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poetry
"Mohsen Namjoo" desert has been covered with fog .
بیا بان را سراسر مه گرفته است ... شعری از"احمد شاملو" و اجرای "محسن نامجو" این ویدئو کلیپ کاری از مصطفی هروی و با همکاری رادیو زمانه ساخته شده است.
این ویدئو تقدیمی است از طرف : محسن نامجو؛ مصطفی هروی؛ کاوه مدیری؛ سینا کریم خانی؛ سهراب بیات و ابوذر امینی به تمام ایرانیانی که در اعتراضات خیابانی اخیر جانشان را از دست دادند.
Mohsen Namjoo(Desert has been covered with fog ...) by Mostafa Heravi Amsterdam 2009,
RoofTops ofTehran by Sholeh Wolpe
"Sholeh Wolpe’s Rooftops of Tehran is that truly rare event: an important book of poetry. Brushing against the grain of Persian-Islamic culture, she sings a deep affection for what she ruffles. Her righteous aversion to male oppression is as broad as the span from Tehran to LA, as deep as a wise woman’s heart. This is a powerful, elegant book."
—Richard Katrovas, author of The Years of Smashing Bricks and Prague Winters
Sin--Selected Poems of Forugh Farrokhzad
"Sholeh Wolpé’s exquisite poetic voice and her superb command of the art of translation meld together in translations that exude the passion, defiance, and crackling wit that mark Forugh Farrokhzad’s poetry.
Capturing her alternating mood, cascading images, and rippling emotions, Wolpé’s translations make Farrokhzad’s poetry burst into life in English. Wolpé is the best imaginable guide to this gifted Iranian woman’s poetic universe."
— Nasrin Rahimieh
Director of Dr. Samuel M. Jordan Center for Persian Studies at UCI, and author of "Missing Persons: Discovering Voices Iranian Cultural History
The Scar Saloon by Sholeh Wolpe
"Sholeh Wolpé's poems are political, satirical, and unflinching in the face of war, tyranny and loss. Talismanic and alchemical, they attempt to transmute experience into the magic of the imagined. But they also dare to be tender and funny lyrical moments."
— Chris Abani, author of Graceland, and Becoming Abigail
The Confession Letters
Leila Farjami's second poetry book, to download
Too easy
Shocked to the bottom
like ice-bitten grass
in a vacant lot
by the white blizzard,
people trudge through these
scant sidewalks with hands
tactless in gloves, ears
deaf under scarves,
unwilling still to
numb. Winter is fickle.
Clothed in red rags,
she seems to whisper
to passerby or
maybe angels the
thing is not to think.
So he and I sat
in the darkness and
spoke of lovers past,
pieces lost, and wire
threads snapped without
receiving ends. All
we said we’d do. Still,
we knew anything
less than this would be
far too easy. From
the window we watched
cashmere stab lilac
trees and northern lads
with clean innocence,
perhaps to show us
what’s left of beauty
after it freezes.
We felt our faces
grow wet before they
dried very cold as
mistakes often do.
- Sylvia Beato's blog
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