Long Live War Translated by: Mansor Pooyan Edited by: Tessa Dummett
Photo: Alain Bizos
Let it be: everything in our home is now yours except whoever is outside the front door agreed? She agreed and a smile crept across her lips. I realised: the place where a kissing lip is in short supply would be like a rooftop-edge working favourably only for Venus. That night the smoke's share from my lips given to the cigarette were nothing other than swirls. My hands on my head were thinking, reminiscing about that shell-hit day and the companions who have left me behind. The frontiers continued as long as there was any chance of martyrdom During offences, they flocked in like stock doves. A battalion of commanders and jihaddies and the rest, martyrs. After the battlefield sacrifices, the armed militias were promoted as army officers. The pilgrims of Karbela left the path and became nouveau riche Tehranis. Whether you like it or not they were the squatters like the cuckoo snatching their rich pickings from abandoned dwellings. Wherever there is a mirror we are carried away by it for too long. While our enemies are inside the house we are outside the door. We clenched and raised our fists on lowering them, our backs gave in. Down with…we said and then distanced ourselves from the stance. They closed the roads we ran away through hills and valleys
The mountain took off the snow-cap yet did not get wet. Time passed through a winter episode yet our conditions did not improve. Pitfalls and traps did not open our eyes we did not put on our shoes stepping onto a new path. We didn't set foot outdoors braving the elements nor did we dare to set fire to the shores of this wasteland.
The wave knew that it was trapped in the margin of the sea. The wave knew it could not be content on the shore. The wave became `wavy` (1) and died on the shore.
Plunging deep into the sea naturally carries the danger of being drowned. When you lose a tight rein on a task a serpent may nest in your sleeves.
For such a long time, we chanted: "No West. No East" "Long Live War…" "Down With…" (whoever is other than us) "Down With material life". (we deserve what we are worthy of).
Given the free rein to …whatever I doubt if common sense will prevail. This door, closed to me, is the only door open I have reached a state of existence in which I am non-existent Although I've spread everywhere I am just a drop fallen in my own vein. It is said: once upon a time There was no one even God. Under this azure dome there were only my wife and my dove; had it flown away would have landed on the neighbour's rooftop out there. Here I am far away from myself and my wife, from both. Around my head except me my dove sheltering all the rooftops of the world It was not on going for a census in a city where from its girls not even one was to be mine.
It was not justifiable! Ali and his rival Amroaas were both at the battlefield I am Amroaas the sweetheart of all Tehran's girls My embrace is still a wise hotel in which one night stands are free of charge
Do travel: There is a room in this house that has a single bed But other rooms have several. I am not a lover who has fought with: with those I have slept and having said nothing I carry on my solitude for the Earth who is said to be a woman I have kept my beauty firmly intact in the mirror hoping to come in slowly little by little I have buried within myself the beloved venerable lady and my honourable soldier behind the front line:
Hello! hello! this is Ali! hello! alo! :::boom:::!
Alo, alo! was heard aloud from different wires and the devil ran at the tip of my pen then: in the sounds from the depth of the alley tanks were passing that night The cars, passengerless, were going solo
I am proceeding aimlessly! I've left loose- half way through- the task of buttoning up loneliness is the state I am in I am rehearsing my voice whispering for a woman who is about to ring:
alo! hello! Greetings!
Photo: Alain Bizos
I give her a greeting and she doesn't wave a hand I am a lover but as far as the eye can see there are perverts.
Many memories did not travel with me. …My wife…? I washed my hands of my wife my mother also passed away And what remains at hand is me yet in existence swollen like Sundays. For one as out-stormed as I wings are indeed the bloodline They have given me a small wing. I cannot become unsatisfied – I am. I know perfectly by heart what needs to be done I retuned to finalise my fear You finish it off a combatant who remained fragmented among the mortar's shell fragments. Your eyes in the photograph we had taken at the river embankment - -fighting against the flow were shown sunk. Whenever I look at these pictures I become the contrary I mean it And I hate the woman whose lips whispered at ease into my ears:
:::kiss::: I love you so much.
Hey `Wavy` I am left floating in my own insane eyes Fearing the gradually growing city the rural land is fleeing For survival, `Wavy` took refuge behind a mountain like the moon Nobody was with me nobody was there to accompany me One was with him though remote She became a whore in an alley upon whose lips laughter was murdered she went missing…eventually.
I am going, going to buy a spouse for my empty bed
Me! An Armenian wouldn't give a daughter To someone outside my clan `Shamlou`(2) one who may inflict suffering on my poor child
Close to a shell thrust from its cartridge I was blown out of the window Next to a riverside akin to a fish: having been brought by a wave to the river Karoon's embankment, I have tried to re-vitalise myself I washed the woman off as a hand might scrub the oily dirt off the body The wave was far away, neither coming nor going and the skeletons away from the harbour were shouting that I am now a `Wavy`. They are yelling that I am a lunatic I am not denying that I guess I am! I have no other choice but to stroll in the middle of myself like a street It is not the night No-one, no no-one! Nobody there.
Taller than him his song was climbing the wall fell over the other side the north of this map he landed there-plop! Beyond the gate of his lips the way to the city `Wailing`(3) separating from the road `Fooman` - `Rasht` passing by weeping
Go on! go on! leave me what would you do though with my groaning what would you do with my torn apart heart Assuming you could tear apart the photographs and letters what would you do with the trails of my kisses on your cheek (4)
Would you mind lowering the volume sir…!
The driver reversed away from the black and white photograph When he returned from the war He found it coloured How hard and fast he ran to escape his memories to no avail! He prised the car off the road's body Out of the alley Into the twisting bends of the arms And let it freewheel aimlessly.
My Lord what is wrong with me like people, my words are all short I am fretting my fingers were hurtled into the battlefield I am in a hurry I don't know why… It was my wrong doing I fingered the sky….for no reason Despite so many stars out there None of them belong to me. And life is still going on in spite of the chemical pollution. For what? that may serve me, the "Wavy", right I had a good voice…but I didn't sing I was full of spiritual beliefs but I no longer have such faith. Wandering about I am searching to find myself. has anybody seen traces of it? The earth is still waiting for me to fill in the empty ditch left from the war. How could I open the windows which are gone with the wind? The street has forgotten the night up to the last lamp-post. People look at my empty folded trouser leg as if from a watchtower scrutinising my abnormality.
Alo! dove! alo! Go forward on seventy knots Alo! are you asleep? "Trench"!
"We have proper and smart trenches We are carrying guns on our shoulders Our hearts are full of love for our countrymen In every shell, we have a cartridge…" (5)
What we were talking about? Got it, then I was hit by a bullet and everyone else was affected you also lost all your wind Alas have you forgotten- saying with sincerity- Could you remember that wailing and darkness which filled the streets You remember how the foreigners let their bombs loose on our women and children I was a toddler then- can you understand!? I abandoned Leila, the neighbour's daughter whom I fancied, to the fates and left for the warfront swiftly. At the front, I had a broad shoulder to take on difficulties I had no inclination to go after my business I had no desire for stories and buffooneries At the forefront on the attacking line you could easily distinguish wantons turned now to patriots Do you follow me? do you understand? what now? I was the same age as you when, with other volunteers I stepped forward, going through a mine field. Knocked down by an explosion, I lost consciousness. What happened to you? that your interpretation of the events is so at odds with the obvious? What rubbish are you talking about? Literature! Ha-ha! Isn't it all craziness?
I am a poem to be published one within which, it is forbidden to be masculine Help evict that unacceptable man from me quickly!
Fanatic gangsters give anyone challenging their views a hard blow on the face abrupt and so severe that one would still be frightened of its impact the next day. Like a donkey fainting on a hilltop one had fallen into a deep sleep:::snore::: dreaming like a mule No snout was muzzled except for grazing. I guess it's better I stand by her in order to not to spoil any chance of being together in this house; vast terrains. If I wish to shout at her the Turks will intercept my voice from the satellites…excuse me, hold the line! Let me whisper it into your ears: one night as soon as I arrived she rolled off my sleep and was devoured in another's bed the sun was shining behind a widow in Iraq, quite late!
I am far away! with no option but to draw out my frightened car and skid a break upon someone's lips thus to carry my cross from the mine field I have travelled youth And my fag end was stumped by my passenger's foot why should I not hurry? I am not a fool: counting the years lost at war not one complete bullet reached me from its tanks Why should I not restrain? Behind the gate of my mouth the word `I love you` has gone rotten Last night, I was sleepwalking on the lips of a nun Tonight, I severed a few pieces of India from the map Tomorrow what will be on the cards…I don't I know There might be a bullet in this plot aiming at a heart that is no longer worth it In my hand who has played open his card? Is it me? Don't look at my verses those disconnectedly are speaking nonsense The sketches of my poems are dragged out of pain…
1- PTSD or "Shell-shocked" soldiers-"Wavy" is a Persian slang for a soldier suffering from this condition. 2- A name of an Armenian clan but also the name of a contemporary Persian poet. 3- The city is called "Shivan" which means "Wailing" in Persian 4- This is part of a folkloric song which the protagonist is listening on the radio while taxi driving. 5- This is a popular song used by the state to mobilise the masses for the frontline during the Iran – Iraq war. 6- Each character's distinctive way of speaking consists of the following: a- their words b- the shape of their sentences c- the sounds of their words d- the colour of their discourses The following colours represent different characters appearing throughout the poem:
Black = The protagonist Sea Green = The narrator Red = The supreme leader Khomeini talking Blue = A religious moron speaking Bright Green = Wireless contact Yellow = A woman chatting on the phone Lavender = A woman lover Turquoise = An Armenian father Lime = A folkloric song from northern Iran Gold = A passenger Gray = A commander giving order via wireless Plum = A mobilisation song Brown = Another ex-veteran talking to the protagonist.
|
 |
