04 September 2010
Forough Farrokhzad - In the green lake of summer
In the Green Lake of Summer
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…
while this down roof, the sad sky, is tapped
by the cold breath of a wandering breeze;
when a wide, wounded haze is poured
in the blue lanes of our drained veins;
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.
"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…
" 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."
Translated by Maryam Dilmaghani and appearing on her superb website on Forough Farrokhzad The Sad Little Fairy