ببارید تا آبرویش بریزد a wonderful kind of angry
i have thought some more about this poem and what is it in particular that makes me like it so.
i guess that beneath the syntax and meter and the dignified rhythm of it, and the overall way in which it is a beautiful little poem, it is the anger in it that is so good about it.
a latent anger. a self-deprecating, introspective anger.
a wonderful kind of angry.
a beautiful lament.
a resigned anguish.
ببارید ای ابر های جلالی
بر این کهنه ابریق خشک سفالی
ببارید تا آبرویش بریزد
چرا مانده این گونه از عشق خالی؟
ابوطالب مظفری-
*
i would love to translate this, and if i knew that i could do even a half-done job of it, i would attempt it here and now. but i know that i can’t do justice to it now.
maybe after a while, when my infatuation with it reduces, i can make an attempt. for now, it is so high on the pedastel on my mind that anything i do would almost seem as if i am polluting it. strange how we are with things and people we come to love and admire too much. we scare ourselves away from them.
يا چکاوکها!
قراولان خوابند
گشاده بالتر از باد های سرگردان
ز آشيانهء خونين خود فرود آييد
که ز هر حادثه را در گلوی شب ريزيم
چو دانه دانهء باران به روی شب ريزيم
ز بام سرخ شايق به کوی شب ريزيم
بر آستان شفق آبروی شب ريزيم
همیشه ی عزیز، فکر کردم خواندن یک بخش از شعر استاد باختری برای تان خالی از لطف نباشد.
we do scare ourselves of them.. don’t we?
the poem is beautiful.. I have read it before and I meant to look for the whole thing.. but I forgot.. If I did find it, I will share it with you.
Grrrr…curse my inability to read Dari!