Sohrab Sepehri
(October 7,
1928 - April 21, 1980)
Sohrab Sepehri (Persian: Ӂی) (October 7, 1928 - April 21, 1980) was
a notable modern Persian poet and a painter.
He was born in Kashan in Isfahan province. He is considered to be one of the
five most famous modern Persian (Iranian) poets who have practised "New Poetry"
(a kind of poetry that often has neither meter nor rhyme).
Other
practitioners of this form were Nima Youshij, Ahmad Shamlou, Mehdi
Akhavan-Sales, and Forough Farrokhzad.
Sohrab Sepehri was also one of Iran's foremost modernist
painters.
Sepehri died in Pars hospital in Tehran of leukemia. His poetry is full of
humanity and concern for human values.
He loved nature and refers to it
frequently. The poetry of Sohrab Sepehri bears great resemblance to that of E.E.
Cummings.
Well-versed in Buddhism, mysticism and Western traditions, he mingled the
Western concepts with Eastern ones, thereby creating a kind of poetry
unsurpassed in the history of Persian literature. To him, new forms were new
means to express his thoughts and feelings.
His poetry has been translated into many languages including English, French,
Spanish, German, Italian, Swedish, Arabic, Turkish and
Russian.
Poetry
Extracts of
a poem By Sohrab Sepehri (Trans. by Neima
Jahromi)
Ive never seen two rival pines.
Ive never seen a willow
Sell its
shadow to the earth.
An oak happily offers
Its branch to the raven.
And
wherever there is a leaf,
and in me, passion blossoms.
... Another
one (Trans. by Persica Australis)
I saw not two trees become foe.
I saw not a willow,
Sell its shade to
the earth.
Benevolently it shares,
The elm its branch to the
raven.
Wherever there is a leaf,
My Passion blossoms.
MORNING
GLORY (Translated by Ismail Salami)
Past the border
of my dream
The shadow of a morning glory
Had darkened all these
ruins
What intrepid wind
Transported the morning glory seed to the land of
my Nod?
Beyond glass gates of dream
In the bottomless marsh of mirrors
Wherever
I had taken a piece of myself
A morning glory had sprouted
Forever pouring
into the void of my soul
And in the sound of its blossoming
I was forever
dying in myself
The veranda roof caves in
And the morning glory twines about all
columns
What intrepid wind
Transports this morning glory seed to the land
of my Nod?
The morning glory germinates
Its stem rising out of my transparent
sleep
I was in a dream
Flood of wakefulness overflowed.
To the view of
my dream ruins I opened eyes:
The morning glory had twined all about my
life.
I was flowing in its veins
It rooted in me
It was all of
me
What intrepid wind
Transported this morning glory seed to the land of
my Nod?
NEAR A DISTANT REALM
There was a woman at the door
Standing with a body as ever
I approached
her:
Her image flooded my eyes.
Speech turned into wings of passion and
knowledge.
Shadow turned into sun.
I walk out in the sun
I was carried away by pleasing signs:
I went as
far as childhood and sands
As far as delightful mistakes
As far as
abstract objects
I neared picturesque waters
And trees laden with
pears
With an ever-present trunk
I breathed with the wet truth.
My
feeling of wonder mingled with the tree.
I perceived I abutted on the throne
of God
I felt a bit distraught.
Man goes to seek solace
When he feels
crestfallen.
I did too.
I went as far as the table
The yogurts taste, the fresh green
plants
There was bread to eat with a cup and saucer:
My throat pined for a
goblet of vodka.
I returned:
The woman was there at the door
Standing with a body of
deadly wounds.
An empty can
Kept paring away
The water's throat.
THE FLOW OF WATER
When knowledge
Still nestled by springs,
Man
Indulged himself in his
azure philosophy
In the delicate indolence of a meadow.
His thoughts flew
with the bird.
He breathed with trees.
He was submissive to the poppy's
conditions.
Intrepid meanings of the waters
Roared in the depths of his
speech.
Man
Slept
In the context of the elements
And woke up
In
dawning fear.
But sometimes
The strange music of growth
Echoed
In the frail joints
of his joys
And dust settled
On his struggling knees.
Then
His
creative fingers,
Idled and got lost
In precisely geometrical grief.
THE OLD TALE OF NIGHT
O you lost in the stellar green wonders!
The fig of
ignorance
Epitomizes the virgin rocks
The heart of water is pining
For
the reflection of a garden
The everyday apple tastes of illusion in the
mouth.
O old fear!
My fingers went numb when you came to
me.
Tonight
My hands know no fear:
Tonight they pluck fruits
From
the branches of myths.
Tonight
Each tree bears
As many leaves as my
fears.
Audacious speech thawed in the burning meeting of eyes
O colorful
beginnings!
Protect my eyes from the evil magic:
I am still
Dreaming
of
Unknown nocturnal blessings.
I am still
Thirsting for
Wavy
waters.
My buttons
Look like ancient magic words.
On the meadows
We
had our last carnal feast before words began.
In this feast, the music of stars
Fell upon my ears from inside the
potteries.
And my eyes reflected the swarms of migrating magicians.
O ancient mirror of narcissus in sorrow!
Ecstasy carried me away.
- To
the realm of growth?
- Perhaps
Let us drink water of wisdom when we thirst for speech.
The pure modesty of speech
Flows under the strewn legacy of
night:
Before syllables came into being,
The living had their
resurrection.
From among the rivals
Arrogant speech cracked my
jaws.
Then I, wading knee-high
In pure vegetable silence,
Bathed my
hands and face in the sight of objects.
Then, in another season,
My shoes
got wet
With the word of dew
Then, I sat down on a rock
And listened to
the pebbles migrating past my feet.
Then I perceived
That each branch
Escaped the season of my hands.
O counterfeit night!
My kerchief filled with unripe clusters of
prudence.
From behind the wall of a deep sleep,
A bird flew out of intimate
darkness
And took my kerchief away.
The first pebble of inspiration echoed
under my feet.
My blood tenderly hosted the space.
My pulse swam over the
elements.
O night...!
No, what am I saying?
The illumination of window warmed up
the listener's cold body,
My fingers traveled in the direction of
love.
Sohrab Sepehri's life
timeline
- Born in 1928 Kashan Iran
- He hosted a painting
exhibition - Tehran 1944
- He published his first poetry book that followed by a few other books in the
same year - 1951
- He graduated from the fine arts university with B.A. degree in painting -
Tehran 1953
- He translated some Japanese poetry into Persian and published them in a
literary magazine called Sokhan 1955
- He traveled to Paris and attended the Paris Fine Arts School in lithography
1957
- He traveled to Tokyo to further his studies in lithography and wood carving
1960
- On the way back to Iran from Japan, he visited India and became familiar
with the ideology of Buddhism 1961
- He published three books in poetry 1960
- He traveled to India again and visited several cities and provinces
1964
- He traveled to Pakistan and Afghanistan 1964
- He traveled to Europe and visited several countries such as
Germany,England,France,Spain,the Netherlands,Italy and Austria
1966
- He published some long poems after he returned to Iran
1966
- He hosted a painting exhibition in Tehran 1967
- He published another book in poetry 1967
- He traveled to Greece and Egypt 1974
- He published his final book called Hasht Ketab' (Eight Books), which was
the collection of almost all of his published poems in one volume
1976
- He got blood cancer and traveled to England for treatment
1978
- Unfortunately, his attempt to defeat cancer brought him no result.
- He returned to Iran and died in Pars Hospital in Tehran on Monday April 21,
1980.
-- Wikipedia
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