از نوبه دنیا می آییم We Are Reborn

از نوبه دنیا می آییم

در رگه های رنگین نیلوفری در آب
از نو به دنیا می آییم
در رگه های گس بدن ماری در صحرا
از نو به دنیا می آییم
در بزاق دهنی اسپی
که بر آن چاپ اندازی سوار است
تا بزی نیم مرده را
تصاحب کند
به دنیا می آییم
با غضروف ها و استخوان ها و مفصل ها
به دنیا می آییم
با تخیل پروانه های که پیش از ما به دنیا آمده اند
با رویاهای کبوترانی که بر لبه بام های فیروزه ای به خواب رفته اند
به دنیا می آییم
تا دوباره برگ درختان را کشف کنیم
و طعم انگور را
و بوی باغهای کشمش را
و رنگ قدیمی انار را
و آهن را و سنگ را
به دنیا می آییم
تا اختراع کنیم آهن می تواند بکشد و سنک می تواند بدرخشد
 
ملخ ها به ردیف ایستاده اند
و به صدای طبلی در دور دست گوش می دهند
مورچگان به ردیف نشسته اند
وبه صدای ما که داریم گریه می کنیم
گوش می دهند
بعد از ما سرمه به دنیا می آید
وبعد شانه به سر
وبعد درخت و سرانجام قاصدک
به ردیف از جایی که به دنیا آمده ایم
به خیابان می آییم
تا به پیغمبری قاصدکی ایمان بیاوریم
که وقت شمع را می داند
از نو به دنیا می آییم
 
نیمی در هند-نیمی در برهوت حجاز- وبه دنبال نیمی می گردیم
که در چاهی در اصفهان به دنیا آمده است
از نو
نام باد
از نو نام باران
از نو نام بهار و زمستان را می اموزیم
از نو همه چیز جهان را زیر و رو می کنیم
که مرگ ، کشف می شود
 
 
 

We Are Reborn

In the colourful streaks of water-lilies
we are reborn
In the dun streaks of the cobra
we are reborn
From the foaming mouth of a horse
ridden by a chapandaz*
in pursuit of 
a headless goat
we are reborn
With cartilage and bones and joints
we are reborn
With the visions of butterflies who came before us
with the dreams of doves who sleep on turquoise domes
we are reborn
To rediscover the leaves on the trees
and the taste of grapes
and the scent of vines
and the familiar colour of the pomegranate
and iron and stone
we are reborn
to reinvent the cruelty of iron and the brilliance of stone
Grasshoppers queue
to hear the sound of a distant drum
Ants form a line
to hear our cries
After us kohl is born
and the hoopoe
and the tree and the dandelion
In the order we are born
we enter the streets
to follow the clocks of the dandelions
that tell the candles' life
We are reborn
one in India, one in the wasteland of Hijaz, both in search of
the one born down a well in Isfahan
In the beginning
we learn the name of the wind
the name of the rain
In the beginning
we learn the names of spring and winter
and we rummage through everything
until we find death
 
* A chapandaz is a particularly skillful player of the Afghan game, Buzkashi, in which the body of a goat is pursued by men on horseback. See Buzkashi on Wikipedia
 

As with ‘Spring’, we were very fortunate to have Reza Mohammadi with us for this workshop on his poems.

Only a few lines into this poem we came up against references to the remarkable game of Buzkashi, the Afghan national game (see the footnote, above). The ‘turquoise domes’ that the doves sleep on refer to the gorgeous Timurid mosques with their distinctive domes, such as the stunning ‘Blue Mosque’ in Mazar-e-Sharif and those in other Afghan cities. Another Afghan reference is to ‘kohl’, the eye make-up but which, in Afghan culture has deadly connotations as well as being about beauty.

As in English culture, dandelion ‘clocks’ (as the name might suggest) are reputed to tell the time, just as a marked-off candle does.

The characters referred to as being born in India, Hijaz and Isfahan, are Adam, Eve and Satan.

Other than picking our way through those very specific cultural references, we found this poem easier than ‘Spring’. But equally beautiful.

We Get Reborn

In the colourful streaks of water lilies
We get reborn
In the tasteless streaks of a cobra in the desert
We get reborn
From the saliva of the mouth of a horse
That a "chopandaz" is riding him
To catch the
Half dead goat
We get reborn
With Cartilages and bones and joints
We reborn
With the visions of the butterflies which have been born before us.
With dreams of the pigeons which have fallen asleep in the edge of 
       turquoise roofs.
We reborn
To rediscover the leaves of the trees
And the test of grapes
And the smell of the raisins' gardens
And the old colour of the pomegranate
And the iron and stone
We reborn
To reinvent that the murderousness of iron and radiances of the stones-Grasshoppers are queuing
And are listening to the sound of a dram which comes from a distance.
Ants are in a line.
And listening to our voice that is crying.
After us "Kohl" gets born.
And then Hoopoe
And then tree and then Dandelion
In the queue from where we get born
We come to streets
To believe in prophecy  of Dandelion.
That knows the candle's time
We get to reborn
Half of us in India= other half in wasteland of Hijaz- and looking for the
         other half
Who was born in a well in Isfahan
From the beginning
The name of the wind
The name of the rain
From the beginning we learn the name of spring and winter
And we rummage everything of the world from the beginning
That the death, getting discovered.
 

Original Poem by

Reza Mohammadi

Translated by

Moheb Mudessir with The Poetry Translation Workshop Language

Dari

Country

Afghanistan