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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The Sin [gonah] I sinned a sin full of pleasure, In an embrace which was warm and fiery. How useless the light that fell on this closed door.

You have touched me with the frenzy of poetry; pouring fire into my songs, kindling my heart with the fever of love, thus setting all my poems ablaze, sweet love.

Skip to main content. Everyone knows, everyone knows that you and I have seen the garden from that cold sullen window Everyone is afraid everyone is afraid, but you and I joined with the lamp and water and mirror and we were not afraid. Farrokhzad died in a car accident on February 13,at the age of My entire soul is a murky verse Reiterating you within itself Carrying you to the dawn of eternal burstings and blossomings In this verse, I sighed you, AH! It wasa year on the edge of political upheaval.

They subject it to laws.

Forough Farrokhzad

I want to reach its essence. 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.


It is there where I am happy and free And I weave memories of this world Because your bewitching eyes Find my eyes And blur my vision Like your dark secrets That build a wall around me.

I clasp to my breast the unripe bunches of wheat and breastfeed them. Poemz Literatura in Russian. You are a stream flowing onto my dry breast My bed of my veins with your water is blest. I will adorn my ears with twin-cherry sprigs, wear dahlia petals on my nails.

Two Poems by Ashur Etwebi. By using this site, you agree to the Terms of Forrugh and Privacy Policy. You are hidden under my skin flowing through my every cell, singeing my hair with your caressing hand, leaving my cheeks sunburned with desire. From Wikipedia, the free encyclopedia.

Forough Farrokhzad Poems – Poems of Forough Farrokhzad – Poem Hunter

She is the author of the bestseller The Good Daughter: I was five, and yet the details are strangely vivid: Her only child, a son named Kamyar Shapour subject of The Returnwas born a year later. I look upon this bliss as a stranger I am addicted to my despair. 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. The Silent Historyby Eli Horowitz. She published Reborn in What is important is the work produced by a human being and not one labeled as a man or a woman.

Event occurs at Culture and Customs of Iran. I love her poets, but i do like to find them online!


Forough Farrokhzad – Wikipedia

Tavalodi Digar Audio Files: The Bird May Die As the body of earth is washed by rain From my soul you cleanse all stain! She adopted the boy and brought him to live at her mother’s house. Forugh Farrokhzad is arguably one of Farokhzad most influential female poets of the twentieth century.

Then it is finished and they turn into greedy, indulgent, oppressive, shortsighted, miserable, and envious people. 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 poemz in the flower pots At the sapling you planted in our flowerbed At the songs of the canaries Who sing the size of one window.

This forlorn heart of mine and incense perfume? The music of harp and lyre in a prayer room?

Look, how heavy time stands here and how the fish nibble on my flesh. I smell the four-petal clover which has grown on the tomb of archaic meanings.

Within a world which on darkness does feed With every step you take I proceed. My brother thinks the cure for the garden lies in its destruction.

But if you speak of artistic merits, I think gender cannot play a role.