ‬ٝ‫ ـ‬٦ٗ ٟ‫ اسبم ـا‬٥‫ؽاـ‬٨‫ث‬ ‫ب‬١ ‫ٌت‬ ‫ ًبؿؿ‬٥‫ب‬١ ً‫دٍز غً غ‬ ....ٕ‫ ا‬٠‫ ـا ُفكش‬٦ٛ‫ ق‬٦‫د‬٨ُ ‫فؼ‬٨ُ ٦ٗ ‫ اق آة‬٦١ ‫ ـا‬٠‫ ؼغشف ثس‬٠ً ‫ـؼ‬ٞ‫ غ‬٦ٗ ‫ وف‬ٟ‫ثبـ‬ٝ‫ ؼ‬ٝ ....٦ًٜ ٦ٗ ‫ـ‬ٝ‫ ثب‬،٦ٛ‫ ق‬٦ٗ ‫سب دٔي‬

Sunday gets lost here From a dress that has no control over its jumping From amongst all those dimensions and lines and faces Only thin eyebrows She wrote a short example Nights the room awake she paces Behind the crumpling of paper I have taken in the dizziness of a woman…

Who keeps on pulling a little girl out from the water And she slips again As soon as you blink, you believe…

٥‫ ا‬٠‫ـكش‬ ٥‫ف ٗفؼ‬١ ‫ ؼـ‬ٝ ٥‫ ا‬٠‫ؼر ـا خب ُؿاٌش‬ٞ‫ اق غ‬٥‫ ا‬٠ٌ‫س‬ ٙ‫ٗثْ ثبـا‬ ‫ؼ ـا‬ٞ‫ غ‬٥‫ب‬١ ٟ‫ف‬ٙ‫ ه‬٠ً .. ِْٜ‫ثف خ‬

Translated by Alkhas ‫ تًْا الراظ‬: ‫هرزجن‬

ٕ‫ ا‬٠ٍٜ‫س‬ !ٕ‫ك‬٧‫ىز ػك‬٨ٛ ٚٗ ‫ف‬٨ّ‫سو‬ !٥‫ ا‬ٟ‫ؽ‬٧‫ ثبـ‬ٟ‫ؽاق‬ٛ‫ ا‬٦‫ ث‬ٞ‫س‬

You have gone And in each man Left behind a piece of yourself Like the rain On the jungle…

I am thirsty It‟s not my fault, my dear!

You have rained more than enough!

‫ فزساًَ تالزی‬:‫ضاعز‬ Poet: Farzaneh Bagheri

‫ؼ‬ٞ‫ دف غ‬ٝ ّ‫ ثب‬٠‫جىز ؼّ ث‬ٛ ٠ً ٥‫خـؽ‬

‫ؼ‬ٞ‫ غبًىشف غ‬٥ ٠٧‫ ٌؽ ؼـ وب‬ٙ‫فا‬٧ٝ

‫ هحوس رفٍعی‬:‫ضاعز‬ Poet: Mohammad Rafiei

‫ؽ‬٨ًٍ ٠‫ ٌٓبس‬ٙ‫ي ق‬٧ ‫ؼ‬ٞ‫ؼـ غب٘ف غ‬ ‫ؼ‬ٞ‫ ًف غ‬ٝ ‫ـ‬ًٞ ٕ‫ٌؽ ٍٗن ٌت ٗفؼ‬ The owl that did not keep its wings and feathers inside its heart Within the shadow of its own gray ashes was torn apart He illustrated a fallen woman in his memory Now his own blind and deaf people this night‟s homework have to start

‫ قؼ‬ٙ‫ؽا‬ٛ‫ ار ؼ‬ٟ‫ؽ‬ٜ‫ غ‬٥ٝ‫ ـ‬٠ً ‫ي‬ُٞ‫غف‬ ‫ قؼ‬ٙ‫ دىشب‬، ٙ‫ب‬١‫ز ؼ‬ٛ‫ؽ‬٨ٌٗ ِ ً٨ٛ ‫اق‬ ٦‫ ـكش‬٥‫ؽ‬٧ٞ‫ ٗفا خ‬، ٕ‫ ٌؽ‬٠ٌ‫ س‬٠‫و‬ ‫ قؼ‬ٙ‫ ـا ثبـا‬٠ٛ‫ ٌب‬ٟ‫ ٗب‬٥ ٠ٛ‫ؽا‬ٛ‫ؼ‬ Your laughter was chewed off by the teeth of a rabbit From the sting of sucking you while your mouth was on the tit I came apart in three pieces you chewed me and left The small teeth of the moon were a comb which the rain hit

Translated by Alkhas ‫ تًْا الراظ‬: ‫هرزجن‬

‫ پٍزاٌَ ٌغواٌی‬:‫ضاعز‬

Poet: Pirayeh Yaghmaii

Translated by Alkhas ‫ تًْا الراظ‬: ‫هرزجن‬

..... ‫ؼ‬ٞ‫ ث‬ٟ‫ىشبؼ‬٧‫ ا‬ٟ‫ثف ؼـُب‬ ‫ك ؼاٌز‬٨٧‫ دب‬٥ ٠‫د‬٨ُ ‫ وف‬٠‫زٍٖ ث‬ ٙ‫ زٔسفاؽ سبثىشب‬٠‫ دٍز ث‬ٝ ‫ىز‬ٛ‫ ٗب‬٦ٗ ‫ ـا‬٥‫ٗؼجؽ‬ ‫ اي‬٦ِٜ‫ و‬٥‫ب‬١‫ـؼ‬ٝ‫ ِ ؼوز آ‬ٌٟٞ​ٌ ‫ثب‬ ‫بـ‬٢ٛ‫ ق‬٦‫ ث‬٥ٞٛ‫ثب‬ ٦ٛ‫ا‬ٞ‫ؼ اـؿ‬ٞٓ‫ آ‬٠ٗ ٚ١‫فا‬٨‫ؼـ د‬

She was standing in the doorway She had an eye on the dizziness of autumn And her back to the chandelier of summer She resembled a temple With the glory of her results of stone An unprotected lady In a misty purple dress

– ٙ‫ب‬٢ُ‫ب‬ٛ - ‫ؽ‬٧‫ق‬ٝ ٥‫ ُفؼ ثبؼ‬A whirlwind commenced – suddenly – ‫ ٌؽ‬ٙ‫ كب‬ٞ‫س‬ٝ And turned into a storm ٦‫ ؼوش‬٥‫ آقاـ‬ٚ‫ س‬٦‫ ث‬- ‫ اٗب‬- ٝ‫ ا‬She – although – without any bothersome hands ،‫فؼ‬٨ُ ‫ ثبق‬ٟ‫ ـا اق ـغىبـ‬٦٧ٞٗ ‫ سبـ‬٠ً Even removing a strand of hair off her face .‫ وذفؼ‬ٙ‫كب‬ٞ‫ س‬٠‫ ث‬ٚ‫ س‬She put her body in the hands of the storm

‫ قؼ‬٥‫ ا‬٠٘٨‫ً ؼـ ُفؼ ثبؼ غ‬ٛ‫ا‬ٞ‫ى‬٨ُ Her tresses put up a tent in the whirlwind ‫ٍجبق ـكز‬٨‫ د‬٠‫اق ـا ث‬ٝ‫ دف‬ٝ She welcomed flight ٙ‫بى ثبـا‬ٜ١ٝ‫ؽ‬ٛ‫ى ا‬ٝ‫ زٌب‬ٟ‫ِب‬ٛ‫ آ‬Subsequently the sorrowful skylark of the rain ‫ة آٗؽ‬ٝ‫ ؿف‬ٟ‫ ُب‬٠‫ دُفو‬٠‫ ث‬Came to the mourning place of dusk

‫ رّجا چوٌکار‬:‫ضاعز‬ Poet: Roja Chamankar

!ٚٗ ٥‫ب‬١‫اة‬ٞ‫ غ‬٥‫ب‬١‫الؼ‬ ٙ‫إ ـا ده ثك‬٥‫ـ‬ٞ‫ؽ س‬ٜ‫ث‬ٝ‫ـ‬ ٕ‫سف‬٠‫ ثٌف غىش‬٥‫ب‬١ٚ٨ٗ‫ اق وفق‬ٚٗ ‫سف‬ٟ‫ؽ‬ٛ‫ر ٓـك‬٨‫ دف د‬٥‫ب‬١ٟ‫اق خبؼ‬ ٖ‫سفو‬٦ٗ ٖ٧‫ب‬١ٙ‫ ٓكج ـا‬٥‫ اق ِؽا‬ٝ ‫ؽ‬ٌٛٞ٦ٗ ٟ‫ؽ‬٨٧‫ٖ وب‬١ ٠‫ ث‬٦‫هش‬ٝ ٖ٧ٌٞ٦ٗ ٟ‫ؽ‬٨٧‫ٖ وب‬١ ٠‫ ث‬٦‫هش‬ٝ ٖ‫سفو‬٦ٗ ‫ب‬١ٌٚ‫ـاك‬ٞٛ ٥٠‫اق خفه‬ ًٍٖ٦ٗ ٕ‫ؼ‬ٞ‫ غ‬٥ٝ‫ك ـا ـ‬٨ٓ ٥‫ب‬١٦١‫ٗب‬ ٖ‫سفو‬٦ٗ ‫ز‬٧‫ب‬١٠ٓ‫ اق ثب‬ٙ‫ـ ٌؽ‬ٝ‫اة ؼ‬ٞ‫ اق غ‬ٝ ٠‫ ثىش‬٥‫ب‬١‫اة ؼـ‬ٞ‫غ‬ ‫ر‬ٞ‫ اق ؼـغز ٌبس‬ٙ‫ اكشبؼ‬ٝ ‫ال‬٨ٓ ٠٘‫بٖ ػ‬٨‫وٗ ض‬ٝ ‫ؼـوز‬ ٦‫ خ٘ؼ‬٠‫ ؼوش‬٥‫ب‬١‫ اق ػٌه‬ٚٗ ٦‫ خ٘ؼ‬٠‫ ؼوش‬٥‫ب‬١ٙ‫ؽ‬٧‫ؽ‬ٜ‫ؽ غ‬ٜٔ‫ اق ث‬ٝ ٖ‫سفو‬٦ٗ ‫ب‬١ٌٚ‫ـاك‬ٞٛ ٥٠‫ اق خفه‬ٝ ٙ‫إ ـا ده ثك‬٥‫ـ‬ٞ‫ؽ س‬ٜ‫ث‬ٝ‫ـ‬ ٟ‫ـٕ ثؽ‬ٞ‫ز ػج‬ٛ‫ب‬١‫ اق آسً ؼ‬ٝ ًٚ ٖٔ‫ثـ‬ .ًٖٜ٦ٗ ‫ـ ػبؼر‬ٝ‫ ؼ‬٥‫ب‬١‫ف‬٨‫ ٗى‬٠‫ث‬

‫ تًْا الراظ‬:‫هرزجن‬ Translated by Alkhas

Monsters of my dreams!

Push aside my bed‟s netting I am more tired than virginal landscapes More slippery than winding roads And I am afraid of the slimy sound of my thighs When they are rubbed together When we are rubbed together I am afraid of the sparks of floodlights I pull slick fish over my body And while distancing myself from dreams I am afraid of your fins Dreams of closed doors And falling from black mulberry trees Right in the middle of aunt Leyla‟s garden I am afraid of group pictures And loud group laughter And of floodlight sparks Push aside my bed‟s netting Embrace me and let me cross over your mouth‟s flames I will get used to far away destinations.

Poet: Roja Chamankar

‫ رّجا چوٌکار‬:‫ضاعز‬

Translated by Alkhas ‫ تًْا الراظ‬: ‫هرزجن‬

‫ؽ‬ٜ٧‫ آ‬٦ٗ ‫ز‬ٛ‫بٗؽ‬٨ٛ ‫ًٔ٘بر اق‬ ٕ‫ ا‬٦ٛ‫فا‬٧ٝ ٥ٝ‫ؽ ـ‬ٌٛٞ ٦ٗ ٟ‫ؽ‬٨ٌ‫دب‬ ‫ؽ‬ٜ‫ زىج‬٦ٗ ٕ‫ ا‬٦ُ‫ؽ‬ٛ‫ ق‬٠‫ٗثْ ؼـؼ ث‬ ٥‫ ا‬ٟ‫ؽ‬ٛ‫ ؼٖٓ ٗب‬٥ٞ‫ٗثْ ضفف س‬ ‫ اق ٗفؼاؼ‬٥ٌٞ ٦٘ٛ ‫خؽا‬ ٖٛ‫ ٗفؼ‬ٝ ‫ؼ‬ٞ‫ٖ ث‬٧‫ب‬٢ُ‫ي ـ‬ٞ‫ د‬ٚ‫ س‬٠ً ‫ ار‬٦ٌ​ٌ‫ قـ‬ٚ١‫فا‬٨‫اق د‬ ‫ؽ‬ٜ٧‫ آ‬٦ٗ ‫ز‬ٛ‫بٗؽ‬٨ٛ ‫ًٔ٘بر اق‬ ٖٛ‫ اق ؼوز ؼاؼ‬٠‫ ث‬٥‫اق ػبؼر ًفؼ‬ ‫و٘ز‬ٞ‫ ث‬٦ٗ ‫ـ‬ٝ‫ ؼ‬ٟ‫ اق ـا‬٠‫ث‬ ‫ؼ‬ٞ‫ج‬ٛ ٙ‫ آوب‬ٞ‫بـ س‬ًٜ ‫ اق‬ٙ‫ ٗفؼ‬ٝ ٌٕٞ ٦ٗ ٦ٛٞ‫٘ي وش‬ٛ ‫ ثفُفؼٕ اق‬ٞ‫ س‬٠‫ث‬ ٥‫ ّٗف‬٥‫ك‬٨ًٜ ٕ‫ؼ‬ٞ‫ غ‬٠‫ث‬ ‫ز‬ٜ‫وز ؼاٌش‬ٝ‫بـ ؼ‬ًٜ ٠ً ٕ‫ ا‬٦ٛ‫فا‬٧ٝ ٥ٝ‫ؼ ـ‬ٌٞ ٦ٗ ٟ‫ؽ‬٨ٌ‫ز دب‬ٜ‫ؽاٌش‬ٛ ٕ‫ ا‬٦ُ‫ؽ‬ٛ‫ ق‬٠‫ زىجؽ ث‬٦ٗ

Words are coming from your not coming They get scattered all around my desolation Like pain they adhere to my life You remain in my heart like a word You do not separate from August Nor from my dying From your maroon shirt that clothed my veins Words are coming from your not coming From you‟ve gotten used to losing me To I kiss you from a distance And dying from at your side was not easy To come back to you I would become a pillar of salt To myself an Egyptian odalisque That besides your loving Your not loving it gets scattered all around my desolation It adheres to my life

Separate me from words ‫ اق ًٔ٘بر‬ًٚ ٖ٧‫ خؽا‬From your shirt ‫ز‬ٜ١‫فا‬٨‫ اق د‬From the leftovers of a pillar in Borazjan*

ٙ‫ ؼـ ثفاقخب‬٦ٛٞ‫ وش‬٥‫ب‬١ ٟ‫ؽ‬ٛ‫ ٗب‬٠‫اق س‬

*= a small city off the Persian Gulf near salt flats.

Poet: Farzaneh Ghavami

‫ فزساًَ لْاهی‬:‫ضاعز‬

‫ تًْا الراظ‬: ‫هرزجن‬ Translated by Alkhas

)1 ٥‫ آٗؽ‬٠ً ‫ة‬ٝ‫ثب ؿف‬ ٕ‫ ا‬ٟ‫ف‬٨‫غ‬ ٕ‫ؼ‬ٞ‫ اق غ‬ًٚ ٖ٧‫خؽا‬ ٦ٛ‫بـ ػٌه ق‬ًٜ ٖٛ‫ثسىجب‬ ‫ؽ‬ٛ‫ؽ ٌؽ‬٨ٗ‫با‬ٛ ‫ اي ـا‬٦٧‫ؽا‬٨‫ب د‬١ ٠ٗ‫ب‬ٛ‫ق‬ٝ‫ ـ‬٠ً ‫ٓؽي‬ٞ‫ع س‬٧‫سبـ‬ٝ ‫ِف اوز‬٧‫كاـ وبّ ؼ‬١ ‫كاـ‬١ )2 ...ًٚ ٌٚٝ‫ب ـا ـ‬١ ‫ن‬ٞٛ‫كب‬ ‫ اوز‬ٟ‫ ٗفؼ‬٦‫ؼـ وبضْ اوج‬ ‫ؽ‬ٛ‫ؽ‬٨٘٢‫ب ك‬١ ‫ًالؽ‬ ‫ىز‬٨ٛ ٦‫ج‬٨‫د‬ٛ ٙ‫ا‬ٞ٨‫ض‬ ‫ؽ‬ٜ​ًٜ ‫ق‬ٝ‫ً سدب‬٧‫ب‬١ ٍٖ‫ ز‬٠‫ؽ ث‬٧‫ثب‬ ‫ اي ـا‬٥‫ ا‬ٟٞ٢‫وز ه‬ٞ‫ د‬ٝ ...‫ؽ‬ٜ١‫ ؼ‬ٙ‫ٍب‬ٛ ‫ آكشبة‬٠‫ث‬

1) So you came with the dusk I sit and stare Separate me from myself Paste me next to the picture of a woman Who the newspapers have given up hope of her being found And her birth date Is a thousand thousand years from now 2) Light the lanterns…

A horse has died on the shore The crows have understood It is not a noble animal They have to violate its eyes And show its brown hide To the sun…

‫ تًْا الراظ‬:‫هرزجن‬

‫ سواًَ سزچوی‬:‫ضاعز‬

Translated by Alkhas

Poet: Samaneh Sarchami

ٚٗ ّ‫ ؼـ ؼ‬،٠ٛ‫ وفؼغب‬ٚ٧‫ ا‬٥ٞ‫س‬ ‫ؽ‬ٜ‫اث‬ٞ‫ك ؼـ غ‬٧‫ ػك‬٦٧‫ب‬١ ٟ‫ٗفؼ‬ ‫ ـا‬٠٘١ ٕ‫ ا‬٠‫ ًٍش‬٠ً ٦٧‫ب‬١ ٟ‫ٗفؼ‬ ‫ؽ‬ٛٞ٨‫ف د‬١ ‫ج‬ٝ‫ب ؼـ ا‬٢‫ ٌج‬٠٘٨ٛ * ‫ ٌؼف‬ٝ ٠‫و‬ٞ‫ ث‬ٝ ‫ ٌفاة‬٥‫ب‬١ ٟ‫ٗفؼ‬ ‫ؽ‬ٛ‫ وفؼ‬ٝ ‫ وبًز‬٠‫ ضبال ز‬،‫ق‬٨‫ض‬ ‫ِبـ‬٨‫ و‬ٝ ‫ر‬ٞ‫ي ـغ‬ٞ‫ق آؿ‬٨‫ض‬ ‫ؽ‬ٜ‫ ثب ٓجػ‬٠٧‫ن ُف‬٨‫هز سٔل‬ٝ * ‫ آؼٕ ـا‬٠ٔ٨‫ي هج‬٧ ٕ‫ ا‬٠‫ًٍش‬ ًٖٝ‫ ٗشف‬٥‫ب‬١ ٠ٛ‫فا‬٧ٝ ‫دٍز‬ ٙ‫ك‬ٛ ٠‫ج‬٧‫ ؿف‬ٚ٧‫ ؼـ غبى ا‬٠‫دفو‬ ًٌٍٖٞٗ ‫ك‬٨ٛ ٞ‫ هشْ س‬٠‫ ث‬ٚٗ

In this cold storage, inside of my heart All the beloved dead lay at rest The corpses, every one that I have killed at midnight our bodies together pressed * the dead from wine, kisses and poetry too bad, how cold they are now and fixed too bad, lethargic hugs and cigarettes when tears and laughter are together mixed * I have killed a complete tribe of people Behind the abandoned empty lots Stroll not around the ground of this stranger About your murder I have other thoughts

Translated by Alkhas ‫ تًْا الراظ‬:‫هرزجن‬ ‫ ضِزساز علٍوحوسی‬:‫ضاعز‬ Poet: shahrzad alimohammadi

ٖٛ‫ا‬ٞ‫ ثػ‬ٞ‫ س‬٥‫ٖ ثفا‬١‫ا‬ٞ‫ غ‬٦ٗ ٕ‫ؽ‬ٜ‫ ثػ‬،ٖ٧ِٞ‫ث‬ ‫ اوز‬ٚ٨ِٛ‫ ـ‬٥‫ؽؼاـ‬٨‫ وذ‬ٙٞ‫٘س‬١ ‫ز‬ٛ‫ زٍ٘ب‬٠ً ٞ‫ س‬٥‫ثفا‬ ‫ هٔت‬ٙٞ‫٘س‬١ ‫ز‬ٛ‫ ؼوشب‬٠ً ٞ‫ س‬٥‫ثفا‬ ‫ سذؽ‬٦ٗ ‫ وػز‬٥‫ب‬١ ٠‫اق هلى‬ ٠ً ٌٖ‫ ثب‬ٙ‫ب‬ٜ‫ز ز‬٧‫وز ؼاـٕ ثفا‬ٝ‫ؼ‬ ‫ؼ‬ٞ‫ ث‬٦٧‫وشب‬ٝ‫ؼغشفى ـ‬ ‫ؼ‬ٞ‫ص ث‬٨‫ٗى‬ ‫اـ‬ٞ‫ اوش‬ًٟٞ ٙ‫ب‬ٜ‫٘س‬١ ٙ‫ا‬ٝ‫ ـ‬،‫ؼ‬ٝ‫ ـ‬ٙ‫ب‬ٜ‫٘س‬١ ‫ق‬٨ٙٓ ،ُْ ٙ‫ب‬ٜ‫٘س‬١ ‫جب‬٧‫ ق‬،‫ ػٍن‬ٙ‫ب‬ٜ‫٘س‬١ .‫ٖ ًفؼ‬١‫ا‬ٞ‫ز غ‬٧‫ ِؽا‬٥‫ق‬ٝ‫ـ‬ .‫ؽ‬ٜ‫ىش‬٧‫ب اق ضفًز ثبقا‬١‫ اثف‬٠٘١ ٠ً ٥‫ق‬ٝ‫ـ‬ .‫ ـهّؽ‬٦ٗ ٙ‫زٌ٘ب‬ًٞ ْٞ‫شبة ؼـ ض‬٢ٗ ٠ً ٥‫ق‬ٝ‫ـ‬ .ٕ‫ٖ ؿفم وبق‬٧‫ب ـا ؼـ ِؽا‬١ ‫ س٘بٕ ضفف‬٠ً ٥‫ق‬ٝ‫ـ‬ ٝ ٌٖ‫ ثب‬٠‫ك ـا ؼـ ثف ؼاٌش‬٨‫ ز‬٠٘١ ٠ً ٥‫ق‬ٝ‫ـ‬ ٖٛ‫ا‬ٞ‫ز ثػ‬٧‫ك ـا ثفا‬٨‫ ز‬٠٘١ ٖٛ‫ثب زٍ٘ب‬ ،٥‫آـ‬ ،‫ ـوؽ‬٦ٗ ‫ٌز‬ُٞ ٠‫ ث‬٦٧‫ا‬ٞٛ ،ٌٞ ‫ؽ‬ٜٔ‫ث‬ .ٖ٧‫ آ‬٦ٗ ‫ز‬٧ٞ‫ و‬٠‫ ث‬٠ً ٖٜٗ ٚ٧‫ا‬

I want to sing for you To laugh and talk For you whose eyes are as colorful as an aspen tree For you whose hands like a heart Keep a strong rhythm from inside cages For you I want to be just like The village girl was Like Jesus was Solid as a mountain Fluent as a river Fragile as a flower Beautiful as love One day I will call for you One day when all the clouds cease to move One day when the moonshine dances in our small pool One day when I drown all the words in my voice One day when I have everything memorized and Sing everything for you with my eyes Yes, A melody reaches your ears; Get up, It is I who is coming towards you

‫ تًْا الراظ‬:‫هرزجن‬

‫ هحوس هسعْز کزهی‬:‫ضاعز‬

2) You Were my sweetened coffee Your end An interpretation of leaving That now With a coffee more bitter than your absence At a table for one Waiting for death I sit

Translated by Alkhas

)2 ٞ‫س‬ ٥‫ؼ‬ٞ‫ ث‬ٚٗ ٚ٧‫ف‬٨ٌ ٥ٟٞ٢‫ه‬ ‫ز‬ٛ‫ب‬٧‫ دب‬ٝ ‫ؼ‬ٞ‫ ث‬ٚ‫ اق ـكش‬٥‫ف‬٨‫سؼج‬ ‫ ضبال‬٠ً ‫ز‬ٛ‫ؼ‬ٞ‫ج‬ٛ ‫ سٔعسف اق‬٥‫ا‬ٟٞ٢‫ثب ه‬ ٟ‫لف‬ٛ ‫ي‬٧ ٥‫ك‬٨ٗ ‫دٍز‬ ٍ‫شظبـ ٗف‬ٛ‫ؼـ ا‬ .ٕ‫ا‬٠‫ٍىش‬ٛ

1) I have passed My childhood But Still A cradle Within me Rocks

Poet: Mohamad Masoud Karami

)1 ٖ٧‫ب‬١٦ً‫ؼ‬ًٞ ‫اق‬ ٖ‫ُؿٌش‬ ‫اٗب‬ ‫ق‬ٜٞ١ ٥‫ا‬ٟ‫اـ‬ٞ٢ُ ٚٗ ‫ؼـ‬ ‫ـؼ‬ٞ‫غ‬٦ٗ ‫سبة‬

‫ تًْا الراظ‬:‫هرزجن‬

‫ ذاطزٍ ُوری‬:‫ضاعز‬

Translated by Alkhas

Poet: Khatere Hemmati

‫ٗؽاّ اكشػبـ ـا‬ ‫ؽ‬ٜ١‫ ٗبؼـٕ ثؽ‬٠‫ؽ ث‬٧‫ثب‬ ‫ دؽـ ـا‬٥‫ب‬١٦ٌٝ‫ وفؼ‬٠ً ‫ًفؼ‬٦ٗ ٌٖ‫ف ٌت ٗط‬١ ‫قؼ‬٦ٗ ‫اًه‬ٝ ‫ً ـا‬٧‫ب‬١ٚ٨‫س‬ٞ‫د‬ ‫ وبٖٓ ثفُفؼؼ‬٠ً ‫ًفؼ‬٦ٗ ‫ ؼػب‬ٝ ٝ ‫ٍِز‬ٛ‫ثف‬ ٕ‫ٗبؼـ‬ ‫ٌؽ‬ٞ‫د‬٦٘ٛ ٕ‫ ٓجبن ـق‬٠ً ‫ىز‬٨ٛ ٟ‫ً وشبـ‬٧‫ب‬١‫ي‬ٝ‫ ؼ‬٥ٝ‫ـ‬ ‫ؼـؼ اوز‬ .‫ؼ‬ٌٞ٦٘ٛ ٕ‫اٗب ؼكبع ٗوؽوً س٘ب‬

They should give the medal of honor To my mother Who every night sewed on His epaulettes tightly And she would polish his boots And she prayed for his safe return And He returned And mother Who did not wear a military uniform Has no stars on her shoulders It‟s painful But her Sacred Defense never ends

ٕ‫ قؼ‬ٟ‫ ـا‬ٙ‫ آ‬٠‫ؼٕ ـا ث‬ٞ‫غ‬ ‫ب‬١ ‫فف‬ٙٛ‫ اسلبهبً آ‬ٝ .‫ىز‬٨ٛ ‫ـ‬ٝ‫اِالً ؼ‬ ٥‫ ٌؽ‬ٟ‫ؽ‬٨٘‫غ‬ ٦ٛ‫ا‬ٞ‫خ‬ ٥‫ؽ‬ٜ‫ غ‬٦ٗ ٠‫ آجش‬ٝ ‫ ؼاـؼ‬٥‫ؼ‬ٞٓ‫ آ‬٠ٗ ٥‫ب كٕب‬١ ‫فف‬ٙٛ‫آ‬ ٖٜ٨‫ ث‬٦٘ٛ ٚٗ ٠ً ‫ؽ‬ٛ‫ ثف‬٦ٗ ‫ ـا‬ٞ‫ س‬٥‫ؽ ؼػب‬ٛ‫ ؼاـ‬ٟ‫ؽ‬ٛ‫ؽ دف‬ٜ‫ز‬ ٥‫ؽ‬ٜ‫ غ‬٦ٗ ٞ‫ س‬٦‫هش‬ٝ ٝ ‫ؽاـ‬٨‫ ث‬٥ ٠‫ سب كفٌش‬٠‫و‬ ‫ؽ‬ٜ​ًٜ ٦ٗ ٠٧‫ُف‬ ٠‫ آجش‬ٚٗ ٕ‫ ا‬ٟ‫ قؼ‬٠‫ز‬ًٞ ٠‫ؼٕ ـا ث‬ٞ‫غ‬ ‫ىز‬٨ٛ ٖ‫او‬ٞ‫ ٗثالً اِالً ض‬ٝ ٕ‫غ ًفؼ‬ٙ‫ ـا ه‬ٚ‫ سٔل‬٠‫ي ؼكؼ‬٧ ٠ً ‫ ثىشٖ ؼـ ـا‬٠٧‫ؽ ًلٍٖ ـا ثب ُف‬ٜ‫ث‬ ‫ؽ ثبـ‬ٜ‫ٖ ز‬ٛ‫ ؼا‬٦٘ٛ ٝ ٕ‫خت ًفؼ‬ٝ ‫ ػفْ اسبم ـا‬ٝ ّٞ٘ ‫ب‬١ ‫فف‬ٙٛ‫ ُلشٖ آ‬ٝ .‫ ؼاـؼ‬٥‫ ا‬ٟ‫ف‬٢ٓ‫ ؼ‬٠‫ز‬ ‫ ثؼؽ‬٠‫ ث‬ٚ٧‫اق ا‬ .ٕ‫ ؼاـ‬٥‫ِف‬٧‫ٖ ؼ‬٨ّ٘‫ س‬٦ًٍ‫ؼ‬ٞ‫ غ‬٥‫ثفا‬

Poet: Mohsen Bolhasani I decided to pretend I was on another road ‫ هحسي تْالحسٌی‬:‫ضاعز‬ And as it turned out It‟s not even that far from here, You‟re stooped over You‟re young And of course you‟re laughing Over there things are in a fog So I can‟t see A few birds are carrying your prayer And when you laugh Three angels who are awake Start to cry I of course Pretend not to notice As if I kind of have no idea what‟s going on And then I suddenly just hang up Crying I did up my shoelaces and the door And I don‟t know how many times I measured the length and width of this room in hand spans And I said that over on the other side There was some heavy anxiety.

From now on I‟ve chosen a different way to kill myself.

Translated by Alkhas

‫ تًْا الراظ‬:‫هرزجن‬

In a frame made of glass; eyes that I‟ve known A woman in a nightgown sitting alone On the other side of the bars a long shadow Brings two teas till a man with his hands grown

‫ؽ‬ٜٔ‫ ث‬٥ ٠٧‫ي وب‬٧ ‫ب‬١ ٟ‫فؼ‬ٛ ٥ٞ‫ و‬ٙ‫آ‬ ‫ ٗفؼ ثب‬٠ٌٛ‫ سب آ‬٥‫ زب‬ٝ‫ـؼ ؼ‬ٝ‫ آ‬٦ٗ ٥‫ زب‬٥‫ خب‬٠‫ اٗب ث‬...‫ الؿفي‬ٙ‫ؼوشب‬ ‫ ـا‬٠ٛ‫ب‬ٛ‫ ق‬٦‫ؽ ؼوش‬ًٜ ٦ٗ ‫ ٓ٘ه‬ٝ‫ا‬

ٚٗ ,ٞ‫ب س‬٧ ‫ ٗفؼ‬,ٙ‫ؽ ق‬ًٜ ٦٘ٛ ٦‫كفه‬ ‫ب‬١ ٟ‫فؼ‬ٛ ٥ٞ‫ و‬ٚ٧‫لف ا‬ٛ ‫ي‬٧ ٟ‫ؽ‬ٛ‫خب ٗب‬ ٙ‫ِ ق‬٠٨‫ؽ ٌج‬٧‫ ٌب‬,‫ؼ‬ٌٞ ٦ٗ ‫ؼـ ثبق‬ ‫ سب‬٠‫ ـكش‬٠٧‫ي وب‬٧ ٟ‫ـ ٗب‬ٞٛ ‫ف‬٧‫ؼـ ق‬... # ٥‫ زب‬ٙ‫ب اوشٌب‬٧ ‫وز‬ٝ‫ ؼوز ا‬٥‫ُفٗب‬ ‫ ِؽا‬٦‫ ث‬ٝ ٕ‫ؼ آـا‬ٌٞ ٦ٗ ٠‫ؼـ ثىش‬

It‟s the same, man or woman, you or I Someone is left on this side all alone The doors opens, and perhaps like a woman In the light of the moon a shadow is shown… # Is it her hand's warmth or the cup of tea, silent and calm the door closes on its own

َ‫ب آػب‬ٛٞ‫ ث‬:ٖ‫ٗشفخ‬

‫ب‬ٌٜ‫ آ‬٦ٛ‫ ؛ زٍ٘ب‬٥‫ ا‬٠ٍ٨ٌ ‫ؼـ هبة‬ ‫ب‬٧ ٠‫ٍىش‬ٛ ‫ب‬٢ٜ‫اة س‬ٞ‫ ثب ٓجبن غ‬ٙ‫ق‬

Translated by Alkhas

Poet: Rasoul Moareknejad

‫ماؼ‬ٛ‫ّ ٗؼفى‬ٞ‫ ـو‬:‫ٌبػف‬

Thin… yet instead of the two cups of tea He touches a hand with a woman‟s bone

‫ تٌٍاهٍي جْازی‬:‫ضاعز‬ Poet: Benyamin Javadi

Translated by Alkhas ‫ تًْا الراظ‬:‫هرزجن‬

)1 ،ٙ‫قٗىشب‬ ،٠ٍ‫ ـػ‬٦ٛ‫ثب ؼوشب‬ ٦ٛ‫ىشب‬٢ٓ ٦ٓ‫ؽ‬ِٜ ‫ثف‬ ،‫بـ‬٢‫ ث‬ٝ ‫وز‬ٝ‫ ا‬٥ ٠ٛ‫ ػبٌوب‬٥ ٟ‫ب غب٘ف‬٢ٜ‫س‬ .‫ اوز‬ٟ‫ؽ‬ٛ‫٘في خب ٗب‬٧‫ آٓكا‬٥‫ ال‬٠‫ الث‬٠ً )2 ‫ؽ‬ٜٛ‫ سف اق آ‬ٟ‫ؽ‬٨‫و‬ٞ‫ د‬،‫ب‬١ ٙ‫ا‬ٞ‫اوشػ‬ .‫ؽ‬ٜ١‫ ؼ‬٠ٗ‫ اؼا‬٠ً ٖ٨ٛ‫ ٗب‬٦ٗ ‫ب ٗب‬٢ٜ‫س‬ ،ٚ٨‫س‬ٞ‫ؽ د‬ٜ‫ـ ث‬ًٞ ٥ ٟ‫ ُف‬ٝ ،َٜ‫ خ‬٥ ٟ‫ق‬ٞٗ ٚ٧‫شف‬٧ٝ ‫ؼـ‬ ٚ٨‫ـث‬ٝ‫ؽ كًٔ ؼ‬ٜ‫ ز‬ٝ ‫ؽ‬ٜ‫ثب ٓجػ‬

1) Winter, With hand tremors, On a Windsor chair And Spring, Are his only romantic memories That are left within the layers of his Alzheimer‟s 2) The bones, are too decayed To continue.

Only we are left And the Gordian knot on the boot‟s laces, inside the showcase at the War Museum, With a smile and a few camera flashes

‫ هٌٍْ ذْاجَالسٌي‬:‫ضاعز‬

Poet: Minoo Khajeh Aldin

٦‫وفظ آث‬ ٕ‫ُه ُف‬ ‫ ثجبـؼ‬ٚٗ ‫ ػٍن ثب‬٥‫ب‬١ ٠ٛ‫سف ؼا‬ ٞ‫ س‬٥‫ ثىشف آكشبة ثبٌؽ ثفا‬٠ٛ‫ غب‬ٝ ‫ؽ‬ٛ‫وفى ثٌٍؽ ث٘ب‬ ‫ن‬ٞ١ ٝ ‫اة‬ٞ‫ غ‬٥ٞ‫ ث‬٠ً ‫سؽ ؼـ ثبؽ‬٨‫ ثذ‬ٞ‫ثب س‬ ٖٜ‫ س‬ٙ‫ـ ِ ُفؼ‬ٝ‫ؼ‬ ‫ ُه‬٦‫وفظ آث‬ ‫ب ثجف‬٨‫ ث‬ٙ‫ث٘ب‬ ‫ؼ‬ٞ‫ٗفا ثب غ‬ ٕ‫ ا‬٠ٛ‫ؼـؼا‬ ‫ؼ‬ٞ‫ٗفا اق غ‬

Crimson blue Warm astringent Wet drops of love rain with me And the house is the sun‟s bed for you To peek in stay That the smell of sleep and desire Will circle around the garden with you Around the neck of my body Crimson blue astringent Stay come take Me with you I am the favorite Me from yourself

Translated by Alkhas ‫ تًْا الراظ‬:‫هرزجن‬

Translated by Alkhas

A concrete feeling upon my soul came crashing down On these rainy nights I wander wet around this town In a closed circle confused about you I walk around You are at the center but to you this is unknown I guess I‟ve lost hope as night crouches behind my beliefs I fear the threat tomorrow into despair I‟ll be thrown Confess now that you too are the hands of the devil Better I should say you are the reason our sins have grown The fate of my poems fortune cup with gloom overflows Has not the bitter reading to you already been shown On the day that you close your eyes to my sensations I‟ll steal a kiss from death every time the sun goes down

َ‫ب آػب‬ٛٞ‫ ث‬:ٖ‫ٗشفخ‬

‫فآؾـ‬٢ٗ ‫بق‬ٛ‫٘ب‬٨‫ و‬:‫ٌبػف‬

Poet: Simanaz Mehrazar

٦ٛ‫٘ب‬٨‫ي ضه و‬٧ ٚٗ ‫ش‬ٝ‫اـ ٌؽ ثف ـ‬ٝ‫آ‬ ٦ٛ‫ ثبـا‬٥‫ب‬٢‫ ٌج‬ٚ٧‫ىٖ ؼـ ا‬٨‫ غ‬ٝ ٟ‫اـ‬ٝ‫آ‬ ٖ‫زفغ‬٦ٗ ٞ‫ّ س‬ٞ‫ ض‬٦١ ٠‫ي ٗؽاـ ثىش‬٧ ‫ؼـ‬ !!٦ٛ‫فا‬٨‫ ض‬ٟ‫اـ‬ٞ٘١ ‫ؼر‬ٞ‫ اٗب غ‬٦٧ٞ‫ٗفًك س‬ ٟ‫ ًفؼ‬ٚ٨ً٘ ‫ب‬٧ُٞ ٕ‫ـ‬ٝ‫ٌت دٍز دٔي ثب‬ ٦ٛ‫ٍب‬٧‫ دف‬٥‫ؽ كفؼا‬٧‫ؽ‬٢‫سفوٖ اق س‬٦ٗ ٦ٛ‫ب‬ٙ٨ٌ ‫ٖ ؼوز‬١ ٞ‫ س‬٠ً..‫ ضبال‬ًٚ ‫اهفاـ‬ !٦ٛ‫ب‬١‫ب‬ُٜ ْ‫ ثو‬٥٠ٙ‫و‬ٛ ٖ٧ِٞ‫شف ث‬٢‫ث‬ ‫كاوز‬٧‫بٕ ٓجف‬٢‫ كبّ ٌؼفٕ اق اث‬ٙ‫دب‬ٜ‫ك‬ ‫؟‬٦ٛ‫ؼا‬٦٘ٛ ‫ف سٔػً ـا‬٨‫ٖ سؼج‬١ ٞ‫ب س‬٧‫آ‬ ٖ‫ اضىبو‬٥ٝ‫ ـ‬٥‫ؽ‬ٜ‫ زٍ٘ز ـا ثج‬٠ً ٥‫ق‬ٝ‫ـ‬ ٦ٛ‫ب‬٢ٜ‫ د‬٠‫و‬ٞ‫ي ث‬٧ !٦‫فٕ ٌج‬٨ُ٦ٗ ٍ‫اق ٗف‬

‫ لٍال ًْری ًائٌٍی‬:‫ضاعز‬ Poet: Leila Nouri Naini

ٖ٧‫ب‬١ ٟ‫اـ‬ٌُٞٞ ‫ز دٍز‬٧‫ب‬١ ‫ضفف‬ ٦ًٜ ‫ وز ؼوز ؼـاق‬٦‫ًبك‬ ٦ٜ٨‫ ثس‬ٞٓ‫آٓجب‬ ٦٧ِٞ‫ ث‬٠ّ‫ٖ ه‬٧‫ ثفا‬ٝ ٦‫ؽ ثجبك‬ٝ‫ ؼـ‬٦ٛ‫ا‬ٞ‫ س‬٦ٗ ٦ًٜ ٟ‫سب‬ًٞ ‫ٖ ـا‬٧‫ب‬١ٞٗ ٝ ٥‫ؽ‬ٜ‫ٖ ثػ‬٧‫ب‬١ ٍٖ‫ ز‬٠‫ثؼؽ ث‬ ٥ٌٞ ‫فثبسف‬٢ٗ ٝ ٦٧‫ب‬١‫ب‬٧ٝ‫ٗثْ ـ‬ ٦ًٜ ٦ٗ ‫دبم‬ٜ‫ٖ و‬٧‫ب‬١ ‫ ٌت‬٠‫ ث‬٠ً ٦ٛ‫ٖ ثؽا‬١‫ا‬ٞ‫ غ‬٦ٗ ‫ؼ‬ٌٞ ٦٘ٛ َٜ‫ؼٖٓ س‬ ‫ ُفؼؼ‬٦٘ٛ ٞ‫ْ س‬٨ٗ ٠‫ ث‬٠ٍ٨٘١ ‫قُبـ‬ٝ‫ ـ‬ٝ ‫ ـوؽ‬٦ٗ ٚٗ ‫ثز‬ٞٛ ٦١‫ُب‬ ٠ً ٦٧‫ب‬١ ‫ي‬ُٞ ٝ ‫ؽ‬ٛ‫ؽ‬ٜ‫ غ‬٦ٗ ‫ز‬٧‫ب‬١ ٟ‫ػؽ‬ٝ ٠‫ث‬

Translated by Alkhas ‫ تًْا الراظ‬:‫هرزجن‬

Your words behind my earrings You just need to reach your hand out To pick sour cherries And tell me a story You can make up lies And cut my hair short And afterwards laugh into my eyes And become nicer Like the dreams You pin to my nights I want you to know I don‟t miss you And the days don‟t always go your way At times it‟s my turn And the ears That laugh at your promises

Translated by Alkhas

َ‫ب آػب‬ٛٞ‫ ث‬:ٖ‫ٗشفخ‬

٠ٍ٨٘١ ‫ؼ‬ٝ‫ـ‬٦ٗ ٠ً ٙ‫قٗىشب‬ ‫ؽ‬ٛ‫ٗب‬٦ٗ ‫ خب‬٦٧‫ب‬١‫ك‬٨‫ي ز‬٧ ٚٔ‫ٗث‬ ‫بـ‬ٙ‫ ه‬ٟ‫ىشِب‬٧‫ ؼـ ا‬٥‫زشف‬ ٠ٍ٨ٌ ‫ دٍز ثػبـ‬٦١‫ِب‬ٛ ‫ ثفف‬٥ٝ‫ ـ‬٦٧‫ ـؼ دب‬ٝ ‫ؼ‬ٝ‫ـ‬٦ٗ ٠ً ٙ‫ قٗىشب‬٠ٍ٨٘١ ‫ؽ‬ٛ‫ٗب‬٦ٗ ‫ خب‬٥‫ك‬٨‫ز‬ ‫ ؼـغز‬٥٠‫ ٌبغ‬٥ٝ‫ ـ‬٦ُ‫ٗثْ غًغً ثف‬ ‫هز‬ٝ ‫ر‬٨١ ٠ً ٦٧‫ب‬١‫ك‬٨‫ب ز‬٧ ‫هز‬ٝ ‫ر‬٨١ .‫ؽ‬ٜ١‫ؼ‬٦٘ٛ ٠‫ك‬ٌٞ​ٌ Always When winter goes away Some things are left behind For example An umbrella at the train station A face behind a steamed window And footsteps in the snow Always when winter goes away Something is left behind Like the rustling of a leaf on a tree branch Or things that never Ever Will blossom

ٟ‫قاؼ‬٦٘‫بظ‬١ ٟ‫ آقاؼ‬:‫ٌبػف‬ Poet: azadeh Hazemizadeh

‫ هحوس زاللثاضی اغفِاًی‬:‫ضاعز‬ Poet: Mohammad Dalalbashi Esfahani

‫ؼ‬ٝ‫ ـ‬ٝ ٦٧‫ب‬٢ٜ‫ س‬ٝ ٦ٛ‫ال‬ٞ٘ ٦ٌ‫د‬ ‫ؼ‬ٝ‫ ؼ‬ٝ ٠‫ وفك‬ٝ ‫شظبـ‬ٛ‫ ا‬ٝ ‫هفاـ‬ .. .. .. ٦‫هش‬ٝ ‫كوز‬٨ِٛ‫ ؿٖا‬ٞ‫اخ‬ٞ‫دْ غ‬ ‫ؼ‬ٝ‫ ثؽـ‬٠ً ‫ؽ‬٧ُٞ٦ٗ ٕ‫ آـا‬٦‫ًى‬ By the river alone, a long deep puff A planned date, a long wait, more smoke, a cough .. .. ..

Khaju Bridge* can be a sorrowful place When someone softly says, "Bye, that‟s enough!”

*-an ancient bridge in Isfahan

Translated by Alkhas ‫ تًْا الراظ‬:‫هرزجن‬

ٍ‫ فاطوَ هحسي ساز‬:‫ضاعز‬ Poet: Fatemeh Mohsenzadeh

٥‫ٖ ًفؼ‬ٞ‫وو‬ ٦ٛٞٛ‫ر هب‬٨١ ٦‫ث‬ ٥‫ ا‬٠‫ر خبؾث‬٨١ ٦‫ث‬ ٥‫ً ٌؽ‬٨ٗ ٝ‫ ُب‬٠ُّٔ ‫ي‬٧ ّ‫ِٓؽٗب‬ ! ‫ّا‬ٞ‫ض‬ ‫ّز‬٨‫ى‬ٜ‫ػّف خ‬ ‫ؽ‬٨ًٍ ‫ ـغز‬٠‫ اي ـا ث‬٦ِٛ‫ٗفؼا‬ "‫ ًبٌ٘ف‬ٝ‫ٗثْ " وف‬ ٦‫ سبـاج ـكش‬٠‫ث‬ ‫ىز‬٧‫ ُف‬ٟ‫ثبـ‬ٝ‫قـسٍز ؼ‬

You fell Without any law Without any gravity And you were kicked around by a herd of buffalo Eve! The eve of sexuality He taunted you with his manliness Like the “Cypress of Kashmar” You were plundered And Zoroaster cried again

!ٚٗ‫ف‬١‫ك ا‬٨‫ثفغ‬ ‫وز‬ٞ‫ س‬٥ ٠ٛ‫ قٗب‬ٙ‫قٗب‬ ‫بقاـ‬٨‫آة ـا ث‬ ‫بقاـ‬٨‫آسً ـا ث‬ ‫ ـا‬ٟ‫ب‬٨ُ ...‫ـٗكؼ ـا‬ٝ‫ً ا‬ٜ٧‫ آكف‬٥ ٠٘١

Rise up Ahriman!

The time is now yours Disturb the water Disturb the fire And the plants And all the creations of Ahuramazda…

Translated by Alkhas ‫ تًْا الراظ‬:‫هرزجن‬

‫ؼ‬ٞ‫ ث‬ٟ‫ ثفؼ‬ٞ‫إ ث‬٦٧‫ب‬٢ٜ‫ س‬٠‫ ث‬٠ً ٦ُٔ ٠‫ٌبغ‬ ‫ؽ‬٨ٌٍ‫ غ‬ٙ‫٘ب‬٧‫ب‬١‫ ؼوز‬ٚ٨‫ ث‬٥٠ِٔ‫ؼـ كب‬ !‫ه‬٨١ ‫ـ‬ٞ‫ار ـا ثػ‬ٟٞ٢‫ه‬ ٙ‫ك‬ٛ ٖ١ ٠‫ ٌؼف ـا ث‬ٚ٧‫ آـاًٗ ا‬ٝ ‫ف ثؼؽ‬ٙ‫اق و‬ ٕ‫ُفؼ‬٦ٗ‫ ثف‬٠ٛ‫ غب‬٠‫ث‬ ‫ٖ ـا‬٧‫ب‬١ٝ‫ آـق‬ٝ ٕ‫ُؿاـ‬٦ٗ ‫ب‬١‫ن‬ٞ‫ث‬ٞ‫ؼـ ِق اس‬ ‫كفؼا‬ !!!‫ وز‬٦‫ٌجػش‬ٞ‫ غ‬٦ٛ‫ب‬٢‫ق خ‬ٝ‫ـ‬ ٙ‫َ ثك‬ٛ‫ق‬ ٖ‫بو‬ٍٜ‫ز ـا ث‬٧‫ ِؽا‬٠ً ٥‫ـ‬ٞ‫ خ‬ٝ .ًٚ ٦‫غؽاضبكظ‬

The flower on the stem that sensed my loneliness Dried up in the space between our hands Shhhh!

Drink your coffee And don‟t disrupt the calm of this poem After the next line I will return home And my wishes I will leave in the line for the bus Tomorrow Is International Prosperity Day!!!

Call me And in a way I don‟t recognize your voice Say goodbye

‫ هِسا سٍُزی‬:‫ضاعز‬ Poet: Mahsa Zahiri

Translated by Alkhas ‫ تًْا الراظ‬:‫هرزجن‬

‫ هزٌن فٍزّسی‬:‫ضاعز‬

My hair flows in the stories My voice strays around the characters My gaze wanders through the settings And my eyes settled before their time on the face of The hero

٥‫ٖ ًفؼ‬ٛ‫ب‬٢ٜ‫ز د‬٧‫ب‬١ ٚ‫ ٗش‬ٚ٨‫بث‬ٜ٨‫ث‬

My portion of love was being slaughtered between the lines

‫ب‬١ ٠ّ‫ ؼـ ه‬ٟ‫ ٌؽ‬ٙ‫ٖ اكٍب‬٧‫ب‬١ٞٗ I am complaining about the bookstores ‫ب‬٢‫ش‬٨ّ‫ ٌػ‬ٙ‫ب‬٨ٗ ٙ‫ٖ وفُفؼا‬٧‫ ِؽا‬I take back my intertextuality ‫ب‬١ ٙ‫ ؼـ ٌٗب‬٠‫ٖ ٍُِ٘ش‬١‫ِب‬ٛ So much so that you will have to take me out your text ‫ٍىز‬ٛ ‫ز‬ٛ‫فٗب‬٢‫ ه‬٥ ٟ‫ف‬٢‫ ثف ز‬ٙ‫ـسف اق قٗب‬ٝ‫ ؼ‬٠ً ٖ٧‫ب‬٢ٍ٘‫ز‬ٝ ‫ؼ‬ٞ‫ب ث‬١‫ف‬ٙ‫ و‬ٙ‫ب‬٨ٗ ٙ‫ ٌؽ‬٦‫ٖ٘ اق ػٍن والغ‬٢‫و‬ ًٖٜ ٦ٗ ‫ز‬٧‫ب ٌ​ٌب‬١ ٠ٛ‫ؼاـٕ اق ًشبثػب‬ ٕ‫ف‬٨ُ ٦ٗ ‫شٖ ـا ده‬٨ٜ‫بٗش‬ٜ٨‫ث‬ ٥‫ـ‬ٝ‫ آ‬ٙٝ‫ف‬٨‫ ار ث‬ٚ‫ف ٗش‬٧‫ ٗفا اق ق‬٥ٌٞ ‫ـ‬ٞ‫ ٗدج‬٠ً ‫وؽـ‬ٛ‫آ‬ ٦ٌٜٞ‫ ث‬٥‫بـٕ زب‬ًٜ ‫ ؼـ‬ٟ‫ال‬ٝ ‫ان‬ٞ‫و‬ٝ ‫ـ اق‬ٝ‫ ؼ‬٠‫ ػّف ث‬ٝ

And in the afternoon far from your obsession with words drink tea by my side

‫ تًْا الراظ‬:‫هرزجن‬

Poet: Maryam Firuzi

Throughout your writing you have hidden me

Translated by Alkhas

‫ هِسٌس هحوسی‬:‫ضاعز‬

Poet: Mahdis Mohammadi

‫ـ‬ّٞٗ ‫ٌؼف‬ ‫وز‬ٞ‫ُف س‬ٚ٨‫ سطى‬ٟ‫ِب‬ٛ ٥‫ا‬٠‫ ٓطظ‬٠ً ‫فؼ‬٨ُ٦ٗ ٕ‫آـا‬ ٦ٛ‫ٌف ق‬٨‫ د‬٥ٝ‫ـ‬ ،٠ٜ١‫ثف‬ ٟ‫ؿفم ٌؽ‬ ‫ِز‬ٛ‫ ـ‬٥‫ف‬٨ٌ ٥٠‫بد‬ٛ‫ؼـ ًب‬ ‫؟‬٦ٜ٨‫ث‬٦ٗ ٦ٌ‫ىز ٌبػف ثب‬٨ٛ ٕ‫ الق‬٦‫ضش‬ .‫ؽ‬ٜ٧ُٞ٦ٗ ‫ف ٌؼف‬٧ٝ‫ سّب‬٠ً ٦‫هش‬ٝ

Illustrated poems Your applauded way of seeing That for a moment Relaxes On a woman‟s body ... Naked, Immersed On your cream colored sofa Can you see?

You don‟t even have to be a poet When images write the poem

‫ تًْا الراظ‬:‫هرزجن‬ Translated by Alkhas

‫ؽ‬ٛ‫ب‬٧ٝ‫ ـ‬٦ٗ ٖ١ ٟ‫ؽ‬ٛ‫ ٗب‬ٙ‫ ثبـا‬ٚ٧‫ا‬ ٌٖ‫ ض‬٠‫ث‬ ٍٖ‫ اق ز‬ٟ‫ اكشبؼ‬ٙ‫ل‬ٝ‫ؽـ‬٨١ ٝ‫ؼ‬ .‫ؽ‬ٜ‫ ؼـ ث‬ٟ‫ؽ‬ٛ‫ ٗب‬ٙ‫م‬٨‫ي اًى‬٧ ٝ

This left over rain nurtures By sentence passed Two hydrogen fallen from the eyes And one oxygen left behind bars

Translated by Alkhas

‫ ثبـؼ‬٦ٗ ٠ً ٙ‫ ثبـا‬ٚ٧‫ا‬ ‫ اوز‬ٚٗ ٥ ٠‫ػش‬٧‫ف‬ٛ ٥‫ب‬١ ‫اٌي‬ ٠ً ‫ؽ‬ٜٛ‫ ق‬٦ٗ ٚ٨ٗ‫ٌف ق‬٨‫ ثف د‬٠‫ٔفث‬ ‫ؽ‬ٜ​ًٜ ٕ‫سب وال‬ ‫ب‬١ ٟ‫ وجك‬ٙ‫آ‬ ‫ؽ‬ٜ​ًٜ ٟ‫ـ‬ٝ‫ ؼ‬ٝ ‫ ٗفا‬٥‫ب‬١ ٍٖ‫ز‬ ‫ اق ؼوز‬٠‫ ـكش‬٥‫ب‬١ ٙ‫ قٗب‬ٙ‫آ‬

‫ تًْا الراظ‬:‫هرزجن‬

Poet: Sara Siamaki

‫ سارا سیامکی‬:‫شاعر‬

This rain that is falling Is my uncried tears That Pound into the body of the earth In order to greet Those green herbs And for my eyes To praise Those times that have been let go

‫ؽ‬ٛ‫ب‬٧ٝ‫ ـ‬٦ٗ ٖ١ ٟ‫ؽ‬ٛ‫ ٗب‬ٙ‫ ثبـا‬ٚ٧‫ا‬ ٌٖ‫ ض‬٠‫ث‬ ٍٖ‫ اق ز‬ٟ‫ اكشبؼ‬ٙ‫ل‬ٝ‫ؽـ‬٨١ ٝ‫ؼ‬ .‫ؽ‬ٜ‫ ؼـ ث‬ٟ‫ؽ‬ٛ‫ ٗب‬ٙ‫م‬٨‫ي اًى‬٧ ٝ

‫ سارا سیامکی‬:‫شاعر‬

Translated by Adrianne Alkhas

Poet: Sara Siamaki

‫ ثبـؼ‬٦ٗ ٠ً ٙ‫ ثبـا‬ٚ٧‫ا‬ ‫ اوز‬ٚٗ ٥ ٠‫ػش‬٧‫ف‬ٛ ٥‫ب‬١ ‫اٌي‬ ٠ً ‫ؽ‬ٜٛ‫ ق‬٦ٗ ٚ٨ٗ‫ٌف ق‬٨‫ ثف د‬٠‫ٔفث‬ ‫ؽ‬ٜ​ًٜ ٕ‫سب وال‬ ‫ب‬١ ٟ‫ وجك‬ٙ‫آ‬ ‫ؽ‬ٜ​ًٜ ٟ‫ـ‬ٝ‫ ؼ‬ٝ ‫ ٗفا‬٥‫ب‬١ ٍٖ‫ز‬ ‫ اق ؼوز‬٠‫ ـكش‬٥‫ب‬١ ٙ‫ قٗب‬ٙ‫آ‬

Lo que esta lloviendo Son mis lagrimas sin derramar Que Golpean en el cuerpo de la tierra Para dejarles saludar Esas hierbas verdes que envuelven Mis ojos en aquellos tiempos que se han dejado ir Esta lluvia de mas se nutre De frases pasados Dos hidrógenos caídos del ojo Un oxigeno encadenado

‫ هظاُز ضِاهد‬:‫شاعر‬ Poet: Mazaher Shahamat ‫ي‬٧‫كؼ‬ٛ ‫ؼـ‬ ‫ٍز‬٢‫ج‬٧‫ اـؼ‬ٟ‫ ٗب‬ٚ٨٘١ ٠ٌُٞ ‫ي ٌؼف‬٧ ٟ‫ؽ‬٧‫َ دف‬ٛ‫ـر ـ‬ِٞ ٥ٝ‫ـ‬ ٦ٜ‫ؼ‬٧ ‫ اوز‬ٟ‫ ًح ٌؽ‬٠ً ٚ٨ٗ‫ق‬ ٕ‫ا‬ٟ‫ِف ٗفؼ‬٧‫يثبـ ؼ‬٧ ‫ؽ‬ًٜ٦٘ٛ ٠ً ٦‫كفه‬ ٖ‫لش‬٨‫ ث‬٠ً ‫ف ًدب‬١ ‫ ُفؼ اوز‬ٚ٨ٗ‫ٖ ق‬١ ‫ثبق‬ ٕ‫ ؼـ وف‬ٙ‫ثب‬ٌٞ‫ح ث‬ٜ‫ده و‬ ‫ اق ٌشي‬ٟ‫ؽ‬٨‫ ٗبو‬ٙٞ‫ؽ ؼـ غ‬ًٜ ‫ف‬٨ُ ‫ز‬ٛ‫ٍِشب‬ٛ‫ح ا‬ٛ‫ ـ‬ٝ ‫ ثؼؽ‬ٝ ٥‫ؽ‬٨‫ ـو‬٠ً ‫ـ‬ٝ‫ ؼـ ؼ‬٦‫ زفاؿ‬٥ٞ‫و‬ٞ‫ و‬٠‫ث‬ ‫ اق ؼوز‬٥‫ٖ ـا ثٍِب‬٧‫ب‬١ٍ‫ر ـ‬٨‫د‬ ‫ي‬٧‫ٖ سبـ‬٨ٛ ٙ‫ب‬١‫ ؼـ ؼ‬ًٚ ٕ‫ا‬٠٘‫ – ٓو‬٠٘‫ٓو‬ ‫ ـا‬ٟ‫ ٗب‬٦ٛ‫ٍب‬٨‫ د‬ًٚ ‫ؼاؽ‬ ٝ ٌٞ ‫ـ‬ٝ‫ ثبؼ ؼ‬٠ٜ٨‫ و‬٠‫ ث‬٠ٜ٨‫و‬ ٕ‫ُب‬ ٕ‫ُب‬ ‫٘ز‬ٜ٨‫ث‬٦ٗ ‫ق‬ٜٞ١ ‫ـ‬ٝ‫ؼ‬ ‫ـ‬ٝ‫ؼ‬ ...‫ـ‬ٝ‫ؼ‬

Translated by Alkhas ‫ بونا الخاص‬: ‫مترجم‬

Up close In a corner of this month of Ordibehesht* On the pale face of a poem The earth is crooked meaning I have died once again It doesn‟t make much difference Wherever we happen to fall The earth is still round So crash cymbals together inside my head And the suffering of your fingers gets stuck on the splashed blood And then When you arrive at that distant dim light Twist open the veins in my hands A morsel - take me as a mouthful into a half dark mouth Heat up the forehead of the moon And And abreast with the wind distance yourself Step Step Step I still see you Distant Distant Distant…

*-The second month of the Iranian calendar starting April 20th and ending May 20th

ٍ‫ حسٍي هکیساز‬:‫ضاعز‬ Poet: Hosein Mackizadeh

‫ تًْا الراظ‬:‫هرزجن‬ Translated by Alkhas

ٙ‫ب‬٨ٗ ‫ؼ‬ٝ‫ ـ‬٦ٗ ‫ح‬٨ُ ‫ؽ‬ًٜ ٦ٗ ‫ ـا دبى‬٠‫ ثػبـ ُفكش‬٥‫ ا‬٠ٍ٨ٌ ٠ً ٦‫ؼوش‬ ٖ٧ٞ‫ؽ سو‬١‫ ؼ‬٦ٗ ‫ ثبؼ‬٠‫ب ث‬١‫ق‬ٝ‫ ـ‬ٚ٧‫بؼ اق ا‬٧‫ؼ ق‬ٝ‫ب ثؽـ‬١ ٦١‫ب‬٨‫ و‬The hand that wipes a fogged up window goes dizzily ‫ب‬١‫ غجف‬ٙ‫ب‬٨ٗ ‫ؼ دىف‬ٌٞ ٦ٗ ُٖ ‫ْ اوز غجف‬٨ٙ‫ؾ سؼ‬٧‫ ؼـ‬٦‫ وٌه ث‬ٝ ٚ٨‫اـ خ‬ٌٞٔ ٝ ٥‫ ا‬ٟٞ٢‫ ه‬ٍٚ‫ثب ًبد‬ ٙ‫ح ِجص ؼـ ثبـا‬ٜ‫ً وبػز د‬٧‫ب‬١ ‫له‬ٛ ‫ن ؼـ‬٨ٔ‫ ٗؼٔن سؼ‬٥‫ب‬١ ٍٖ‫ؼـ ز‬ ٠ٍ٨٘١ ‫جبسف اق‬٧‫ ق‬ٟ‫ف قؼ‬ٙ‫ اي ـا ػ‬ٚ‫ س٘بٕ س‬٠‫ي ُفكش‬ٝ‫ ؼ‬٠‫ ثفٍُش‬ٟ‫ؽ‬٧ٝ‫ؼ‬ ‫ دف اق‬٦‫ دٍش‬٠ًٓٞ ‫ؽاـؼ‬ٛ ‫ف‬٢ٌ ‫ ؼـ‬٥‫ِف ًبـ‬٧‫ ؼ‬٠ً ٙ‫ؽا‬ٜ‫ غ‬٦ٛ‫ب‬ٙ٨ٌ ْ‫ٗث‬ ٟ‫ اكشبؼ‬ٟ‫ٖ ـا‬ٜ٢‫ و٘ز خ‬٠‫ ث‬ٝ ٠‫ا ـا ثفؼاٌش‬ٞ‫ْ اؿ‬٧‫وب‬ٝ

into darkness with many farewells Such days the calendar throws to the wind

I get lost, son, inside the news In a brown jacket and a pair of jeans and sex without pity he is free and the news is in his suspended eyes suspense in his breathing running around in the rain at five in the morning returning taking a shower putting cologne all over his body looking better than ever like a grinning devil who has nothing left to do in town he ٟ‫ص ؼاؼ‬٨‫ق ـا سفخ‬ٝ‫ ًؽإ ـ‬ٙ‫ إٗب ًفؼ‬٥‫ ثفا‬takes his backpack full of tricks and heads towards hell

‫قظ‬ٝ‫ ؼـ ؼ‬٠‫ج‬ٌٍٜ٧ ‫ؽ‬ًٜ ٦٘ٛ ٦‫كفه‬ ‫ب‬٧ ٦ٌ‫ غٔن ثب‬ٙ‫ قثب‬What day did he prefer to sign for ‫ اق هٔجز‬ٟ‫ ثفآٗؽ‬٥‫ ا‬ٟ‫ال‬ٝ Sunday makes no difference in Hades ‫ب دف اوز دىف‬١‫ق‬ٝ‫ ـ‬ٚ٧‫ٖ اق ا‬٧ٞ‫ سو‬Whether you are the language of the people or Words that arise from your heart The calendar is full of these days, son

٥‫ؼ‬ٞ‫ وفظ ث‬٠‫اٗب ز‬ ‫ق‬ٝ‫ ـ‬ٙ‫ وجك آ‬٦٢ٗ ٙ‫ب‬٨ٗ Yet how crimson you were ‫ف وجكي ـا‬ٙ‫ س٘بٕ ػ‬ٙ‫ ثبـا‬ٝ In the green fog of that day .‫ػز‬٧‫ ـ‬ٞ‫ سٔع س‬٥‫ زب‬ٙ‫دب‬ٜ‫ ؼـ ك‬And the rain washed off all his green cologne And poured it into your bitter cup of tea

‫ تًْا الراظ‬:‫هرزجن‬

‫ رّهٌٍا عاتسی‬:‫ضاعز‬

Translated by Alkhas

Poet: Romina Abedi

!‫ؽاقؼ‬ٛ‫ب‬٨ٗ ‫ٗفا ؼوز‬ ‫ؽ‬ًٜ ٦ٗ ً​ً‫ٖ ـا ثبؼثبؼ‬٧‫ب‬١ ٟ‫اـ‬ٌُٞٞ ‫ سبح‬ٝ ‫ؽ‬١‫ا‬ٞ‫ غ‬٦ٗ ‫ح‬ٞ‫ٗؽإ س‬ ! ‫ّ ؼاـؼ‬ٞ٘ ٖٛ‫ ؼوشب‬ٙ‫ٍِشب‬ٛ‫ هؽ ٍٗز ا‬٠ٌٛ‫آ‬ ! ٖٓٞ‫ٖ ؿ‬ًٜ ٦ٗ ‫ضه‬ ًٖٜ ٦ٗ ٌُٖٞ ‫ً ـا‬٧‫ب‬٢ً‫ ثبؼثبؼ‬ٚٗ ‫ب‬٢ٛ‫ آ‬٦٘‫ٖ اق غٗ اـسجب‬ًٜ ٦ٗ ‫غ‬ٙ‫ً ـا ه‬٧‫ب‬٢‫ؼوش‬ ‫ؽ‬ٛ‫ك‬ٛ َٛ‫ ق‬ٙ‫ آو٘ب‬٠‫سب ث‬ ٝ‫ ـ‬ٟ‫بؼ‬٨‫ ثىبٖ د‬٥ٞ‫ؽاقٕ س‬ٛ‫ب‬٨ٗ ٝ ‫ٖ دب‬١. . .ٝ ‫ ؼوز‬٦‫ي ث‬٧ ٠‫ًٌ٘ ث‬ٝ‫لف‬٨ٗ !‫ؽ‬ًٜ ٦ِ‫ؽ ثس‬٧‫جب‬ٛ ‫٘ؽ‬٢‫ِف ثل‬٧‫سب ؼ‬

He jokes around with me!

He uses my earrings as his kite He constantly wants a ball and a bell That which is the size and length of my fisted fingers!

I feel like a giant!

I put his kites on my earlobes I cut off his hands from their phone lines So he won‟t call the sky And I throw him to the sidewalk merchants I sell him to someone handless and…footloose So he understands not to be childish anymore!

٦ٓٞ‫ ـو‬٠‫ كفٌش‬:‫ٌبػف‬

َ‫ب آػب‬ٛٞ‫ ث‬:ٖ‫ٗشفخ‬

I hate cigarettes And night texting And women And this damn craving Cocktail after cocktail I downed The streets of my body

......ٝ ‫ضىفر‬ ‫ِجص‬ ‫ب‬٢ٜ‫ س‬٦‫اث‬ٞ‫سػز غ‬ ‫ب‬١ ‫ؽاقٕ دٍز ٓت‬ٛ‫ ا‬٦ٗ ‫ؽ‬ٜ‫ث‬

Regret and ……

Morning Only one bed I pluck around my lips

‫ىز‬٨ٛ ‫ٍشف‬٨‫ ث‬ٚ١‫ف‬٨‫ؽ د‬ٜ‫ز‬ ‫ اي‬٠ٓ‫ي وب‬٧ ٥‫كا‬٧ٝ ٕ‫ ا‬ٟ‫ك ـا زي ًفؼ‬٨‫ ز‬٠٘١ !...‫ اوز‬ٚ٨ِٜ‫اثً و‬ٞ‫غ‬

There are no more than a few shirts His one year visa I‟ve checked everything He‟s a deep sleeper…!

Translated by Alkhas

Poet: Fereshteh Rasouli.

ٕ‫لف‬ٜ‫ِبـ ٗش‬٨‫اق و‬ ٠ٛ‫اق ان إ ان ٌجب‬ ٙ‫اق ق‬ ٦‫ش‬ٜ‫بـ ٓؼ‬٧ٝ ٚ٧‫اق ا‬ ‫ٖ ـا‬ٜ‫ س‬٥‫ب‬١ ٙ‫بثب‬٨‫غ‬ ٝ ‫ؽ‬٨ًٍ ‫الن وف‬٨ُ ٠‫الن ث‬٨ُ

Poet: Mahsa Javadi

‫ هِسا جْازی‬:‫ضاعز‬

ٚٗ ‫ؼ ؼـ‬ٝ‫ف‬٨ٗ ٝ‫ كف‬٠ً ‫ٍِشبر‬ٛ‫ي ا‬ٛ ‫ص ـا‬٨‫ سىج‬٥‫ب‬١ ٠ٛ ‫ؼا‬ ٕ‫ كٍبـ‬٦ٗ ٕ‫ ا‬٠‫د‬٨ُ‫وف‬ ‫ٍِشبر‬ٛ‫ي ا‬ٛ ‫ـ‬ٝ‫اق ٗؽ‬ ‫ٍِشبر‬ٛ‫ي ا‬ٛ ‫ٍ٘بـؼي‬٨ٗ ‫ص‬٨‫ سىج‬٦‫هش‬ٝ ٝ ‫ؼ‬ٍٞ٨٘ٛ ٕ‫ س٘ب‬ٝ ‫ؼ‬ٍٞ٨٘ٛ ٕ‫س٘ب‬ٝ ...‫ؼ‬ٍٞ٨٘ٛ ٕ‫ س٘ب‬ٝ ‫ ٓ٘ه‬٥ٝ‫ إ ـ‬ٟ‫ثن ًفؼ‬ ٥‫جف‬٨ٗ ٠ً ‫ٖ ـا‬٨‫و‬ ٦‫ٍِشبر ضش‬ٛ‫ي ا‬ٛ ‫ؽ ثب‬ٌٜ٨ٗ ‫ٖ غه غه‬١ ‫ر‬ٝ‫ؽ‬ٛ‫ب‬٨‫اد‬ ‫ؽي‬ٜٔ‫ ث‬٥ ٠٧‫ف وب‬٧‫ق‬ ٖ٧‫ ًفؼ‬٠٧ٌٞ‫ سجٖ سب ِجص ٗطفاة ـا دب‬ٜٞٗ ‫ٍت‬٧‫ؼ‬ ‫ص‬٨‫سىج‬ ‫ اوز‬ٚٗ ٓ‫ج‬ٛ ٝ ‫ وجبثز‬ٙ‫ب‬٨ٗ ٦٨‫ط‬٧ ‫ىشب‬٧‫ا‬ٝ ٖ٧‫ اخؽاؼ‬٦‫ دف اق ث‬ٚٗ

Translated by Alkhas ‫ تًْا الراظ‬:‫هرزجن‬

When your fingertip is pushed inside me I squeeze The worry beads i am dizziness From the roundness of your fingertip And when your fingertip counts the worry beads And it doesn‟t end And it doesn‟t end And it doesn‟t end…

I sit in anger from the touch When you cut the wire Your fingertips scrape against the fret board when you play arpeggios And even Under its long shadow Last night my fever and I washed my feet in cold water at the altar The worry beads Are between your index finger and my pulse Stop Yahya* I am completely lacking of ancestry *-A name; John

ًٖٜ ٦ٗ ٌٚٝ‫ٖ ـا ـ‬٧‫ب‬١ ‫ٍِز‬ٛ‫ا‬ ٖ٧‫ب‬١ ٚ‫بغ‬ٛ ٠ٌ‫ز‬ ٠ٌ‫ز‬ ‫ؼ‬ٌٞ ٦ٗ ،‫قؼ‬ٝ ٦ٗ ٞ‫ س‬ٟ‫ِب‬ٛ .‫ؼ‬ٌٞ ٦ٗ ‫ٓؽٕ ٗجبـى‬ٞ‫س‬

‫ تًْا الراظ‬:‫هرزجن‬

ً‫ هِسي جلٍل‬:‫ضاعز‬

Translated by Alkhas

Poet: Mahdi Jalili

،‫سب ِجص‬ ‫ؽ‬٧‫ اسبهٖ ثفف ثبـ‬٥‫ب‬١ ‫ثف ؼـغز‬ ٠ٛ‫ك ِجطب‬٨ٗ ‫دٍز‬ ٕ‫ؼ‬ٞ‫ ث‬٠‫ وبغش‬٠ً ٦ٗ‫ آؼ‬٠‫ث‬ ،٥‫ؼ‬ٞ‫ ث‬ٟ‫ؽ‬٨ٓ‫ً ٗفثب ٗب‬٧ٝ‫ ـ‬ٞ‫ س‬٠ً ٦ٛ‫ب‬ٛ ٕ‫ ؼاؼ‬٦ٗ ٞ‫س‬ٝ ٌٕٞ ٦ٗ ٠ٓ‫ وب‬ٟ‫ق ؼ‬ٝ‫ اٗف‬ٚٗ ٥‫ؼ‬ٞ‫ ث‬ٟ‫ّ ؼاؼ‬ٞ‫ ه‬٠ً ٦٧‫ب‬١ ‫ٌ٘غ‬ ٥‫ ا‬ٟ‫ـؼ‬ٝ‫ب‬٨ٛ

Until morning, It snowed on the trees in my room At the breakfast table I fed The man I had made Bread that I had spread jam on I turn ten years old today and you Didn‟t bring The candles you had promised I light my fingers My fingernails Do Drip Drip Your gaze blows by, My birthday is happy.

‫ ًسزٌي تِجری‬:‫ضاعز‬ Poet: Nasrin Behjati

Translated by Alkhas

And a bite of cheese and bread gets stuck in my throat Because of your cup of tea that everyday Gets cold on the table across from me and my gaze I place a flower in your empty place And drink A cup of coffee with God by the kitchen window The God of tomorrow‟s newspaper!

He sings for me loudly from the bottom of my cup *My pony tail whinnies God‟s reading Of the coffee grounds…

Tomorrow you will return Tomorrow you will return in the rain

‫ تًْا الراظ‬:‫هرزجن‬

‫ف‬٨ٌ ٙ‫ا‬ٞ٨ٓ ‫ي‬٧ ‫ف ِجص‬١ ‫ اخبم‬٥ٝ‫ ـ‬٠‫ؼ ث‬ٝ‫ ـ‬٦ٗ ‫ اي وف‬٠ِٔٞ‫ض‬ ‫ؽ‬ًٜ٦ٗ ‫ف‬٨ُ ٖ٧ُٞٔ ‫ف ؼـ‬٨ٜ‫ د‬ٝ ٙ‫ب‬ٛ ٠٘‫ ٓو‬ٝ ‫ق‬ٝ‫ف ـ‬١ ٠ً ٞ‫ س‬٥‫ زب‬ٙ‫اق اوشٌب‬ ٖ١‫ِب‬ٛ ٝ ‫ك‬٨ٗ ْ‫ؼ ؼـ ٗوبث‬ٌٞ٦ٗ ‫وفؼ‬ ٕ‫ ُؿاـ‬٦ٗ ٞ‫ س‬٦ٓ‫ غب‬٥‫ي ُْ خب‬٧ ٚٗ ٕ‫ـ‬ٞ‫غ‬٦ٗ ٟٞ٢‫ ه‬٠ٛ‫ آٌذكغب‬ٟ‫دف‬ٜ‫بـ د‬ًٜ ‫ ثب غؽا‬ٝ ! ‫ ِجص كفؼا ـا‬٠ٗ‫ب‬ٛ‫ق‬ٝ‫غؽا ـ‬ ‫ؽ‬ٛ‫ا‬ٞ‫ غ‬٦ٗ ‫ؽ‬ٜٔ‫ٖ ث‬٧‫ٖ ثفا‬ٛ‫دب‬ٜ‫ ك‬٠‫اق س‬ ‫ غؽا ـا‬٦٧ٍِٞ٨‫ د‬ٚٗ ٦‫ ؼٕ اوج‬٥‫ب‬١ٞٗ* ... ‫ًٍؽ‬٦ٗ ٠٢٨ٌ ٦٧‫آ‬٦ٗ ٞ‫كفؼا س‬ Every morning a glass of milk ٦٧‫آ‬٦ٗ ٙ‫ف ثبـا‬٧‫ ؼـ ق‬ٞ‫كفؼا س‬ Overflows with boredom on the stove

‫كف‬٧‫ ػك‬٥‫ؽ‬٢ٗ :‫ٌبػف‬ Poet: Mehdi Azizof

Translated by Alkhas َ‫ب آػب‬ٛٞ‫ ث‬: ٖ‫ٗشفخ‬

‫ؽ‬٨‫ٖ ًق اولبٓز زىج‬٧‫ِؽا‬ ‫ؽ‬ٛ‫ً ؼـ ضفًز ا‬٧ٝ‫ ـ‬٠‫ ػبثف ث‬ٙ‫كاـا‬١ ٝ ٚٗ ٝ ٖ‫ر ُفكش‬ٝ‫ ٗشلب‬٥‫ب‬١ ٠‫د‬٢ٓ ... ‫ىز‬٨ٛ ٕ‫ؼ‬ٞ‫ غ‬٥‫ِف ِؽا‬٧‫ِؽا ؼ‬ ٚٗ ٝ ٙ‫ ٗفؼٗب‬٥‫ب‬١‫ ِؽا‬٠٘١ ‫ثب‬ ٠‫ز‬ًٞ ‫ اولبٓز‬٠‫ إ ث‬ٟ‫ ٌؽ‬ٟ‫ؽ‬٨‫زىج‬ ٠ٍ٨٘١ ‫ٖ اٗب‬٧‫ ِؽا‬٥ٝ‫ـ‬ ‫ؽ‬ًٜ ٦ٗ ‫ دب‬٠‫ دب ث‬٦‫ًى‬ ‫ـؼ‬ٞ‫ غ‬٦ٗ ‫ر‬٨‫ً ؼـؼٖٓ د‬٧‫ب‬١‫ اق دب‬٦ٌ٧ ٠ٍ٨٘١ ‫ؽ‬١‫ ؼ‬٦ٗ ‫ـاة‬ٞ‫ خ‬٥ٞ‫ٖ ث‬ٛ‫ب‬١‫ ؼ‬ٚٗ ٝ

My voice has stuck to the asphalt And thousands of pedestrians are moving across it And I … have acquired various accents This voice is no longer my voice And I With all the sounds of the people Have become stuck to the asphalt of the street But always on my voice Someone is shuffling their feet Constantly there is an ankle getting twisted in my stomach And my breath smells like socks

!ٖ‫ىش‬٧‫ ا‬٦ٗ ٠ٜ٧‫ آ‬٠‫ دٍز ث‬،‫ؼ‬ٝ‫ق ِجص ق‬ٝ‫ف ـ‬١ ٖ‫ؽٕ ـا ثجبك‬ٜٔ‫ ث‬٥‫ب‬١ٞٗ ًٖٜ ٦ٗ ٦‫وؼ‬ !‫ؽ‬ٜ٧‫ آ‬٦ٗ ً​ً ٖ٧‫ب‬٢‫ؼوش‬ ٖ‫ ثبك‬٦ٗ ٖ١ ٠‫ك ـا ث‬٨‫ ز‬٠٘١ ٝ ٕ‫ ُؿاـ‬٦ٗ ‫ ـا…ثبق‬ٟ‫دف‬ٜ‫ د‬٥‫ال‬...‫ اي‬ٟ‫ دفؼ‬٠‫ ـا ث‬ٟ‫دف‬ٜ‫ د‬،‫ اي‬ٟ‫ف‬٨ِ‫ ؼوش‬٠‫ؼـ ـا ث‬ .ٕ‫ؼ‬ٞ‫ غ‬٠‫ ـا ث‬ٞ‫س‬ !ٖ‫ ثبك‬٦ٗ ٙٞ٘‫ى‬٧‫ ـ‬ٙٞ٘‫آو‬ ًٖٜ ٦ٗ ٦‫بّ ثبك‬٨‫غ‬ ٕ‫ـ‬ٞ‫ غ‬٦ٗ ٟ‫ك ُف‬٨‫ ز‬٠٘١ ٠‫ث‬ .‫ٖ ـثٗ ؼاـؼ‬١ ٠‫ك ث‬٨‫ ز‬٠٘١ ،‫ىز‬٨ٛ ٥‫ كفاـ‬ٟ‫ـا‬ Early every morning I stand with my back to the mirror! !‫ؽ‬ٜ٧‫ آ‬٦ٗ ‫ب خلز‬١ ‫ وبػز‬٦١ I try to braid my long hair ‫هؼً ثفوؽ‬ٞٗ ‫ٖ سب‬ًٜ ‫ؽ ِجف‬٧‫ثب‬ My arms get stretched out! ٕ‫ ا‬٠ٛ‫ا‬ٞ٧‫ؽ ؼ‬ٜ​ًٜ ٦ٗ ‫كٌف‬ And I braid everything together The door to its handle, the widow to its curtains…the center window… !‫ؽ‬ٜ‫ىش‬٨ٛ ٚ‫٘ئ‬ٙٗ ‫ق‬ٜٞ١ I leave it open ٌٖٞ‫ د‬٦ٗ ‫ؽٕ ـا‬ٜٔ‫ وبم ث‬٦‫ آث‬٥‫ب‬١ ‫ـاة‬ٞ‫ق خ‬ٝ‫ف ـ‬١ You back to me. .ٕٝ‫ ـ‬٦ٗ ٟ‫ ـا‬٠ٛ‫ غب‬٠ٛ‫ا‬ٞ٧‫ ؼ‬٦ٛ‫ا‬ٝ‫ف‬٨ٌ ٥ٝ‫ ـ‬ٝ I braid a blue streak ...‫ ُفؼؼ‬٦ٗ ‫ ثف‬٠ً ٕ‫ ا‬ٟ‫ؽ‬٧‫اة ؼ‬ٞ‫غ‬

‫ سُزا حٍسری‬:‫ضاعز‬ Poet:Zahra Heydari

I weave dreams I knot myself to everything There is no escape, everything is related.

The hours keep coming in pairs!

I have to wait for the right time I think I‟ve gone crazy They aren‟t sure yet Every day I wear long blue stockings And I walk on the roof of the crazy-house.

I dreamt he would return…

Translated by Alkhas ‫ تًْا الراظ‬: ‫هرزجن‬

٦ٛ‫فوشب‬٨‫ؽا د‬ٛ :‫ٌبػف‬ Poet: Neda Pirestani

ٚٗ ‫ٗفؼ‬ ‫ٌؽ‬ٞٛ ٦ٗ ٥‫ زب‬ٚٗ ‫ ثب‬٠ً ‫ف ِجص‬١ ً٨‫ي ٌت د‬ٞ‫ غ‬٥ ٟ‫اق غب٘ف‬ !!ٖٛ‫ـ ُفؼ‬ٝ‫ ثبكؽ ؼ‬٦ٗ ّ‫ٌب‬ ‫ؽ‬ٌٜ٨ٗ ‫ ولبـي‬ٚ‫هز ـكش‬ٝ ٝ ‫بؼٕ ثبٌؽ‬٧ ! ٖ‫ٌجػش‬ٞ‫ِ غ‬ٙ‫ي ق‬٧ ٚٗ ٚٗ ‫ٗفؼ‬ ‫ؽ‬ًٜ ٦ٗ ٥‫فؼ ثبق‬ٛ ٠‫ سػش‬ٚٗ ‫ف ٌت ثب‬١ ‫ؽ‬ٌٜ٨ٗ ‫ٖٔ س٘بٌب‬٨‫ك‬ ‫ٌٍؽ‬٨ٗ ‫ِبـ‬٨‫و‬ ! ٖ١‫ سلب‬٥‫ؽ ثفا‬ٛ‫ ق‬٦ٗ ‫ضفف‬ ‫ اوز‬ٙ‫فثب‬٢ٗ ٚٗ ‫ٗفؼ‬ :ٌٖٜ٨ٗ ٠ٗ‫ًٌ قٗك‬ُٞ ‫ ؼـ‬٠‫ىش‬١‫ آ‬٠ً ٦‫هش‬ٝ ...ًٚ ‫ـ‬ٝ‫ ؛ ٗفا ثب‬ًٚ ‫ـ‬ٝ‫ٗفا ثب‬ ... ‫ؽ سب‬ًٜ ٦ٗ " ‫ ـ‬ٝ ‫ٗفا " ثب ـ‬ .... ‫ٌؽ‬ٞٛ ٦ٗ ٥‫ زب‬ٚٗ ‫ ثب‬٠ً ‫ف ِجص‬١ ٚٗ ‫ٗفؼ‬

Translated by Alkhas َ‫ب آػب‬ٛٞ‫ ث‬: ٖ‫ٗشفخ‬

My man Drinks tea with me every morning From the happy memories of the night before He knits scarves around my neck!!

And when it‟s time to leave he asks Me to remember That I am a fortunate woman!

My man Plays backgammon with me every night He watches films He smokes cigarettes And he talks to communicate And when it‟s time for bed My man is kind When I softly whisper in his ear, “I never tell lies, I never tell lies...”

He “fertilizes” me until … ….

My man drinks tea with me every morning

Translated by Alkhas ‫ تًْا الراظ‬: ‫هرزجن‬

Is there anyone Who can interpret my dream?

The dream of a woman which is not backwards* I stroked his body Like always he was white and warm…

In the morning He planted wheat sprouts on me And the room Had gathered dust Behind the mirrors How the words were grimy When he said He still loved me..! *-In it Iran it is said that woman dream the reverse of what will happen

‫ ًسا پٍزسراًی‬:‫ضاعز‬ Poet: Neda Pirestani

‫ىز‬١ ٦‫ًى‬ ‫ؽ؟‬ًٜ ‫ف‬٨‫اة ٗفا سؼج‬ٞ‫غ‬ ‫ىز‬٨ٛ ‫ زخ‬٠ً ٦ٛ‫اة ق‬ٞ‫غ‬ ٕ‫ؽ‬٨ٌٍ٨ٗ ًٜ‫ؼوز ثف س‬ ... ٕ‫ ُف‬ٝ‫ؼ‬ٞ‫ؽ ث‬٨‫ وذ‬٠ٍ٨٘١ ْ‫ٗث‬ ًٛ‫ ؼوشب‬ٝ ‫ِجص‬ ..‫ًبٌز‬٦ٗ ٕ‫ؽ‬ُٜ ‫ اق‬٦٧‫ب‬١ ٠ٛ‫ا‬ٞ‫ خ‬ٚٗ ‫ثف‬ ‫ اسبم‬ٝ ‫ؼ‬ٞ‫ ث‬ٟ‫ـؼ‬ٞ‫غبى غ‬

‫ب‬١ ٠ٜ٧‫ر آ‬ٌٞ‫دٍز و‬ ‫ؼ‬ٞ‫ ًؽـ ث‬ٟ‫ال‬ٝ ‫زوؽـ‬ ‫ ُلز‬٦‫هش‬ٝ !.. ‫وشٖ ؼاـؼ‬ٝ‫ق ؼ‬ٜٞ١

‫ سْضٍاًس عْؼ فزز‬:‫ضاعز‬ Poet: Soshians Avazfard Translated by Alkhas ‫ تًْا الراظ‬: ‫هرزجن‬ )1 ‫ ٓجز‬٦‫وفغ‬ ‫ اوز‬ٚٗ ‫ سبـ‬٥‫ب‬١ ‫ٗثْ ٌت‬ ٦ٌٓ‫ ا‬ٙ‫ قٗب‬ٚ٧‫ا‬ ٙ‫ؼ ؼـ آو٘ب‬ٝ‫ ـ‬٦ٗ ‫ ٗثْ ثفم‬٠ً ٠ً ٦٧‫ب‬١ ٙٞ‫ غ‬ٚ٧‫ ا‬ٝ ‫كؼ‬٧‫ ـ‬٦ٗ ‫ب‬١ ٠ٛ‫ف غب‬٨ٌ ‫ اق‬٠ٌ‫ ز‬٠ٌ‫ز‬ ‫فى‬٨‫فخ‬٨‫ ٗثْ خ‬٠ً ٦٧‫ب‬١ ٠ٔ‫ د‬ٝ ‫ؽ‬ٜ​ًٜ ٦ٗ ‫ف‬٨‫فخ‬٨‫خ‬ ‫ٔؽا‬٧ ‫ ٌت‬٥‫ب‬١ ‫ن‬ٞ‫دف اق ًبث‬ .‫ ًٍؽ‬٦ٗ ٖ‫ سبـ ؿ‬٠ً )2 ‫ ِؽا‬٦‫ ث‬،‫ؼـغز‬ ‫ؽ‬١‫ ؼ‬٦ٗ ٙ‫ؼ سٌب‬ٞ‫ ثب غ‬ٟ‫٘فا‬١ ‫ اي ـا‬٠٧‫وب‬ ٟ‫ قؼ‬ٚ‫ خ‬٥‫ب‬١ ٠ٛ‫ ؼـ غب‬٠ً ‫ق اوز‬ٝ‫ ـ‬ٟ‫كؼ‬ٛ‫دب‬ ٖ٧‫ ا‬ٟ‫ؽ‬ٛ‫ ضفًز ٗب‬٦‫ ث‬ٝ ٕ‫آـا‬ ٖ٧‫ؽاـ‬ٛ ٚ٧‫ خك ا‬٥‫ ا‬ٟ‫ زبـ‬ٝ ‫ؽ‬ٜ٧‫ آ‬٦ٗ ٙ‫ وفاؽ ٗب‬٠‫ ؼـغز وفظ ث‬٥‫ب‬١ ٚ‫ خ‬ٝ

1) The redness of your lips Are like my dark nights These ridiculous times That go up to the sky as quick as lightning And this blood That drip drips from the milk of houses And the stairs like crickets That creak and creak Full of nightmares from the winter‟s solstice That pulls across a dark sorrow.

2) A tree, silent Moves its shadow around with itself Its 15 days now that in the houses infested with imps We have remained still and quiet And there is nothing else we can do about this And the imps from the crimson tree come after me

ٙ‫ب‬٧‫ ِلبـ‬ٚ٨‫ ٗط٘ؽ ضى‬:‫ٌبػف‬

Poet: Mohammad Hosein Saffarian

٦‫ش‬ٜ‫ ٓؼ‬٥‫ا‬ٞ١ ٚ٧‫ ا‬ٞ‫له ثًٌ س‬ٛ ًٌ‫له ث‬ٛ ٦‫ش‬ٜ‫ ٓؼ‬٥‫قا‬ٝ‫ ـ‬ٚ٧‫ ا‬ٞ‫ س‬ٙ‫ هؽٕ ثك‬ٙ‫هؽٕ ثك‬ ٖ‫ اس‬٥‫ؼ ث٘جب‬ٞ‫ ًج‬٥‫قا‬ٝ‫ ـ‬ٞ‫ س‬ٙ‫هؽٕ ثك‬ ٕٞ٨ٛ‫ـا‬ٝ‫ ا‬٥ٟ‫ف‬٢ٓ‫ اق ؼ‬ٌٞ٦ٜ‫له ثًٌ ؿ‬ٛ ٙٞ‫ ثش‬ٝ ٙ‫٘ب‬٨‫ و‬ٟ‫ب‬٨‫ِْ و‬ٜ‫ خ‬ٞ‫ س‬ٙ‫هؽٕ ثك‬ ٙٞ‫ك‬ٝ‫ٌف‬٨ٗ ‫ دٍز‬ٟ‫ٔفق‬ٛ ‫ؽ ِؽار‬٧‫له ثًٌ ٌب‬ٛ ٦ُٟ‫غب٘ف‬٦‫ ث‬ٙ‫ هف‬ٞ‫ س‬ٙٞ‫ػ‬ٛ ّ‫ ؿك‬٦ٓٝ ٙٞ‫ثػ‬ ٦ُٟ‫دف‬ٜ‫د‬٦‫ كّْ ث‬ٞ‫ ًدبوز س‬٥‫ٖ آقاؼ‬٨‫ى‬ٛ ‫ب‬٧‫بـ‬ٜ‫ اق هله ه‬ٙ‫ك‬ٛ ٦‫ ضفك‬٦ٓٝ ٙٞ‫ثػ‬ ‫ب‬٧‫بـ‬٨‫ ثؽ ث‬٠٘١ ‫ اق‬ِٞٛ ٥‫ك‬٨‫ ز‬٦ٓٝ ٙٞ‫ثػ‬ ٝ‫ـ‬٦ٓ‫ غب‬٥‫ب‬٨ٓ‫ؽ‬ِٜ ‫ؿاـ‬ٛ ‫شظف‬ٜٗ ٝ ٙٞ‫ثػ‬ ٝ‫ـ‬٦ٓ‫ب‬٨‫ غ‬٥‫بـ آؼٗب‬٨ٛ ‫ر‬ٝ‫ ـ‬٠‫ ث‬٦ٓٝ ٙٞ‫ثػ‬ ٟ‫بـ‬٧٦ٗ ٦‫ كفه‬٠‫ ز‬٠ِٗ ٙٞ‫اـا ثػ‬ٞ٧‫ ؼ‬٥‫ثفا‬ ٟ‫ؽاـ‬ٛ ّ‫ ؼ‬٠ِ٧‫ ؼ‬٦‫ ًى‬ٜٚ١‫ آ‬ٚ٨‫ ػ‬٥‫آؼٗب‬

Breath in the air breath in the air in this damned haze Go for a walk go for a walk on these damned days Take a walk on gray days of the bomb of atom get enriched with the panic of uranium walk through the black jungle of cement and iron ... Breathe! maybe your voice wont shake on the microphone Sing songs not poems in this age of nothing to show There is no breeze of freedom without a window Sing but speak not a word in the canary‟s cage Sing but say nothing of all the evil and rage Sing out but do not keep the empty chairs waiting Sing but don‟t let on about people you‟re hating Sing for the walls for what different new things will start People are like iron no one has any heart

َ‫ب آػب‬ٛٞ‫ ث‬:ٖ‫ٗشفخ‬ Translated by Alkhas

ٕ‫ؼ‬ٞ‫ ث‬ٟ‫ ؼاؼ‬٠٨ٌ‫ س‬٥‫ ؼـ‬٦ٌٞٗ‫ كفا‬٠‫ث‬ ‫ ـكز‬٦ٗ ‫ب‬١ ٠‫ز‬ًٞ ‫بؼ‬٧ ‫ اق‬٠ً ‫ـ ًفؼ‬ٞ‫ ػج‬٥‫ ا‬٠ٛ‫ اق سفا‬ٟ‫ٗب‬ ‫ ُفكز‬٠ِٔ‫ب كب‬١‫ؽ‬٨ًٔ ‫ ٌت اق‬ٝ ‫ؼ‬ٞ‫ ث‬ٌٚٝ‫ز ـ‬٧‫ب‬١ ٠ٛ‫ٌب‬ ‫ ٌؽ‬٦ٗ ٟ‫ؽ‬٧‫ـ سف ؼ‬ٝ‫ب ؼ‬١ ٠٧‫ اق ُف‬ٚٗ ٦ً‫ؼ‬ًٞ ‫ؽ‬ٛ‫ ٗب‬٦ٗ ُٖ ٠‫ز‬ًٞ ٦ٌٞٗ‫ ؼـ كفا‬٥‫ ؼـ‬٦٧‫ب‬٢ٜ‫ ثب س‬ٝ ٦ٛ‫ب‬١ٞ‫ و‬٠‫قث‬ٝ‫ ـ‬:‫ٌبػف‬ Poet: Rouzbeh Sohani I was leaning on the forgetfulness of a door That was being lost in the memory of the streets The moon crossed over the verses of a ballad And night distanced itself from the keys

‫ؽ‬٨‫س‬٨‫ف د‬٢ٌ ‫ ؼـ‬٥‫ ا‬٠‫و‬ٞ‫ث‬ ٥‫ ا‬٠ٛ‫ سفا‬٥‫ ال‬٠‫ الث‬ٝ ‫ب آٗؽ‬٨ٛ‫ ؼ‬٠‫ ث‬ٞ‫ س‬ٙ‫ب‬١‫ؼ‬

There was light on your shoulders My childhood was seen further away than shedding tears And with the loneliness of a door stayed lost in the forgetfulness of the street A kiss echoed throughout the city And your mouth was born Amidst the verses of a ballad

Translated by Alkhas َ‫ب آػب‬ٛٞ‫ ث‬:ٖ‫ٗشفخ‬

٦‫ى‬٧ٝ‫ ا‬ٟٝ‫ ًب‬:‫ٌبػف‬

Poet:Kaveh Oveisi

‫ؽ‬ٛ‫ا‬ٞ‫ غ‬٦ٗ ‫اق‬ٝ‫ز آ‬ٜ١‫فا‬٨‫ د‬٥‫ ثفا‬٠ً ٕ‫ ا‬ٟ‫ ٌؽ‬٥‫ ٗفؼ‬٠٨‫ٌج‬ ‫ؽ‬ٌٛٞ ٦ٗ ٖ‫ غش‬ٞ‫ س‬٥‫ب‬١ٞٗ ٠‫ٖ ث‬٧‫ب‬١‫ ٌؼف‬٠٘١ ٠ٌ٨‫هش‬ٝ ‫ز‬ٛ‫بٗؽ‬٨ٛ ٠‫ب ث‬١ ٟ‫ خبؼ‬٠٘١ ٝ ٙ‫ب هؽٕ ثك‬١ ‫ ٌؼف‬ٚ٧‫ ؼـ ا‬٦ً٘ ٝ ‫ب‬٨‫ث‬ ‫ ثىبقؼ‬٥‫ ا‬ٟ‫ خبؼ‬ٞ‫ س‬٥‫ب‬١ٞٗ ‫ؽ‬٧‫ٌب‬ ‫ ثبـؼ‬٦ٗ ٠ً ٦‫ ثفك‬ٝ ٙ‫ قٗىشب‬٥‫ثفا‬ ٥‫ ثفا‬٥‫ ا‬ٟ‫دف‬ٜ‫ب د‬٧ ٥‫ٗفؼ‬ ٝ ٥‫ ا‬ٟ‫ؽ‬ٛ‫دف‬ ٦ٜ١‫فا‬٨‫د‬ Me parezco a un hombre que a tus blusas canta canciones Y cuando terminan mis versos a tus cabellos Y todo los caminos de tu no venir Ven y paséate un poco por mis versos Puede que tus cabellos construyen caminos Para el invierno y la nieve que cae O una ventana para Un hombre Un pájaro y Una blusa

Translated by adrianne alkhas

I‟ve turned into a man who sings songs To your blouse When all my poems conclude With your hair And all roads to your not arriving Come and walk among these poems a bit Maybe your hair could build a road For the winter and the snow that falls Or a window for A man A bird and A blouse

Translated by Alkhas

‫ؽ‬ٛ‫ا‬ٞ‫ غ‬٦ٗ ‫اق‬ٝ‫ز آ‬ٜ١‫فا‬٨‫ د‬٥‫ ثفا‬٠ً ٕ‫ ا‬ٟ‫ ٌؽ‬٥‫ ٗفؼ‬٠٨‫ٌج‬ ‫ؽ‬ٌٛٞ ٦ٗ ٖ‫ غش‬ٞ‫ س‬٥‫ب‬١ٞٗ ٠‫ٖ ث‬٧‫ب‬١‫ ٌؼف‬٠٘١ ٠ٌ٨‫هش‬ٝ ‫ز‬ٛ‫بٗؽ‬٨ٛ ٠‫ب ث‬١ ٟ‫ خبؼ‬٠٘١ ٝ ٙ‫ب هؽٕ ثك‬١ ‫ ٌؼف‬ٚ٧‫ ؼـ ا‬٦ً٘ ٝ ‫ب‬٨‫ث‬ ‫ ثىبقؼ‬٥‫ ا‬ٟ‫ خبؼ‬ٞ‫ س‬٥‫ب‬١ٞٗ ‫ؽ‬٧‫ٌب‬ ‫ ثبـؼ‬٦ٗ ٠ً ٦‫ ثفك‬ٝ ٙ‫ قٗىشب‬٥‫ثفا‬ ٥‫ ثفا‬٥‫ ا‬ٟ‫دف‬ٜ‫ب د‬٧ ٥‫ٗفؼ‬ ٝ ٥‫ ا‬ٟ‫ؽ‬ٛ‫دف‬ ٦ٜ١‫فا‬٨‫د‬

َ‫ب آػب‬ٛٞ‫ ث‬:ٖ‫ٗشفخ‬

٦‫ى‬٧ٝ‫ ا‬ٟٝ‫ ًب‬:‫ٌبػف‬ Poet:Kaveh Oveisi

My bone ٕ‫ ا‬ٙ‫ا‬ٞ‫اوشػ‬ Is hanging in a cave ‫ك اوز‬٧ٝ‫ آ‬٥‫ثف ؿبـ‬ And my dog gets drunk from its smell ‫ؼ‬ٌٞ ٦ٗ ‫ اي ٗىز‬٥ٞ‫ وِٖ اق ث‬ٝ My eyes ‫ٖ ـا‬ٛ‫زٍ٘ب‬ I‟ve donated to an orphanage ٕ‫ ا‬ٟ‫ؽا ًفؼ‬١‫ ا‬٥‫ ا‬٠ٛ‫ٖ غب‬٨‫ش‬٧ ٠‫ث‬ They use them to polish the floor ‫ؽ‬ٜ​ًٜ ٦ٗ ‫ اي‬ٟ‫ـ اوشلبؼ‬ٍٞ‫ًل‬ I‟ve brought a dagger along with me in my coffin For perhaps a drop of blood With which I could Bring back to life This tree with its dried up roots!

A pigeon dies without a nest Just like that kid Who dies shadowless!

Translated by Alkhas

‫ آرٌّي کزٌوی‬:‫ضاعز‬ Poet: Arvin Karimi

‫ تًْا الراظ‬:‫هرزجن‬

ٕ‫ ا‬ٟ‫ـؼ‬ٝ‫ً آ‬٧ٞ‫دف ثف غ‬ٜ‫ر غ‬ٞ‫ؼـ سبث‬ ٙٞ‫ غ‬ٟ‫ف‬ٙ‫ي ه‬٧ ‫ؾ اق‬٧‫ؼـ‬ ٙ‫ ثب آ‬ٙ‫ا‬ٞ‫ ثش‬٠ً ‫ اوز ـا‬ٟ‫ اي غٍي ٌؽ‬٠ٍ٧‫ ـ‬ًٜٙٞ‫ ا‬٠ً ٦‫ؼـغش‬ ! ‫ـ ًفؼ‬ٞ‫ك غ‬٨‫ز‬ ‫فؼ‬٨ٗ ٦ٗ ٠ٛ‫ ال‬٦‫ ث‬٥‫سف‬ٞ‫ًج‬ ‫ دىفى‬ٙ‫ آ‬ٙٞ‫٘س‬١ ! ‫فؼ‬٨ٗ ٦ٗ ٠٧‫ وب‬٦‫ ث‬٠ً

I go to the slaughterhouse And slay myself With proper religious ceremony The crow‟s beaks are stuck together!

And laughing scarecrows Harvest the wheat.

ٕٝ‫ ـ‬٦ٗ ٟ‫ ًٍشبـ ُب‬٠‫ث‬ ‫ً ـا‬٧ٞ‫ غ‬ٝ ًٖٜ ٦ٗ ‫ؼز ؾثص‬٧‫ن ِ ٌف‬٧‫ ٘ف‬٠‫ث‬ !‫ اوز‬ٟ‫ٖ زىذؽ‬١ ٠‫ب ث‬١ ‫وبـ ِ ًالؽ‬ٜٗ ٙ‫ؽا‬ٜ‫ ِ غ‬٥‫ب‬١ ‫ٗشفوي‬ .‫ؽ‬ٜ​ًٜ ٦ٗ ٝ‫ؽٕ ؼـ‬ُٜ

I am the most disastrous beginning That never ends In such a way That I ended thousands of years ago It is the lion that suffers a stroke That the jackals Plunge swords into its heart

ٕ‫ آؿبق‬ٚ٧‫ن سف‬ٞ‫ط‬ٜٗ ٚٗ ٌٕٞ ٦٘ٛ ٕ‫ س٘ب‬ٟ‫ر ُب‬٨١ ٠ً ٙ‫ وب‬ٙ‫اق آ‬ ٕ‫ ا‬ٟ‫ً س٘بٕ ٌؽ‬٨‫ وبّ ِ د‬ٙ‫كاـا‬١ ‫ اوز‬ٟ‫ ًفؼ‬٠‫ف وٌش‬٨ٌ ‫ب‬١ ّ‫ٌـب‬ ‫ؽ‬ٜ​ًٜ ٦ٗ ‫ هٔت اي‬٠‫ف ث‬٨ٌٍ٘

ٖ‫فاو‬١ ٦ٗ ٖ‫ اسبه‬٠‫ب ث‬١‫ٕ وبـ‬ٞ‫د‬١ ‫اق‬ ٦ٓ‫ غب‬٦ٓ‫ؽ‬ِٜ ‫اق‬ ‫اـ‬ٞ٧‫ ؼ‬٥ٝ‫ إ ـ‬٠٧‫اق وب‬ ًٍٖ ٦ٗ ٌٖٞ‫ آؿ‬٠‫ ـا ث‬٦٧‫ ِؽا‬٦ٌ٧‫ؼـ سبـ‬ ٌٕٞ ٦ٗ ٚ‫ؼ ؼك‬ٞ‫ سػز غ‬ٙ‫ـوشب‬ُٞ ‫ ؼـ‬ٝ

Poet: Moones Mahmoodi ‫ هًْس هحوْزی‬:‫ضاعز‬

The thought of starlings invading my room makes me panic As does an empty chair As does my shadow on the wall In the darkness I pull a sound into my embrace And am buried in the graveyard of my own bed

‫ تًْا الراظ‬:‫هرزجن‬ Translated by Alkhas

‫ٖ ـا‬١‫ِب‬ٛ ٖ‫ػش‬٧ٝ‫آ‬ ٥‫ ا‬ٟ‫دف‬ٜ‫ثف هبة د‬ ‫ ؼاٌز‬٦٧ٞ‫بن ث‬٧ ‫ اق‬٠ٛ ٠ً ٦ِٛ‫ن ـ‬٧‫ اق ٌوب‬٠ٛ ٝ ٦‫س‬ٝ‫ ٘فا‬ٟ‫ اق وجك‬٠ٛ ٝ ٙ‫ؽاـا‬٨‫ وذ‬٥ ٠ٍٜ‫ س‬٥‫ب‬١ ٠‫ؽ ؼـ ٌبغ‬٨ٌٍ‫غ‬ ٕٞ٘‫ ٗى‬٥‫ اق ثبؼ‬٥‫ ا‬٠٘٢٘١ ‫ؼـ‬ ٍ‫ ٗف‬٥‫ا‬ٞ‫د‬ٛ ٝ ٥‫ك‬٨٧‫ دب‬٥‫ب‬١ ٍ‫ي ثف‬ُٞ ‫ؼـ‬ ٙ‫ آو٘ب‬٥‫ؼ‬ٝ‫ؼـ ؿجبـ ؼ‬ ‫ ؿجبـ‬ٚ٧‫ي ا‬٧‫كؼ‬ٛ ٠‫ ز‬ٝ ... ‫ا‬ٞ١ ‫ اوز‬ٟ‫ؽ‬ٛ‫ـ ٗب‬ٝ‫ ؼ‬٠‫ ز‬ٝ

‫ تًْا الراظ‬:‫هرزجن‬

Poet: Reza Mahmoodi

Translated by Alkhas

‫ رضا هحوْزی‬:‫ضاعز‬

I set my gaze upon A window frame That had no smell of jasmine Nor color of a poppy Nor crisp freshness of green Dried up branches of a poplar tree During the hubbub of a toxic game And death’s whisper In the ears of autumn leaves In the dust of the smoky sky And how near is this dust And how far away the air remains…

‫ٌِلز‬ ٦ٌ‫ ثب‬ٞ‫اوشٖ س‬ٞ‫ غ‬٦ٗ ٌٖ‫ ثب‬ٚٗ ‫ ؼـغز‬ٚ٧‫ف ا‬٧‫ق‬ ‫ؽ‬١‫ ؼ‬٦ٗ ٠٧‫ وب‬٠ً ٖ٨ٜ٨‫ ثس‬٠‫و‬ٞ‫ث‬ Translated by Alkhas َ‫ب آػب‬ٛٞ‫ ث‬:ٖ‫ٗشفخ‬

Amazing

٥ٝ‫ ـ‬٦ٗ ٠ً ٚ٨٘١ ٕٝ‫ ـ‬٦ٗ ! ‫ؽ ؼـغز‬ًٜ ٦ٗ ٠‫ك‬ٌٞ​ٌ ٝ

I wanted for you And I to be Under this tree That gives shade And pick kisses Once you leave I leave And the tree pulls off blossoms!

Poet: Kourosh Shiva

‫ا‬ٞ٨ٌ ‫ـي‬ًٞ :‫ٌبػف‬

Poet: Afshin Salehi

٦‫ ِبٓط‬ٚ٨ٍ‫ اك‬:‫ٌبػف‬ Translated by Alkhas َ‫ب آػب‬ٛٞ‫ ث‬:ٖ‫ٗشفخ‬

)1 ! ٌٚٛ ‫ف‬٧‫ؼ‬ َٕ‫ ا‬ٟ‫ؽ‬٨‫ ز‬ٟ‫لف‬ٛٝ‫ك ـا ؼ‬٨ٗ ‫اٍٗت‬ َٕ‫ؼ‬ٞ‫ِ غ‬٥‫ثفا‬ ٞ‫اة س‬ٞ‫َ غ‬ٝ )2 ، ٦‫وش‬ٝ‫ُ ؼ‬ٝ ٥‫ـ‬ٝ‫ؼ‬ ‫ؽ‬ٛ‫ ا‬ٟ‫ـؼ‬ٝ‫ ًٖ آ‬٠ً ‫وز‬٦٧‫ب‬١ ٟ‫ال‬ٝ ِ٥‫اؼا‬ ‫ب‬٨‫ي ث‬٧‫كؼ‬ٛ ٦ٔ٨‫غ‬ )3 ‫ اَوز‬ٟ‫ق ثبًف‬ٜٞ١ ، ‫ ـا‬ٟ ‫ ٗب‬٠ً ٦١‫ِب‬ٛ ‫ اوز‬ٟ‫ؽ‬٧‫ ؼ‬ٞ‫ِ س‬٥‫ب‬٢ٍ٘‫ؼـ ز‬

1) Don‟t be late!

I„ve set the table for two tonight For myself And my dream of you 2) Absence makes the heart grow fonder Words that just don‟t quite make sense Come as close as you can 3) ___ is still a virgin A look that the moon, Saw in your eyes

Poet: Bahareh Ziyaei ٦٧‫ب‬٨ٔ ٟ‫بـ‬٢‫ ث‬:‫ٌبػف‬

Translated by Alkhas َ‫ب آػب‬ٛٞ‫ ث‬:ٖ‫ٗشفخ‬

ٕ‫ف ثبـ اق وف‬١ ٦ٌٜ٨ٗ ٦ٓ‫ غب‬٠ٛ‫ٌب‬ ‫ىز‬٨ٛ‫ آسٍلٍب‬ٞ‫ؼـ س‬ ٠ٓ‫ وب‬ٙ‫كاـا‬١ ٥‫ب‬٢‫ثب ثفك‬ ٞ‫ٕ اق س‬ٝ‫ ـ‬٦ٗ ‫وف‬ ٕٝ‫ ـ‬٦ٗ ً٨‫ج د‬ٞٗ ‫ج‬ٞٗ ‫ضشّب‬ ‫ب‬١‫ؽاـ‬٨‫ س٘بٕ وذ‬،ٟ‫ؼـ ـا‬ ‫ؽ‬ٛ‫ ا‬ٟ‫ىشبؼ‬٧‫ٖ ا‬٧‫اوشِبـ‬ٞ‫ غ‬٠‫ث‬ ٕ‫ سبق‬٦ٗ ٠ٛ‫ـا‬ًٞ‫ـ‬ًٞ ٟ‫ؽ‬ٛ‫ي ثبق ــ ٗب‬ٞ‫ب آؿ‬٢ٜ‫سب س‬ ‫ؽ‬٧‫ثب‬ ٌٕٞ ‫ص‬٨‫ن ٗى‬ٝ‫ػف‬ ٖ١ ٞ‫ؽ س‬٧‫ٌب‬ ...ٖ٧‫ٗفؼ ٗف‬

Each time when onto my shoulders You shrug off your responsibility There is a volcano inside you With thousand year old snow You overflow from within me I advance wave after wave Even On the way, all the white poplar trees Stand waiting to ask for my hand I gallop blindly Until that only open arms – left I must Become Jesus‟ bride And perhaps you Mary‟s man…

2) Before it gets To the shoes Till it‟s time to lick Those shoes To the side The shoes That a dog died Next to The shoes…

َ‫ب آػب‬ٛٞ‫ ث‬:ٖ‫ٗشفخ‬

‫ماؼ‬ٛ٦٘‫ كفٌبؼ هبو‬:‫ٌبػف‬

)2 ‫ ثفوؽ‬٠ٌٜ٧‫هجْ اق ا‬ ‫ب‬١ ً‫ ًل‬٠‫ث‬ ‫ىؽ‬٨ٔ‫سب ث‬ ‫ب‬١ ً‫ ًل‬ٙ‫آ‬ ‫ؽ‬ٛ‫ؼ‬ٞ‫ ث‬ٟ‫دفر ٌؽ‬ ‫ب‬١ ً‫ًل‬ ٠ً ٦‫ و٘ش‬٠‫ث‬ ‫ؼ‬ٞ‫ ث‬ٟ‫ ٗفؼ‬٦ِ‫و‬ ‫بـ‬ًٜ ‫ؼـ‬ ...‫ب‬١ ً‫ًل‬

1) I like These games…

You hide Behind your hair I cover my eyes and count On your hair And after Chemotherapy finishes You can play the man and I The woman with cancer

Translated by Alkhas

Poet: Farshad Ghasemi Nejad

)1 ‫ب‬١ ‫ ثبقى‬ٚ٧‫اق ا‬ ...‫ؽ‬٧‫ٌٖ ٗى آ‬ٞ‫غ‬ ‫ى‬ٌٞ ٖ٧‫ هب‬ٞ‫س‬ ‫بر‬١ٞٗ ‫دٍز‬ ٕ‫ زٍٖ ثِؿاـ‬ٚٗ ‫بر‬١ٞٗ ‫ى‬ٝ‫ـ‬ ‫ ده اق‬ٝ ‫ى‬ٛ‫٘ى ؼـٗب‬٨ٌ ٙ‫ب‬٧‫دب‬ ً‫و‬ٛ ‫ ؼـ‬ٚٗ ٝ ‫وً ٗفؼ ثبٌى‬ٛ ‫ ؼـ‬ٞ‫س‬ ...‫ى‬ٛ‫ى وف٘ب‬ٛ‫ق‬

َ‫ب آػب‬ٛٞ‫ ث‬:ٖ‫ٗشفخ‬

٦‫ وبؿف ـاؼاغاله‬:‫ٌبػف‬

Translated by Alkhas

Poet: Saghar Radakhlaghy

)1 ٖ٧‫ف دب‬٧‫ وىز ق‬ٚ٨ٗ‫ق‬ ٖٜ‫ س‬٥ٝ‫اـ ـ‬ٝ‫ آ‬ٙ‫آو٘ب‬ ٌٕٞ ٦ٗ ٟ‫ قاؼ‬ٚ٨‫ ؼـ ٗبث‬ٚٗ .‫ؽاـؼ‬ٛ ‫ٌبـ‬ٛ‫ا‬ )2 ٟ‫ؽ‬ٛ‫ ِ دف‬ٚ‫ ثفغبوش‬ٝ ٚ‫ٍىش‬ٛ ‫ اق‬٠‫ٖ ٌبغ‬٢‫و‬ . ‫ر‬٨١ ‫ِف‬٧‫ ؼ‬ٝ ‫ؼ‬ٞ‫ ث‬ٙ‫ؽ‬٧‫ٓفق‬ )3 ،‫ىز‬٨ٛ ٚٗ ‫ف اق‬٨ّ‫سو‬ ،ٚٗ ‫ ؼـ‬٥ٍٞ٨ٗ ٌٚٝ‫ؼ ـ‬ٞ‫ؼاغ‬ٞ‫غ‬ ،ٟ‫ ٌؽ‬٠‫جبٌش‬ٛ‫ ؼـ اػ٘بهٖ ا‬٥‫ك‬٨‫ز‬ .‫بؼر‬٧ ٥‫ب‬١ ٠ٌ‫سفا‬

1) The infirm ground beneath my feet The ruined sky on my body I am born in between This I cannot deny 2) From the light and flight of the bird the branch bore Just a trembling and nothing more 3) The fault is not with me You just light up within me Something has stacked up inside me The splinters of your memory

‫ علی اسساللِی‬:‫شاعر‬ Poet: Ali Asadollahi

How is it That I wouldn‟t dive?

How can one let go of A dress full of the sea?

Your embrace: All those goldfish Your embrace: a pitcher That a carcass of a pelican Got stuck in

‫ تًْا الراظ‬:‫هرزجن‬

:‫ٌز‬ٞ‫آؿ‬ ‫ِ هفٗك‬٦١‫ ٗب‬٠٘٢ٛ‫آ‬ ٦ُِٜ‫س‬:‫ٌز‬ٞ‫آؿ‬ ‫اـ‬ٞ‫ػ‬٨١‫ ٗب‬٦‫ ٗفؿ‬٥ٟ‫بق‬ٜ‫ خ‬٠ً ٟ‫ف ًفؼ‬٨ُ ٙ‫ؼـ آ‬

Translated by Alkhas

‫ـ‬ٞٙ‫ز‬ ‫ـكشٖ؟‬٦٘ٛ ٠‫فخ‬٨ٌ ‫ؼ ُؿٌز‬ٌٞ٦ٗ ‫ـ‬ٞٙ‫ز‬ ‫ب؟‬٧‫ دُف اق ؼـ‬٦ٜ١‫فا‬٨‫اق د‬

‫ؼ‬ٌٞ ْٞ‫ٖ ػ‬٧‫ خب‬ٟ‫دف‬ٜ‫ثب وبـ ِ دٍز د‬ ٞ‫ س‬٥‫ب‬١ٍٖ‫ؽ ز‬١‫ ثؽ‬ٚٗ ‫ ًبـ ؼوز‬٦١ ‫ؼ‬ٌٞ ْٞ‫ٖ ػ‬٧‫ غؽا‬ٝ ٌٍٖٜ‫ ث‬٠‫ث‬ٞ‫ س‬٦١

The time for me to change my attitude is now To change places with the wren behind my window Your eyes they keep on getting me into trouble I need to change my god and violate my vow

Translated by Alkhas

‫ؼ‬ٌٞ ْٞ‫ٖ ػ‬٧‫ا‬ٞ١ ٝ ّ‫ ضب‬ٟ‫ؽ‬٨‫هشً ـو‬ٝ

َ‫ب آػب‬ٛٞ‫ ث‬:ٖ‫ٗشفخ‬

Poet: Arash Mousavi ٥ٞ‫و‬ٞٗ ‫ آـي‬:‫ٌبػف‬

Translated by Alkhas َ‫ب آػب‬ٛٞ‫ ث‬:ٖ‫ٗشفخ‬

The world hid When his eye fell on the stone During the fall of the stone From the small sound of a dove He hid The ill horizon fell onto the sea‟s bed From me The wet scream of the sun In the sky‟s side The heated thunder of thought in the fiery delirium of sleep Hidden from me the world In the grave-smile of men On their return To their eternal home.

Poet: Sahar Bayani ٦ٛ‫ب‬٨‫ وطف ث‬:‫ٌبػف‬

ٙ‫ب‬٢‫ ٌؽ خ‬ٙ‫ب‬٢ٜ‫د‬ َٜ‫ اي اق و‬ٟ‫ِب‬ٛ ِٙ‫ؼـ اكشبؼ‬ ‫َ اي‬ٜ‫ِ و‬ٙ‫ؼـ اكشبؼ‬ ٠‫زي كبغش‬ًٞ ٥‫اق ِؽا‬ ‫ ٌؽ‬ٙ‫ب‬٢ٜ‫د‬ ‫ب‬٧‫ ؼـ ثىشف ؼـ‬ٟ‫٘بـِ اكشبؼ‬٨‫اكن ث‬ ٚٗ ‫اق‬ ٙ‫ آو٘ب‬ٟ‫ ُب‬٦٢‫ؽ ؼـ س‬٨ٌ‫ـ‬ٞ‫ة غ‬ٞ٘‫بؼ ٗف‬٧‫كف‬ ‫ٌؽ‬ ‫اة‬ٞ‫ غ‬ٚ٨ٍ‫ آس‬ٙ‫ب‬٧‫ؿ‬١ ‫ ؼـ‬٠‫آؾـغً كٌف ُؽاغش‬ ,ٙ‫ب‬٢‫ خ‬ٚٗ ‫ اق‬ٙ‫ب‬٢ٜ‫د‬ ٙ‫ ِ ٗفؼا‬ٟ‫ؽ‬ٜ‫ـغ‬ُٞ ٙٞ‫ز‬ ‫ ثبقٍُز‬ٟ‫ؼـ ـا‬ .ٙ‫ اٌب‬٥‫ اثؽ‬٠ٛ‫ غب‬٠‫ث‬

These hands hold the waist of this bitter tea glass At the foot of my quiet gaze making a nest Is it the bubbling sound of this ancient moment That brings insanity and puts the night to rest

ٖٛ‫ؼ‬ٞ‫ْ ث‬٨ٗ ‫ق دف اق‬ٜٞ١ ًٖٜ ‫ـ‬ٝ‫ثب‬ ‫ؽ‬ٜ​ًٜ ٕ‫ ا‬ٟ‫ـ‬ٝ‫ ٌت ؼ‬٦ً‫ غب‬٥‫ب‬١ ٠ٔ‫سب د‬ ٥‫ ا‬ٟٞ٢‫ ه‬ٟ‫سب ٗب‬ٝ‫ ؼ‬٠ٍ٨٘١ ‫ثبال سف اق‬ ‫ؽ‬ٜ​ًٜ ٕ‫ ؼ‬٥‫ٖ زب‬٨ِ‫ غىش‬٥‫ؽ ثفا‬٧‫ٌب‬

And believe I still have the desire to be Until the earthen stairs of the night surround me And higher than ever now these two brownish moons For my weariness they just might brew me some tea

ٕ‫ ا‬٠‫ٖ اق ٌت ُؿٌش‬ًٜ ٦ٗ ّ‫ب‬٨‫ؼاـٕ غ‬ ّ‫ ثب‬٠‫ ٌ​ٌىش‬٦١‫ ٗب‬٦ِٜ‫ و‬٥‫ب‬١ ٟ‫ثف ُفؼ‬ ٌٕٞ ٦ٗ ‫ؼ‬ٝ‫ؼٕ ؼ‬ٞ‫بـ ػٌه غ‬ًٜ ٕ‫ؼاـ‬ ‫بّ؟‬٨‫ غ‬ٚ٧‫ اوز ا‬٦ٓ‫ب‬٨‫ غ‬٠‫ ز‬... ٖ١ ‫ق‬ٜٞ١ ‫اٗب‬

I am imagining I have passed the night through On the stony sides of a broken winged fish I am turning to smoke besides my own pictures Yet however…What kind of a wish is this wish?

ًٖٜ ْٞ‫ؼ ـا ػ‬ٞ‫زي غ‬ًٞ ‫ؽ اسبم‬٧‫ ثب‬I have to get out of this small room of mine

Translated by Alkhas

At the end of a hallway that no longer Arrives at any unstained or lighted view I must set to rest my writing desk and chair And believe as you sit no breath escapes you

Poet: Paria Tofangsaz

‫ ـوؽ‬٦٘ٛ ٠ً ٦٧ٝ‫ف‬١‫ ـا‬٥‫ب‬٢‫ش‬ٛ‫ؼـ ا‬ ٦ٌٜٝ‫ ـ‬ٝ ‫ دبى‬٥ ٟ‫ظف‬ٜٗ ‫ر‬٨١ ٠‫ِف ث‬٧‫ؼ‬ ٝ ٕ‫ؽ‬ٜ‫ٖ ـا ثج‬٨ٓ‫ؽ‬ِٜ ٝ ‫ك‬٨ٗ ٠ً ‫ؽ‬٧‫ثب‬ ٦ٛ‫ ق‬٦٘ٛ ٕ‫ ؼ‬ٝ ٥‫ ا‬٠‫ٍىش‬ٛ ًٖٜ ‫ـ‬ٝ‫ثب‬

َ‫ب آػب‬ٛٞ‫ ث‬:ٖ‫ٗشفخ‬

‫ سٔع‬ٙ‫ي اوشٌب‬٧ ٥‫ؼ‬ُٞ ٠‫ب ث‬١ ‫ ؼوز‬ٚ٧‫ا‬ ‫ؽ‬ٛ‫ ا‬ٟ‫ ًفؼ‬٠ٛ‫ ال‬ٚٗ ‫ وبًز‬ٟ‫ِب‬ٛ ٥‫دب‬ ‫ف‬٨‫ د‬٥‫ب‬١ ٠‫ ٓطظ‬ٚ٧‫ ؿٔـْ ا‬٥‫ؽ ِؽا‬٧‫ٌب‬ ‫ؽ‬ٛ‫ ا‬ٟ‫ ًفؼ‬٠ٛ‫ا‬ٞ٧‫ ؼ‬ٝ ٟ‫اة ثفؼ‬ٞ‫ غ‬٠‫ٌت ـا ث‬

There is a strange sadness in my voice these days For my weariness I must brew pot of tea I need to be a bit warmer than this room And do something to alleviate this ennui

‫َ وبق‬ٜ‫ب سل‬٧‫ دف‬:‫ٌبػف‬

‫ اوز‬٠‫ٖ ُفكش‬٧‫ت ِؽا‬٨‫ب ػد‬١‫ق‬ٝ‫ ـ‬ٚ٧‫ا‬ ًٖٜ ٕ‫ ؼ‬٥‫ٖ زب‬٨ِ‫ غىش‬٥‫ؽ ثفا‬٧‫ثب‬ ٌٕٞ ‫ ُفٕ سف‬٦ً٘ ‫ اسبم‬ٚ٧‫ؽ اق ا‬٧‫ثب‬ ًٖٜ ٖ٘‫ ٗلف‬٦ِ‫ ضبّ غىش‬٠‫ ث‬٥‫كٌف‬

٦‫ل‬٨ٙٓ ٠٧‫ؽ‬٢ٗ :‫ٌبػف‬

Poet: Mahdieh Latifi

‫ػٍن‬ ٦ٛ‫ ق‬٦ٗ ‫ ار‬ٟٞ٢‫ ه‬ٙ‫دب‬ٜ‫ ك‬٠‫ ٓت ث‬٦‫هش‬ٝ ‫ؼ‬ٌٞ ٦ٗ ٟ‫بؼ‬٨‫ اي د‬٠ٌ‫اق ًبٓى‬ ٠‫ اق وف ثفؼاٌش‬ٟ‫ًال‬ ‫ؽ‬ًٜ ٦ٗ ٖ‫وف غ‬ ‫ؽ‬ًٜ ٦ٗ ٖ‫س‬ٞ‫ ؼػ‬ٟٞ٢‫ ِفف ه‬٠‫ ث‬ٝ ٦ٌ‫ىز ّٗؽام ػٍن ثب‬٨ٛ ‫ هفاـ‬ٞ‫س‬ ‫ ـا ثٔؽ اوز‬ٟ‫ؼي ـا‬ٞ‫غ‬ ٚ٨ٍٜ‫ٖ ث‬٧ٝ‫ ـ‬٠‫ ث‬ٝ‫ب ـ‬٢ٜ‫ س‬ٞ‫س‬ !ٙ‫ز ثك‬ٛ‫دب‬ٜ‫ ك‬٠‫ ٓت ث‬ٝ

Translated by Alkhas َ‫ب آػب‬ٛٞ‫ ث‬:ٖ‫ٗشفخ‬

Love When you touch your lips to your cup of coffee Gets out of its carriage Takes off its hat Bows its head And offers to serve my coffee You are not supposed to be the example of love It already knows the way Just sit there across from me And touch your lips to the cup!

ٙ‫بثب‬٨‫غ‬ ‫وز‬٥‫ؽ‬ٜٔ‫ٌؼف ث‬ !ٖٛ‫ق‬٦ٗ ٕ‫ هؽ‬ٞ‫ س‬٥‫ب‬١ٕ‫ ثب هؽ‬ٚٗ ٦‫هش‬ٝ ‫ ٌت‬ٝ ،‫ؼ‬ٌٞ٦ٗ ٠‫ٌذبـز‬٧ ٟ‫ٌجبـ‬٧ ‫ؽ‬ٜٛ‫ـوب‬٦ٗ ٚٗ ٠‫ ـا ث‬ٞ‫ س‬٠ً ٦٧‫ب‬١‫اة‬ٞ‫اق غ‬ ٦‫هش‬ٝ !ٕ‫ؽ‬ٜ‫ث‬٦ٗ ٍٖ‫ ز‬ٞ‫ س‬٥‫ب‬١ٍٖ‫ ثب ز‬ٚٗ

Translated by Alkhas َ‫ب آػب‬ٛٞ‫ ث‬:ٖ‫ٗشفخ‬

٦‫ل‬٨ٙٓ ٠٧‫ؽ‬٢ٗ :‫ٌبػف‬ Poet: Mahdieh Latifi The street Is a lengthy poem When I take steps with your steps!

And night Instantly becomes uniform, From dreams that bring you to me When I close my eyes with your eyes!

Poet: Shadi Mirzaei ٦٧‫فقا‬٨ٗ ٥‫ ٌبؼ‬:‫ٌبػف‬

ٖ٧‫ؽ‬٨‫ وبئ‬٦ٗ ٚ‫س‬ ٝ ‫ ٌؽ‬٦ٗ ٦ٓ‫ٖ اق ـهُ غب‬٧‫وبمِ دب‬ ٙ‫ِ ٗب‬ٚ‫ س‬٥‫ب‬١ ٟ‫غُفؼ‬ ‫ؽ‬ٛ‫ ٌؽ‬٦ٗ ٥‫ ا‬ٟ‫ ُٗفؼ‬٥‫ب‬١ ٠‫خفه‬ ٝ ٙ‫ قٗب‬٠‫ ؼاؼ ث‬٦ٗ ‫ ضٌٖ ثفائز‬ٙ‫٘ب‬ٛ‫ِ زٍ٘ب‬ٚ٨ٜ٘ ٠ّ‫ س٘بِٕ ه‬/ ٦‫هش‬ٝ ‫ؼ‬ٞ‫ ث‬٦ً‫ؼ‬ًٞ ِّ‫دبق‬ ‫ اي ـا‬٠ٌ‫ س‬٠ً ‫ثبؼ‬ ...‫ؼ‬ٞ‫ ث‬ٟ‫ؼ ثفؼ‬ٞ‫ثب غ‬

Translated by Alkhas َ‫ب آػب‬ٛٞ‫ ث‬:ٖ‫ٗشفخ‬

We grinded our bodies And My shins emptied of dance The bits of our bodies Became the sparks of a corpse And The echo of our eyes gave time amnesty When the ending of the story Was a child‟s jigsaw puzzle The pieces Taken away By the wind…

ٚٗ ‫ اق‬٠ً ٠ٜ٧‫ آ‬٠‫ دبٌٖ ث‬٦ٗ ‫آة‬ ‫ؽ‬١‫ ؼ‬٦ٗ ٙ‫ٍب‬ٛ ‫ب ـا‬١ ٦ٌ‫كوٗ ًب‬ ‫ـر‬ِٞ ‫ٖ ثف‬١ ‫بـ‬ًٜ ٟ‫ ٌؽ‬ٟ‫ؽ‬٨‫ز‬ ٙ‫سب ُفؼ‬ ٠ً ٥‫ ثبؼ‬ٝ ٦٧ٞ‫ و‬٠‫ ثفؼ ث‬٦ٗ ‫ب ـا‬١ ً‫و‬ٛ ‫ سف‬٠‫ب آٌلش‬١ٞٗ ٝ ‫ب‬١ ٦ٌ‫ثف ًب‬ ‫كؼ‬٧‫ ـ‬٦ٗ ٠ً ٦‫ آث‬ٟ‫٘فا‬١ ٙٞ‫ غ‬ٝ ‫ثب ًق‬ ٚٗ ‫ سب‬ٙ‫اق ُفؼ‬ ٙ‫وشب‬ٝ‫ؽ‬ٜ١ ‫ اوز سب‬٦ٔ٨‫ك‬ ‫بؼ‬٧ ٦١‫ ُب‬٠ً ً‫ـس‬ِٞ ‫ اكشؽ ثف‬٦ٗ ‫ؽ‬ٛ‫ك‬٨ٗ ‫ قـؼ‬٠‫ اق وفظ ث‬٠ً ٦ٍ٧‫ ـ‬٠‫س‬ ‫ؽ‬ٜ١‫ ؼ‬٦ٗ ‫ سٍ٘ي‬٠ً ٦٧‫ب‬١ ‫ ضفف‬٠‫ث‬ ٟ‫ب‬٨‫ و‬٠‫ْ ث‬٧‫وفظ ٗب‬ ً‫ل‬ٜ‫ث‬ .... ‫ؽ‬٨‫ول‬ Poet: Katayoon Rizkharati

٦‫كغفاس‬٧‫ ـ‬ٙٞ٧‫ ًشب‬:‫ٌبػف‬

I splash water on the mirror That only shows my tiles Stacked up by my face Until my neck And the wind that Blows the patterns to one side And the even more disheveled hair On the tiles Along with the water that falls With foam and blood From my neck to me It‟s a long way to Hindustan That at times memories Fall on his face Stubble that fades from red to yellow To words that give berries A red verging to black Purple White…

Translated by Alkhas َ‫ب آػب‬ٛٞ‫ ث‬:ٖ‫ٗشفخ‬

٠‫ػش‬٨ٗ‫آ‬ ‫ة‬ٝ‫ ؿف‬ٙ‫كاـا‬١ ‫ثب‬ ‫ب سفن‬١‫ ثب ِؽ‬٠‫ػش‬٧‫ُف‬ ‫ذ‬ًٞ ‫ي‬٧ ٥٠‫فكش‬ٛ ٝ ٟ‫آٗؽ‬

‫ ؼوز‬ٚ٧‫ ا‬ٟ‫ؼ‬ٍُٞ ٖ١ ‫ثبق‬ Translated by Alkhas َ‫ب آػب‬ٛٞ‫ ث‬:ٖ‫ٗشفخ‬

‫ذ‬ٞ‫د‬ ‫ذ‬ٞ‫د‬ ‫ذ‬ٞ‫د‬ ...

Mixed in With a thousand dusks Fleeing with a hundred fears Come and not yet gone on foot You open a hand Once again Moot Moot Moot ...

Poet: Nooshin Zarnani ٦ٛ‫ب‬ٛ‫ قـ‬ٚ٨ٌٞٛ :‫ٌبػف‬

)1 ٙ‫ ٌب‬٥‫ اثف‬ٙ‫ٍِشب‬ٛ‫ب ثب ا‬١ ٟ‫ال‬ٝ ‫ إ ـا‬٦ٛ‫ٍب‬٨‫ د‬٥‫ب‬١ ٚ٨‫ز‬ ‫ؽ‬ٜ​ًٜ ٦ٗ ‫إٗب‬ ٠ً ٥‫ ا‬ٟ‫ؽ‬ٜ٧‫ ُؿـٕ اق آ‬٦ٗ ‫ اوز‬ٟ‫بٗؽ‬٨ٛ )2 1) ٕ‫ؽ‬٧‫اة ؼ‬ٞ‫غ‬ Words with their cloudy fingers ٙ‫ ؼـ آو٘ب‬٦٧ٞ‫دفوش‬ Put their signature ‫ ٍُز‬٦ٗ ‫ اي‬٠ٛ‫جبّ ال‬ٛ‫ ؼ‬٠‫ث‬ On the lines in my forehead ‫ىز‬ٛ‫ ؼا‬٦٘ٛٝ I pass by the future that ‫ؽ‬ٛ‫ ؼا‬٦٘ٛ ‫ خك ثبؼ‬٦‫ًى‬ Is yet to come ‫ ًدبوز‬ٙ‫ آو٘ب‬٥‫ب‬٢‫ش‬ٛ‫ا‬ 2) I dreamt )3 A swallow in the sky ‫ كٌف كفؼا ثبي‬٠‫ ث‬ٟ‫ثب ًٔ٘بر وبؼ‬ Was searching for its nest ‫ ٌ​ٌلؽ‬٦ٗ ٞ‫ ثب س‬ٟ‫ ٗب‬٠ً And it did not know ‫جبٌؽ‬ٛ ‫ اُف ٌؼف‬ٝ That no one other than the wind ‫ن‬٨٘‫ ػ‬٦‫س‬ٌٞ‫ٖ ؼـ و‬١ ‫ب‬٧‫ؼـ‬ Where the end of the sky is ‫ؼ‬ٌٞ ٦ٗ ‫ثػبـ‬ 3) Keep tomorrow in your thoughts with simple words Since the moon blossoms with you And if there is no poetry Even the sea in a deep silence Will evaporate

Poet: Farnaz Jafarzadegan

ٙ‫بق خؼلفقاؼُب‬ٛ‫ كف‬:‫ٌبػف‬ Translated by Alkhas َ‫ب آػب‬ٛٞ‫ ث‬:ٖ‫ٗشفخ‬

‫ اوز‬ٟ‫ف ًفؼ‬٨ُ ٙ‫ٍِشب‬ٛ‫ ا‬ٙ‫ـؼ‬ٞ‫ ؼـ سبغ‬٦ِ‫غىش‬ ‫ؽ؟‬٨ًٍ ٕ‫ ؼ‬٦‫هش‬ٝ ‫كؼ‬٧‫ف‬٨ٗ ٥‫ زب‬٦‫ ًى‬٠‫ز‬ ‫ اوز‬ٚ٨٘١ ‫آؼـن‬ ٖ٧‫ب‬٨ٛ ‫فُك‬١ ‫ؼ‬ٞ‫ هفاـ ث‬٠ً ٦٧‫دب‬ٛ‫٘ب‬١ ،‫ سف‬٠ٛ‫فا‬٧ٝ ٠ٛ ٝ ‫ؼ‬ٍٞ٨ٗ ‫ سف‬٠‫ وبغش‬٠ٛ ٙٝ‫شف‬٢‫ر اقٗبث‬ٞ‫ و‬٥‫ ِؽا‬٠‫ ث‬ًٚ ‫ي‬ُٞ ‫ٕ اوز؟‬ٞٔ‫بٗؼ‬ٛ ٝ ‫ي‬٧‫ح سبـ‬ًٜ ٕ‫اق ًؽا‬ ٦ٜ٨‫ ث‬٦ٗ ‫ؽ ٗفا‬ٛ‫ ا‬٠‫ ُفكش‬٦ُ‫ ثفؼ‬٠‫ث‬ .٥‫ ا‬ٟ‫ آقاؼٕ ًفؼ‬٠ً ٥‫ق‬ٝ‫ ـ‬ٙ‫٘ب‬١‫اق‬ Tiredness gets stuck on bending fingers Who pours tea after it is brewed?

This is the address itself That exact place where I was never supposed to be It will not be built up or destroyed any more Listen to the sound of the whistle of the genies and faeries From which dark and hidden corner is it from?

Do you see I have been taken into slavery From that very day when you set me free.

Poet: Morteza Rajabi ٦‫ ـخج‬٦ٕ‫ ٗفس‬:‫ٌبػف‬

Translated by Alkhas

َ‫ب آػب‬ٛٞ‫ ث‬:ٖ‫ٗشفخ‬

ٖٛ‫ؼا‬٦ٗ ‫ ـا ؼـ اسبم‬ٞ‫فِ س‬ٙ‫ػ‬ ‫ؽ‬ٜ​ًٜ٦ٗ ‫ٌبـ‬ٛ‫ا‬ ‫ غِٗ هفٗك‬ٝ ٚٗ ِ٥‫ب‬١٠‫و‬ٞ‫ِ ث‬٥ٝ‫ـ‬ ‫ؽ‬ٜ‫ًٍِــــــــ‬٦ٗ ٖ٧‫ب‬١‫ثِؿاـ ٌؼف‬ ‫ؽ‬ٛ‫خب ث٘ب‬ٚ٨٘١ ‫ؼ‬ٝ‫ ٗىؽ‬٥‫ب‬١‫ ًُؽ‬ٚ٨٘١ ِ٥ٝ‫ـ‬ ٝ ‫ـ اوز‬ٝ‫ ؼ‬٦‫س‬٨‫ اق ؼوزِ ه‬٠ً ‫ي‬٧‫كؼ‬ٛ ٞ‫ِ س‬٦ٛ‫ب‬٧‫ ػف‬٠‫ث‬

Poet: Arash Afshar

‫ آـي اكٍبـ‬:‫ٌبػف‬

I know They deny Your perfume in the room And they draw A red line Across my kisses Let my poems Stay right here With an unbroken code Keeping distant from scissors yet Near to your nakedness

Translated by Alkhas َ‫ب آػب‬ٛٞ‫ ث‬:ٖ‫ٗشفخ‬

َ‫ب آػب‬ٛٞ‫ ث‬:ٖ‫ٗشفخ‬

Translated by Alkhas

‫ؽاـؼ‬ٛ ٥‫ف‬٨‫ سؼج‬٠ً ٦ٛ‫ ؼا‬٦٘ٛ ‫ِٗف‬ ‫ وف‬٦‫ؽ ث‬٨‫سفِ ول‬ٞ‫ ًج‬ٝ‫نِ ؼ‬ٞ‫ًبث‬ ‫ي‬ٝ‫ كف‬ٟ‫ ٗىبكفِولف‬٦ٜ‫ؼ‬٧ ‫ ولف‬٦ٛ‫ ؼا‬٦٘ٛ ‫ِٗف‬ Poet: Sanaz Golbarg ٟ‫ِب‬٨‫ ث‬ٟ‫ وبػشٖ ُب‬٠ً ٍ‫بق ُٔجف‬ٛ‫ وب‬:‫ٌبػف‬ ‫ؽ‬ٛ‫ ق‬٦ٗ َٛ‫اُف وف ثبال ق‬ ٕ‫ِْ ًؽا‬١‫ٖ ا‬ٛ‫ ؼا‬٦٘ٛ ٖ١ ٚٗ ٠ً ٦ٛ‫ ؼا‬٦٘ٛ ‫ِٗف‬ ٕ‫ ا‬٠‫ ثػز ثفٍُش‬٠‫ز‬ًٞ ً٧‫ب‬١ ٕ‫ آؼ‬٠ً ‫ؽ‬ٜ​ًٜ ٦ٗ ‫ب سق‬٧‫ ثف ؼـ‬٠‫ثب دٔي ثىش‬ ‫ؽ‬ٜٛ‫ ق‬٦ٗ ‫ زُفر‬ٟ‫ىشبؼ‬٧‫ً ا‬ٛ‫ ؼـغشب‬ٝ ٖ٨ٌٞ‫ ؼٓػ‬٦ٛ‫ ثبـا‬٠‫ ث‬٠ً ‫ٗب‬ ٖٛ‫ ُ​ُ٘ب‬٠‫ ث‬، ‫ك‬٨ٛ ٟ‫بـ‬٨‫ و‬ٝ ‫ىز‬٧‫ؽ ثبؼ‬ٜ‫ س‬، ‫ ٗب‬٥‫ب‬١ ‫اة‬ٞ‫ؼـ غ‬ How could you not know there is no interpretation For a nightmare of two white headless pigeons How could you not know that travel means a traveler who is a traveling salesman That my clock‟s alarm at untimely times Goes off even when its turned off How could you not know that I don‟t know what hard luck Street I‟m from Where the people Can spit in the ocean with their eyes shut And the trees lining the street are nodding out We are satisfied with our raincoats And the planet, I venture a guess, In our dreams, is a whirlwind

Poet: Mehri Rahmani

٦ٛ‫ ـض٘ب‬٥‫ف‬٢ٗ :‫ٌبػف‬

ٞ‫ س‬٥ ٟ‫دٍز دفؼ‬ ٚٗ ٟ‫ِب‬ٛ...ٟ‫ دفؼ‬٦‫ث‬ ‫ف‬٨‫ ؿ‬ٚ١‫فا‬٨‫ د‬ٚ٧‫ف ا‬٧‫ق‬ ٞ‫ س‬٥‫ب‬١ ‫ؼوز‬ . . ٖ٧‫ب‬١ ٍٖ‫ز‬...ٞ١‫غالَ اق آ‬ ‫ؽ‬ٛ‫ ا‬٠‫ؽ ُفكش‬٨ِ ٥ٞ‫ث‬ Behind your veil Unveiled… I look on Beneath the dress of another Your hands . .

To be free of a deer…my eyes Have the scent of the hunt You have tainted me Hunter!

Translated by Alkhas َ‫ب آػب‬ٛٞ‫ ث‬:ٖ‫ٗشفخ‬

ٕ‫ ا‬ٟ‫ؼ‬ٞٓ‫ آ‬ٞ‫ س‬٠‫ث‬ !‫بؼ‬٨ِ

Poet: Sahar Norouziyan ٙ‫ب‬٧‫ق‬ٝ‫ـ‬ٞٛ ‫ وطف‬:‫ٌبػف‬ ‫ي‬٧ ٠‫ي ث‬٧ ‫ًٔ٘بر ـا‬ ٕ‫ؽ‬ٜ‫ ث‬٦ٗ ٖ٧‫ب‬١ٞٗ ٠‫ث‬ ‫ه‬٨ُ ْ٢‫ٖ ز‬٧‫ وفا‬٦ٗ ٥‫ٌؼف‬

‫ ثبؼ‬٠‫ وذبـًٗ ث‬٦ٗ ‫ؽ‬ٛ‫ ؼا‬٦ٗ ‫ة‬ٞ‫ثبؼ غ‬ One by one I tie Words to my hair

ٙ‫ قؼ‬٠ٛ‫ا‬ٞ‫ِ خ‬٥‫ب‬ٜ‫ٗؼ‬ .... ‫ ـا‬ٟ‫ ثبًف‬٦ٜ٨ٗ‫ؼـ ق‬

I compose a poem of 40 tresses I entrust it to the wind The wind well knows The meaning of budding In virgin soil…

Translated by Alkhas َ‫ب آػب‬ٛٞ‫ ث‬:ٖ‫ٗشفخ‬

)2 ‫ّ ثبٌؽ‬ٞ‫ ؿ‬٠‫ز‬ ٟ‫ق‬ًٞ ٚ٧‫ؼـ ا‬ ٥‫ـ‬ِٞٛ‫ ا‬٠‫ ضج‬٠‫ز‬ ٟ‫ر ًفؼ‬ٞٔ‫ؼي غ‬ٞ‫ ثب غ‬٠ً ‫ؽاـؼ‬ٛ ٦٧ٝ‫آـق‬ ‫ك اوز‬٧‫ ٓجف‬٠ً ٥‫ ا‬٠ٓ‫ب‬٨‫د‬

1) There is no tree between us If there is one it is not a willow And if there is one It is not weeping 2) Whether there is a monster In this pitcher Or whether it is just one grape He just wants to be by himself And has no wishes since The goblet is overflowing

َ‫ب آػب‬ٛٞ‫ ث‬:ٖ‫ٗشفخ‬

‫ؽ‬ٜٗ‫بق كفاق‬ٛ‫ كف‬:‫ٌبػف‬

Translated by Alkhas

Poet: Farnaz Farazmand )1 ‫ىز‬٨ٛ ٦‫ ٗب ؼـغش‬ٙ‫ب‬٨ٗ ‫ىز‬٨ٛ ‫ؽ‬٨‫ىز ث‬١ ‫اُف‬ ‫ىز‬١ ٖ١ ‫اُف‬ٝ ‫ىز‬٨ٛ ٜٙٞ‫ٗد‬

Poet: Setareh Ansari

٥‫ّبـ‬ٛ‫ ا‬ٟ‫ وشبـ‬:‫ٌبػف‬

‫ؼى إ ـا‬ًٞ ٕ‫ ا‬ٟ‫ب ثفُؼ‬٨ٛ‫ ؼ‬٠‫ث‬ ٕ‫ ا‬٦ٓ‫ غب‬٠ٍ٨٘١ ‫ي‬ٞ‫ اق آؿ‬٦٧‫ب‬٨ٛ‫ؼ‬ .ٞ‫ س‬٥‫ؼ وفاوف وفٗب‬ٞ‫خ‬ٝ ‫ثب‬ :ٕ‫ؽ‬ٛ‫ا‬ٞ‫ي اي غ‬ُٞ ‫ؼـ‬ ‫ؽ‬٧‫ آ‬٦٘ٛ ‫ ٗب‬٠‫ب ث‬١ ‫ ضفف‬ٚ٧‫ا‬ ‫ب‬١ ٠‫و‬ٞ‫ث‬ .‫ ٌبؼ اق س٘بٌبر‬٥‫ب‬١‫ؽ‬ٜ‫ٓجػ‬ ‫ خب‬ٙ‫٘ب‬١ ٙ‫ ث٘ب‬ٙ‫بٗب‬١ ٦ٌِٞ٧‫ ثبق‬ٝ ‫ب‬١‫ كٌف‬ٙ‫ب‬٨ٗ ‫ ٗبؼـ ـا غفاة‬٥‫ب‬١‫ػّف‬ .ًٚ ٠٧‫اػّبةِ غفاة دؽـ ـا ُف‬ ‫ ـاضز اوز‬ٙ‫ٗبؼـ ٌؽ‬ .‫ ـاضز سف‬،ٙ‫ؼ‬ٞ‫دؽـ ث‬ ٕ‫ك‬٧‫ٖ ػك‬٧‫ٗب وػز ا‬ ٖ٨١‫ ؼ‬٦٘ٛ ‫ٖ ده‬ٛ

Translated by Alkhas َ‫ب آػب‬ٛٞ‫ ث‬:ٖ‫ٗشفخ‬

I took my child to the world The world of my always empty embrace Despite your constant chill.

I sang into his ear; These things do not become us The kisses Cheerful smiles from watching you.

Right there Stay amidst our thoughts and playfulness Mother‟s afternoons are ruined Cry Father‟s wracked nerves It‟s easy to become a mother Becoming a father, even easier.

We are hard, my dear We will keep you dry

ٞ‫س‬ ٦ٜٗ ‫بق‬٨ٛ ٚ٧‫ سف‬٦ِّٞ‫غ‬ ٖ٧ُٞٔ ‫ ؼـ‬٠ً ‫ر‬ٌٞ‫ِ و‬٦ٔ٨‫ثب و‬

.ٕ‫ ا‬٠‫ ار ؼاٌش‬٠ِٛ ‫وفظ‬ َ‫ب آػب‬ٛٞ‫ ث‬:ٖ‫ٗشفخ‬ Translated by Alkhas Poet: Setareh Ansari

٥‫ّبـ‬ٛ‫ ا‬ٟ‫ وشبـ‬:‫ٌبػف‬

You Are my most private need That in my throat I have kept you red With slaps of silence.

‫ف ًالٗز‬١ ٟ‫سب‬ًٞ ‫ضشب‬ ٟ‫ي آ‬٧ ْ‫ٗث‬ ٥‫ ا‬ٟ‫ُف‬ ٕ‫ ا‬٦٘‫ قغ‬ٚ١‫اق ؾ‬ ‫ؽ‬ًٜ ٦ٗ ‫ثبق‬

Poet: shahriyar Atai ٦٧‫ب‬ٙ‫بـ ػ‬٧‫ف‬٢ٌ :‫ٌبػف‬

Each word Even small Like a sigh Untangles A knot In my wounded mind

‫بدؿثف اوز‬ٛ ‫ِق‬ٝ ٕ‫ف‬ٛ ٖٛ‫سف‬ ٞ‫ س‬ٙ‫ق‬ٞٗ ٥‫ا‬ٝ‫آ‬ ٦‫هش‬ٝ ‫ سٔع‬٥‫ب‬١ ٟ‫ اق غب٘ف‬٦١ٞ‫ج‬ٛ‫ا‬ ‫بوز‬٢ٓ‫وب‬ ‫هبضز‬ٝ ‫كٖٓ ثب‬ٜٗ ‫بـ‬ًٜ َ‫ب آػب‬ٛٞ‫ ث‬:ٖ‫ٗشفخ‬ ‫ؽ‬ٛ‫ ا‬ٟ‫ قؼ‬٠‫ ضٔو‬Translated by Alkhas

It is indescribable This gentle serenade The sound of your call to prayer When For years A mass of bitter memories Has shamelessly surrounded My home

Poet: Behrang Ghassemi ٦٘‫َ هبو‬ٛ‫ف‬٢‫ ث‬:‫ٌبػف‬

‫ز‬٧‫ب‬١ ‫ؼوز‬ ،‫ؽ‬١‫ؽ‬٨ٗ ‫ ـا‬ٟ‫ ؼاؼ‬ٞ‫ؽٕ ث‬ُٜ ‫ى‬ٞ‫ث‬ !‫ه‬٨‫ر غ‬ٞ‫ز ٘ؼٖ س‬٧‫ب‬١ ‫ٓت‬ ٙ‫ ٌؼف سب اال‬ٚ٨٘١ ٥‫اق اثشؽا‬ !ٕ‫ ا‬ٟ‫ـؼ‬ٞ‫ز غ‬ٛ‫بؼ ٓجب‬٧ ٠‫كاـسب ٌ​ٌالر ث‬١ ‫ٌىى‬٨‫ ضفكى اق وف ث‬٠ٛ ‫ن اوز‬ٞ١ ٠ٛ !‫ى ثِؿاـ‬١‫ا‬ٞ‫ػ‬٨ٗ ٠ً ٠‫فز‬١ ‫اوً٘ ـا‬ ،ٚٗ ‫اٗب‬ ٕ‫ك‬٧‫جٖ ثف‬٨‫ خ‬٠‫ز ـا ث‬٧‫ب‬٢‫ؽ ؼوش‬٧‫ثب‬ !....ًٖٜ ‫ٖ غٍي‬٧‫ب‬١ ٠‫و‬ٞ‫ز ـا الثالى ث‬ٛ‫ ٓجب‬ٝ

Your hands Have the smell of roasted wheat, Your lips the taste of wet berries!

From the start of this poem till now I have eaten a thousand bites of chocolate in the memory of your lips!

This is not desire nor is it about having no one Call it what you will!

But I, Have to pour your hands into my pocket And dry your lips between my kisses….!

َ‫ب آػب‬ٛٞ‫ ث‬:ٖ‫ٗشفخ‬ Translated by Alkhas

Poet: Adel Ghazvini ٦ٜ٧ٝ‫ ػبؼّ هك‬:‫ٌبػف‬

٦‫س‬٨‫ ثذ‬٠ً "ٍ‫ ثكـ‬٥‫٘بـ‬٨‫ "ث‬٥‫ب‬١ ٠‫ىػ‬ٛ ٕ‫ آؼـن س٘ب‬٠‫ث‬ ٦‫ ـو‬٦ٗ ‫ ثىز‬ٚ‫ ث‬٠‫ث‬

When you turn into all the addresses on the prescriptions of “great illnesses” You enter a dead end It is the truth But only in the mirror That the road will open up For the ambulance to pass So that they can Take you from here To the hospital َ‫ب آػب‬ٛٞ‫ ث‬:ٖ‫ٗشفخ‬ Translated by Alkhas

‫وز ؼاـؼ‬٨‫ضو‬ ‫ اوز‬٠ٜ٧‫كوٗ ؼـ آ‬ ‫ؼ‬ٌٞ ٦ٗ ‫ ثبق‬ٟ‫ ـا‬٠ً ٦‫ى‬ٛ‫ال‬ٞ‫ـ آٗج‬ٞ‫ ػج‬٥‫ثفا‬ ‫ ـا‬ٞ‫ س‬٠ً ‫دب‬ٜ٧‫اق ا‬ .‫ؽ‬ٛ‫ ـوب‬٦ٗ ٙ‫٘بـوشب‬٨‫ ث‬٠‫ث‬

Poet: Aref askari ( kiyan) )ٙ‫ب‬٨ً(‫ ػبـف ػىٌفى‬:‫ٌبػف‬ ‫ ٗب‬٠‫ؽ ث‬ٛ‫ؽ‬٨‫ب ـو‬١ ‫ ؼاؽ‬٠ً ‫ِبـ‬ٛ‫ا‬ ‫ ٗب‬٠‫ؽ ث‬ٛ‫ؽ‬٨‫ب ـو‬١ ‫ثى ثفُى ثبؽ‬ ‫ب ثؽر ٗى آٗؽ ؟‬١ ٠ّ‫اق آغف ه‬ ‫ ٗب‬٠‫ؽ ث‬ٛ‫ؽ‬٨‫ب ـو‬١ ‫ي ثبي ! ًالؽ‬ٞ‫غ‬ Its seems as if deep sorrow has reached us

The times of nothing to show have reached us Do you not like the way that stories end?

Then rejoice! The flocks of crow have reached us

َ‫ب آػب‬ٛٞ‫ ث‬:ٖ‫ٗشفخ‬ Translated by Alkhas

Poet: Mohammad Memariyan ٙ‫ب‬٧‫ ٗط٘ؽ ٗؼ٘بـ‬:‫ٌبػف‬ !‫ ُلز‬٦ٗ ٙ‫ؼ‬ٞ‫ ثبؽ ث‬ٙ‫دب‬٨١ ‫ُْ اق‬ !‫ ُلز‬٦ٗ ٙ‫ؼ‬ٞ‫َ اق ٌتِ ثب زفاؽ ث‬ٜ‫و‬ ...ٚ‫ ؼّ ثىش‬ٝ ٙ‫ؽ‬٨‫ ـو‬٥ ٠٘٢٘١ ‫ؼـ‬ !‫ ُلز‬٦ٗ ٙ‫ؼ‬ٞ‫ اق ًالؽ ث‬٥‫ ا‬٠ٛ‫ا‬ٝ‫دف‬

To be in the garden was the flower‟s delight The rock spoke of having a light during the night To arrive during a ruckus and fall in love Turning into a crow was the butterfly‟s plight

َ‫ب آػب‬ٛٞ‫ ث‬:ٖ‫ٗشفخ‬ Translated by Alkhas

Poet: Sharareh Jamshid ‫ؽ‬٨ٍ٘‫ خ‬ٟ‫ ٌفاـ‬:‫ٌبػف‬ ٕ‫ك‬٧‫ ـ‬٦ٗ ‫ ثبؼ‬٠‫ٖ ـا ث‬٧ٞ‫ى‬٨ُ ‫ي‬ِٞ٧‫ ثبق‬٥‫ب‬١ ‫ ؼوز‬٠‫ث‬ ‫ؽ ًفؼ‬١‫ا‬ٞ‫اقي غ‬ٞٛ ‫ٖ ـا‬ٛ‫ؽا‬١‫ ق‬٠ً ٦ٜ٨ٗ‫ـؼ ؼـ وفق‬ٞ‫ؽ غ‬١‫ا‬ٞ‫ غ‬٠ٛ‫ٌب‬ ‫ؽ‬ٛ‫اق‬ٞٛ ٦ٗ ‫سبـ‬ٝ‫ ؼ‬، ‫ـ‬ٝ‫ ؼ‬٥‫ب‬١ ٠ًٗٞ ‫ؼـ‬ ‫ا‬ٞ١ ٤ٛ‫ ٌب‬ٟ‫ب‬ٜ‫قؼ ؼـ د‬ٞ‫ و‬٦ٗ ٠ً ٦٧‫ا‬ٞ١ ‫ؽ‬ٜٛ‫ ـوب‬٦ٗ ٟ‫ ـا‬٠‫ ـا ث‬ٟ‫ ـا‬٠ً ٦٧‫ب‬١ ‫اوت‬ٝ ‫ؽ‬١‫ا‬ٞ‫ غ‬٦ٗ ٠ٛ‫ٖ ٌب‬٧ٞ‫ى‬٨ُ ٠ً ٚ٨٘١

I pour my hair Into the wind A mischievous hand My hair will comb In some land Where He gently strokes my womb In straw huts afar, they play a dotar* Burning weather that shelters the shoulder of the weather And horses that bring two roads together To quickly get me home At the moment my hair is in need of a comb *long necked two-stringed (do=2, tar=string) lute from north-eastern Iran

َ‫ب آػب‬ٛٞ‫ ث‬:ٖ‫ٗشفخ‬ Translated by Alkhas

Poet: Roya Bijani ٦ٛ‫م‬٨‫ب ث‬٧ٝ‫ ـ‬:‫ٌبػف‬

I will rise in respect for anyone Who is not you Across from me Don‟t be silly And trip over yourself Don‟t cough Don‟t flap your wings You have died inside me I have passed you by I have become empty

‫ىز‬٨ٛ ٞ‫ س‬٠ً ‫ف‬١ ٥‫ً دب‬٨‫د‬ ٌٕٞ ٦ٗ ‫ؽ‬ٜٔ‫ث‬ ٖ٧ٝ‫ثف‬ٝ‫ـ‬ ٦ٌٓ‫اق ا‬ ‫ـ‬ٞ‫ػ‬ٛ ٥‫ؽـ‬ٌٜ‫و‬ ٌٚٛ ٠‫وفك‬ ٙ‫ك‬ٛ ّ‫ثبّ ثب‬ ٥‫ ا‬ٟ‫ ٗفؼ‬ٚٗ ‫ ؼـ‬ٞ‫س‬ ٕ‫ ا‬ٟ‫ ـؼ ٌؽ‬ٞ‫ اق س‬ٚٗ ٕ‫ ٌؽ‬٦ٓ‫غب‬

َ‫ب آػب‬ٛٞ‫ ث‬:ٖ‫ٗشفخ‬ Translated by Alkhas

Poet: Andisheh Shahi ‫ اًسٌطَ ضاُی‬:‫ٌبػف‬ ٖ‫ػ‬٧‫بٗجف سبـ‬٨‫ د‬ٚٗ ٦‫ىش‬ٛ‫ؼا‬٦٘ٛ ٦١‫ر ُب‬٨١ ‫ ـا‬ٚ٧‫ ا‬٠ً ٖٜ٨٘ٙٗ ٠ً ٕ‫"ء ا‬٠ٍ‫ "كبض‬ٙ‫٘ب‬١ ٚٗ ٦ًٜ٦ٗ ً‫ دب دفوش‬ٝ ‫ػٖ ـا وف‬٧‫ سبـ‬٠ً ٞ‫ٖ خك س‬١‫ؼ‬٦٘ٛ ٠‫و‬ٞ‫ث‬ ٥‫ك‬٧‫ـ‬٦ٗ ‫ ـا‬٦ٗ‫ آؼ‬ٙٞ‫ي ار غ‬٨ً‫ ـ‬ٙ‫ ثب قثب‬ٝ ٟ‫ ٗفؼ‬ٙ‫ ؼـ آ‬٦ٜ‫ ٗؼ‬٠ً ٦ٛ‫ق‬٦ٗ ً‫ آس‬٠‫ ًشبثٖ ـا ث‬٥‫ب‬١ ٠‫ ِلط‬ٝ ‫ "ٌبػف" اوٖار اوز‬٠ً ٞ‫ س‬ٚ‫ آلب‬٥‫دب‬ ‫ؼٕ ـا‬ٞ‫ غ‬ٚٗ ٝ ٠ً ًٖٜ٦ٗ ‫ ضه‬٥‫ ا‬ٟ‫اقؼ ٌؽ‬ٞٛ ٦ً‫ؼ‬ًٞ ‫ب‬٢ٜ‫س‬ ‫ اوز‬٥‫ آقاؼ‬٥ ٠ٗ‫ً قٗك‬٧‫ب‬١ ٠٧‫ُف‬ ‫ اوز‬٥‫ ٗبؼـ ٌؼف آقاؼ‬٦٧‫ الال‬ٝ ٖ٧‫ب‬١‫ ػٌه‬٠ً ٦ٍ‫ض‬ٝ َ‫ و‬ٙ‫٘ب‬١ ٠ٛ‫ قٗب‬ٝ ‫ؽ‬ًٜ٦ٗ ‫ ػٍنار‬٠‫ٖ ث‬٢‫ ٗفا ٗش‬ٝ ٠‫ ُؿاٌش‬ٙ‫ب ٗؽـ‬٨ٛ‫ز ؼ‬ٛ‫شف‬ٜ٧‫ ا‬٥ٝ‫ـا ـ‬ ٖ١‫ ثؽ‬٠٘‫ ـا غبس‬٥‫ع ثبق‬٧‫ِف سبـ‬٧‫ؽ ؼ‬٧‫ثب‬ ٖ٘‫ او‬٠ً ٖٛ‫ آسً ثك‬٠‫ؼٕ ـا ث‬ٞ‫ غ‬ٝ ! ‫ع اوز‬٧‫سبـ‬ ٕ‫ُؿاـ‬٦ٗ ‫ب آٗؽٕ اوٖ٘ ـا ٌؼف‬٨ٛ‫ ؼ‬٠‫ ث‬٠ً ‫ ثبـ‬ٚ٧‫ ا‬ٝ ٠ً ٕ‫ـ‬ٝ‫أ‬٨ٗ ‫ب‬٨ٛ‫ ؼ‬ٙٝ‫ اق ا‬ٟ‫ ًفؼ‬ٟ‫ٖ اٗبؼ‬١ ‫ٖ ـا‬٧‫ ؿؿا‬ٝ !‫جبٌؽ‬ٛ ٟ‫ ٌؽ‬ٟ‫ اوشلبؼ‬٥‫ب‬١ ٟ‫ال‬ٝ ٠ً ًٖٜ ٍٖ‫ ز‬٠‫ ث‬ٟ‫ب‬٨‫ي و‬ٜ٨‫ ػ‬٠ً ٕ‫ـ‬ٞ‫ ٗدج‬ٙ‫ اال‬ٝ ٕ‫ ا‬ٟ‫ؼ ٌؽ‬ٞ‫بث‬ٛ ٚٗ ‫ِبـ‬ٛ‫ا‬ ٝ ٟ‫ ثؽ‬٠ٗ‫ اؼا‬ٞ‫اٗب س‬ !ٖ٧‫ب‬٨‫ب ث‬٨ٛ‫ؼ‬٠‫ ثبـ "ٌؼف" ث‬ٚ٧‫ ا‬٠ً ‫ه‬٧ٜٞ‫ ث‬ٟ‫ثبـ‬ٝ‫ٗفا ؼ‬

َ‫ب آػب‬ٛٞ‫ ث‬:ٖ‫ٗشفخ‬ Translated by Alkhas

I am the prophet of history I am positive that you never knew this I am that same harlot that Kisses no one but you who worships my history from head to toe That with your obscene tongue spill the blood of people And burn the pages of my book in which meaning has died Because of your terminologies, you whose name is “poet” And I feel myself As the only child turned into a newborn Whose cries are the whispers of freedom And mother‟s lullaby‟s are the slogans of freedom And these are the times of that wild dog that has posted my pictures On the internet of this modern world I have to end this game of history And set myself on fire because my name Is history!

And this time when I am born I will name myself slogan And I will bring my food from the other world already prepared So the phrases won‟t be leftovers from last weeks lunch And now I am forced to put on sunglasses As if I have been destroyed But you keep on going and Rewrite me so this time I can be born as a poem!

Poet: Mana Aghaei ‫ هاًا آلاٌی‬:‫ٌبػف‬

َ‫ب آػب‬ٛٞ‫ ث‬:ٖ‫ٗشفخ‬ Translated by Alkhas

"٠‫“ "ِؽف ٌ​ٌىش‬Broken Shell”

ٕ‫ؼ‬ٞ‫ي ث‬٧‫كؼ‬ٛ ‫ب‬٧‫ ؼـ‬٠‫ ث‬٠‫ز‬ ‫ز‬ٛ‫ب‬١‫٘يِ ؼ‬ٛ ٠ً ‫ ٌت‬ٙ‫آ‬ ‫ؽ‬٧‫ٓـك‬٦ٗ ٖٛ‫ف قثب‬٧‫ق‬ ‫ ـا‬ٙ‫ٍب‬٧‫ب‬١ٙ‫ؽا‬ٛ‫ب ؼ‬١ٟ‫ِػف‬ ‫ؽ‬ٛ‫ًفؼ‬٦ٗ ‫ك‬٨‫ ثبؼ س‬٥ٞ‫ثب زبه‬ ٕ‫ثفؼ‬٦ٗ ٝ‫ـ ٗفؼ ـا ثب ضفَ كف‬ٌٞ ٥ٟ‫ ٗك‬ٚٗ ٝ ٌٕٞ ‫سف‬٠ٍٜ‫سب س‬ ‫ؼ‬ٞ‫ ث‬ٟ‫ؽ‬٧‫ع ثف‬٨‫ ـا اق ث‬ٞ‫ س‬٥‫ب‬١‫ي‬ُٞ ٙ‫كب‬ٞ‫ٖ س‬ٛ‫ُ٘ب‬٠‫ث‬ ٥‫ًفؼ‬٦ٗ ‫اج ولف‬ٞٗ‫ ا‬٥ٝ‫ِؽا ـ‬٦‫فا ث‬٧‫ق‬ ٥‫ؽ‬٨ٌٜ٦٘ٛ ‫ٗفا‬ ‫ب‬١٠‫ ٗبو‬٥ٝ‫ؽٕ ـ‬ٛ‫سٌب‬٦ٗ ‫ٖ ـا‬ٛٞ‫ غ‬٠ً ‫ب‬٨‫ ث‬ٝ ‫ف‬٨ِ‫ ـؼّٕ ـا ث‬ًٜٙٞ‫ا‬ ‫ؽاق‬ٜ٨‫ ث‬٠‫ ٌ​ٌىش‬٦‫ٖ ِؽك‬ٜٗ‫ؼـ ؼا‬ ٖ‫ىش‬١ ٦ٛ‫ ق‬ٙ‫٘ب‬١ ‫ق‬ٜٞ١ ٚٗ ‫ز‬٧‫اوز ثفا‬ٞ‫غ‬٦ٗ ٠ً ‫ـؼ‬ٝ‫ب‬٨‫ب ث‬٨ٛ‫ؼ‬٠‫ؽ ث‬٧‫اـ‬ٝ‫ اق ٗف‬٦‫و‬ٞٛ‫ب‬٨‫اه‬ ٙ‫ ثك‬ٝ‫دبـ‬ ‫ـ‬ٝ‫ب‬٨‫يسف ث‬٧‫كؼ‬ٛ ‫اثز ـا‬ٞ‫ ـغشػ‬ٝ .‫ن‬ٞٛ‫ كب‬٦‫ِ ث‬٦ٌ٧‫ سبـ‬ٚ٧‫ؼـ ا‬

How close I was to the sea That night that the salt of your mouth Slid under my tongue The cliffs sharpened their teeth With the knife of the wind As I greedily took in the salty taste of a man To become more thirsty It seems that the storm had cut off your ears from the root Since you rode the waves silently And did not hear me As I moved around on the sand Now get my drift and follow Throw broken shells into my dress I am still that same woman Who wanted to give birth to An ocean of pearls for you Keep rowing And bring your bedding closer In this darkness with no lantern

Translated by Alkhas ‫ تًْا الراظ‬:‫هرزجن‬

‫ُوَ جا ذالیسد‬ ‫آسواى‬ ‫سهٍي‬ ًَ‫ذا‬ ‫حری‬ ‫حری کفصُاٌی کَ تَ پاٌن ًطسرَ اسد‬ .‫ذالیسد‬

Everywhere is empty The sky The earth The house Even Even the shoes on my feet Are empty

Poet: Neda Fazli

‫ ًسا فضلی‬:‫ضاعز‬

ْ٧٥ٝ‫دف‬ٞ‫ّ و‬ٝ‫ ل‬:‫ٌبػف‬

٥‫ؼ وبالـ‬ٞ‫ ٗىؼ‬:ٖ‫ٗشفخ‬

Poet: Jules SUPERVIELLE

Translated by Massoud Salari

« ٚ‫ي ُفكش‬ٞ‫ » ؼـ آؿ‬Supervielle / Saisir

،‫ه‬٧‫ؽ‬ٜ‫ س‬ٝ ‫ت‬٨‫ و‬،‫ة‬ٝ‫ ؿف‬ٚ‫ي ُفكش‬ٞ‫ ؼـ آؿ‬،ٚ‫ي ُفكش‬ٞ‫ؼـ آؿ‬ .ٙ‫بثب‬٨‫ غ‬٥‫ب‬٢‫ش‬ٛ‫ ا‬ٝ ‫اـ‬ٞ٧‫ ؼ‬ٝ ٠٧‫ وب‬ٚ‫ي ُفكش‬ٞ‫ؼـ آؿ‬ .٠‫ غلش‬ٙ‫ ق‬ٙ‫ ُفؼ‬ٝ ‫ دب‬ٚ‫ي ُفكش‬ٞ‫ؼـ آؿ‬ ،ٟ‫ب ٌؽ‬١‫ ـ‬٥ٟ‫ؽ‬ٛ‫ هؽـ دف‬٠‫ ز‬.ٙ‫ؼ‬ٍُٞ ‫ب ـا‬١‫وذه ؼوز‬ ‫ؼ‬ٌٞ٦ٗ ٙ‫بثب‬٨‫ غ‬٠ً ٠‫ اق ؼوز ـكش‬٥ٟ‫ؽ‬ٛ‫ هؽـ دف‬٠‫ز‬ .‫ه‬٧‫ؽ‬ٜ‫ س‬ٝ ‫ت‬٨‫ و‬،‫ة‬ٝ‫ ؿف‬،‫اـ‬ٞ٧‫ ؼ‬،٠٧‫ وب‬ٝ ‫ؽ‬٨٧‫كفوب‬٦ٗ ‫ؼ ـا‬ٞ‫ غ‬،‫ب‬١‫ ؼوز‬٥‫ا‬ ‫بى‬ٛ‫ف‬ٙ‫ غ‬٥‫ ثبق‬ٚ٧‫ؼـ ا‬ ‫ؽ‬٧‫ؽ ٌ٘ب ـا ثف‬٧‫ثب‬ .‫ؽ‬٧‫ع ثف‬٨‫ق اق ث‬ٝ‫ي ـ‬٧ ‫ؽ ٌ٘ب ـا‬٧‫ثب‬

Saisir, saisir le soir, la pomme et la statue, Saisir l'ombre et le mur et le bout de la rue.

Saisir le pied, le cou de la femme couchée Et puis ouvrir les mains. Combien d'oiseaux lâchés Combien d'oiseaux perdus qui deviennent la rue, L'ombre, le mur, le soir, la pomme et la statue.

Mains vous vous userez A ce grace jeu là.

Il faudra vous couper Un jour vous couper ras.

Translated by Massoud Salari ٥‫ؼ وبالـ‬ٞ‫ ٗىؼ‬:ٖ‫ٗشفخ‬ ‫اـ‬ٞٓ‫ دْ ا‬:‫ٌبػف‬ Poet: Paul Éluard

‫ز‬٧‫ب‬١ٍٖ‫ ز‬٥‫ب‬ٜ‫ط‬ٛ‫ ا‬La courbe de tes yeux ، ‫ؽ‬ًٜ٦ٗ ٟ‫ـ‬ٝ‫ز ؼٖٓ ـا ؼ‬٧‫ب‬١ٍٖ‫ ز‬٥‫ب‬ٜ‫ط‬ٛ‫ا‬، ، ‫ هفاـ‬ٝ ُ‫ اق ـه‬٥‫ا‬٠‫ضٔو‬ ٠ٛ‫ ٌجب‬٥‫ آشدب‬٥ٟ‫اـ‬ٞ٢ُ ،ٙ‫ قٗب‬٥٠ٓ‫ب‬١ . ٕ‫ؽاـ‬ٛ ‫بؼ‬٧ ٠‫ ـا ث‬٠‫س٘بٕ ػ٘ف ـكش‬ ، ‫ؽ‬ٛ‫ا‬ٟ‫ؽ‬٧‫ؽ‬ٛ ‫ ٗفا‬٠ٍ٨٘١ ‫ز‬٧‫ب‬١ٍٖ‫ ز‬٠ٌٛ‫اق آ‬ ، ٖٜ‫ ٌج‬٥‫ب‬١‫ ضجبة‬ٙ‫ آ‬،‫ ثفٍ آكشبة‬ٝ‫ ؼ‬ٙ‫آ‬ ، ٚ٨ُ‫فآ‬ٙ‫ ػ‬٥ٟ‫ؽ‬ٜ‫ ٓجػ‬ٝ‫ ؼ‬،‫ ثبؼ‬ٙ‫ىشب‬٨ٛ ، ‫ؽ‬ٛ‫ ا‬ٟ‫ؽ‬ًٜ‫ـ آ‬ٞٛ ‫ ـا اق‬ٙ‫ب‬٢‫ خ‬٠ً ٟ‫ؼ‬ٍُٞ ّ‫ ثب‬ٝ‫ؼ‬ ، ‫بوز‬٧‫ ؼـ‬ٝ ٙ‫ آو٘ب‬ٙ‫ ثبـٌب‬٠ً ‫ن‬٧‫ هب‬ٝ‫ؼ‬ ، َٛ‫ ـ‬٥٠ٍ٘‫ ز‬ٝ‫ ؼ‬،‫ؿبُف‬ٞ‫ ؿ‬ٝ‫ؼ‬ ‫ كٔن‬٥٠ٕ٨‫ اق ث‬ٟ‫ـؼ‬ٝ‫ وف ثفآ‬٠‫ط‬٧‫ ـا‬ٝ‫ؼ‬ ٙ‫ٌٍب‬٢ً ‫ ثف‬ٙ‫ب‬ٜ‫ٖز‬١ ٟ‫ؽ‬٨ٗ‫آـ‬ ‫ اوز‬٠‫ ثىش‬ٞ‫ س‬٥‫ب‬١ٍٖ‫ قالّ ز‬٠‫ب س٘بٕ ث‬٨ٛ‫ؼ‬ . ٦١‫ب‬ُٜ٦‫ ث‬٠‫ آكشبة ث‬٠ً ٙ‫وب‬ٙ‫آ‬ ‫ اوز‬ٟ‫ِب‬ٛ ٙ‫ ؼـ آ‬٥‫ خبـ‬ٚٗ ٙٞ‫ س٘بٕ غ‬ٝ

La courbe de tes yeux fait le tour de mon coeur, Un rond de danse et de douceur, Auréole du temps, berceau nocturne et sûr, Et si je ne sais plus tout ce que j'ai vécu C'est que tes yeux ne m'ont pas toujours vu. Feuilles de jour et mousse de rosée, Roseaux du vent, sourires parfumés, Ailes couvrant le monde de lumière, Bateaux chargés du ciel et de la mer, Chasseurs des bruits et sources des couleurs, Parfums éclos d'une couvée d'aurores Qui gît toujours sur la paille des astres, Comme le jour dépend de l'innocence Le monde entier dépend de tes yeux purs Et tout mon sang coule dans leurs regards.

Virgül

Hiç susmayan Bir davulun tokmağı Çağırır kelimeleri Kağıtlardaki düğüne

، ُّٞ‫ف‬٧ٝ ًٚ‫ آ‬٥‫ب‬ٛٞ‫ و‬:‫ٌبػف‬ Poet: Sunay akın

٠ً ‫ وز‬٦ٔ١‫ ؼ‬٥ ٠‫ث‬ًٞ ‫ؼ‬ٌٞ ٦٘ٛ ‫ي‬ٞٗ‫ غب‬٥‫ ا‬٠‫ٓطظ‬ ‫ؽ‬ًٜ ٦ٗ ‫ر‬ٞ‫ًٔ٘بر ـا ؼػ‬ ٠ً ٦ٍٜ‫ خ‬٠‫ث‬ ‫بوز‬١ ‫ ًبؿؿ‬٥ٝ‫ثف ـ‬ ٦ٜ٨‫ ِبثف ضى‬:ٖ‫ٗشفخ‬ Translated by Saber Hosseini

Ne Londra Konferansı Bir elinde cımbız, Bir elinde ayna; Umurunda mı dünya!... ٖ‫ ث٘ت اس‬٠ٛ

ٙ‫ؽ‬ٜٓ ‫ه‬ٛ‫لفا‬ًٜ ٠ٛ ٦ٓٝ ٙ‫ب‬١‫ـ‬ٝ‫ ا‬:‫ٌبػف‬ Poet: Orhan Veli Kanık

ٚ٨‫ز‬ٞٗ ً‫ي ؼوش‬٧ ‫ؼـ‬ ٠ٜ٧‫ آ‬،‫ِفي‬٧‫ؼـ ؼوز ؼ‬ ...!‫ىز‬٨ٛ ًٓ‫ب‬٨‫ غ‬ٚ٨‫ب ػ‬٨ٛ‫ؼ‬

٦ٜ٨‫ ِبثف ضى‬:ٖ‫ٗشفخ‬

Ne atom bombası

Translated by Saber Hosseini

Cımbızlı Şiir

٦ٓٝ ٙ‫ب‬١‫ـ‬ٝ‫ ا‬:‫ٌبػف‬ Poet: Orhan Veli Kanık

ٞ‫ س‬ٝ ٚٗ ٖ٧‫ؽاـ‬ٛ ٦‫ش‬١‫ر ٌجب‬٨١ ‫ خؽاوز‬ٙ‫٘ب‬١ ‫ـا‬ ٦‫ىش‬١ ‫ي‬ٝ‫ خِف كف‬٥ ٠‫ ُف ث‬ٞ‫س‬ ‫ِٓفؼ‬ٝ ٠‫ ُفث‬،ٚٗ ،٥‫ ا‬ٟ‫وف‬ٛ ٥ ٠‫ ؼـ ًبو‬ٞ‫ س‬٥‫ؿؿا‬ ‫ف‬٨ٌ ٙ‫ب‬١‫ ؼـ ؼ‬ٚٗ ّ‫ٗب‬ ٦ٜ٨‫ ث‬٦ٗ ٠ٛ‫ ػبٌوب‬٥‫ب‬١ ‫اة‬ٞ‫ غ‬ٞ‫س‬ ٙ‫ا‬ٞ‫ اوشػ‬٥‫ب‬٧ٝ‫ ـ‬ٚٗ ‫ىز‬٨ٛ ٙ‫كآوب‬٨ٛ ٞ‫ س‬٦ُ‫ؽ‬ٛ‫اٗب ق‬ !ٕ‫ثفاؼـ‬ ‫ىز‬٨ٛ ٙ‫آوب‬ ٠ٌٜ٧‫ ا‬٠ٛ ‫ِٗف‬ ‫ق غؽا‬ٝ‫ف ـ‬١ !‫ ؼُٗز ـا ؟‬، ٦١‫ ثؽ‬ٙ‫ؽ سٌب‬٧‫ثب‬

Translated by Saber Hosseini

uyuşamayız seninle yollarımız ayrı; sen ciğercinin kedisi ben sokak kedisi; senin yiyeceğin kalaylı kapta; benimki aslan ağzında; sen aşk rüyaları görürsün, ben kemik ama seninki de kolay değil, kardeşim; kolay değil hani; böyle kuyruk sallamak tanrının günü.

٦ٜ٨‫ ِبثف ضى‬:ٖ‫ٗشفخ‬

Kuyruklu Şiir

Sensiz paris gülüm bir havai fişeği Bir kuru gürültü kederli bir ırmak Yıktı mahvetti beni Paris'te durup dinlenmeden gülüm seni

çağırmak. ! ُٖٔ ٞ‫ س‬ٙٝ‫ثؽ‬ ٥‫ي آسً ثبق‬٧ ٙٞ‫٘س‬١ ‫ه‬٧‫دبـ‬ ٦ٓ‫ غب‬ٞ‫ س‬٥ٞ١‫ب‬٨١ ‫ي‬٧ ‫ؼ اوز‬ٞٓ‫ ُْ آ‬٥ ٠ٛ‫ؼغب‬ٝ‫ي ـ‬٧ ٝ ‫بظٖ ضٌ٘ز‬ٛ :‫ٌبػف‬ Poet: NAZIM HİKMET

!ُٖٔ​ُ ‫ؼٕ ًفؼ‬ٞ‫بث‬ٛ ٝ ٞ‫ٗط‬ ٙ‫ ِؽا قؼ‬٠‫هل‬ٝ ٦‫سفا ث‬ ‫ه‬٧‫ؼـ دبـ‬ Translated by Saber Hosseini ٦ٜ٨‫ ِبثف ضى‬:ٖ‫ٗشفخ‬

ٌٖ‫ٖ غبى ثب‬١‫ا‬ٞ‫غ‬٦ٗ ‫ؽ‬ٛ‫ا‬ٝ‫ؼ‬٦ٗ ٠ٍ٧‫ ـ‬ٙ‫ ؼـغز ؼـ آ‬٠ً ٦٧‫خب‬ ‫ؽ‬ًٜ٦ٗ ٦ُ‫ؽ‬ٛ‫ ق‬ٙ‫ ثف آ‬ٟ‫ؽ‬ٛ‫ دف‬٠ً ‫ خب‬ٙ‫٘ب‬١ ٌٖ‫ٖ ثبؼ ثب‬١‫ا‬ٞ‫غ‬٦ٗ ‫ ـا‬ٟ‫ؽ‬ٛ‫ دف‬ٝ ‫ ؼـغز‬ٝ ٚ٨ٗ‫ ق‬ٝ ًٖٜ ‫اقي‬ٞٛ ٠ٛ‫ؼا‬ٝ‫خب‬ ‫ؼ‬ٞ‫ٖ ث‬١‫ا‬ٞ‫ غ‬ٙ‫ىب‬ٛ‫ف ؼـغز ا‬٧‫ ؼـ ق‬ٝ ..‫ؽ ؼاٌز‬١‫ا‬ٞ‫ؼ غ‬ٞ‫خ‬ٝ ‫ب‬١‫ب‬٧ٝ‫ ؼـ ـ‬٠ً ٙ‫آ‬

ٚ‫ وػبغ‬.٥ :‫ٌبػف‬

ٟ‫ْ قاؼ‬٨‫ال او٘بػ‬٢ٌ :ٖ‫ٗشفخ‬

Poet: J.C. van Schagen

Translated by Shahla Esmaeilzadeh

ٌٖ‫ ثب‬٦‫ٖ ؼـغش‬١‫ا‬ٞ‫غ‬٦ٗ ٌٖ‫ ثب‬٥‫ا‬ٟ‫ؽ‬ٛ‫ٖ دف‬١‫ا‬ٞ‫غ‬٦ٗ ٝ ‫ وبقؼ‬٦ٗ ٠ٛ‫ب‬٨ٌ‫ آ‬ٚٗ ‫ ثف‬٠ً

ik zal een boom zijn en ik zal de vogel zijn die in me nestelt ik zal de grond zijn waar de boom in wortelt waar de vogel woont ik zal de wind zijn en grond en boom en vogel eindeloos strelen en onder de boom zal ik de mens zijn die dit dromend zal bestaan

Moet je niets meer doen

Zoals je ook niet komt Aan het schilderij

Poet: Remco Campert ‫ ًبٗذفر‬ٌٞٗ‫ ـ‬:‫ٌبػف‬

٦‫وش‬ٝ‫ؼ‬ ٦‫وش‬ٝ‫ ؼ‬٥ ٠ٙ‫ؼـ ـاث‬ ٦ٌٜ‫ ث‬٥‫بؼ‬٧‫ؽ ًبـِ ق‬٧‫جب‬ٛ ٞ‫س‬ ٟ‫ س٘بٕ ٌؽ‬٦ٌ‫وب‬ٛ ٠‫ ث‬٠ً ‫ـ‬ٞٙٛ‫٘ب‬١ .‫ؼ‬ٌٞ ٦٘ٛ ٠‫ أبك‬٥‫ك‬٨‫ز‬

ٟ‫ْ قاؼ‬٨‫ال او٘بػ‬٢ٌ :ٖ‫ٗشفخ‬

Ann vrindschap

Translated by Shahla Esmaeilzadeh

Vrindschap

De shawl die ik voor je kocht

Van roze en groene shantoeng De shawl die je zo mooi vond En die je altijd zou dragen Die je later,gekust door een ander In een hotelkamer achter

Poet: Remco Campert ‫ ًبٗذفر‬ٌٞٗ‫ ـ‬:‫ٌبػف‬

ٕ‫ؽ‬٧‫ز غف‬٧‫ ثفا‬٠ً ٦ٓ‫ٌب‬ ‫ وجك‬ٝ ٦‫ـس‬ِٞ ِٚ‫اق وبس‬ ‫ آٗؽ‬٦ٗ ‫جب‬٧‫ زٍ٘ز ق‬٠‫ ث‬٠ً ٦ٓ‫ ٌب‬ٙ‫٘ب‬١ ‫ز ثبٌؽ‬ٛ‫ ُفؼ‬٠‫ ث‬٠ٍ٨٘١ ٦‫اوش‬ٞ‫ غ‬٦ٗ ٝ ، ٦‫ خب ُؿاٌش‬٦ٔ‫ش‬١ ‫ب ؼـ اسبم‬١‫فا ثؼؽ‬ٛ‫آ‬ ٟ‫ؽ‬٨‫و‬ٞ‫فا ث‬ٛ‫ آ‬٥‫ِف‬٧‫ ؼ‬٦‫ًى‬ ٟ‫ْ قاؼ‬٨‫ال او٘بػ‬٢ٌ :ٖ‫ٗشفخ‬ Translated by Shahla Esmaeilzadeh

Zondag

Zondag had ik me voorgesteld in de hangmat door te brengen tussen de stevige stammen van de bomen dicht boven de aarde en van de hemel ver genoeg verwijderd om me een mens op zijn plaats te voelen.

Maar het regende Poet: Kourosh Shiva

Poet: Remco Campert ‫ ًبٗذفر‬ٌٞٗ‫ ـ‬:‫ٌبػف‬

‫ کورش شیوا‬:‫شاعر‬ ٠‫ج‬ٌٍٜ٧

ٕ‫ ؼاؼ‬ٟ‫ػؽ‬ٝ ‫ؼ‬ٞ‫ غ‬٠‫ ث‬٠‫ج‬ٌٍٜ٧ ٌٖ‫ ٗط‬٥‫ب‬١٠ٍ٧‫ ثب ـ‬٦٧‫ب‬٢‫ ؼـغش‬ٚ٨‫ ث‬٥‫ا‬ٜٞٛ ‫ ؼـ‬٠ً ٕ‫ وف ثف‬٠‫ث‬ ٚ٨ٗ‫ ق‬٠‫ي ث‬٧‫كؼ‬ٛ ٦ً٘ ٙ‫ـ اق آو٘ب‬ٝ‫ ؼ‬٦‫ ًبك‬ٟ‫ؽاق‬ٛ‫ ا‬٠‫ ث‬ٝ ‫ؼي اوز‬ٞ‫ غ‬٥‫ وف خب‬٠ً ، ٌٖ‫ ثب‬٠‫ ـا ؼاٌش‬٦ٛ‫ىب‬ٛ‫سب ضه ا‬ ‫ؽ‬٧‫ ثبـ‬ٙ‫اٗب ثبـا‬

ٟ‫ْ قاؼ‬٨‫ال او٘بػ‬٢ٌ :ٖ‫ٗشفخ‬ Translated by Shahla Esmaeilzadeh

BIJNA NOOIT Bijna nooit zie je een vogel in de lucht zich bedenken, zwenken, terug.

‫تقریبه َرگز‬ Poet: Judith Herzberg ‫فقثفظ‬١ ‫ز‬٧‫ؼ‬ٞ٧ :‫ٌبػف‬

‫تقریبه َرگز ومی بیىی کٍ پرودٌ ای در آسمان‬ .‫ برگردد‬،‫ دير بزود‬،‫وظرش عًض شًد‬

ٟ‫ْ قاؼ‬٨‫ال او٘بػ‬٢ٌ :ٖ‫ٗشفخ‬

Translated by Shahla Esmaeilzadeh

I emerge from the museum At dusk The blue Nile Floods over. ٖٛ‫ ق‬٦ٗ ٙٝ‫ف‬٨‫ ث‬ٟ‫ق‬ٞٗ ‫اق‬ ٟ‫ة ًفؼ‬ٝ‫آكشبة ؿف‬ ْ٨ٛ َِٛ‫ ـ‬٦‫ء آث‬٠ٛ‫ؼغب‬ٝ‫ ـ‬ٝ .‫ اوز‬٠‫اق ثىشفي وف ـكش‬

‫ فومی سایتو‬:‫شاعر‬ Poet: Fumi Saito

What melts With the snow In the springlike afternoon?

A pearl Loses its gloss. ‫ ثفف‬٥‫ب‬١ ٠ٛ‫ثب ؼا‬ ‫ؼ‬ٌٞ ٦ٗ ‫ آة‬٥‫ِف‬٧‫ِ ؼ‬٥‫ب‬١‫ك‬٨‫ ز‬٠‫ز‬ ‫؟‬ُٙٞ‫بـ‬٢‫فِ ث‬٢‫ ثؼؽ اق ظ‬ٚ٧‫ؼـ ا‬ ٥‫ؽ‬٧‫اـ‬ٝ‫ٗف‬ .‫ؽ‬١‫ ؼ‬٦ٗ ‫ؼ ـا اق ؼوز‬ٞ‫ؼـغًٍ غ‬

Translated by Mana Aghaei ‫ مانا آقایی‬:‫مترجم‬

Gloves I threw into a field Rise up again Yellow flowers blooming from their fingers. ‫ٖ ـا‬٧‫ب‬١ ًٌ‫ؼوش‬ ٕ‫ؽاق‬ٛ‫ ا‬٦ٗ ٠‫ؼـ ٗكـػ‬ ‫ قـؼ‬٥‫ب‬١ ُْ ٥‫آ‬ .‫ؽ‬٨٧ٝ‫ ثف‬ٙ‫ٍب‬ٛ‫ٍِشب‬ٛ‫اق وفا‬

‫ فومی سایتو‬:‫شاعر‬ Poet: Fumi Saito

Horses Hearing the sound of the wind I draw them Out of the canvas And make them take off. ‫ب‬١ ‫اوت‬ ‫ؽ‬ٛ‫ؼ‬ٞ‫ ث‬ٟ‫ؽ‬٨ٌٜ ‫ِ ثبؼ ـا‬٥‫ِؽا‬ ٙ‫ؽٍٗب‬٨ًٍ ٙٝ‫ف‬٨‫ ث‬٠ً ٕٞ‫اق ث‬ .‫ؽ‬ٜ‫ ُؿاٌش‬ٙ‫ؽ‬٧ٝ‫ ؼ‬٠‫دب ث‬

Translated by Mana Aghaei ‫ مانا آقایی‬:‫مترجم‬

Translated by Hosein Mackizadeh

‫ ذس ٍُْس‬:‫ضاعز‬

ٍ‫ حسٍي هکیساز‬:‫هرزجن‬

Poet: Ted-Hughes

‫ذزاًَ ي سٌٍَ سزخ‬

Robin Song

٥ ٟ‫ف ٌؽ‬٨‫ سىػ‬ٟ‫ إ دبؼٌب‬ٚٗ ٍ‫ ثكـ‬٥‫ب‬١ ٟ‫ع دبـ‬٧ ٝ ِْٜ‫خ‬ ٙ‫وب‬ٞ٧‫ ؼ‬٥‫ وفٗب‬ٝ ‫ً اق ثبؼ‬٧‫ب‬١ ٠ٌ٘‫ثب ز‬ ‫ سبج‬٦‫ إ ث‬ٚٗ ٙ‫ ثبـا‬٥‫ب‬٨ٛ‫اق ؼ‬ ً‫ آؾـغ‬ٝ ‫ؽـ‬ٜ‫ف س‬٨‫ سىػ‬٠‫ث‬ ‫ب‬١ ٠ٛ‫ؼغب‬ٝ‫ ـ‬ٝ ‫ ثبؼ‬٥ ٟ‫ؽ ُٖ ٌؽ‬ٛ‫ إ كفق‬ٚٗ ‫ ُفؼؼ‬٦ٗ ٥‫ِف‬٧‫ك ؼ‬٨‫ ز‬٦‫ اق د‬ٚٗ ٙٝ‫ ؼـ‬٠ً ‫بوؽ‬ٌٜ ٦٘ٛ ‫ٗفا‬ ٖ٧‫ ُف‬٦ٗ ‫ؽ‬ٜ‫فز‬١ ٦ٛ‫ب‬٢‫ خ‬٥ ٟ‫ؽ‬ٜ​ٜ٧‫ إ آكف‬ٚٗ ‫ زفغؽ‬٦ٗ ٝ ‫ ُفؼؼ‬٦ٗ ٠ً ٚ‫ٌ​ٌىش‬ٝ‫سب كف‬ ‫ؽ‬ًٜ ٦ٗ ‫ي‬ٞٗ‫ إ ـا غب‬٦١‫ آُب‬ٝ

I am the hunted king Of the frost and big icicles And the bogey cold With its wind boots.

I am the uncrowned Of the rainworld Hunted by lightning and thunder And rivers.

I am the lost child Of the wind Who goes through me looking for something else Who can't recognize me though I cry.

I am the maker Of the world That rolls to crush And silence my knowledge

‫ کٌس رکس راز‬:‫ضاعز‬

ٍ‫ حسٍي هکیساز‬:‫هرزجن‬

Poet: Kenneth Rexroth

Translated by Hosein Mackizadeh

٦ٛ‫ٍب‬٧‫ دف‬Confusion ٕ‫ ُؿـ‬٦ٗ ‫ ار‬٠ٛ‫بـ غب‬ًٜ ‫ ؼٕ اق‬ٟ‫ؽ‬٨‫ٖ وذ‬٧‫ ٗال‬٦‫ؼـ وفغ‬ ٟ‫ؽ‬٨ًٍ ‫ب‬١ ٟ‫ دفؼ‬ٝ ‫ب ثبق‬١ ٟ‫دف‬ٜ‫د‬ ٠‫بز‬٧‫فٕ اق ؼـ‬ٛ ٦٘٨‫ى‬ٛ .ٕ‫ ا‬٠ُٛٞ ‫ ثف‬ٞ‫ س‬٥‫ب‬١ ‫له‬ٛ ْ‫ٗث‬ ٖٛ‫ ق‬٦ٗ ٕ‫ك هؽ‬٧‫ ـ‬ٙ‫ِ ثبـ‬ٟ‫ ُب‬٦‫ ث‬ٝ ٟ‫ق ؼـ ُب‬ٝ‫س٘بٕ ـ‬ ٖٜ٨‫ ز‬٦ٗ ٠ًٝ‫ اق دبـى ٗشف‬٦‫ وفغ‬٥ ٠ٓ‫ال‬ ‫ب‬١ ٍ‫ ثف ُٔجف‬ٙ‫ ثبـا‬ٌٚٝ‫ ـ‬٥‫ب‬١ ٟ‫ف‬ٙ‫ه‬ ‫ف‬٢ٌ ‫ اوز ؼـ‬٦٧‫ب‬٢ٜ‫َ س‬ٛ‫ ـ‬ٚ٧‫ح ا‬ٜ‫ؼـ وبػز د‬ ٕ‫ ُؿـ‬٦ٗ ‫ ار‬٠ٛ‫بـ غب‬ًٜ ‫ اق‬٦ٛ‫ ثبـا‬٦‫ث‬ٝ‫ؿف‬ .ٌٚٝ‫ ـ‬٥‫ب‬١ ٟ‫ ؼـ ضفًز اق دٍز دفؼ‬،َٛ‫٘ز ً٘ف‬ٜ٨‫ٖ ثج‬ٛ‫ا‬ٞ‫ س‬٦ٗ ٖٜ٨ٍٛ ٦ٗ ‫ؽ‬٨‫ وذ‬٥‫ ًبؿؿ‬٥ٞٔ‫آغف ٌت خ‬ .‫ؼ‬ٌٞ ‫ٖ دفدف‬٧ٝ‫ً ـ‬٨‫ وفظ د‬٦ُ‫ ُٔجف‬٠ً ٦‫هش‬ٝ ‫سب‬

I pass your home in a slow vermilion dawn, The blinds are drawn, and the windows are open.

The soft breeze from the lake Is like your breath upon my cheek.

All day long I walk in the intermittent rainfall.

I pick a vermilion tulip in the deserted park, Bright raindrops cling to its petals.

At five o'clock it is a lonely color in the city.

I pass your home in a rainy evening, I can see you faintly, moving between lighted walls.

Late at night I sit before a white sheet of paper, Until a fallen vermilion petal quivers before me.

ٍ‫ حسٍي هکیساز‬:‫هرزجن‬

Translated by

Hosein Mackizadeh

‫ اکراٌّْ پاس‬:‫ضاعز‬ Poet: Octavio Paz

ٚ‫ ـكش‬ٝ ٙ‫ؽ‬ٛ‫ ٗب‬ٙ‫ب‬٨ٗ Between Going and Staying ‫ق‬ٝ‫ ٗفؼؼ اوز ـ‬ٚ‫ ـكش‬ٝ ٙ‫ؽ‬ٛ‫ ٗب‬ٙ‫ب‬٨ٗ ‫ز اي‬٨‫ ػٍن ثب ٌلبك‬...‫ؼـ ػٍن‬ ًٜٙٞ‫ اوز ا‬٦‫د‬٨ٔ‫ـ غ‬ٝ‫ف ٗؽ‬٢‫ثؼؽ اق ظ‬ ‫ؼ‬ٍٞ٨ٗ َٜ‫ و‬ٌٙٞ‫ ؼـ و‬ٙ‫ب‬٢‫ خ‬٠ً ‫ خب‬ٙ‫ آ‬٦٧‫خب‬ ٙ‫كا‬٧‫ ُف‬٠٘١ ٝ ‫ؽاوز‬٨‫ك د‬٨‫ ز‬٠٘١ ٦ٛ‫بٌؽ‬ٛ ‫ ٓ٘ه‬ٝ ‫ي اوز‬٧‫كؼ‬ٛ ‫ك‬٨‫ ز‬٠٘١ ، ٙ‫ا‬ٞ٨ٓ ،‫ٗؽاؼ‬،‫ ًشبة‬،‫ًبؿؿ‬ ٙ‫ٍب‬٧‫ب‬١ ٕ‫ب‬ٛ ٠٧‫ ؼـ وب‬ٟ‫ؽ‬٨ٗ‫آـ‬ ‫ سذؽ‬٦ٗ ٖ٧‫ب‬١ ٠‫و‬٨‫ ؼـ ٌو‬ٙ‫قٗب‬ ‫ ـا‬ٙٞ‫ غ‬ٙ‫ٌىب‬٧ ٥‫ب‬١‫دب‬١ ‫ؽ‬ًٜ ٦ٗ ‫سٌفاـ‬ ‫ىفؼ ـا‬ٛٞ‫اـ غ‬ٞ٧‫ـزفاؽ ؼ‬ٞٛ ‫ؽ‬ًٜ ٦ٗ ّ‫ب ثؽ‬١ ‫ ثبقسبة‬٦ٓ‫ب‬٨‫ً غ‬٧‫٘ب‬ٛ ٠‫ث‬ ٖ‫بث‬٧ ٦ٗ ٍٖ‫ ز‬٦ٌ٧ ٙ‫ب‬٨ٗ ‫ً ـا‬٧ٞ‫غ‬ ٦٢‫ س‬٦١‫ِب‬ٛ ‫ً ؼـ‬٧ٞ‫ غ‬٥‫ س٘بٌب‬٠‫ث‬ ،‫ ضفًز‬٦‫ ث‬.‫ دبٌؽ‬٦ٗٝ‫ كف‬٠‫ٓطظ‬ .ٕ‫ ا‬ٟ‫سب‬ًٞ ٦ِٛ‫ ؼـ‬:ٕٝ‫ ـ‬٦ٗ ٝ ٖ‫ىش‬٧‫ ا‬٦ٗ

Between going and staying the day wavers, in love with its own transparency.

The circular afternoon is now a bay where the world in stillness rocks.

All is visible and all elusive, all is near and can't be touched.

Paper, book, pencil, glass, rest in the shade of their names.

Time throbbing in my temples repeats the same unchanging syllable of blood.

The light turns the indifferent wall Into a ghostly theater of reflections.

I find myself in the middle of an eye, watching myself in its blank stare.

The moment scatters. Motionless, I stay and go: I am a pause.

‫‪Poet: Nizar Qabbani‬‬

‫ٌبػف‪ٛ :‬كاـ هجب‪٦ٛ‬‬

‫رسالَ هي ذحد الواء ‪ٛ‬بٗ‪ ٠‬ا‪ ٥‬اق ق‪٧‬ف آة‬ ‫الطاعز‪ً :‬شار لثاًی ٌؼف‪ٛ :‬كاـ هجب‪٦ٛ‬‬ ‫إى وٌد حثٍثً سـاعسً​ً وً أرحل عٌه‬ ‫أّ وٌد طثٍثً ساعسً​ً وً أضفـى هٌهً‬ ‫لْ أً​ً أعزف أى الحة ذطٍـز جساً ها أحـثثد‬ ‫لْ أً​ً أعزف أى الثحـز عوٍك جسّاً ها أتحزخ‬ ‫لْ أً​ً أعـزف ذاذورً هــا وـٌد تـسأخ‬ ‫إضرمـد! إلٍه فعلوًٌ أى ال أضراق‬ ‫علوًٌ وٍف ألـع جـذّر ُــْان هي األعوـاق‬ ‫علوٌـً وٍـف ذوـْخ السهـعح فـً األحـساق‬ ‫علوٌـً وٍـف ٌوــْخ الحـة ّذٌرحز األضْاق‬ ‫ٌـا هـي غـْرخ لـً السًٍـا ومػٍـسج ضــعـز‬ ‫ّسرعــد جـزاحه فـً غسري ّأذـذخ الػثـز‬ ‫إى وـٌـد أعــش عـلٍـه فـرـــذ تٍــسي‬ ‫فأًــا هفرــْى هي رأسـً حرى لسهــً‬

‫ٗشفخٖ‪ٗ :‬طى‪ ٚ‬ث‪ٞ‬آطى‪٦ٜ‬‬ ‫‪Translated by‬‬ ‫‪Mohsen Bolhasani‬‬

‫الوْج األسرق فً عٌٍٍـه ٌ​ٌازٌ​ًٌ ًحْ األعــــوـك‬ ‫ّأًا ها عٌسي ذجزتــح فً الحـة ّال عٌـسي سّرق‬ ‫إًـً أذـٌـفـس ذـحـد الوـاء إًـً أغزق أغزق أغزق‬ ‫ٌـا وـل الحاضز ّالواضً ٌـا عوز العوــز‬ ‫ُل ذسوع غْذـً المـازم هي أعوـاق الثحز‬ ‫إى وٌـد لٌْـاً أذـزجًٌ هـي ُذا الٍـن‬ ‫فـأًـا ال أعزف فـي العـْم‬ ‫لْ أً​ً أعزف أى الحـة ذطٍـز جساً ها أحــثثد‬ ‫لْ أً​ً أعـزف أى الثحز عوٍك جساً ها أتحزخ‬ ‫لْ أً​ً أعزف ذاذورً هــا وـٌد تـسأخ‬

‫اُف ؼ‪ٝ‬وز ٗ‪ً٘ ٦ٜ‬ي ً‪ ٚ‬اق س‪ ٞ‬ثِؿـٕ‬ ‫اُف دكٌي ٗ‪ً٘ ٦ٜ‬ي ً‪ ٚ‬اق س‪ٌ ٞ‬لب د‪٨‬ؽا ً‪ٖٜ‬‬ ‫اُف ٗ‪ ٦‬ؼا‪ٛ‬ىشٖ ػٍن غ‪ٙ‬ف‪ٛ‬بى اوز ػبٌن ‪ٌ ٦٘ٛ‬ؽٕ‬ ‫اُف ٗ‪ ٦‬ؼا‪ٛ‬ىشٖ ؼـ‪٧‬ب ػ٘‪٨‬ن اوز س‪ ٦٘ٛ ٚ‬قؼٕ‬ ‫اُف دب‪٧‬ب‪ ًٛ‬ـا ٗ‪ ٦‬ؼا‪ٛ‬ىشٖ ٌف‪ٝ‬ع ‪ً ٦٘ٛ‬فؼٕ‪.‬‬ ‫ؼٓش‪ َٜ‬س‪ٞ‬إ‪ ،‬ث‪٧ ٚٗ ٠‬بؼ ثؽ‪ ٟ‬ؼٓش‪ِٜ‬ز ‪ٛ‬جبٌٖ‬ ‫ث‪٧ ٚٗ ٠‬بؼ ثؽ‪ ٠ً ٟ‬ز‪ٞٙ‬ـ ـ‪ ٥ ٠ٍ٧‬ػٍوز ـا اق س‪ ٠‬ثك‪ٖٛ‬‬ ‫ث‪٧ ٚٗ ٠‬بؼ ثؽ‪ ٠ً ٟ‬اٌي زِ‪ ٠ٛٞ‬ؼـ ًبو‪ ٠‬زٍٖ ٗ‪٨ٗ ٦‬فؼ‬ ‫ث‪٧ ٚٗ ٠‬بؼ ثؽ‪ ٠ً ٟ‬ػٍن زِ‪٨ٗ ٦ٗ ٠ٛٞ‬فؼ ‪ ٝ‬آـق‪١ٝ‬ب غ‪ٞ‬ؼ ًٍ‪ٜ​ًٜ ٦ٗ ٦‬ؽ‬ ‫ا‪ً ٥‬ى‪ ٠ً ٦‬ؼ‪٨ٛ‬ب ـا ثفا‪ٗ ٖ٧‬ثْ ٌؼف‪ ٥‬ث‪ ٠‬سّ‪٧ٞ‬ف ًٍ‪٨‬ؽ‪٥‬‬ ‫‪ ٝ‬قغ٘ز ـا ث‪ ٠‬و‪ ٠ٜ٨‬إ ًبٌش‪ِ ٝ ٦‬جفٕ ـا ُفكش‪٦‬‬ ‫ده ثب‪٧‬ؽ ؼوشٖ ـا ثِ‪٨‬ف‪ ٚٗ ٠ً ٥‬وف سب دب ػبٌوٖ‬ ‫ٗ‪ٞ‬ج آث‪ ٦‬زٍ٘ب‪ٛ‬ز ث‪ ٠‬اػ٘بم ؼػ‪ٞ‬سٖ ٗ‪ًٜ ٦‬ؽ‬ ‫‪ ٠ٛ ٚٗ ٝ‬سدفث‪ ٠‬ا‪ ٥‬ؼـ ػٍن ؼاـٕ ‪ ٠ٛ ٝ‬هب‪٧‬و‪٦‬‬ ‫ٗ‪ ٚ‬ؼـ اػ٘بم آة ‪ٛ‬له ٗ‪ ٚٗ ،ًٍٖ ٦‬ؿفم ٗ‪ٌٕٞ ٦‬‬ ‫ؿفم‪ ...‬ؿفم‪ ....‬ؿفم‪ ...‬ؿفم‪...‬‬ ‫س٘بٕ ُؿٌش‪ ٝ ٠‬اٗف‪ٝ‬قٕ! س٘بٕ ػ٘فٕ!‬ ‫آ‪٧‬ب ِؽا‪٢ٛ ٥‬ب‪ ٦٧‬إ ـا اق اػ٘بم آة ٗ‪٥ٌٜٞ ٦‬؟‬ ‫اُف ٗ‪ ٦‬س‪ٞ‬ا‪ ٦ٛ‬اق ا‪ ٚ٧‬ؼـ‪٧‬ب غالِٖ ً‪ٌٜ ٚٗ ٚ‬ب ثٔؽ ‪٨ٛ‬ىشٖ‬ ‫اُف ٗ‪ ٦‬ؼا‪ٛ‬ىشٖ ً‪ ٠‬ػٍن غ‪ٙ‬ف‪ٛ‬بى اوز ػبٌن ‪ٌ ٦٘ٛ‬ؽٕ‬ ‫اُف ٗ‪ ٦‬ؼا‪ٛ‬ىشٖ ؼـ‪٧‬ب ػ٘‪٨‬ن اوز س‪ ٦٘ٛ ٚ‬قؼٕ‬ ‫اُف دب‪٧‬ب‪ ًٛ‬ـا ٗ‪ ٦‬ؼا‪ٛ‬ىشٖ ٌف‪ٝ‬ع ‪ً ٦٘ٛ‬فؼٕ‬

Poet:

)‫(ضاعز‬

:‫ضاعز‬

Poet:

Poet:

:‫ضاعز‬

Poet:

Translated by Sohrab Rahimi

Folkloric children's poetry

ًِ‫شعرفَلکَریک کَدکا‬

٠ٓٞ‫س‬ٞ‫اسْ ٗشْ س‬ ٟ‫ـ‬ٞ‫ خ‬٠‫ ز‬ٚ‫ضى‬ٝ‫ُب‬ ٙٞ‫ دىش‬٠ٛ ٟ‫ف ؼاـ‬٨ٌ ٠ٛ ٙٞ‫ؽوش‬ٜ١ ٙ‫ ثفؼ‬ٌٞ‫ف‬٨ٌ ٙٞ‫ ثىش‬٥‫ ًفؼ‬ٙ‫ي ق‬٧ ٥‫ـ ًالي هفٗك‬ٝ‫ؼ‬ ٚ٨‫از‬ٝ ٜٞ٨‫از‬ ٚ٨‫ـ ز‬ٝ ٞ‫ي دب س‬٧

Translated by Alkhas ‫ تًْا الراظ‬:‫هرزجن‬

Atal matal tootoo pow!

Tell me about Hassan‟s cow It has no milk nor belly They took its milk to New Dehli Marry with a Kurdish girlie Put some red around her curl Give her the name “Aunties Girl” A-take and a-put You take out one foot

Folkloric children's poetry

I‟ve got a ball that‟s round and light It‟s red and it‟s blue and it‟s white I hit it on the ground with all my might And it goes and goes till it‟s out of sight There was a time when I didn‟t have a ball Got an A in math and hung it on the wall When daddy came home later that night He gave me this ball that‟s round and light

Translated by Alkhas ‫ تًْا الراظ‬:‫هرزجن‬ ‫پارظی‬ ‫اًگلیعی‬ ‫اظپاًیایی‬

tengo un balon redondito rojo, blanco y azulito lo tiro por el suelo se va arriba no tienes ni idea por donde se va

no he tenido ese balon he hecho muy bien la leccion papa me dio un regalito dio ese balon redondit

ًِ‫شعرفَلکَریک کَدکا‬

٠٨ٔ‫ح ؼاـٕ هٔو‬ٞ‫ي س‬٧ ٠٨‫ آث‬ٝ ‫ؽ‬٨‫ ول‬ٝ ‫وفظ‬ ٟ‫ف‬٨ٗ ‫ا‬ٞ١ ٚ٨ٗ‫ٖ ق‬ٛ‫ك‬٨ٗ ٟ‫ف‬٨ٗ ‫ سب ًدب‬٦ٛٝ‫ ؼ‬٦٘ٛ ٖ‫ؽاٌش‬ٛ ٞ‫د‬ٞ‫ س‬ٚ٧‫ ا‬ٚٗ ٖ‫ٌش‬ٞٛ ‫ة‬ٞ‫ غ‬ٝ ٕ‫ب‬١‫ٍٗن‬ ‫ ؼاؼ‬٥‫ؽ‬٨‫ ػ‬ٚٗ ٠‫ثبثب ث‬ ‫ ؼاؼ‬٦ٔ‫ح هٔو‬ٞ‫ س‬٠٧ ٠٨ٔ‫ح ؼاـٕ هٔو‬ٞ‫ي س‬٧ ٠٨‫ آث‬ٝ ‫ؽ‬٨‫ ول‬ٝ ‫وفظ‬ ٟ‫ف‬٨ٗ ‫ا‬ٞ١ ٚ٨ٗ‫ٖ ق‬ٛ‫ك‬٨ٗ ٟ‫ف‬٨ٗ ‫ سب ًدب‬٦ٛٝ‫ ؼ‬٦٘ٛ ٖ‫ؽاٌش‬ٛ ٞ‫د‬ٞ‫ س‬ٚ٧‫ ا‬ٚٗ ٖ‫ٌش‬ٞٛ ‫ة‬ٞ‫ غ‬ٝ ٕ‫ب‬١‫ٍٗن‬ ‫ ؼاؼ‬٥‫ؽ‬٨‫ ػ‬ٚٗ ٠‫ثبثب ث‬ ‫ ؼاؼ‬٦ٔ‫ح هٔو‬ٞ‫ س‬٠٧