Forugh Farrokhzad, Another Birth, Selected Poems Translated by Ismali Salami Zanbankadeh Publication Modern Persian Poetry Page 20 ISBN: . The poetry of the great Iranian poet Forugh Farrokhzad فروغ فرخزاد Translated into English Photos and Interviews Let us Believe in the dawn of the cold. Forough (Forugh) Farrokhzad was an influential Iranian poet and film director. She was a . Sin: Selected poems of Forugh Farrokhzad, translated and edited by Sholeh Wolpé, (Fayetteville [Arkansas]: University of Arkansas Press, ) ISBN.

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When love did my heart entice I was filled with a sense of sacrifice.

Forugh Farrokhzad

Your glance is a wondrous lullaby Cradling restless babes thereby Your farrokhzaad is a transcendental breeze Washing off me tremors of unease Finding in my morrows a place to sleep Permeating my world deep and deep In me the passion for poetry you inspire Over my lays you cast instant fire You kindled my passionate desire Farrokhzxd setting my poems afire. After you, the window which was a lively and bright connection between the bird and us between the breeze and us broke broke broke after you, that earthly doll which did not utter a thing, nothing but water water water drowned in water.

This page loems last edited on 31 Decemberat Farrokhzad’s strong feminine voice became the focus of much negative attention and open disapproval.

I am cold and I think I will never feel warm again.

Forough Farrokhzad – Wikipedia

The Silent Historyby Eli Horowitz. Perhaps life is that blocked moment When my look destroys itself in the pupils of your eyes And in this there is a sense Which I will mingle with the perception of the moon And the reception of darkness In a room the size of one solitude My heart The size of one love Looks at the simple pretexts of its own happiness, At the pretty withering of flowers in the flower pots At darrokhzad sapling you planted in our flowerbed At the songs of the canaries Who sing the size of one window.

The third of seven children Amir, Massoud, Mehrdad, FereydounPooranGloriashe attended school until the ninth grade, fargokhzad was taught painting and sewing at a girls’ school for the manual arts. These songs and these silent nights?

Iran portal Biography portal Poetry portal. Look, how heavy time stands here and how the fish nibble on my flesh. I look upon this bliss as a stranger I am addicted to my despair.


Forugh, one of the most famous Persian Women poets died in a car crash February 13, at the young age of All information has been reproduced here for educational and informational purposes to benefit site visitors, and is provided at no charge There is always a gap between seeing and the window. After you, we betrayed each other after you, we cleansed your memories by lead particles and splattered blood-drops off of the plastered temples of alley walls.

Forugh Farrokhzad

December 27, by Tori Telfer. I became used to poemw opposition, but I was also carrokhzad by it. You carry it with you, even if in fragments, even in another country. How come Father has to the dream Only in his sleep?

Both countries were part of me, but it became an intractable fact of my life to see them oppose and vilify each other. Persian-language poets Iranian poets Iranian documentary filmmakers Iranian film directors Iranian women film directors People from Tehran births deaths Road incident deaths in Iran Persian-language women poets 20th-century women writers 20th-century poets Iranian women writers. The American in me is inclined to agree; the Iranian knows he was wrong.

Farroknzad in my morrows a place to sleep Permeating my world deep and deep. O green from head to foot place your hands like a burning memory in my loving hands give your lips to the caresses of my loving lips like the warm perception of being the wind will take us the wind will take us.

Forough Farrokhzad

What is silence but unspoken words? My hair trailing deep-soil scents. Perhaps life Is a rope with which a man hangs himself from a branch Perhaps life is a child returning home from school.

Her work has been forguh in thirteen countries and recognized by the Steinbeck Fellows Program, the Corporation of Yaddo, and the William Saroyan International Prize. Views Read Farroohzad View history. How useless the light that fell on this closed door. Ay, age seven Ay, the magnanimous moment of departure Whatever happened after you, happened in a mesh of insanity and ignorance. Beloved, my truest friend, How aged was that wine? In my burning body you are a turning gyre In the shade of my eyelashes you are a blazing fire.

It was winter, and the snow was falling fast that night in Tehran. Alas, this is my lot. The Sin I sinned, farrokzad sin all filled with pleasure wrapped in an embraced, warm and fiery I sinned in a pair of arms that were vibrant, virile, violent.


The cover showed a woman with kohl-lined eyes and bobbed hair, and the Persian script slanted upwards, as if in flight from the page.

I shall wear a pair of twin cherries as ear-rings and I shall put dahlia petals on my finger-nails there is an alley where the boys who were in love with me still loiter with the same unkempt hair thin necks and bony legs and think of the innocent smiles of a little girl who was blown away by the wind one night.

Archived from the original on All the moments of happiness rorugh your hands would come to ruin, and still I did not look.

Her poems have been banned and censored for nearly 40 years, yet Iranians continue to find ways to read them. Once more I will greet the earth who, in her lust to re-create me, swells her flaming belly with green seeds. One window will suffice me one window to the moment of awareness observance and silence. Mother is waiting for a coming and a forgiveness to descend upon the earth. I did a google search using the first line farrokhzax the poem and found this: And the paper stars cicling eternity, why did they voice their words?

From Wikipedia, the free encyclopedia. Forughh this is my lot this is my lot my lot is a sky which is taken away at the drop of a curtain my lot is going down a flight of disused stairs a regain something amid putrefaction and nostalgia my lot is a sad promenade in the garden of memories and dying in the grief of a voice which tells me I love your hands.

The pain of love is a dark pain Going and demeaning oneself in vain. Where have I been that my body so smells of the night? And he can do something so that the neon Allah sign which was as green as dawn will shine again in the sky above the Meftahiyan Mosque.

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