The Captive (Asir) | The Wall (Divar) | Rebellion (Esyan) |
Another Birth (Tavalodi Digar) | Let Us Believe in the Beginning of the Cold Season ( Iman Biyavarim beh Aghaz-a Fasl-e Sard )

 

R E B R L L I O N ( E S Y A N )

"Return" and "A poem for you " were among the seventeen poems composed in Rome, Munich and Tehran between August 1956 and the spring of 1958 that appeared together in Farrokhzad third collection called Rebellion. These poems exhibit significant differences from those in the earlier Captive and Wall collections. First, in several of them old testament, Koranic, and traditional Persian literary imagery not so evident in earlier poems creates a poetic texture new to Farrokhzad. Second, the female speaker occasionally expresses concerns about her own death. Third, the collection as a whole embodies a mood and anger reminiscent of Khayyam's in Edward FitzGerald's Rubayat Of Omar Khayyam. For example, in "Divine Rebellion," the speaker declares what she would do if she were God. She would let the sun loose in darkness, throw mountains into the sea, set forests on fire, join souls to bodies brought from the grave, "drive out / the flock of ascetics from the green unholy pastures of heaven," and, finally:

weary of divine asceticism,
at midnight in Satan's bed
I would seek refuge in the downward slopes
of a fresh sin.
I would choose at the price of
the golden crown of godhood,
the dark and painful pleasure
of sin's embrace.

In Rebellion, she reveals that she has moved to that state from her sense of being a captive and facing walls. Farrokhzad herself later referred to Rebellion as "the hopeless thrashing of arms and legs between two stages of life… the final gasps for breath before a sort of release.

Return ( Bazgasht )

On the wall once again the old ivy
rose in waves like a quivering spring,
on the body of its throng of leaves
an old green and the dust of time.

my searching look asked:
where is there a trace of him?
but I saw that my little room
was empty of his childlike clamor..

I rested against the wall,
I said slowly: is that you, kami?
but I saw that nothing remained
of that bitter past but a name.

at last the line of the highway ended,
dusty I arrived from the road,
thirsty at the wellspring of the path of attack and regret.
my city was the grave of my desires.

 

A Poem for You ( Sheri barayeh To ) 
This poem was composed in late July 1957 and dedicated 'to my son Kamyar, with hopes for the future" 

I am composing this poem for you
on a parched summer dusk
halfway down this road of ominous beginning
In the old grave of this endless sorrow.

this is the final lullaby
at the foot of the cradle where you sleep.
may the wild sounds of my screaming
echo in the sky of your youth.

let the shadow of me the wanderer
be separate and far from your shadow.
when one day we reach one another,
standing between us will be none other than God.

against a dark door I have rested
my forehead tight with pain;
I rub my thin, cold fingers
against this door in hope.

that person branded with shame who used to laugh
at foolish taunts was I.
I said I would be the cry of my own existence;
but O, alas that I was a "woman".

when your innocent eyes glance
at this confused, beginningless book,
you will see a deep-rooted, lasting rebellion
blooming in the heart of every song.

here the stars are all dim,
the angels here all weep.
the blooms of the tuberose here
have less value than desert thorns.

here, seated along every road
Is the demon of duplicity, disgrace and deceit.
In the dark sky I do not see
a light from the bright morning of wakefulness.

wait until once again my eyes
overflow with drops of dew.
I have taken it upon myself to unveil
the "pure" faces of the holy Marys.

I have cast away from the shore of good name;
In my heart lies a storm star.
the place of my anger's flame,
alas, is the prison's dark space.

against a dark door I have rested
my forehead tight with pain.
I rub my thin, cold fingers
against this door in hope.

against these ascetic hypocrites
I know this fight is not easy.
my city and yours, my sweet child,
has long been Satan's nest.

a day will come when your eyes
will sadly quiver at this painful song.
you will search for me in my words
and tell yourself: My mother, that is who she was.

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The Captive (Asir) | The Wall (Divar) | Rebellion (Esyan) |
Another Birth (Tavalodi Digar) | Let Us Believe in the Beginning of the Cold Season ( Iman Biyavarim beh Aghaz-a Fasl-e Sard )

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