CP: In conversation with with Farideh Hassanzadeh
Farideh Hassan Zadeh( Mostafavi)
CP: Here is a poem I remember by her :
I will greet the Sun again,
I will greet the streams that flowed in me;
I will greet the clouds which were my lengthy thoughts;
I will greet the painful growth of poplars……
I wonder this is a contrast to one of my poems which I wrote when I was middle aged; even the title of the poem is “Sun you may go now.” Of course, it has some political undertone; but there is a lack of confidence compared to Farrokzada’s poem. Then I have a very vague understanding of Zhaleh Esfahani. Her dialogue with Forest and River is a marvel to me. Forest adored the river for its flow, for the mobility it has; river adores the forest or its secluded beauty and peace. We are enchanted to the lines depicting the ultimate truth that everything any thing in the universe is beautiful, has utility. Mahmud Kianush has captivated Iranian minds; but he would captivate any mind. Look at his Shame:
Unfamiliar with the blue of the sky
Unfamiliar with the shining green of the earth,
Unfamiliar with man’s history of covering his own body,
I am standing inside the circle of ice, surrounded by sorrow and anxiety;
And naked, and ancient , alone,
I carry on my shoulders the thousand-year-old burdens of shame,
of coveredness,
of modesty,
O mothers of sleep
Whose bones are ancient hiding place of the dead instincts,
Look how my bare, bare ancient roots,
Slowly, but with resolution, penetrate the ice.
I can quote more. It is not necessary. Iran is poetry. Farideh has sent me beautiful poems; she has introduced me good poets like Samavati and Mariyam Ala Amjadi who believes that the ideal of the poet is Shahr Zada for whom poetry, rather story, is a life and death struggle; any failure would send her to the delta of void and darkness and death; she manages one thousand nights during which she made Shahryar to develop into a man with joy, confidence and love.
FH: Which one book is always by your bed right open, and which book is always, before any things else, in your briefcase, when traveling?
CP: I would like to have two books: 1. Rainbow people of God by Desmund Tuttoo, and 2. Gitanjali by Rabindranatha Tagore. There are other books which I like very much. Serpent and the Rope by Raja Rao is an example; Balyakala Sakhi is another example; it is a simple love story by Basheer, the great Malayalam writer. I would like classics to be with me. Masnavi is one among them; Laila Majnoon would haunt me if I forget them. Above all I would like to have a political work: Manifesto, yeah, communist Manifesto by Karl Marx. What a wonderful combination, No?
FH: Proust says: If I did not have poetry, great literature, music to listen to, I would not have survived my sorrows. Let me know please what would you lose without poetry?
CP: Without poetry, I would have lost my love; love of all sorts, paternal, parental, conjugal, mystic, spiritual and what not! Without poetry I would lose my river and meadows; I could not swim in sunshine; I would not have transgressed the frontiers of countries and climbed up mountains and conquered seals coming out from oceanic depths. I would not tender the fifth moon and love it in a form of smiling lips; I would not sit on the stone mass where I spent with my childhood friends who are no more now. I could not have suffered the humilities of life; I could not have, above all fought against injustice and cruelty. It is not my poetry, I count. The whole world is poetry; I can find poetry anywhere in this world. Streets where sins abound have their own poetry. Read Martha of Khalil Gibran; he can find poetry on mountains as well as streets, among prostitutes as well as virgins.
Poetry of C P Aboobacker
Friendship, Law And War
Poet to soldiers
Camped on shore
Beyond iron bars:
No ships come in search of you
Not even a play boat
You are the dreamers
Crossing oceans
With thoughts of unseen shores,
Yet to conquer what you discover
Yet to rejoice in wealth and power
Ho, you are merely passive voices.
Rough rows have hardened your fingers
That have forgotten the piano's keys
You, somnambulists
Pretend to ache with wounds
Hugged by Queen Elizabeth
Winning victories over the Armada
You continue to sleep
Bloom in the zeal of bugles
And tambourines of war
Never intoxicated by symphonies of love
And ever afraid of smiling ships.
Your lips never sob for ailing children
Autumn dreams never pour over you
Their fragrance of lilies
Neither have fairies blessed you
With peaceful sleep
You dream
Unaware of woeful setbacks
And loving spouses in mourning
And the rhythms of flowers blooming.
You sleep on, in hope of war
II
I laugh at you
In prison's freedom
My laughter
Booms in silence
Oh, soldier,
You are sure to miss your sleep
The symphonies of cities
Kill my daytime sleep
And sing lullabies to snores
Coming from cellars
I wanted to write a poem
About electrical posts
In the rhythm of propellers
No stormy petrels
Soar up into my breast.
III
I have always looked at the sea
As the greatest fulfillment
Her noises have always
Cuddled me to sleep
Blossoming as seas
Rising as waves
Splashing into surf
Are my young dreams.
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Farideh Hassan Zadeh( Mostafavi) - Mostafavi is an Iranian poet, translator and freelance journalist. Her first book of poetry was published when she was twenty-two. Her poems appear in the anthologies Contemporary Women Poets of Iran and Anthology of Best Women Poets.. She is the author of The Last Night with Sylvia Plath: Essays on Poetry .She has extensively translated World literature into Persian.