Behind the Seen
نامه ی یدالله رویایی به هرمز علی پور
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Antonin Artaud: «Poète noir»
Poète noir, un sein de pucelle
te hante,
poète aigri, la vie bout
et la ville brûle,
et le ciel se résorbe en pluie,
ta plume gratte au cœur de la vie.
Forêt, forêt, des yeux fourmillent
sur les pignons multipliés ;
cheveux d’orage, les poètes
enfourchent des chevaux, des chiens.
Les yeux ragent, les langues tournent,
le ciel afflue dans les narines
comme un lait nourricier et bleu ;
je suis suspendu à vos bouches
femmes, cœurs de vinaigre durs.
- from L’Ombilic des limbes
___
Birthday of John Cage (Sep. 5, 1912 - 1992), seminal 20th C. composer: “I am for the birds, not for the cages people put them in.”
Composer John Cage. [Photo by Erich Auerbach/Getty Images/NPR]
Edith Sitwell was born Sep. 7, 1887 (d. 1964). She wrote strange poems that oscillate wildly between pathos and utter silliness:
CAME the great Popinjay
Smelling his nosegay:
In cages like grots
The birds sang gavottes.
‘Herodiade’s flea
Was named sweet Amanda,
She danced like a lady
From here to Uganda.
Oh, what a dance was there!
Long-haired, the candle
Salome-like tossed her hair
To a dance tune by Handel.’ …
Dance they still? Then came
Courtier Death,
Blew out the candle flame
With civet breath.
Photo of Edith Sitwell by Cecil Beaton
l
The great Russian novelist Leo Tolstoy was born Sep. 8, 1828 (d. 1910). Works include War and Peace and Anna Karenina as well as numerous other novels and novellas…
As the following quotes illustrate Tolstoy was a pacifist, a nearly full-blown hippie and a new age prophet well ahead of time:
“Love is life. All, everything that I understand, I understand only because I love. Everything is, everything exists, only because I love. Everything is united by it alone. Love is God, and to die means that I, a particle of love, shall return to the general and eternal source.”
“In all history there is no war which was not hatched by the governments, the governments alone, independent of the interests of the people, to whom war is always pernicious even when successful.”
“There is no greatness where there is no simplicity, goodness and truth.”
Photo of Tolstoy in amazing colour by by Sergei Prokudin-Gorskii, a pioneer of color photography - 1908!!
Italian poet Cesare Pavese, Sep. 9, 1908 - 1950 (suicide by barbiturates)…
Nocturne
The hill is like night against the clear sky.
Your head framed against it, barely moving,
and moving with the sky. You are like a cloud
seen between branches. In your eyes the laughter
and strangeness of a sky that is not yours.
The hill of earth and leaves halts
your bright gaze with its dark mass,
your mouth has the curve of a gentle hollow
between distant slopes. You seem to play
with the great hill and the clearness of the sky:
to please me you echo the ancient background
and make it purer.
But you live elsewhere.
Your gentle blood came from elsewhere.
The words you say have no meeting-point
with the rugged sadness of this sky.
You are only a white and sweetly gentle cloud
entangled one night among ancient branches.
__ Pavese’s Diary, the Effects of his Suicide?
Again, the black water, & sudden realization that my aesthetic delight in it is for its rarity alone. Again, avoidance of fellow travelers. Walk out on deck twice to escape regurgitated breath of the dead inside the cabin. Bill, who stands out there in the worst weather wonders what is up? “This air is like that of Lazarus’s,” I respond with the cabin door still ajar, nodding back toward the dead totally unawares. Later, a shudder of apprehension, combined with a subtle paterfamilias with the author, when I toss my watch as a bookmark into Pavese’s Diary. February, 1940. The self-analysis is excruciating. Does a man really need to know that much of himself? Haruspex examining entrails. His own. Writing to himself in the third person. My watchband suddenly turns into one of the leather reins driving the horses of the chariot of death. Timepiece itself, utter presence, connects to the end of February, when the writer wonders if thought leaves a trace on things, “for example, when the individual dies in the very act of thinking.”
- Robert Gibbons (Source - this poem first appeared in Gargoyle) _ From Cesare Pavese’s Diary:
“The great lovers will always be unhappy, because for them love is great and so they ask of their beloved the same intensity of thought that they have for her – otherwise they feel betrayed.”
“A woman, unless she is an idiot, sooner or later meets a piece of human wreckage and tries to rescue him. She sometimes succeeds. But a woman, unless she is an idiot, sooner or later finds a sane, healthy man and makes a wreck of him. She always succeeds.”
Very sad to hear this news:
Jim Carroll, 59, died of a heart attack at his Manhattan home on September 11, 2009. On September 13 (the day his death was announced), it was stated that he was at his desk working when he died.
From 8 Fragments for Kurt Cobain:
3/
You should have talked more with the monkey
He’s always willing to negotiate
I’m still paying him off…
The greater the money and fame
The slower the Pendulum of fortune swings
Your will could have sped it up…
But you left that in a plane
Because it wouldn’t pass customs and immigration
SEP 12
Michael Ondaatje, important Sri Lanka-born Canadian novelist and poet, is 66 today. His main success was The English Patient, 1992…
“A writer uses a pen instead of a scalpel or blow torch.”
“As a writer, one is busy with archaeology.”
“It’s why you create characters: so you can argue with yourself.”
And the postcolonial state:
“The past is still, for us, a place that is not safely settled.”
Birthday of great American poet, William Carlos Williams - b. Sep. 17, 1883, d. 1963 - author of oft quoted poems such as “This Is Just To Say” and “The Red Wheelbarrow”, as well as more demanding, complex booklength works such as Paterson…
Here is a mundane one:
Complete Destruction
It was an icy day.
We buried the cat,
then took her box
and set fire to it
in the back yard.
Those fleas that escaped
earth and fire
died by the cold.
Photo of WCW at home, 1954 - by Lisa Larsen (LIFE)
Jaroslav Seifert won the Nobel Prize in Literature in sep 23 1984. Very nearly a life-long dissident (an anti-Bolshevik Communist and later a Social Democrat) Seifert was virtually ostracized by the Czech Communist regime for a large part of his career - even when he received the Nobel this was barely mentioned in the Czech press…
Seifert was an avantgarde poet who gradually became more mainstream and nationalist. His sonnet crown in honour of his hometown Prague concludes like this:
Prague ! That’s a sip of wine with flavour,
and were she levelled with the ground
and my own home could not be found,
and were she soaked with blood, no braver,
I won’t be one of those who’re leaving,
I shall be waiting with the dead,
from spring to winter, without dread
till the locked gates at last will swing in.
If the old owl our Death were calling,
if God His wrath on us did bring,
a single tear from Her eye falling
would break the curse above the spires.
Of all my hopes and heart’s desires
it was for you I wished to sing.
Photo of Seifert in 1966
b.DEHRUD,DASHTESTAN,BUSHEHR,2 MEHR 1310/SEPTEMBER 24,1931
d.29 ABAN 1384/NOVEMBER 20,2005,TEHRAN
ON WHAT ROCK YOU'RE SITTING ON
WHOM ARE YOU UNITED WITH
TILL I JUMP
FROM SHALLOW WATER OF THIS STAR
TO YOUR BEDOUINE PRESENCE
AND UNITE WITH YOU
-from the poem:IN DIRECTION OF REED PIPE AND GOD,
BOOK OF:INCIDENT IN THE MORNING
soon see also:mojbook.com/A-Z major persian poets - A
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CRITICS AND DETRACTORS OFTEN ASKED ABOUT VALUES AND INTEGRITY OF ATASHI'S WORKS AND THAT MADE ALL OF US TO THINK ABOUT.IN 1981, AFTER TWENTY YEARS OF TEACHING AND WORKING IN TAMASHA MAGAZINE OF IRANIAN RADIO TELEVISION,MANUCHEHR ATASHI WAS RETIRED AND RETURNED TO BUSHEHR.THAT YEAR ,I MADE A TRIP TO SHIRAZ WITH COLLEAGUES AND FRIENDS,AND DECIDED TO MAKE A VISIT TO THE POET OF DASHTESTAN.ON MY WAY ,I WENT TO YASUJ OF KOHKILOYEH AND BOVIR AHMADI AND TOOK SOHRAB KIANI,A YOUNG BAKHTIARI POET,WITH ME.IN KAZERUN OF FARS,HASSAN EJTEHADI,ALSO A POET,JOINED US.ALL OF US WITH OUR DOCTORS FRIENDS MADE A VISIT TO ATASHI IN BUSHEHR AND WERE INVITED BY HIM TO A RESTAURANT.THE POET ,IN DEEP SOCIAL AND FAMILY TROUBLES AT THAT TIME,SEEMED MOMENTARILY TO BE VERY HAPPY AND TEMPORARY OUT OF HIS SECLUSION.I TOOK ADVANTAGE OF THE OCCASION AND ASKED ATASHI,WHAT HE THINKS OF HIMSELF, HIS LIFE AND HIS RESUME IN POETRY.AND WHAT IS THE TEST OF HIS LIFE AT THIS POINT?
THE POET WAS READY.HE SAID:I AM LIKE THIS MAGAZINE ,PUBLISHED ALREADY AND AT HAND,BUT WITH A FEW BLANK PAGES.I AM GOING TO FEEL OUT THOSE PAGES TO MAKE IT COMPILED AND COMPLETE AND THEN LEAVE.
I THOUGHT OF ATASHI AS A VERY ORIGINAL POET,FROM THE VERY BEGINNING,WHEN HE CAME TO TEHRAN IN LATE 1330'S/1950'S ,TO ATTEND SUPERIOR SCHOOL.A PROSPER NIMAI POET WITH A VAST APPROACH TO CLASSICAL PERSIAN POETRY,AS WELL.
IN LATER YEARS,WITH ALL POLITICAL CHAOS OF THE LIFE HE WAS INVOLVED WITH,HE STARTED A COMMUNE PERIOD OF SILENCE OR REPEATING HIMSELF.1N 1350'S/1970'S HE INSPIRED AND SUPPORTED A GROUP OF AVANT GARDE YOUNG POETS,MOSTLY KNOWN AS MOJ NAB OR PURE WAVE.HE WAS ALSO INSPIRED BY THEM AND OTHER YOUNGER POETS AND BROKE HIS SILENCE AND THE BARRIER OF REPETITIONS.
ATASHI THEN ENTERED ANOTHER PERIOD OF SILENCE AND DISENCHANTMENT IN 1360'S/1980'S.AT THAT TIME HE WAS DENIED REGISTERING WITH IRANIAN WRITERS ASSOCIATION,AND EVEN A SHADOW COUNCIL OF ARTISTS AND WRITERS ,DUE TO HIS POLITICAL BACKGROUND,BUT LATER BRIDGED WITH SMALLER LITERARY GROUPS SUCH AS SEH SHANBEH GROUP ,AND THROUGH THEM STARTED PUBLISHING HIS WORKS IN YOUNG PROGRESSIVE LITERARY JOURNALS LIKE DONYA YE SOKHAN.THESE YEARS ,BECAUSE OF WORK,I HAD MORE OPPORYUNITIES TO VISIT HIM IN BUSHEHR,KHORMOJ,KANGAN AND VICINITIES,OR IN TEHRAN.THIS WAS WHEN I GATHERED SOME MORE NOTES OF OUR MEETINGS AND MADE SOME LENGHTY INTERVIEWS WITH HIM,ORAL AND WRITTEN,LIKE SCHOOL TESTS!ANOTHER MARATHON INTERVIEW
TOOK PLACE IN U.S CITIES WHEN HE VISITED AND CONTRIBUTED TO CIRA MEETINGS.
IN ALL THESE FORTY SOME YEARS I ASKED MYSELF:
WHERE IS THE PLACE OF MANUCHEHR ATASHI IN PANTHEON OF POETS OR AMONG MAJOR PERSIAN POETS?
I THINK WITH THAT PRIMARY ORIGINALITY,LATER INFLUENCED BY VISION AND POETRY OF YOUNGER GENERATION LIKE MOJ NAB AND OTHER POETS LIKE MOHAMMAD MOKHTARI,WHO REJUVENATED HIM,ALSO WITH HIS SEARCH AND THRIVING THROUGH NIMA AND NIMAI POETRY,PERSIAN CLASSICAL POETRY,WORLD POETRY,AND CREATIVE JOURNALISM,MANUCHEHR ATASHI PREPARED AND MADE HIMSELF AS ONE OF THE GROUP OF DOZEN MAJOR CONTEMPORARY PERSIAN POETS.HE STOPPED OR WAS SILENCED TEMPORARILY ON THE COURSE,BUT NEVER REGRESSED,WITH ANY KIND OF EXCUSES.
HE WAS INSPIRED BY HIS PEERS AND CONTEMPORARIES,AND HE INSPIRED THEM.HE WILL INSPIRE YOUNGER GENERATIONS TO COME.
AND THAT IS THE NAME HE LEFT FOR US ,
ALTHOUGH IN FEAR OF SOMETIMES BEING EXILED OR BURNT.
REAL POETS LIVE FOREVER.
*from GHAZAL OF MIRROR
IT IS GONE FROM MIRROR
MY EYES OF YESTERDAY
IT APPEARED IN MIRROR
YOUR FACE OF TODAY
WHETHER YOU ARE OR YOU ARE NOT
YOUR TREES OF TODAY
RUNS TUROUGH THE MIRROR...
selected and tr.by MOJ BOOK
in "prominent persian poets project"
from M.ATASHI's:How Bitter Is This Apple
copyrighted 2001
*IT IS TIME
IT IS TIME TO RETURN
TO NAMES AND LETTERS
LEAVING "OURSELVES"TO DO
THEIR WEARY WORK
IT IS TIME TO LET NAMES
CARESS EACH OTHERS
AND KISS IN HIDING
AMD ON THE LINES OF LETTERS
DISSAPPEAR WHILE SMILING
IT IS TIME THAT MY NAME
SITS ON SAND
AND REWRITE YOUR NAME REPEATEDLY
TILL THE WHOLE SHORE IS A ROSE GARDEN
AND YOUR NAME WINKS TO ME
THE SEA GOES INSANE
AND A COLORFUL STORM
RUNS ALL AROUND THE SHORE
IT IS TIME OUR NAMES IN OUR LETTERS
HEARS FLOWERS NEW NAMES
EGLANTINE SAYS:
NOSTRADAMOS,I AM
AND I KNOW DESTINY OF DAHLIAS
AFTER FORUGH'S NAILS BECAME BLOODY
AND I KNOW
WHIRLPOOL OF UPPER JASMINE TO BE PURPLE
AND LOWER JUDAS TREE STORMY...
IT IS TIME OUR NAME CORRESPONDS
NEW LETTERS
AND HEAR THEIR NAME IN FEAR
FROM POPPY FLOWERS JAWS
YOU ARE CALLED HELL
YOU ARE CALLED DEATH
YOU WILL BURN ATASHI'S NAMEYOU WILL MAKE A HELL OF ATASHI
AND THE LETTERS THROW THE HELL
IN TOWNS AND POEMS
AND BURN POEMS AND BOOKS
AND POEMS AND BOOKS MAKE A HELL OF LITERATURE
AND THE LITERATURE OF THE WORLD...
AND SOMEONE THERE WILL SING
WHATT A PRETTY HELL!
TR.:F.S.
POSTED FOR M.ATASHI'S BIRTHDAY,ALSO IN THE WEEK OF CENSURED BOOKS.
via :FARAMARZ SOLEIMANI
Shel Silverstein (Sep. 25, 1930 – 1999) was an American poet, singer-songwriter, musician, composer, cartoonist, screenwriter, and author of children’s books. Silverstein never studied the poetry of others and therefore developed his own quirky style: laid-back and conversational, occasionally employing profanity and slang.
Comedy songs penned by Silverstein that you might know: “A Boy Named Sue”, “The Cover of The Rolling Stone”, “25 Minutes To Go”, “Sylivia’s Mother”, “Marie Laveau”, a.m.o.
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