کوهستان اندامت شعر غریبی‌ست The Mountain Of Your Body Is A Strange Poem

کوهستان اندامت شعر غریبی‌ست

با تو در آمیزم
از زیر گرده‌ات تهمینه بزنم بیرون
نه در این دشت محزون
درست وسط کوهستان پیکرت
لای هیبت سنگ‌ها و گرگ‌های پنهان دهان
 
با تو در آمیزم
رخساره چو آتش گلگون کنم
نه در این میانه‌ی مسکوت
لای پریشانی ابرها
لای شکل‌های غریب خاطرت
لای اشتیاق خودم به این همه تلون تو
 
با تو در آمیزم
شور شوم سور شوم مست و پر از نور شوم
نه در آستانه‌ی دری گشوده
لای دریچه‌ای تنگ
لای ازدحام تو در پهلوی من
لای دشنام هیبتت
لای آن کورسوی مانده در بازوانت
با تو در آمیزم
افسانه شوم
من مست و تو دیوانه
بایستم
جیغ‌کشان
فریاد زنان
ما را که برد خانه، بریزد از دامنم
سرخ، سپید، سیاه و کمی هم بنفش
تقدیر من باشد
با تو که در آمیزم
 

The Mountain Of Your Body Is A Strange Poem

I will merge with you
Emerging as Tahmineh from under your loins
Not in these sorrowful flatlands
But right into the mountain of your body
Amidst awe-inspiring rocks and a mouth hiding wolves
 
I will merge with you
Making my face bloom fire
Not in this silenced middle ground
But amid dishevelled clouds
Amid strange shapes of memories
Amid my craving for your shifting selves
 
I will merge with you
I’ll become passion I’ll become feast
Filled with light I’ll become drunk
Not at the threshold of an open door
But within a narrow window
Within your crowding presence
Within the curse of your silhouette
Within that flicker of light left in your arms
I will merge with you
Become myth
Me drunk and you insane
I will rise
Screaming
Shouting
Who will lead us home? Pouring from my dress
Red white black and a little purple
It will be my fate
When I merge with you
 

The Mountain of Your Body is a Strange Poem

I shall merge in you
Bulge out from under your loin as Tahmineh
Not in this sorrowful plain
Right in the middle of the mountain of your body
Amidst the grandeur of rocks and the wolves hidden in your mouth
 
I shall merge in you
Blush my face as fire
Not in this silent field
Amidst the chaos of clouds
Amidst the strange shapes of memories
Amidst my own eagerness to this many variations of yours
 
I shall merge in you
I shall turn into passion into feast
I shall get drunk and filled with light
Not in the threshold of a door wide open
Between panes of a narrow window
Between the crowd of you on my side
Between the blasphemy of your figure
Between that flicker of light left in your arms
I shall merge in you
Become legend
Me drunk and you insane
I shall rise
Screaming
Shouting
Who will take us home? Shall pour from my dress
Red, white, black and a little purple
It shall be my destiny
In you when I merge
 

Alireza Abiz, our bridge translator during this workshop, explained that Shooka Hosseini is writing poetry that boldly contests the social, political and intellectual norms of contemporary Iranian society. Hosseini has gained particular acclaim as a poet whose mastery of form and understanding of the Persian tradition is utilised to new and challenging effect.

This certainly seemed the case with this poem, where the speaker identifies early on with the mythic character Tahmineh. Alireza explained that, according to the Persian legend of Rostam and Sohrab, Rostam is seduced by Tahmineh (the daughter of his host) when she appears in his bedchamber and declares her love. The couple are married and she becomes pregnant with a son that Rostam will eventually unwittingly kill. Tahmineh was also, so the story tells us, the first woman to give birth by cesarean section and, as one of our regular workshop attendees noted, in Hosseini’s poem the culminating image of the something “Pouring from my dress / Red white black and a little purple” recalls the palette of births.

Tahmineh’s actions and choices act as the trigger to a colossal story within the legend of Rostam and Sohrab and as we worked through Hosseini’s poem we tried to retain this sense of agency in the speaker’s voice. We preferred the active but future-focused “will” to “shall” in the refrain line, despite the slightly elevated tone of the poem. Another allusion is to a famous line of Rumi’s, which Alireza recited for us by heart. Here, Hosseini breaks Rumi’s line (“Me drunk and you insane, who will lead us home?”) with the urgent interruption of “I will rise / Screaming / Shouting”. Again, the voice is decisively active. The interruption of such a revered canonical poet is a bold sign of conviction and yet, as elsewhere in the poem, the logic of sense is beautifully nuanced and ambivalent – granting the speaker an active role to enact her fate.

Edward Doegar, Commissioning Editor

Original Poem by

Shooka Hosseini

Translated by

Alireza Abiz with The Poetry Translation Workshop Language

Farsi

Country

Iran