Mashehad

She is standing behind the window
and looking through it she finds me,
her daughter kneeling before God,
praying in the language of the believers.

She walks into my memory,
pushes the Solaris nerves
and finds herself swiftly afloat
with the Choghok of my thoughts.

She is just a soul from Khorasan,
land of Imam Reza, sweet melons
and the famous poets,
and she finds her way into
the memory lines where the images start
rolling down tear-pearling my face...

...once on the way back to Tehran,
"Stop the car, please! I want to buy
melons of Khetteh Meshehed," she said.
"These are sweet as honey," she said again,
but we cut to eat and tasted one after another
and none were as sweet as she proclaimed, claimed!

Zengecheh, Choghok these are
my vocabularies from the dialect-accent
she had. Nothing remains of her body,
and all there are, are the memories
pearling down my eyes, my face.

Sheema Kalbasi

Mashehad: A city in Iran
Solaris: 1972 Russian movie, �Solaris,� based on Stanislaw Lem's novel.
It is a story of a planet that reads minds, and obliges its visitors by devising and providing them by what they have lost, or what they miss.
Choghok: sparrow in Mashehadi dialect
Khorasan: a state in North- East of Iran. Mashehad is Khorasan�s capital.
Mashehad is the center-capital of Khorasan. My mother's birthplace
Imam Reza: The eight Imam of Shi Muslims
Tehran: Capital of Iran
Khetteh: area- territory in Mashehadi dialect
Zengecheh: The elbow in Mashehadi

  

 

These past few days I wasn't feeling well... and to top it... some hacker took my "zaneirani" blog out... well here I am shouting on top of my longs a quote from Emile Zola: I am an artist - I am here to live out loud.

... and then Roger Humes sent me this great e-mail today which made my tears roll down my face: Sheema, You have a command of English now that I have seen in few Iranian poets, and none of them I feel can match where you are now. Too many Iranian poets that I read who write in English are too enamored with the shadow of Shamlu or have become too immersed in Western poetics and forms or too artsy-cutesy. You, my dearest friend, have remained true to your Iranian heritage and the accompanying voice that goes with it. You have developed a unique poetry that transcended both worlds, even when writing without me.

I would have to label you a true poetic genius. You have proved it to me, and as you grow older and deeper into your poetry you are going to write poems that will be truly earth shaking.

  

 

When I read Hooman Azizi�s article on Maniha I thought... lord save �him� I for one think he is a brave and bold writer to stand up for the poets and poetry of those whose works go unrecognized just because they are not an Iranian-literary-gang-member! The vicious circle of the same voices, same works�
You start reading one poem and you are sound sleep by the third! � and god forbid if you try submitting your works to these Iranian literarily magazines! You have to keep going back to see when they finish publishing their grand aunt�s neighbor�s works before you may find some of yours and if it is published� my guess is... you will not be able to recognize it� (Yes bad editorial work!)
Come to think of it maybe that�s why ...some think they are much more photogenic in their poems than they really are!

  

 

The desperate and drowning

The desperate and drowning do err
when they mistake the splinter
in their own eye for a straw
upon which they may float

but if you were to choose
between the interior and the interval
of the divided green grass
in the back of your own garden,
with grasshoppers and butterflies
juggling with your thoughts,
the golden sky turning silver
from the spring rain-just after

perhaps for them then
you would find the compassion
to understand how such fear
may drive them to hopeless lengths

in a world where you finally
may find someone whom understands
the narrow line between love and hate,
the colorful spot of life, or the despair and death,
and they too leave you to a life
written in the unknown words
of paradise, earth, in between, or hell.

Sheema Kalbasi and Roger Humes

  

 

If you can read Persian... Hooman Azizi has written a great article on Maniha.


�ENAMA AFGANISTANA


Dok hodam ulicama Kabula,
iza oslikanih prozora,
polomljena su srca, slomljene �ene.
Ako nemaju nijednog prijatelja da ih za�titi,
one umiru od gladi dok mole za kruh,
nekada u�iteljice, lije�nice, profesorice
danas nitko i ni�ta tek hodaju�e gladne ku�e.
Ne o�utjev�i �ak ni mjese�ine,
one nose svoja tijela, prekrivena u lijesu od koprena.
One su gromade sa za�elja ...
njihovi glasovi ne mogu si�i sa suhih usana.
Leptiri prolije�u, no nema im boja u o�ima Afganistanki
jer ne vide ni�ta osim krvavih ulica
pod oslikanim prozorima,
ne mogu mirisati kruh iz pekarnica
jer njihovih sinova izlo�ena tijela
prekrivaju svaki drugi miris,
ni�ta ne mogu ni �uti
jer �uju samo svoju glad
kako pla�e ne�ujnim glasovima
sa svakim zvukom pucnja i nasilja.
Naknada za gorko umuklu Amnestiju,
krvoproli�e afganistanskih �ena
na beskrajnim-re�enicama-molbi za pomo�
kao otrgnuti glasovi �to ne izlaze nego te�ko priti��u
u tragi�nim svr�ecima njihovih �ivota.
�ene, jeste li vi sme�e Ljubi�ice O�ujka?
"Vidjeh jednog an�ela u Miramaru.
Lomila sam i lomila
dok je ne oslobodih."
- Michele Angelo
Moja je utopija pometena
neobi�nim zbivanjem
umetnutim u
autobiografsko kru�enje
zlosretno proma�ene sre�e

kao �ena
nikada
ne�u mo�i biti plodnija
biti sretnija
nego sada

Namjera mojih roditelja
ne vidi pe�a�enje moga tijela
iza tu�nih oslikanih prozora

Mu�karac nepoznata identiteta
bez lica
odlu�uje o cijelom mojem postojanju

Moj glas
snimljena izjava
ja sam vrabac koji se nada
........ mo�da sutra
iza koprena
meso
propada
sav bol
�alobnosti

biti �enom
u Afganistanu
u godini nultoj, nultoj, nultoj

Poku�avam
poku�avam
lijevati goru�e ulje u rasplakane stanice
svoga tijela
Unutra
samo
unutra
goru�e ulje
gdje prebivaju otrovane ku�e �elja!
Gljiva u gradu-svijetu-svemira
Iz poku�aja da se izbjegne umiranje
glava najprije a onda kruha na kapaljku
pristi�e

Mijenjaju�i se
od jedne do druge dobi
�ivahno ple�u�i sa smrti

Umirem tek tako kako i �ivim
Tek da bih mogla �ivjeti
vje�ni �ivot.


SHEEMA KALBASI - UNESCO
�ENAMA AFGANISTANA in Serbo-Croatian means For Women of Afghanistan-first published on Revolutionary Association of the Women of Afghanistan (RAWA)... 2000.
I will post a few of my other works that have been translated in to Polish, Ukrainian, German, Hindi and Danish...

  

 

Maryam
for my mother

They say you loved The Pearl,
a mythical, miraculous plant
that was your favorite flower.

They say its scent is so magical
that whomever experiences it
will forever love her mother.

I just planted some at the entrance
of my home for you to find my love
through the midsummer-blooming poliamthes.

In Persian they are called Maryam.
You wanted to name me Maryam
but then you never cared much about names
and my uncle or cousin or some one said Sheema
(a rare name it was then).

Now at the entrance to my home
the plants shall grow with these memories
of the flowers that Dad always gave you
on your birthdays

�now every day
will be a mid-summer day�

Sheema Kalbasi and Roger Humes.

Maryam: Both Polianthes (Tuberose) and Maria (mother of Jesus) are called Maryam in Persian.


if you live in the Bay Area ...7rooz... may be something for you.

  

 

(October, 2003) On the Invitation of August Highland the editor of the MAG, I Guest Edited the mini-MAG--outside the ordinary... the March 2004 Issue is out on the net.

I guess I've been in some kind of shock these past few months. I've awfully been over eating my emotions and now many pounds heavier I am stock with the ugly-extra-weight beside the great loss and my blood-tear tulip heart! I miss Maman dearly...

  

 

Loss Lingers
for Sheema on her mother's loss


touched by frost

the last rose wilts

folds in upon itself

seeks solace

in winter slumber



touched by loss

the soul wilts

folds in upon itself

seeks solace

in solitude



frost and loss

both wilt

but for most

of a given year

there is no frost;

loss lingers

a grief

for all season


Alan Corkish

  

 

Immortal

I envy you Spring
with your wild flowers and flourishing smiles
with your elegance and your almond-tree of thoughtlessness
that does not know of the bitterness and pain of my loss.

I look out of the window
I look out of the window
and I wish for some Muguet de Mai
to arrive at my door
and to hear my mother's voice
calling me at the entrance: Beloved daughter
here I am, arrived with the Spring and healing balms.

If this happen,
I promise to embrace
the message of the spring and the Iris
and I will plant a Wild Rose-tree
for the entrance to the house of my heart
so that every one knows of my sensitivity
to the unfading remembrance of her love.

There are times that I am questioned
for my not-crying eyes
so for those who do not know of
my grieving heart, I write
to voice the bitterness and pain of my loss
in the language of every-lost mother-child,
so when the childishness of this heart
is sometimes toxic to the hearts of those
who do not know me and the Marigolds of my love,
even they will bring me
bouquets of Sea-lavenders and love.

Sheema Kalbasi

1Immortal: This refers to the Immortal flowers, which represent unfading remembrance.
2Muguet de Mai (Lily of the valley): means return to happiness. This flower is handed out at special events.
3Healing balm: is the same as the Rosemary flower.
4Wild Rose-tree represents a poetical person.
5Marigolds (zempasuchil): is considered the symbolic flower of death to the Aztecs. This flower is used as a marker. The scent of the pathway aids the returning soul in finding his/her way home.
6Sea-lavender: This flower represents sympathy.


The interview with maniha ...