éditions \" à l\'écoute \" , hors commerce

Forugh Farrokhzād , ou Forough, en perse فروغ فرخزاد‎) ( 1935-1967 ) : some poems, in french and english

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More poems on Forough web page.
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The Bird Was Just A Bird

Translation: Maryam Dilmaghani

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The bird said:
“What a bright day, what a fresh air!

Spring has arrived.
I must look for my mate.”

The bird fled from the edge of wire.
The bird soared away towards the clouds-
and disappeared fast.
Just like a wish,
Just like a prayer,
Just like a whisper,
The bird spread far and wide-
in the air.

The bird was tiny.
The bird was light.
The bird was not bright,
The bird was lonely,
But the bird, well,
was truly free.

In the sky,
Over the ups and downs of the hills and the lanes,
Over the traffic lights and over the stop signs,
The bird constantly flew.

And,
in the heights of the peace of her dreams,
She finally felt the blue sense of time and space.

The bird, well, was just a bird.
The bird, well, was truly free.



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 La fenêtre 
traduction  Derayeh Derakhshesh
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Une fenêtre pour voir
une fenêtre pour écouter
une fenêtre comme le cœur d’un puits
abouché au cœur de la terre
et s’ouvrant sur la tendre immensité de l'azur
une fenêtre qui vient offrir
Aux frêles mains de la solitude
Le nuptial présent du parfum dispensé par la clémence des étoiles
De cette fenêtre on peut
Convier le soleil à partager l'exil des géraniums.
 
Une fenêtre me suffit
 
Je viens du royaume des poupées
qui reposent à l'ombre des arbres de papier
au jardin des livres d'images.
Je viens de la sèche saison des amitiés et des amours pour rien
égarées parmi les rues terreuses de l'innocence.
Je viens de ces années où les corps grandissent en compagnie
des  pâles lettres de l'alphabet
contre le bois des pupitres au désert de l'école
je viens de cet instant où les élèves ont su
écrire au tableau les lettres du mot pierre
où les merles affolés du vieil arbre se sont envolés.
 
Je viens d'entre les racines des plantes carnassières
et ma tête déborde encore
de l'effroi bruissant de ce papillon
qu'une main avait crucifié
avec une épingle dans un cahier.
 
Lorsque ma confiance était pendue à la fragile corde de justice
et que par toute la ville
on faisait voler en éclats on frappait au cœur ma lumière…
Lorsque le voile obscur de la foi
aveuglait en moi le regard d'enfance de l'amour
et que des temps inquiètes du désir
fusaient des jets de sang…
Lorsque ma vie n'était plus
que le tic-tac de l'horloge
j'ai compris qu'il me fallait aimer aimer aimer
aimer à la folie.
 
Une fenêtre me suffit
une fenêtre sur la  conscience ouverte, sur le regard, sur le silence.
Maintenant le noisetier
a si bien grandi qu'il peut expliquer
ce qu'attend le mur de ses jeunes branches.
 
Demande au miroir le nom de ton sauveur.
La terre qui sous tes pieds tremble
n'est-elle pas plus seule que toi?
Les prophètes ont apporté
le Message de la ruine
promise à notre siècle;
ces explosions qui n'ont de cesse
et ces nuages de poison
sont-ils l'écho des versets sacrés?
Ô ami ô frère ô jumeau
quand tu parviendras à la lune
inscris donc la date du massacre des fleurs.
 
Les songes
en leur incrédulité toujours tombent de haut et meurent.
Je sens la présence du trèfle à quatre feuilles
qui a fait son lit dans la tombe des antiques notions.
Cette femme en son pudique linceul d'attente est-ce ma jeunesse?
Ma curiosité aura-t-telle toujours ces marches à gravir pour venir saluer
le bon Dieu sur la plus haute terrasse de la maison
 
Je sens que le temps  a passé
je sens que l'INSTANT est ma part des feuillets de l'Histoire
je sens que la table est une fausse distance entre ma chevelure
et les mains de cet inconnu triste.
 
 
Dis-moi quelque chose.
Celle qui t'offre la tendresse d'un corps vivant
qu'attend-elle de toi sinon de se sentir vivante?
 
Dis-moi quelque chose
A l'abri de ma fenêtre
j'entretiens une liaison avec le soleil.
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I Will Greet The Sun Again

Translation: Maryam Dilmaghani

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I am sending-
my warmest greetings to the sun,
and to the tender rivers that streamed in my veins,
and to the raining clouds that forever carried- my endless dreams-
to the other side.

Also,
my greetings go-
to the poplar trees in the yard-
and their sore but graceful aging-
under the comes and goes of sun:
They escorted me in all chilly visits-
of dry times.


And,
I am sending my greetings to the dark crowd of crows:
They always brought me the refreshing scent of nightly crops.

And,
my greetings go to my mother-
who stayed and lived in the mirror,
and looked like my aged face.

And my greetings to this earth, this generous earth-
that the thrill of repeating me, filled its aroused inside- with countless greening seeds.

And :

I will come, I will come,
I will arrive.

I will arrive:
With my flowing locks:
the winged scent of Earth;
With my eyes:
the bright insight of Night.

And I will bring to you-
all the flowers that I picked-
from the other side of the wall.

I will come, I will come,
I will arrive.

I will arrive!
And then,
all the closed gates will be shattered by Love,
And all the forsaken isles will be invaded by Love,
And there, I will greet everybody who loves.

And, I know:
There will be a girl,
still standing in front of the gates,
those soaked gates-
in the Deluge of Love.
I will greet her again as well.
I will greet her again as well.

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Love Song

Translated By Karim Emami

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My nights are painted bright with your dream, sweet love 
and heavy with your fragrance is my breast. 
you fill my eyes with your presence, sweet love. 
giving me more happiness than grief. 
like rain washing through the soil 
you have washed my life clean. 
you are the heartbeat of my burning body;
a fire blazing in the shade of my eyelashes. 
you are more bountiful than the wheat fields, 
more fruit-laden than the golden boughs. 
against the onslaught of darkening doubts 
you are a door thrown open to the suns. 
when I am with you, I fear no pain 
for my only pain is a pain of happiness. 
this sad heart of mine and so much light? 
sounds of life from the bottom of a grave?

Your eyes are my pastures, sweet love 
the stamp of your gaze burning deep into my eyes. 
if I had you within me before, sweet love
I would not take anybody else for you. 
oh it's a dark pain, this urge of wanting; 
setting out, belittling oneself fruitlessly; 
laying one's head on chests hiding a black heart; 
soiling one's breast with ancient hatred; 
finding a snake in a caressing hand; 
discovering venom behind friendly smiles; 
putting coins into deceitful hands; 
getting lost in the midst of bazaars.

You are my breath of life, sweet love, 
you have brought me back to life from the grave. 
you have come down from the distant sky, 
like a star on two golden wings 
silencing my loneliness, sweet love, 
Imbuing my body with odors of your embrace. 
you are water to the dry streams of my breasts, 
you are a torrent to the dry bed of my veins. 
in a world so cold and as bleak, 
in step with your steps, I proceed.

You are hidden under my skin 
flowing through my every cell, 
singeing my hair with your caressing hand, 
leaving my cheeks sunburned with desire. 
you are, sweet love, a stranger to my dress 
but so familiar with the fields of my nakedness. 
o bright and eternal sunrise, 
the strong sunshine of southern climes, 
you are fresher than early dawn, 
fresher and better-watered than spring-tide. 
this is no longer love, it is dazzlement, 
a chandelier blazing amidst silence and darkness. 
ever since love was awakened in my heart, 
I have become total devotion with desire. 
this is no longer me, no longer me, 
oh wasted are the years I lived with 'me.' 
my lips are the altar of your kisses, sweet love 
my eyes watching out for the arrival of your kiss.

You are the convulsions of ecstasy in my body, 
like a garment, the lines of your figure covering me. 
oh I am going to burst open like a bud, 
my joy becoming tarnished for a moment with sorrow. 
oh I wish to jump to my feet 
and pour down tears like a cloud

This sad heart of mine and burning incense? 
music of harp and lyre in a prayer-hall? 
this empty space and such flights? 
this silent night and so much song? 
your gaze is like a magic lullaby, sweet love, 
a cradle for restless babies. 
your breathing is a breeze half-asleep 
washing down all my tremors of anguish; 
it is hidden in the smiles of my tomorrows, 
it has sunken deep into the depths of my worlds.

You have touched me with the frenzy of poetry; 
pouring fire into my songs, 
kindling my heart with the fever of love, 
thus setting all my poems ablaze, sweet love.

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Conquest of the Garden

Translation: Maryam Dilmaghani

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.The crow that flew over us and sank-
in the confusion of a vagabond cloud;
The crow that swiftly crossed-
the extent of the sphere-
like a short arrow-
will tell about us-
in the town.

Everybody knows.
Everybody knows that you and I, 
looked through the oblique crack of the wall-
and saw The Garden.

Everybody knows.
Everybody knows that you and I,
reached for the trembling branch of The Tree-
and picked the apple.

Everybody is scared.
Everybody is scared but you and I,
together joined lights,
mirrors and water-
and feared never.

For you and I,
it is not about a frail union of two names-
in the aged pages of a registrar notebook.
It is about my fortunate locks-
and the burning stroke of your kiss.

For you and I,
it is about the imminence of our skins-
in the sacred wellspring of lightly streams,
swiftly sliding -over the waterfalls and the hills.

And,
it is about the fountain’s songs-
its fleeting flight, its short, silvery life.

You and I,
in the core of a darkened night, 
in the fluid freshness of forests,
on the peak of shielding mounts,
and in a freezing fearful sea-
asked young, golden eagles-
what we ought to do.

Everybody knows.
Everybody knows that we pierced-
into the silent dream of Phoenix.

Everybody knows.
Everybody knows that you and I,
In the prairies and the plains-
reached to the glittering roots-
of Truth.

Everybody knows.
Now, everybody knows that you and I,
in an endless instant, conquered the entirety of Eternity.

For you and I,
It is not about a shaking whisper in the dark.
It is about Day and its invading spark.
It is about a breeze over the fertile side.
It is about birth, evolution and pride.

It is about burning every futile piece-
in the garnet core of the flames.

And it is about our hands-
that contrived a bridge,
concrete and bright,
over the tear of night.

Come to the turf!
Come to the turf-
and call my name!
Call my name-
with a choral of white lilies-
like a gazelle who calls his mate.

The shades of dusk-
are floating in their veiled sorrow.

And doves,
from the windows of their white tower-
are looking at Earth.

Come to the turf!


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Green Mirage

Translation: Maryam Dilmaghani

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The whole day,
I was crying in the eyes of mirrors.
Spring had handed over my window-
to the green illusion of the trees.

I was not fitting into my lonely wrap;
And the smell of my hollow crown-
had infested the surround.

I could not,
I could stand no more-
the noisy lane,
the cry of birds,
the blast of balls,
and the screams of a child…
And then,
the waltz of colorful kites,
in all frames of my windows-
like soap bubbles-
climbing up their white tiny ropes…

And that wind,
the wind was breathing fast,
as if in the darkest depth of a making-love.

They were all, pressing on the gates of my mute fort of faith.
They were breaking through;
And, when they did-
they called my soul-
by her name.

The whole day,
I stared into the eyes of my life.
Those nervous, fearful eyes,
were running away from my sight.
Like helpless thieves, they hid-
in dark, masking holes.

Where was The Peak?
When was The Rise?

“All these spinning roads will end-
in the cold, absorbing mouth of death.”
Isn’t it right?

What did you give me words, sly words?
What did you give me sore limbs?

If I’d put a flower on my hair,
wouldn’t it be better- than this fake,
this paper-made crown,
stinking on my head?

I don’t know-
how the ghost of desert possessed me-
and the marvel of moon moved me away-
from the faith of flock.

And, how the empty hole in my heart grew-
and infected the whole heart.

I don’t know-
how I could stand and watch that Earth,
was falling down underneath my feet.

And, how I could bear-
thta the fever of my lovers-
could never reach-
the fading hope of the void 
in my heart. 

Where was The Peak?
When was The Rise?

Shelter me blinding, mystifying lights!
Shelter me, glowing, silent abodes!
Shelter me in the row of your washed cloths-
swinging on your roofs!
Shelter me in your basin of scented steams!

Shelter me perfect, simple women!
I watch your fingers tracking-
the fantastic course of your unborn child- 
beyond the depth of your expanding skin.
And, I sense that the tears of your robe-
spread in the air, the generous perfume of fresh milk.

Where was The Peak?
When was The Rise?

Oh, shelter me, shelter me!
Shelter me fire-stoves, lucky charms!
Shelter me, singing plates!
Shelter me- in the sticky stream of your sink!
Shelter me, blue melody of sewing machines!
Oh, Shelter me!
Shelter me- in the daily quarrel of rugs and brooms…


Shelter me, greedy loves!
Shelter me, survival instincts!
Shelter me- in your stained conquest bed-
Shelter me- in its elixir flood and blood.

The whole day,
like a forsaken remain riding on the tides,
alone in my boat,
I was heading towards-
frightening rocks, deserted isles-
towards the darkest, most profound caves-
near the most dangerous sharks.

And my thin back-bone was shaking-
up to the extent of the wits of Death.

I could not,
I could no more.

My footsteps at the end,
confessed to the vain futility of the route-
And despair, at last, defeated the patience of my soul.

Then spring,
that Green Mirage,
while passing cross my sight,
whispered to me :

“Look!
You have never advanced,
you have been drowning.”




 



27/11/2012
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