Zia Torabi, Parisa Samadi, and Paco Marquez
Monday, August 6, 2012 at 7:30 PM
Sacramento Poetry Center — 1719 25th Street at SPC
Host: Bob Stanley
Ziaeddin Torabi is one of Iran’s most well known poets and is the winner of the 2010 Iran Annual Book Prize, the nation’s top honor for writing, for his poetry collection Face to Face with Dreams. He has published more than thirty volumes in different areas including many volumes of poetry, translation, criticism, and review. Born in 1944 in Zanjan, Iran, Torabi went on to earn a BA in English Language and Literature from Isfahan University and an MA in Linguistics from Tehran University. He was the head of the Tehran Municipal Literary Center and taught literature at the Tehran University of Science and Technology for a decade.
Different
The redness of these sparrows does not surprise me at all
It is a surprise that the sparrows do not understand it
In the morning, they look at my window
peck at the window pane
want me to open it
save them from the polluted air
But, I become spiteful and ignore them
They stay there, then they die
And the pain
starts exactly from the place
where you put your hand
Take off your hand from my head
do not bother me
let my headache go away
I told you that the sparrows do not have headaches
do not have fevers or shivers
They put their head on a rock and they die calmly
It is a surprise that the humans do not understand it
At night, they pass by my window
honk and make extreme noise
want me to close the window
save myself from the polluted sounds
But, I become spiteful and ignore them
I want them to go away and be lost
And the pain
starts exactly from the place
where you took your hand from my head
don’t take your hand off my head
bother me and make me busy
let my headache go away
I told you that humans have headaches
have fevers and they shiver
they put their head on a pillow and they die calmly
In spite of all these things
the redness of these sparrows does not surprise me at all
If you know any asylum
let me know
I know a crazy city
intact
They are neither like humans nor sparrows
They just want to be different
That’s it
By: Ziaeddin Torabi
Translated By: Parisa Samadi
متفاوت
سرخي اين گنجشك‌ها
به شگفتی ام وانمی دارد اصلا
شگفتا كه گنجشك‌ها اين را نمي‌دانند
صبح از كنار پنجره‌ام سرك مي‌كشند
نوك مي‌زنند بر شيشه‌ي پنجره
تا بگشايم و
نجاتشان دهم از هواي آلوده
لجم مي‌گيرد و محلشان نمي‌گذارم
همان جا مي‌مانند تا بميرند
و درد
درست از همان جا آغاز مي‌شود
كه دستت را مي‌گذاري
دست از سرم بردار
تا سردردم ساکت شود
گفته بودم كه گنجشك‌ها سردرد نمي‌گيرند
نه تب مي‌كنند و نه مي‌لرزند
سرشان را راحت مي‌گذارند روي سنگ مي‌ميرند
شگفتا كه آدم‌ها اين را نمي‌دانند
شب از كنار پنجره‌ام رد مي‌شوند
بوق مي‌زنند و قشقرق راه مي‌اندازند
تا پنجره‌ام را ببندم و
خودم را نجات بدهم از صوت‌هاي آلوده
لجم كه بگيرد محلشان نمي‌گذارم
تا بروند و گم شوند
و درد
درست از همان جا آغاز مي‌شود
كه دستت را برمي‌داري
دست از سرم برندار
تا سر دردم ساکت شود
گفته بودم كه آدم‌ها سردرد مي‌گيرند
تب مي‌كنند و مي‌لرزند
سرشان را مي‌گذارند روي متكاي راحت و مي‌ميرند
با اين همه
سرخي اين گنجشك‌ها
به شگفتی ام وا نمی دارند اصلا
تيمارستاني اگر سراغ داشتيد
خبرم كنيد
كه يك شهر ديوانه سراغ دارم
دست نخورده
نه به آدم مي‌مانند و نه به گنجشك
فقط مي‌خواهند متفاوت باشند
همين
Parisa Samadi was born in Kermanshah, in the western part of Iran. Her interest in languages started from her early exposure to the two natives languages of the area, Farsi and Kurdish. After moving to Tehran, she earned her BA degree in the French language. She translated a few books and many articles/short stories in various publications. She began learning English after immigrating to the United States and earned Associate Degrees in English, Liberal Arts, and Communication and Literature from American River College. She is currently a student at Sacramento State University and she will earn a BA degree in English next semester. She plans on continuing translation and she has completed a translation of the collected works of Ziaeddin Torabi. Her goal is to become an ESL student.
Sanamtaj
I came to America, and Sanamtaj came too
I came on a fourteen hour flight, landed at an airport
and she came on the tired waves of a watery road
by the graceful swan-like waves, pregnant with images and sounds
anchored alongside me, the stranger in a new land
My home became a townhouse
in the suburb of a large city, in America
and she brought her own old shelter
from Sepah Street, at the Kermanshah Bazaar
I brought two suitcases filled with my belongings
She brought everything that she owned
four charcoal-colored walls adorned with
a picture of a blond American woman from the thirties offering a bottle of cola
a picture of a yellow camel in the Sahara, and
a picture of her husband on a trip to Mecca
She also brought
her colorful hand-woven carpet
two oversized olive-green velvet cushions
a mysterious iron chest that kept all her secrets
a bronze varnished samovar
a white porcelain tea pot with pink flowers, and
some other things hidden behind a drape in the corner of her room
I drive my car around town
and Sanamtaj, the woman from Ovarzaman
in her late age of sixty five, prances quickly
in the dreamy world of the stranger in a new land
Like before, she wears her navy blue robe
with the design of brown walnut shells
a white chador with black dots, and her light plastic shoes
And when she runs
her chador, like two wings behind her back,
gives her the ability to fly
Sanamtaj came to America in support of me
day time, night time, time after time
When I need shelter, I dive into her wavy neighborhood
and knock on the door of her room
The odor of her cardamom tea overflows in the air
and Sanamtaj is waiting for me
I sit in front of her on the carpet and drink my tea
with ginger candy
She turns on her friendly radio to listen to the nightly story
As always, she laughs like an open pistachio
and her gold teeth shine in her mouth
I sink into her face, her eyes, and her mouth
and swim to the shore of my neighborhood
coming out from the ocean of her memories, wet and fresh
light and nimble like a butterfly
flapping its wings around the latest flowers in the new land
finding a flower with the scent of Sanamtaj
Originally from Mexico, Paco Marquez studied Philosophy at UC Berkeley. Since graduation he’s had several jobs: Enterprise Rent-a-Car; Housing Rights Inc. non-profit; Concord, CA Public Library; and the family business, Rancho’s Club Casino in Sacramento, CA. He is a board member of the Sacramento Poetry Center, a member of Escritores del Nuevo Sol, and a Squaw Valley Community of Writers alumnus.
THE SELF/PERSONA
A microscopic glimmer
filters through coal clouds,
massive, thick and heavy.
Faintly lit morsel
chewed by the unknown,
like miniature bubble gum.
Eyes open, heart feeling, body in motion,
seagulls in flight, companions near by, sidewalk dance:
all merelybut a mask
over a face of light,
over a dark, multicolored, invisible mark.
I, you, we, it, us, them, they, neither, all
Yo, tu, nosotros, ustedes, eso, ellos, ninguno, todos:
pronouns are but a cast
over abroken kind.
Many mini-flowers
riding on the sounds
of car tires passing outside.
