© Munem Wasif

 

A terror state of siege
Poet : Ali Abdolrezaei
Translator : Abol Froushan
Critic : Mansor Pooyan
Auditor : Dr Helen Pearce
 

Before advancing my critique of the poem Terror, I would advise the reader to read the poem itself first. This allows a comprehensive point of reference to be maintained against multi-dimensional remarks I make throughout the assessment. So let's read the poem Terror here first:

From far away                        you bury your father

wipe your mother's tears        from far away

in a café where you can ambush loneliness

you chat with a weeping house

video call from afar

Mother            three steps above everything like a moon                 is up there

kissing Mahsa (moonface)

goes after Mahtab (moonlight)

and yet her demeanour which carries a headache

is the execution of my placeholder

in the the arms of a few women

In a banned house

they're all coming

like I have left

            I'm in deep sorrow

this sorrow of my words

in Langrude

at the foot of a bridge that's more a stallion than running

                        they killed my father

they killed my father

                        but

                        only in Langrude

otherwise each year someone's

                        leaving, breaking away

Friday is a bleak house that was massacred

and the family, the Iran which was executed at home

since we chanced out of the loins of Eve

and Adam became man's exclusive pa

we put Jesus in the Church

so the hero so hidden in women's loins

            would manifest instantly

to send death

            that's ahead of the horse

                        far from the house

At the foot of the bridge that so lacks a father

            as Jesus son of Mary

I was so walking in myself

            as to put my town to shame

Not so shamelessly as Juda

to unleash wolves to kill the father

I should keep quiet

            so the rabid dog won't wake

and bark and bark in the house

and the blood letter lurking in female loins

won't get the chance

            to cut a wound in the morning

now that the horse is the principle

and death        the bailiff

with the sorry state of my eyes

that make a small sea for the frog to swim

what do I do if I don't risk

no longer will few extra throats harbour such a lump that makes a necklace to my throat

death

            is sat squatting in my sorrow

the knife can no longer help my life

the bottle is so full

            that any longer has no wine

and the wound that has a depth of ruin

is so effective

that blood is random walking through my drunken veins

the one who was my pa

the big baba

the  friend on road

the one seen

            jamming with me

I was left alone

Am alone

            by my J's

am alone

            by my J's

more alone

            by my J's

                        more than ever

This alley is more for the job than a knife

            this house from the arm

this pain

            will last another man

this man

            will rise in another place

the road's father is from either side

and death        that is life's destination

                        is the services café along the way

It has a lantern

            but it's dark

has bitter tea   in narrow waisted cup

but sweet

like a lament spilling off the call of lovers

A Ashura band of chest-beaters         this side of the way

singing            oh my Hosein             oh my Hosein

A band of chest beaters                      that side of the alley

Oh my standard bearer's stature        where art thou?

Like a nation bequeathed of Imam Hosein

            a home town is left behind

from a little house

at the end of a road

in a remote place left behind

A nation that put to fire its country like a match

slayed the bedstead

and morphed the spouse to a sea

Long live the wind that was but late

Long live the desert that has no sea

and mother

       mother

    a mother who can no longer

            pin her lips onto my cheeks

The road has a journey on either side

and me            a half torn hyman       a half torn hymn of Sohrab on the wedding night

I haven't shed the father's blood to come true

I'm whiling death's remit

like a shoe with laces  untied

I'm such a lout

that could for the killer

who has a stocky stature

turn my thumb to a spade

you say Ouch!

And be careful

god is great     hallelujah

father is not dead  hallelujah

and love

like a recipe with water's flesh           against the mince with the face of a cow      is all ready

Mary is not anti magdalin

Leila is not anti love

 and La Elaha Ella Love

            is a hailing

                        that has a son from tomorrow’s

the alley in each house is the father

and for pa

            a nurse

            that is privately

and a rice paddy         which can't be sold without my signature

I am heir to your wound father

what have I to do with your garden

give your assets to your brother

and your son in law who sleeps with the most sisterly god

            enjoying his time

I'm like a brigade who's lost a country

my base is lost, no longer to be found

I'm gone like a sunrise after sunset mother

at least sweep the clouds off the mountain of Karbala[1]

plow the snow weighing down on my roof

don't cry

just your being there for me to look into your eyes

is still more than enough

the fact that you kept saying God is Great aloud as I misbehaved while you were praying and now that God is Great keeps bugging your life

God is Great

Cradled in the sunset going down the slope of Thursday

Halva again

why don't you donate the dates again?

Oh my lord

The half finished painting of my wedding night

and I'm such a lout

that cannot help being a fathered child

I've even forced my Sunday to go to church

to sit next to Marge somewhere along the isle

and constantly

to wink at Mahsa who is a female Jesus

I'm no longer the person that I was

I have no time

and when ever I have no time is the (right) time

I am no longer a man  who is no longer like Adam

if you are

just say Ouch!

*******

As this poem is a fairly long one, it would seem logical to start with the whole of the opening stanza looking for clues of a central opposition, which should help to come to grips with the main subject matter of the poem.
In the first stanza of The Terror, Ali Abdolrezaei describes how he feels and then goes on to mention the loss of his father. A sense of pain is set against his absenteeism to tackle family issues back home. Thus a bewildering sense of space via a dichotomy of here and there is created. This idea of a distant place is important to Ali. This poem is filled with glimpses, with echoes of large areas of experience tantalizingly out of reach.
Terror’s approach is strong in its evocations of the fragility of life, exploring birth, death and memories.
In this regard poetry is used as a way of ordering and understanding traumatic experiences. Can readers really engage with poetry which is deeply rooted in the personal? Can this kind of poetry have lasting value or will it be too connected to particular incidents and historical frameworks?
War poetry provides counter argument to this debate in the sense that experiences of post traumatic stress disorder (PTSD) might have incredible resonance for readers who were not alive or having had witnessed the socio-historical conflicts of the same nature.

From far away
you bury your father
wipe your mother's tears from far away

The first stanza signals to us that the poet is leaving behind the world he is alienated from. An auto-biographical account is presented here as a heart-rending account of his life in exile.

in a café where you can ambush loneliness
you chat with a weeping house
video call from afar
 

Oddly the poem inadvertently draws attention to the sort of things that really are happening in today's Iran. The poem sheds light on a state of siege governed by a form of terror controlling private and public life in Iran. The poem endeavors to demonstrate the general feeling of insecurity at all levels of society under Islamic Holy terror.

A nation that put to fire its country like a match
slayed the bedstead
and morphed the spouse to a sea
Long live the wind that was but late
Long live the desert that has no sea

Here an unrelenting sequence of painful images is conveyed. The harsh realities of a society where pain, suffering and death exist are depicted through terrorising imagery. Painful reminiscences of the past keep drifting back in.

at the foot of a bridge that's more a stallion than running
they killed my father
they killed my father
but
only in Langrude
otherwise each year someone's
leaving, breaking away
Friday is a bleak house that was massacred
and the family, the Iran which was executed at home

Terror is a poem that reflects nihilistic views as well as conspiratorial outlooks. Begun in the wake of a family tragedy, the poem is imbued with the disillusionment of Iranian intelligentsia with the Revolution of 1979. No solution is provided as the poem ends in confusion. Ali seems to provide a kind of epigrammatic solution to thematic issues in the poem.

I'm no longer the person that I was
I have no time
and when ever I have no time is the right time
I am no longer a man who is no longer like Adam
if you are
just say Ouch!

Ali sets up a tension in the poem and develops his themes in consistently sensory images that are not fully resolved. He appears to be saying that we cannot resolve the misery or turning our backs on death and decay.
In the next episode, the protagonist makes confession that he is ashamed of pessimism and drunkenness to secure his futilitarianism.

death
is sat squatting in my sorrow
the knife can no longer help my life
the bottle is so full
that any longer has no wine
and the wound that has a depth of ruin
is so effective
that blood is random walking through my drunken veins

This poem appalls us with visions of horror as the entire picture is so negative and depressing. The vision presented is of a world where values and standards have gone, where what is destroyed is a sense of humanity.

now that the horse is the principle
and death the bailiff
with the sorry state of my eyes
that make a small sea for the frog to swim
what do I do if I don't risk
no longer will few extra throats harbour such a lump that makes a necklace to my throat

In the above, "horse" symbolizes a vessel by which one can escape the homeland whereby "death" is the bailiff who is knocking at doors to confiscate livelihood. He illustrates the scenes of either fear of death or state of misery.
Terror Ali's fascinating poem is divided into three varied sections and the poem is strong enough to hold all flesh put on the bones and façades of its structure. There are parts about his childhood, moving pieces about his parents and about his own experience of the mother.

Mother three steps above everything like a moon is up there
kissing Mahsa (moonface)
goes after Mahtab (moonlight)
and yet her demeanour which carries a headache
is the execution of my placeholder
in the arms of a few women

In the first section, the protagonist bemoans the seemingly impossible attempt to write accurately about his family life back in Iran. The mother, like a moon, is independently and passionately looking after his two sisters (Mahsa and Mahtab: two poetic metaphors in classical Persian literature) and despite suffering headache, keeps him in the company of her friends in spare time.
He smoothly slides away from childhood tempting to switch to his loss of identity in adulthood when he decides to leave his hometown (Langrude) in Iran.

In a banned house
they're all coming
like I have left
I'm in deep sorrow
this sorrow of my words
in Langrude
 

The second section takes a more autobiographical approach to social conflict and the split between people and the regime in Iran. But a continuation of a sequence from his earlier exploration of personal fragility provides a linking thread. This childlike quality of past reminiscences is sustained throughout the poem.

and mother
mother
a mother who can no longer
pin her lips onto my cheeks

Although the poem begins with the memories of family life, it quickly moves on to bring about social disintegration problems in post Revolutionary Iran.
However, once Ali has drawn the reader in, darker implications begin to take over.

At the foot of the bridge that so lacks a father
as Jesus son of Mary
I was so walking in myself
as to put my town to shame
Not so shamelessly as Juda
to unleash wolves to kill the father
I should keep quiet
so the rabid dog won't wake
and bark and bark in the house
and the blood letter lurking in female loins
won't get the chance
to cut a wound in the morning
 

At this point of the lengthy monologue, the protagonist is justifying his low-key profile to avoid confrontations with unscrupulous figures who will stop at nothing to advance their egoistic gains. He suspects the death of his father at the foot of the bridge in Langrude was part of a greater conspiracy like in Judah’s story.
The narrator assumes it is wise enough to keep quiet in order to defuse the aggression of "the rabid dog" in his hometown from committing further atrocities. They trawl the population for soft prey and at the same time boasting about their religiosity.
One of the most remarkable aspects of the poem is the sense of humour with which the poet tackles his problems, addressing major issues such as Islamic paternalism, loss of identity and isolation.

like a shoe with laces untied
I'm such a lout
that could for the killer
who has a stocky stature
turn my thumb to a spade
you say Ouch!
And be careful
god is great hallelujah
father is not dead hallelujah
and love
like a recipe with water's flesh against the mince with the face of a cow is all ready
 

In the third section, religious/ mythical allusions are used to portray a sense of self-estrangement. One needs to be aware that the three sections, though tapped into very fertile ground, are intertwined and fragments of each section are repeatedly scattered throughout the poem.
At points such as the above, the idea of a religious tribute seems almost a mockery. The poem alludes to religious folktales as if the situation is so unprecedented that the old forms can’t cope with it.

Mary is not anti Magdalin
Leila is not anti love
and La Elaha Ella Love
is a hailing
that has a son from tomorrow’s
 

It is an allegorical poem: telling one story while seeming to tell another. Satirical at times, but prominently based on a strong allegorical structure. Here the imagination dwells upon the Creation myth to infer the conflicting human characteristics. The images and stories in this poem provide an opportunity to discover more about Iran.

since we chanced out of the loins of Eve
and Adam became man's exclusive pa
we put Jesus in the Church
so the hero so hidden in women's loins
would manifest instantly
to send death
that's ahead of the horse
far from the house

The narrator here attempts a Christian-devotee stance, but shows another way of looking at oneself. Here he plays the role of Christian to an imaginary congregation. Distancing himself from a violent venture, he seems to zoom into sensations and difficulties, so that surreal aspects of relationships emerge as well as a humour which might have been blurred in a head-on approach.

I've even forced my Sunday to go to church
to sit next to Marge somewhere along the isle
and constantly
to wink at Mahsa who is a female Jesus
 

Through a soliloquy, the problems facing the narrator are expressed. The entire poem is a soliloquy in which the poet speaks his thoughts out loud. Imagery is laced with continual references to beasts of prey and hypocrisy even within the family.

the alley in each house is the father
and for pa
a nurse
that is privately
and a rice paddy which can't be sold without my signature
I am heir to your wound father
what have I to do with your garden
give your assets to your brother
and your son in law who sleeps with the most sisterly god
enjoying his time

The sequence humorously points up how we are doomed to harbor mistaken assumptions even about those closest to us. One way or another, Terror sits down with us at the kitchen table wherever we are.
Probably the most personal affectionate sequence is the part that adopts the voice of a humble son speaking about his mother.

I'm like a brigade who's lost a country
my base is lost, no longer to be found
I'm gone like a sunrise after sunset mother
at least sweep the clouds off the mountain of Karbala
plow the snow weighing down on my roof
don't cry
just your being there for me to look into your eyes
is still more than enough
the fact that you kept saying God is Great aloud as I misbehaved while you were praying and now that God is Great keeps bugging your life
God is Great!

The poem consists of a series of personal/ historical stories that delight in their own quiet inventiveness and deftness of touch and at the same time they conjure darker, even apocalyptic, perspectives.
Karbala is a holy city for Shiite pilgrimage. People go there to mourn and pay tribute to Imam Hosein.

This alley is more for the job than a knife
this house from the arm
this pain
will last another man
this man
will rise in another place
the road's father is from either side
and death that is life's destination
is the services café along the way
It has a lantern
but it's dark
has bitter tea in narrow waisted cup
but sweet
like a lament spilling off the call of lovers
 

This poem has a story line and a second hidden meaning. It is about haunting memories of family life in a world where death exists everywhere. Although it is redolent with ambiguity, the poem succeeds in many different levels of meaning-personal, social and societal.

The road has a journey on either side
and me a half torn hyman a half torn hymn of Sohrab on the wedding night
I haven't shed the father's blood to come true
I'm whiling death's remit
 

Many striking effects come from conscious or unconscious double meanings. One may encounter an ambiguous passage where there is no clear meaning, and come across an ironical part where several exist. The anachronism of the Iranian socio-political context at the moment would inevitably lead to a sudden and unintentional descent of ludicrous and ridiculous (bathos).
The protagonist makes reference to Sohrab (a tragedy character in Persian classical literature) as an analogy to imply his own predicament.

A Ashura band of chest-beaters this side of the way
singing oh my Hosein oh my Hosein
A band of chest beaters that side of the alley
Oh my standard bearer's stature where art thou…
 

Here the poet is reflecting the anachronistic nature of the Iranian thinking patterns. Thus one ubiquitous claim amongst the politically dominant class is that human rationality alone is not enough to rely on in solving pressing personal/ social problems.
In the above assertion, a third person appears to remind the reader of this religious zealotry. The religious factional in-fighting has drawn even brothers into different set of ideological values simply because of their religious affiliations.
Hosein was a prominent religious figure in seventh century Islam, who lived under the most difficult outward conditions of suppression and persecution. He was eventually martyred in the battle of Karbala on the day called Ashura since.
The emergence of a third voice in the stanza above is belittling towards the factional divisions of the Shiite in commemoration of their Imam Hosein.

Like a nation bequeathed of Imam Hosein
a home town is left behind
from a little house
at the end of a road
in a remote place left behind
 

Etymology of Ashura then means Commemoration for Hosein after Battle of Karbala. Commemoration of Ashura has great socio-political value for the Shi'a. There are ceremonial dramatizations designed for popular consumption aiming to arouse pity and passion for Hosein.
Nevertheless, the protagonist resembles himself and his homeland with Hosein and Karbala. Reminiscences may become a framework for his marginal and dissenting status.
The re-emergence of the third voice in the stanza below is soothing this time round as a folkloric song is re-cited.
This interventionist folk motif that finds its place in this poem on a transitory basis contrasts with the narrative's engagement with a surreal or fantastical world of fractured identity depicted in paradoxical sequences.
Another area in which this folk voice intervenes is when a melancholic folkloric song emerges between two schizophrenic presumptuous sequences.

the one who was my pa
the big baba
the friend on road
the one seen
jamming with me
I was left alone
Am alone
by my J's
am alone
by my J's
more alone
by my J's
more than ever
Behind the conjured larger themes and landscapes we encounter a melancholic narrator who broods upon the sadness of life.
Cradled in the sunset going down the slope of Thursday
Halva again
why don't you donate the dates again?
Oh my lord
The half finished painting of my wedding night
and I'm such a lout
that cannot help being a fathered child
 

What's more, the poem goes on to articulate what for Abdolrezaei is probably a guiding aesthetic:

"whenever I have no time is the (right) time/I am no longer a man who is no longer like Adam!/if you are?/just say Ouch!"

The end of "Terror" quietly offers something to hold on to: some glimpse of an answer in his alertness to a predicament/state of mind with an ongoing willingness to reassess.

*******

The epithet “Persian modern poetry” refers to poetry that was written as long ago as the Constitution Revolution in Iran (1905), but in general the usage of the term usually implies literature since the 1950s.
Suspended between a half-forgotten traditionalism and an oppressive modernism, the occurrence of the Iranian Revolution initially won the heart and mind of the intelligentsia.
Following the establishment of the Islamic Republic in 1979, the devastating eight-year war with Iraq, where thousands of teenagers ran for martyrdom, scarred the psyches of the younger generation for years to come.
In today's Iran the right to freedom of expression is curtailed; thus poets cannot engage directly with those political issues. Further, general disillusionment with politics means political poetry is now largely unfashionable in Iran. Having said that, Poetry is the still small voice of opposition which avoids attacking the abusing power head on, nevertheless shows it to be the crude bully boy that it is. In current circumstances, Iranian poets can't write without any resonance to politics as if they could shut the window and get on with their work. It’s something you can't choose to forget about.
Ali Abdolrezaei does not engage directly with politics but at the same time he cannot afford to ignore them.
Terror is a varied collection of themes with echoes across its different parts, all equally vital to the whole.
This poem is a continuation of a sequence from his earlier poems. Terror is concerned not only with divisions between public and private life but also with the interplay between inner and outer worlds, imagination and reality, physical and spiritual. Terror is a dark, unified poem moving towards regeneration.
What links the poems more than anything is this overriding sense of not belonging, of fragility, even in our relationship with the self. What starts as a self addressing piece ("From far away / you bury your father / wipe your mother's tears / from far away") quickly shifts into a poem about the speaker's own elusive hold on the past:
Friday is a bleak house that was massacred
and the family, the Iran which was executed at home
The poem's final section adopts the voice of a pragmatist as he speaks about the subtleties and complexities of his fortunes. The poem is delicately surreal, exploring the fragility of life and uncertainty.
Throughout, the poem draws on fantasies transforming the familiar into strange evocations of tensions of intimacy, frustration and paranoia. This poem is a good example of his ability to compose with surreal agility, glimmering with shadows and more ominous implications. Abdolrezaei's rich imagery and luxuriant imagination recalls the transformations of Chagall paintings and the dream-visions of Salvador Dali.
Ali's poetry is distinctively illustrative of post 1979 Persian literature. This phase in particular includes a tendency to protest against social idealism, very characteristic of the previous literary modernism. Post-Revolutionary Persian literature promises a new dawn – much like that outburst of art, literature and philosophy in Europe following World War II.

March 2009

 

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