Ancient Objects – New Writing Featuring works by Mahboobeh Rajabi, Abas Eljanabi, Firoozeh Fozouni & Vahid Davar
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Artists Objects Locations Unique Stories
ArtReach, producers of Journeys Festival International, has commissioned four North West based artists from refugee backgrounds to develop new writing in response to objects they have selected that are housed in the Manchester Museum collection. These new works will be presented for the first time along with each selected object at four Manchester Libraries throughout the festival from 4-14 October 2018.
Ancient Objects – New Writing Featuring works by Mahboobeh Rajabi, Abas Eljanabi, Firoozeh Fozouni & Vahid Davar
4 4 4 4
Artists Objects Locations Unique Stories
Ancient Objects – New Writing showcases new work by 4 writers from refugee backgrounds in response to objects they have selected from the collections in Manchester Museum. The Zine is a compendium of these works published for the first time. Featuring works by Mahboobeh Rajabi, Abas Eljanabi, Firoozeh Fozouni and Vahid Davar. The project has been commissioned as part of Journeys Festival International with funding from Heritage Lottery Fund, Manchester City Council and support from Manchester Museum. Credits Dr Amy Bonsall (Creative Writing Lead) Drew Forsyth (Photography) Aida Foroutan (Translation)
www.journeysfestival.com
A Message of PEACE by Mahboobeh Rajabi
The Object's Whisper by Abas ElJanabi
I believe art is an opportunity to stop time and say what we want to say and my work is telling untold stories, using different art forms, to bring out both the beauty of art and sending an important message.
Abas ElJanabi is originally from Iraq. He is an actor, set designer and writer. He has worked on many film, theatre projects and TV works.
About the Work When the world gets crazy with the war through the history, it also gets deaf and blind. ‘A Message of Peace’ is an eye opening story of the true meaning of Peace through a short life journey of a 13 years old Japanese girl who taught us its true meaning.
“The words I sell are free, called advice sometimes, called knowledge others, or nonsense majority of the time.” About the Work Time, time, Time is the only factor which work on us without us noticing him…
I’m Torn to Pieces Dear Poet, Come to my Rescue… by Firoozeh Fozouni My name is Firoozeh Fozouni. I was born in Iran, Tehran. I am a Poet, Author, Painter, Visual Artist and Musician. I am a professional musician, master of Setar and I am a published writer of 5 poetry books. 12 of my books were not allowed to be distributed and sold in Iran. My poetry has been translated into German, French, Spanish and Chinese and has been driven internationally.
The Persian Bow (a trilogy) by Vahid Davar Vahid Davar is a published Iranian Poet-Artist currently living and working in Liverpool. Since arriving in Liverpool Vahid has started to write poems whose setting is a suspended nowhere between Shiraz, his hometown, and Liverpool. About the Work Davar has composed The Persian Bow, a trilogy, in response to the the IndoPersian bow housed in the Manchester Museum. Through the three parts of The Persian Bow, the poet treats the ancient artefact as a living object and studies it in three different lights.
A Message of PEACE by Mahboobeh Rajabi
Mahboobeh flying a swan origami and playing with it. She suddenly recognizes the existence of the audience. Mahboobeh
This… this is a swan, paper swan. I am sure if I tell you that there is a way that this swan can fly, you won’t believe me… No you are not in a magic show, you are actually in a very real and true show and I am your host and of course storyteller.
A REASON TO FLY
Whispers
If you make 1000 swan origami your wish will come true. Your wish will come true.
A reason to make a bird A heart to make one thousand
Mahboobeh Where would you go if had got wings? How would you feel if you were a swan? A beautiful, big, proud swan. I’m done with questions. I want to tell the story straight away.
SWANS
Blue sky, shiny eyes, yes smile Sweet teenage years for a while Tight shoulders, backpack up right Mum’s at the door, kiss goodbye She was only a sweet teenager full of dreams and looking forward to tomorrow. But there was something wrong, she was not feeling well. What time it was? Only a few years after the Second World War.
A few years after the Second World War in Hiroshima, a sweet teenage girl called Sadaku Sasaki faint. With signs like swellings on her neck, she diagnosed with lukemia as her mother referral it to as an atomic bomb disease. She was given a year to live. Whispers The legends says if you make one thousand swan origami, your wish will come
TRUE
When Humans get ugly, the world gets uglier When human forgets human, the world forgets humans When humans kill, the world dies, Like in a world war Like when humans use their own hand-made weapons Like the atomic bomb Like Hiroshima Whispers Mahboobeh
It was scary. The world gets so scary, when humans want to kill, when there is a war. A few years after the Second World War in Hiroshima, a sweet teenage girl called Sadako Sasaki faints.
Mum tells me a long story Tells me the reason why I fall. Mum what am I doing in the middle of war? Mum, tell me why should I die?’ Sadako was affected by what the atomic bomb did to the city and doctors said she would die.
Her white soul Whiter than any bomb Her glass wings Making the arms of the trees dance Disappearing through the clouds One thousand origami swans in mind Sounds of two wings flapping in the soil Two red eyes and a chest, tight with no air The chain is dancing on the ground like a happy snake still breathing the dust flapping in the wings gasping for air a tight chest a very tight chest… She was only two at the time of the atomic bomb dropped by the United States. In November 1954, when she was only twelve, she developed swellings on her neck and behind her ears. In January 1955, purple spots appeared on her legs. She was diagnosed with Leukaemia, or what her mother referred to as an atom bomb disease. She was hospitalised on February 1955 and given a year to live. Mahboobeh brings a swan origami out and she plays it as the swan is talking to the audience. (From this part the swan is talking, I have it in my hand and I move it in a way that is a puppet and talking to the audience. This is from the session that I wrote from the point of view of one of the swans when Sadako was making it. Most of your comment which you asked who is talking and it’s not clear I think it’s clear because all of them the swan is talking.) Swan Origami I am small but I always liked my figure. I am fragile and I am not sure if the wish fairy will make me a real swan one day. The first time I opened my eyes I could not believe I was in a hospital. I had experienced being in different places, houses, temples, castles but never in a hospital. The second shock was when I saw a very very young girl in the bed, a bit pale but full of shine in her eyes. I could not think of any reason why she was watching us. I remember a friend came into her room and called her ‘Sadako’ so her name was ‘Sadako’. The view from the window was showing a destroyed city. It was like it was a big war not long ago. You could see most of the buildings from the view were destroyed. I got scared
of what happened in the city and what happened to the girl? (This is still the swan talking as she can see a destroyed city from Sadako’s room in the hospital) After the friend, her mother also came. She was asking her not to make herself tired by making that amount of origami swans. That’s what I also didn’t notice because I was so caught up by where I was. I could see more swans like me and they also were surprised of where they were. (Again here the swan is still talking) Her friend came and picked me up; ‘This is the first you made, right?’ ‘Yes’ Sadako replied. ‘It’s a bit bigger and more beautiful than the rest. Okay let’s see how far we are.’ ‘19’ Sadako replied in a slow way. ‘Hey don’t worry we will make 1000 in the blink of an eye,’ her friend said by holding her hands. 1000 swan origami? Now I think I know. I remember, one day, I heard from the Wish Fairy that there is a rule in the Fairy World that if you make one thousand origami swans, with a pure heart, your wish will come true. The Wish Fairy will appear after making the one thousandth origami swan and grant the wish. I could see in Sadako’s eyes that she has a pure and kind heart and I was so curious to know what was her wish. A few days passed and Sadako and her friends were making origami swans. One day Sadako was not well and could not make as many swans as they used to do… She asked her friends to leave her alone and when her mum came she started crying. I never forget her words on that day. Mahboobeh becomes Sadako Sadako
‘Mum what did I do to deserve this? I am only a child, I have plans for my future Why should I die? I want to tell the world to look at me? Did I have anything to do with the war? Did I start the war? Who will answer me? Where is the PEACE that we all talk about?
The world is blind, when it comes to Humans. The world is an old stupid man, who can’t see the pain, the tears, the prayers in silence, in a dark room, on a wet pillow. The world is deaf, when it comes to war. The screams, the screams, the guns but the world IS mute to stop evil in a human body to stop politics from making decisions to kill.
Whispers
Politics is a game, politics is poison, politics is dangerous
Mahboobeh Sending the world, the message of love Remind us, human, a world of knowledge Maybe I can fly like swans teaching the people kindness, showing the people, the heart we have in our chests and the power of peace.
The Object’s Whisper by Abas Eljanabi
A reason to fly A reason to make a bird A heart to make one thousand swans Whispers
They say if you make one thousand swan origami swans your wish will come true. Your wish will come true.
Mahboobeh The story of Sadako and making one thousand origami swans stayed in the minds of people around the world. Sometimes it’s the tragic story and sacrifice of special people who make us wake up and open our eyes. Sadako died after making six hundred and forty-four origami swans and her mother and her friends finished them for her. Every year the people in Hiroshima make one thousand origami swans and put them beside her statue. As I told you in the beginning, these swans can fly, they actually flew around the world including here at Manchester Museum, to send Sadako’s peace message.
SKETCH ONE Enter the Performer
Walking into the hall Things shout silently Performer: Hello… Hello… Hello... I am a trader who sells words… The words I sell are free, called advice sometimes, called knowledge others, or nonsense majority of the time. So, you will lose nothing take it or leave it. Just listen for free… Moments of silence
Performer: Walking into the hall things shout silently I’m made from clay I’m made from wood I’m made from rock I’m from Iraq, from Egypt, from Africa I am … I am …I am Woou! Woou! Woou! Who are you? I’m the arrow… the bow I’m the pot, I’m the mummy… Heeey! Why you are talking to me?
SKETCH TWO Performer: I wonder what are their stories? If they can talk what will they tell us? Maybe they will tell us about those who were in power, those who forced the workers to make those objects and write the name of the king, the pharaoh, the sultan etcetera and never mentioned the real maker. It is impossible that one man can build the pyramid to name it according to him, not even ten or a hundred men. More than that because he or they believed that there is another life after theirs. He had to force his servants to die with him. How selfish they were, killing their servants to serve him there! But are we better than them? I recently found out that the British Empire established a law in 1820 allowing archaeologists to take fifty percent of their discoveries from the British colonies. This continued till 1980 in Egypt for example! I mean those who were in power used their populations for their own benefit, and in our time stronger nations steal from the heritage of poor nations which had been stolen once before from the population, by the old robbers. “Those who were in power”! A robber stealing from robber! Is this fair? Did these objects enter this country legally? Have these objects not
taken the place of other national objects? Huh… why are objects welcome but not their makers, their owners, or their descendants? SKETCH THREE
Those who lived to die And others who died to live It amazes me how things are well protected, preserved, and looked after… but not the people? The objects here made me ask about those who lived to die, and those who died to live longer, or forever! Time and time and time. It is astonishing how time changes everything! Everything including us “humans”. A pot or wooden spoon worth nothing before a hundred, a thousand or five thousands years ago. It is now so well protected, so well looked after, so much wanted and they are sometimes priceless! Time is the only factor which work on us without us noticing him… He is touching us, carving wrinkles on our bodies, greying our hair as he pleases, weakening us. Who could stop time? Oh time what have you done to us? Oh time be kind to us! Oh time what do you want from us? Oh time you are the fairest as you treat us all equally, the rich and the poor, the good and the bad. And all human from any colour, race, or religion.
SKETCH FOUR Clay, wood, rocks, Colours from plants, Leaves of plants to write on. Everything from earth – even us humans. But how come that the good and bad is made from the same materials? I can see international objects sat side by side with each other. Knowledge from several eras and places in one place! How come? Like everything in this life the majority are absent! The richest, the luckiest, those in power are seen! Where are the others who exist without being seen?
SKETCH FIVE
I was here and there Dust stepped on me I heard a voice saying ‘Hey, you called me an object’, I looked around and there it was the cylinder seal. A small object, dark in colour and about three centimeters high and one and half centimeter radius The seal speaks ‘I was here and there dust stepped on me by him and her. Gathered from here and there and there after traveling through everywhere Mixed with other earth Washed with water and washed and washed Then knead & knead & knead Then rolled and rolled and rolled
Then carved and carved and carved then dried and burned and cleaned Then became something else Respected now, I am Curried and protected always I am now Rolling on soft surfaces Leaving on them my trace SKETCH SIX Performer: I was so happy when I saw heritage and remains of civilisations were in the country I came from thousands of years ago. But it is irony, that some people are so proud to have the remains but not the humans from the same country where these remains came from!! What I want to say is not whether this regime, nation or population are good or bad because this is not my business. I want to say that remains are tangible sights and signs left for us to learn from. Humanity has left great achievements on all this planet for us to gain knowledge from, to build upon, to achieve better conditions of living for all the human beings on earth.
I’m Torn to Pieces Dear Poet, Come to my Rescue by Firoozeh Fozouni
I’m Torn to Pieces Dear Poet, Come to my Rescue …
Mahasti, Malek Khatun I am Mokhtari, Pouyandeh …1
I died in Iran
I am Iran, I am wounded, I want my pieces
I was shot, under torture
`
To be grafted onto me
Died heartbroken, I was hanged Mahasti, Malek Khatun
An open mind with bright ideas
Stoned
A hand that’s for friendship
I am Mokhtari, Pouyandeh …1
They cut off my hands forIran, stealing sheep I am I ama wounded, I want my pieces
A leg that’s for moving forward
They’ve stolen a country with its possessions To be grafted onto me and people
And a mouth that constantly repeats Azadi… azadi… azadi…2
An open mind with bright ideas ****
I’m on the street Beaten and crushed
A hand that’s for friendship ****
A leg that’s for moving forward And a mouth that constantly repeats
I am Iran, I am wounded
Azadi… azadi… azadi…2
In gloomy closed rooms
There was no need for tear gas **** In a country that where tears do not dry
Behind locks to keep me safe At The Manchester Museum
I’m restless and sleepless in Kermanshah… Shah… Shah I am Iran, I am wounded Shah who said: “Sleep peacefully Cyrus, we are awake!” In gloomy closed rooms Now I say Sleep peacefully Behind locks to keep me safe We are awake, but we are in this swamp At The Manchester Museum ****
I was searching for my pieces Of Baloch and Kurd, Turk and Lur My Turkmen, Khorasan and Gilan I am Iran, I’m a vagrant
I was searching for my pieces
Graft my pieces onto me dear poet
Of Baloch and Kurd, Turk and Lur
Jewish, Kalimi3 and Zoroastrian
My Turkmen, Khorasan and Gilan I am searching for my bits and pieces in the Great Explosion I am Iran, I’m a vagrant My name is Neda, I am Milad Graft my pieces onto me dear poet Sattar, Gordafarid Jewish, Kalimi3 and Zoroastrian My name is Cyrus, I am Roodabeh
1
These are the names of some Iranian activists, he historical figures and fictive characters. Full name Soltan, Milad (Surname unknown, he was killed in Beheshti, Gordafarid (a heroine in the Shāhnāmeh mythological female figure in the Shāhnāmeh), M Mohammad Mokhtari, Mohammad Jafar Pouyand 2 Azadi (Āzādī) means ‘Freedom’ in Persian. 1 These are the names of some Iranian activists, heroes, murdered individuals, ancient 1 characters. Full names in the order mentioned are: Neda Agha2 historical figures and fictive Soltan, Milad (Surname unknown, he was killed in a recent demonstration in Tehran), Sattar Beheshti, Gordafarid (a heroine in the Shāhnāmeh), Cyrus the Great, Roodabeh (a mythological female figure in the Shāhnāmeh), Mahasti Ganjavi, Jahan Malek Khatun, Mohammad Mokhtari, Mohammad Jafar Pouyandeh. 2 Azadi (Āzādī) means ‘Freedom’ in Persian. 2
And whoever’s for freedom and peace And whoever’s for freedom and peace **** ****
...تکه تکهام شاعر جان به دادم برس ...دادم برس به دادم جان به شاعر جان تکهامام شاعر تکه تکه تکه ...برس
Baha’i, Buddhist and Christian And whoever’s for freedom and peace
ُمردم در ایران در ایران ردم در ُم ُمردم ایران زیر شکنجه،تیر خوردم زیر شکنجه زیر،خوردم ،تیر خوردم تیر شکنجه به دار آویخته شدم،دق کردم آویخته شدم دار آویخته به دار به،کردم ،دق کردم دق شدم سنگسار شدم سنگسار شدم سنگسار شدم دستانم را برای دزدیدن یک گوسفند قطع کردند قطع کردند گوسفند قطع یک گوسفند دزدیدن یک برای دزدیدن را برای دستانم را دستانم کردند یک کشور را دزدیدهاند با دارایی و آدمهاش... آدمهاش دارایی وو آدم اند بابا دارایی دزدیدهاند را دزدیده کشور را یک کشور یک... ... هاش
I am Iran. I am wounded, I’m in hospital I am Iran. I am wounded, I’m in hospital **** I am in acute need of oxygen I am in acute need of oxygen
And blood from Group A Positive And blood from Group A Positive I am Iran. I am wounded, I’m in hospital A… A… Azadi A… A… Azadi
I am in acute need of oxygen I can’t breathe from all this injustice I can’t breathe from all this injustice And blood from Group A Positive
But, I am Iran, the land of the brave But, I am Iran, the land of the brave A… A… Azadi
I will stay alive, I will stay alive I will stay alive, I will stay alive I can’t breathe from all this injustice
**** **** ****
I know a poet will come I know a poet will come
But, I am Iran, the land of the brave And graft on my pieces in this museum And graft on my pieces in this museum I will stay alive, I will stay alive Onto a poem this side of the sea Onto a poem this side of theIsea know a poet will come I am alive today and walking I am alive today and walkingAnd graft on my pieces in this museum In the corridors of The Manchester Museum In the corridors of The Manchester Museum Onto a poem this side of the sea And sing the anthem Ey Irān4 4 And sing the anthem Ey IrānI am alive today and walking ‘O Iran, O Bejewelled Land ‘O Iran, O Bejewelled LandIn the corridors of The Manchester Museum O You whose earth is the wellspring of virtue’ O You whose earth is the wellspring And sing of thevirtue’ anthem Ey Irān 4 **** ****
‘O Iran, O Bejewelled Land O You whose earth is the wellspring of virtue’ Poem by Firoozeh Fozouni Poem by Firoozeh Fozouni Translated by Aida Foroutan Translated by Aida Foroutan
****
Poem by Firoozeh Fozouni 3
Kalimi, the word used to refer to the Jews of Iran in modern Persian usage. the word used to refer to the Jews of Iran in modern Persian usage. Translated by Aida Foroutan “Ey Irān” (‘O Iran’) is a popular patriotic song in Iran, which many consider the unofficial “Ey Irān” (‘O Iran’) is a popular patriotic song in Iran, which many consider the unofficial de facto national anthem. de facto national anthem. 3 4
4Kalimi,
3
3
Kalimi, the word 3used to refer to the Jews of Iran in modern Persian usage. “Ey Irān” (‘O Iran’) is a popular patriotic song in Iran, which many consider the unofficial de facto national anthem. 4
3
در خیابانم در خیابانم در خیابانم زیر مشت و لگد مشت وو لگد زیر مشت زیر لگد نیازی به گاز اشکآور نبود آور نبود اشکآور گاز اشک به گاز یازی به ننیازی نبود در کشوری که اشکش خشک نمیشود نمیشود خشک نمی اشکش خشک که اشکش کشوری که در کشوری در شود شاه... شاه...خواب و آرام ندارم در کرمانشاه شاه...شاه ... شاه...کرمانشاه ...در کرمانشاه ندارم در آرام ندارم خواب وو آرام خواب شاه گفتی که کوروش آسوده بخواب ما بیداریم،شاه ما بیداریم بخواب ما آسوده بخواب کوروش آسوده که کوروش گفتی که گفتی،شاه ،شاه بیداریم حاال من میگویم که آسوده بخواب آسوده بخواب که آسوده گویم که میگویم من می حاال من حاال بخواب اگرچه در این لجنزاریم،ما بیداریم این لجنزاریم در این اگرچه در اگرچه،بیداریم ،ما بیداریم ما لجنزاریم **** **** **** دنبال تکههایم میگردم در انفجار بزرگ انفجار بزرگ در انفجار گردم در میگردم هایم می تکههایم دنبال تکه دنبال بزرگ میالدم،اسمم نداست میالدم،نداست ،اسمم نداست اسمم میالدم گردآفرید،ستار گردآفری،ستار ،ستار گردآفریدد رودابهام،اسمم کوروش است رودابه،است ،کوروش است اسمم کوروش اسمم رودابهامام ملکخاتون،مهستی ملکخاتون،مهستی * ملکخاتون،مهستی ...پوینده ،مختاریام **... پوینده،مختاریام ... پوینده،مختاریام تکههایم را میخواهم، زخمیام،من ایرانم میخواهم را می هایم را تکههایم تکه،ام ،زخمیام زخمی،ایرانم ،من ایرانم من خواهم که به من پیوند بزنید
)(a trilogy
The Persian Bow by Vahid Davar
اسمم کوروش است ،رودابهام من ایرانم ،ویرانم ،در بیمارستانم و نیاز مبرم به اکسیژن دارم و خونی که از گروه مثبت Aست آ ...آ ...آزادی
مهستی ،ملکخاتون *
مختاریام ،پوینده...
من ایرانم ،زخمیام ،تکههایم را میخواهم
نفسم باال نمیآید از اینهمه ظلم
که به من پیوند بزنید
اما ،من ایرانم ،سرزمین دلیرانم
مغزی با فکرهای روشن و باز
زنده میمانم ،زنده میمانم... میدانم شاعری میآید
دستی که برای دوستیست
و تکه تکههایم را در این موزه
پایی که برای جلو رفتن است
با شعری پیوند میزند در این سوی آب
و دهانی که یکریز بگوید
امروز زندهام و راه میروم
آزادی ...آزادی ...آزادی...
در راهروهای موزه منچستر و سرود ای ایران را میخوانم... ای ایران ای مرز پر گهر ای خاکت سرچشمه هنر **** شعر از :فیروزه فزونی
**** من ایرانم ،زخمیام در اتاقهای دربسته و دلگیر پشت قفلهایی که در امانم بدارند در موزه منچستر دنبال تکههایم میگردم بلوچ 2و کرد ،ترک و لر ترکمن و خراسان و گیالنم را... من ایرانم ،سرگردانم تکههایم را به من پیوند بزن شاعر جان یهودی و زرتشتی و کلیمی بهایی و بودایی و مسیحی و هر که را که طرفدار صلح و آزادیست **** من ایرانم ،ویرانم ،در بیمارستانم و نیاز مبرم به اکسیژن دارم و خونی که از گروه مثبت Aست آ ...آ ...آزادی نفسم باال نمیآید از اینهمه ظلم اما ،من ایرانم ،سرزمین دلیرانم زنده میمانم ،زنده میمانم...
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(a trilogy) 1
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اﻣروز Today در راه ﻣوزه Going to the Museum ﮐﺑوﺗران را دﯾدم I saw pigeons with pierced breasts ﺑﺎ ﺳﯾﻧﮫھﺎﺷﺎن ﺷﮑﺎﻓﺗﮫ Bejewelled by quick clouds of bottle-green و اﺑر ﺗﻧد ﻣﮕسھﺎی ﺳﺑز ﺑر ﺳرﺷﺎن flies Stuck at a traffic light ﭘﺷت ﭼراغ راھﻧﻣﺎ Going to the Museum در راه ﻣوزه Under the Lloyds Bank’s rearing horse زﯾر ﻧﺷﺎن اﺳب ﭼراﻏﭘﺎی ﺑﺎﻧﮏ ﻟوﯾدز - The black horse of the green sign اﺳب ﺳﯾﺎه ﺗﺎﺑﻠوی ﺳﺑز no bridle, saddle or archer – ﮐﮫ زﯾن و ﺑﻧد و ﺳوار By the bee-patterned bins – دﺳت ﻧدارد-ﺑﮫ-ﮐﻣﺎن ،ﻧﺷﺎن-زرد-زﻧﺑور ﭘﺎی زﺑﺎﻟﮫدانھﺎی I saw seagulls whose eyes were no longer ِ ﻣرﻏﺎن درﯾﺎﯾﯽ را دﯾدم shining ﮐﮫ ﭼﺷمھﺎﺷﺎن دﯾﮕر For women’s bracelets ﺑرای دﺳﺗﺑﻧد زﻧﺎن Or red chip scoops زد ﻧﻣﯽ ﺑرق ﭼﯾﭘس ﯾﺎ ﺟﻌﺑﮫھﺎی ﻗرﻣز Who no longer launched their breasts forward دادﻧد و ﺳﯾﻧﮫ ﭘﯾش ﻧﻣﯽ To intimidate pigeons ﺑرای راﻧدن ﮐﻔﺗرھﺎ The birds are fallen on their faces or their ﭘرﻧدهھﺎ ﺑر ﭘﺷت ﯾﺎ ﺑﮫ رو backs ﻣﺣﺻور در ﻧوارھﺎی زر ِد ﭘﻠﯾس اﻓﺗﺎدهاﻧد Fenced within police yellow tapes و اﻓﺳران And officers ﺑﺎ دﺳﺗﮑشھﺎی ﻧﺎزک آﺑﯽ With hands in thin blue gloves ﺑﺎدرﻓت ﺑرگ ُ در ﺗودهھﺎی Are looking for an arrow in the masses of دﻧﺑﺎل ﺗﯾر ﻣﯽﮔردﻧد wind-driven leaves ﺗﯾری ﺑﻠﻧد و ﺗﯾز ﮐﮫ ﻻﺑد A long sharp arrow that has probably ﺻﺑﺢ ﺳﺣر In the daybreak وﻗﺗﯽ ﮐﮫ راﻧﻧدهھﺎ ﺑدﻣﺳتھﺎ را When taxi drivers از آﺧرﯾن ﮐﻠوپ ﺷﺑﺎﻧﮫ Have taken the blind drunks ﺑﮫ ﺧﺎﻧﮫھﺎﺷﺎن رﺳﺎﻧدهاﻧد From the last night club ﺣﺗﺎ،و ھﯾﭻﮐس To their homes ﻣﺧﻔﯽھﺎ-ﻣﺎﻣور And nobody, even plain-clothes agents ﺑﺎ ﭘﺎﻟﺗوی ﺳﯾﺎه In black topcoats, ﭼرﺧﯾده ﻧﻣﯽ ﺷﮭر در ﺧﺎﻣﺷﺎی Has been wandering in the city’s silence ﺟﻧﺎغ ﻣرﻏﺎن را Split the birds’ wishbones دو ﺗﮑﮫ ﮐرده و ﺧود را And pushed itself out from از ﻻی ﺑﺎلھﺎﺷﺎن between their wings ﺑﯾرون ﮐﺷﯾده اﺳت
Was it an arrow or thousands of arrows? Manchester Police say: Apart from the pigeons’ falls And the seagulls’ flutters Nothing has been seen On the triple-checked CCTVs. The homeless have seen nothing Just their sleep has been disturbed With a grunt or a wail *** On my way back I took a shining agate thumb-ring off the pavement And put it in my pocket He has done it Our sultan whose hunting-ground Was a stretch of land from the marble steps of his palace to the remotest huts of the town He who did not like peasants and pheasants And would kill them with his embellished bow How might he have known That there are noble people here Who dislike pigeons, refugees and seagulls? He or his ghost How could he have taken his bow in the daybreak Without a scandalous siren’s jeer? Will he shoot me with an invisible arrow Tomorrow On the cobbles under the bank’s Rearing horse?
ﯾﮏ ﺗﯾر ﺑوده ﯾﺎ ﮐﮫ ھزاران ﺗﯾر؟ :ﭘﻠﯾس ﻣﻧﭼﺳﺗر ﻣﯽﮔوﯾد ﺟز ﺑر زﻣﯾن رﯾﺧﺗن ﮐﻔﺗرھﺎ ﺟز ﺑﺎلﺑﺎ ِل ﻣرﻏﺎن درﯾﺎﯾﯽ در ﺑﺎزﺑﯾﻧﯽی دورﺑﯾنھﺎ .ﭼﯾزی ﻧدﯾدهاﯾم ﭼﯾزی ﻧدﯾدهاﻧد ﺧﯾﺎﺑﺎنﺧوابھﺎ ﻗﺎﻏﯽ،ﺟز آﻧﮑﮫ ﺑﺎ ﻗﯾﻐﯽ .از ﺟﺎ ﭘرﯾدهاﻧد *** ،ﺑرﮔﺷﺗﻧﺎ از ﭘﯾش ﭘﺎ در ﭘﯾﺎدهرو ﺷﺳت ﻋﻘﯾﻘﯽ را ﮐﮫ درﺧﺷﯾد ﺑرداﺷﺗم و در ﺟﯾبام ﮔذاﺷﺗم : ﮐﺎر اوﺳت،اﯾن ﮐﺎر ﺳﻠطﺎن ﻣﺎ ﮐﮫ ﺷﮑﺎرﮔﺎهاش ﺗﺎ،از ﭘﻠﮫھﺎی ﻣرﻣر ﻗﺻر ﺷروع ﻣﯽﺷد و ﻣﯽرﻓت ﮐوﻣﮫھﺎی دوردﺳت ﺷﮭر او ﮐﮫ رﻋﺎﯾﺎ و ﺗذروان را دوﺳت ﻧﻣﯽداﺷت و ﺑﺎ ﮐﻣﺎن ﻣرﺻﻊ ﺣرامﺷﺎن ﻣﯽﮐرد او از ﮐﺟﺎ داﻧﺳﺗﮫ اﺳت ﮐﮫ اﯾﻧﺟﺎ ھﺳﺗﻧد ﻣردﻣﺎن ﻧﺟﯾب و ﻧژادهای ﮐﮫ ﮐﻔﺗران و ﭘﻧﺎھﻧدﮔﺎن و ﻣرغدرﯾﺎﯾﯽھﺎ را دوﺳت ﻧﻣﯽدارﻧد؟ روح او،او ﭼﮕوﻧﮫ ﮐﻣﺎناش را ﺷﺑﮕﯾر از ﭘﺷت ﺷﯾﺷﮫ ﺑرداﺷﺗﮫ ﺑﯽآﻧﮑﮫ دزدﮔﯾری رﺳوا ﺻدا ﮐﻧد؟ او از ﮐﺟﺎ ﮐﮫ ﻣرا ﮔرﯾﺧﺗم،]ﻣرا ﮐﮫ ﭘرﯾدم ﻓردا،ﺑﺎ ﺗﯾر ﻏﯾب ﮐﻣﺎناش زﯾر ﻧﺷﺎن اﺳب ﭼراﻏﭘﺎی ﺑﺎﻧﮏ ﺑر ﻧطﻊ ﺳﻧﮕﻔرش ﻧﯾﺎﻧدازد؟
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2 2 His skull is somewhere
And his helmet is somewhere else His skull is somewhere And that fleeing gazelle And his helmet is somewhere else - Stuffed with hay And that fleeing gazelle Like the body of a vizier fallen out of - Stuffed with hay favour with the shah - Like the body of a vizier fallen out of favour with the shah - Is staring from behind glass At death Is staring from behind glass At death You, Persian bow who showered arrows On the gazelles’ desert You, Persian bow who showered arrows It is late On the gazelles’ desert The hand that gripped your waist It is late Has been long filled with soil The hand that gripped your waist Has been long filled with soil It is late for the archer, oh bow To pull an arrow It is late for the archer, oh bow On the thumb-ring To pull an arrow And impede On the thumb-ring The she-gazelles’ way And impede The she-gazelles’ way It is late oh bow Your arrow can’t pierce the bulletproof glass It is late oh bow Your arrow can’t pierce the bulletproof glass
3 Once upon a time A thunderbolt Its arrow would fall and hunt Today The thing is fallen prey itself To camera flashlights
ﺟﻣﺟﻣﮫاش ﺑﮫ ﯾﮏ ﺟﺎﺳت ﯾﮏدﯾﮕر اشاشﺑﮫ ﺑﮫﺟﺎی ﺗرگ ﺟﺎﺳت ﺟﻣﺟﻣﮫ ﮔرﯾﺧت ﻣﯽ ﮐﮫ ﻏزاﻟﯽ و آن ﺗرگاش ﺑﮫ ﺟﺎی دﯾﮕر ﮔرﯾﺧتﻟطف ﺷﺎه وزﯾری ﮐﮫ ﻏزاﻟﯽﻣﺛلﮐﮫ ﻣﯽ- و آن – ﺑرﮔﺷﺗﮫ ﺑﺎﺷد از او ﻣﺛل وزﯾری ﮐﮫ ﻟطف ﺷﺎهاز ﮐﺎه ﭘ ُر ﺷدهﺳت و – ﺑرﮔﺷﺗﮫ ﺑﺎﺷد از او از ﮐﺎه ﭘ ُر ﺷدهﺳت و از ﭘﺷت ﺷﯾﺷﮫای از ﭘﺷت ﺷﯾﺷﮫایدر ﻣرگ ﻣﯽﻧﮕرد در ﻣرگ ﻣﯽﻧﮕرد دﯾﮕر ﮐﻣﺎن ﭘﺎرﺳﯽ ﭘﺎرﺳﯽ ﺑر دﺷت ﭘ ُرﻣرال ﮐﻣﺎنﺑﺎراﻧدی ﺗﯾر ﻣﯽ ﮐﮫ دﯾﮕر ﮔرﻓت ﺑرﻣﯾﺎنات ﻣﯽﻣﯽ ﺗﯾرﮐﮫ ﻣﺷﺗﯽ دﺷت ﭘراُرﻣرال ﺑﺎراﻧدی ﮐﮫ ﺳت ﺗﺎ دﯾری ﻣﯽﮔرﻓت ﻣﯾﺎنات را ﻣﺷﺗﯽ ﮐﮫ دﯾریﺳت ﺗﺎاز ﺧﺎک ﭘ ُر ﺷدهﺳت از ﺧﺎک ﭘ ُر ﺷدهﺳت
ﮐﮫ ﮐﻣﺎﻧدار،دﯾر اﺳت ای ﮐﻣﺎن ﮐﮫ ﮐﻣﺎﻧدار،ﺑﭼرﺧﺎﻧدﮐﻣﺎن ﺗﯾریاﺳت ای دﯾر راه ﺑﺑﻧدد ﺷﺳت و ﺑر ﺑﭼرﺧﺎﻧد ﺗﯾری ﺑر ﻣﺎده آھوانراه ﺑﺑﻧدد ﺷﺳت و ﺑر ﻣﺎدهآھوان دﯾر اﺳت ای ﮐﻣﺎن ﺿدﮔﻠوﻟﮫ دﯾرﺷﯾﺷﮫ از ھﺎی ﮐﻣﺎن اﺳت ای .از ﺷﯾﺷﮫھﺎی ﺿدﮔﻠوﻟﮫﺗﯾرت ﻧﻣﯽﮔذرد .ﺗﯾرت ﻧﻣﯽﮔذرد
٣ روزی ﭼون آذرﺧش ﺗﯾرش ﻓرو ﻣﯽآﻣد و ﻣﯽﮐﺷت ﺧود،اﻣروز در ﻧور ﺗﻧد دورﺑﯾنھﺎ .ﺷﮑﺎر ﻣﯽﺷود