07 January 2009

In the Green Lake of Summer - Forough Farrokhzad

In the green lake of summer,
lonelier than a leaf,

with my pack of olden joy,

I slowly ride to the land of void.

In the cold shore of fall,

I gave into the pale shade of pines:

This shade of fleeting loves

This shade of brief laughs

This shaking blind of life…

At nights,

while this down roof, the sad sky, is tapped

by the cold breath of a wandering breeze;

At nights,

when a wide, wounded haze is poured

in the blue lanes of our drained veins;

At nights,

at nights of our intimate meets

with bouncing vibration of our souls

a sore feel of life is heaved

only in pounds of our pulse;

an odd, ailing feel of life.

“The hopeful core of the vales is loaded by painful secrets.”

This saying is carved on firm face of peaks.

This saying is carved by whom that one night

all at once, sliced this constant silence of the mounts

by sharp echo of their truthful shouts.

“I like this calm in the lonely heart of the remains.”

A woman recited this verse,

in the green lake of summer.

A woman rhymed this chant,

with all swings of tides,

a women who occupied for a while,

that deserted deepness of the wild.

She sang:

"We poison each other

with warmth of our every word:

this toxic air of delight of life.

We are scared of the parched song of waft.

We are faded in the dark fright of doubt.

We are shaking, shaking, shaking

in daydreaming nightmare of collapse of roof

on the secret, golden garden of our love."

"Now you are with me,

Now you are with me:

Expanded, spread like fine scent of rose

in neat lanes of dawn.

Now you are with me,

intense on my chest

burning in my hands

fainting, blazing, mad,

all over my curls,

Now I am with you."


Something massive of darkness, of shades

Confusing, unclear, vague,

like an onwards hymn of the old days

is rotating, inflating in front of my closing eyes:

I feel being spent, cornered, captured,

far from my lakes,

distant from my boat,

after the final gates…

I feel…scared."

" We had grown on this vain side of turf.

We met with that flying white knight of void,

ruling over all tads of routes."

"We are content, glad and calm.

And we are still, sad and silent.

We are content since we are indeed in love,

We are cheerless because in fact love is doomed."

Translation: Maryam Dilmaghani

From Forugh Farrokhzad - the Sad Little Fairy


Kay Dennison said...

How lovely and very sad and very true!

jams o donnell said...

Forough's poetry is superb. It is a shame she died young. She is one of Iran's greatest poets