"I respect poetry in the very same way that
religious people respect religion"
Forogh Farokhzad
Who is Forogh
Forough Farrokhzad was born in 1935 Tehran-Iran .Into
a middle class family of seven children. She married when she was only
seventeen. Her only child, the boy addressed in "A Poem for you,"
was born a year later. Within less than two years after that, her marriage
failed, and Farrokhzad relinquished her son to her ex-husband's family
in order to pursue her calling in poetry and independent life style.
She clearly voices her feelings in the mid-1950s about conventional
marriage, the plight of women in Iran, and her own situation as a wife
and mother no longer able to live a conventional life in such poems
as "The Captive," "The Wedding Band," "Call
to Arms," and "To My Sister."
And here I am a lonely woman at
the threshold of a cold season coming to understand the earth's contamination
and the elemental, sad despair of the sky and the impotence of these
concrete hand"
I am thinking that in a moment of neglect I might fly
from this silent prison, laugh in the eyes of the man who is my jailer
and beside you begin life anew."
You, with a sincere heart, woman don't seek loyalty in a man he does
not know the meaning of love don't ever tell him your heart's secrets."
I know a sad little nymph who lives in the sea and plays the wooden
flute of her heart tenderly, tenderly sad little nymph dying at night
of a kiss and by a kiss reborn each day."
God, if I need to fly one day from behind these silent bars, how will
I answer this child's wet eyes? Let me be, I am a captive bird!"
This poem was composed in late July 1957 and dedicated
"to my son Kamyar, with hopes for the future"
I am composing this poem for you on a parched summer dusk halfway down
this road of ominous beginning In the old grave of this endless sorrow.
Let the shadow of me the wanderer be separate and far
from your shadow. When one day we reach one another, standing between
us will be none other than God.
Against a dark door I have rested my forehead tight with
pain; I rub my thin, cold fingers against this door in hope.
That person branded with shame who used to laugh at foolish
taunts was I. I said I would be the cry of my own existence; but O,
alas that I was a "woman".
when your innocent eyes glance at this confused, beginning
less book, you will see a deep-rooted, lasting rebellion blooming in
the heart of every song. Here the stars are all dim, the angels here
all weep. The blooms of the tuberose here have less value than desert
thorns.
Here, seated along every road Is the demon of duplicity,
disgrace and deceit. In the dark sky I do not see a light from the bright
morning of wakefulness.
Wait until once again my eyes overflow with drops of dew.
I have taken it upon myself to unveil the "pure" faces of
the holy Marie's.
I have cast away from the shore of good name; In my heart
lies a storm star. The place of my anger's flame, alas, is the prison's
dark space.
Against a dark door I have rested my forehead tight with
pain. I rub my thin, cold fingers against this door in hope.
Against these ascetic hypocrites I know this fight is
not easy. My city and yours, my sweet child, has long been Satan's nest.
a day will come when your eyes will sadly quiver at this
painful song. You will search for me in my words and tell yourself:
My mother, that is who she was." Forogh Farokhzad
