The works of
 
Mirza Agha Asgari (Mani)
 
Translated into English by
 
M. K. Sadigh
 
English language Editor:
 
Ramin Jaleshgari
 
 
 
The key
 
“Where is the key for the desert?
the melody of my flute has been lost
in
the dream of a green pasture.”
-          a Sheppard questioned
-          The earth revolved
-          and
-          slumbered in the shadow of a pine.
 
 
“Where is the fragrant portal of this earth?
I arrived exhausted,
but
within this tired, bent,
circle
I did not find what I asked for.”
-          questioned the old man.
-          The earth revolved
-          and
-          descended into the shadows of sunset.
 
“What happened to the key of love?
The careworn root is withered
from
the absence of the dew-
the absence of the dew`s kisses.”
-          questioned the madman
 
The earth revolved
and
smoldered in the shadow of a weeping willow.
 
“Where is intellect?
I wish that I could find
flourishing madness
within the profoundness of intellect.”
- questioned the wise man
 
The earth neither laughed nor cried,
but revolved
and
slipped into the shadow of a question.
 
“Where is that magnificent phrase
both wordless and abhorrent
which
is the answer for existence?”
- a poet questioned
 
The earth revolved
and
emerged within the desires of childhood.
 
So, we offered to the world
a key
to the gate
of the garden of a thousand questions
 
And again, we offered the world
a key
so that it may
open for itself
the gate
of
the garden of a thousand questions.
 
 
ﻛﻠﻴﺪ
ﻛﻠﻴﺪ ﺩﺷﺖ ﻛﺠﺎﺳﺖ؟
ﻧﻮﺍﻯ ﻧﻰﻟﺒﻜﻢ، ﺩﺭﺧﻴﺎﻝِ ﺳﺒﺰِ ﻋﻠﻔﺰﺍﺭ ﮔﻢ ﺷﺪﻩ ﺳﺖ.
                                     ﺷﻴﺪﺍﺋﻰ ﭘﺮﺳﻴﺪ.
ﺟﻬﺎﻥ، ﭼﺮﺧﻰ ﺯﺩ ﻭ ﺩﺭﺳﺎﻳﻪﻯ ﺻﻨﻮﺑﺮ ﺧﻔﺖ!
ﻛﺠﺎﺳﺖ، ﺩﺭﻭﺍﺯﻩﻯ ﻣﻌﻄﺮِ ﺍﻳﻦ ﺧﺎﻙ؟
ﻫﻠﺎﻙ ﺁﻣﺪﻡ، ﺍﻣّﺎ
ﺩﺭﺍﻳﻦ ﺳﭙﻨﺞِ ﺧﺴﺘﻪ- ﺧﻤﻴﺪﻩ،
ﻧﻴﺎﻓﺘﻢ ﺁﻥ ﭼﻪ ﺭﺍ ﻛﻪ ﻃﻠﺐ ﻛﺮﺩﻡ.
                            ﺳﺎﻟﺨﻮﺭﺩﻩ ﺋﻰ ﭘﺮﺳﻴﺪ.
ﺟﻬﺎﻥ ﭼﺮﺧﻰ ﺯﺩ ﻭ ﺩﺭﺳﺎﻳﻪﻯ ﻏﺮﻭﺏ ﻓﺮﻭﺷﺪ.
ﻛﻠﻴﺪِ ﻋﺸﻖ ﭼﻪ ﺷﺪ؟
ﺍﻳﻦ ﺭﻳﺸﻪﻯ ﭘﺮﻳﺶ
ﺑﻰﺑﻮﺳﻪﻫﺎﻯ ﺷﺒﻨﻢ ﺧﺸﻜﻴﺪ.
                                 ﺷﻴﺪﺍﺋﻰ ﭘﺮﺳﻴﺪ.
ﺟﻬﺎﻥ ﭼﺮﺧﻰ ﺯﺩ ﻭ ﺩﺭﺳﺎﻳﻪﻯ ﺑﻴﺪﻯ ﻣﺠﻨﻮﻥ، ﻛﺰ ﻛﺮﺩ!
ﻧﺸﺎﻥِ ﻋﻘﻞ ﻛﺠﺎﺳﺖ؟
ﮔﻔﺘﻨﺪ ﺁﻥ ﺟﻨﻮﻥِ ﺷﻜﻮﻓﺎﻥ ﺭﺍ
ﺩﺭ ﮊﺭﻓﻨﺎﻯ ﻋﻘﻞ ﺗﻮﺍﻧﻢ ﻳﺎﻓﺖ.
                                ﻋﺎﺭﻓﻰ ﭘﺮﺳﻴﺪ.
ﺟﻬﺎﻥ
ﻧﻪ ﺧﻨﺪﻳﺪ، ﻧﻪ ﮔﺮﻳﺴﺖ،
ﭼﺮﺧﻰ ﺯﺩ ﻭ ﺩﺭﺳﺎﻳﻪﻯ سؤﺍﻟﻰ ﻟﺮﺯﻳﺪ!
ﻛﺠﺎﺳﺖ ﺁﻥ ﺷﺎﻫﻮﺍﮊﻩﻯ ﺑﻰﺣﺮﻭﻑ ﻭﮔﺮﻳﺰﺍﻥ
  ﻛﻪ ﭘﺎﺳﺦِ ﻫﺴﺘﻰﺳﺖ؟
                                     ﺷﺎﻋﺮﻯ ﭘﺮﺳﻴﺪ.
ﺟﻬﺎﻥ ﭼﺮﺧﻰ ﺯﺩ ﻭ ﺩﺭ ﺣﺴﺮﺕِ ﻛﻮﺩﻛﻰ لاﻝ ﻓﺮﻭﻣﺎﻧﺪ!
ﻭ ﻣﺎ، ﺑﺎﺭﻯ
ﺍﻳﻦ ﺟﻬﺎﻥ ﺭﺍ ﻛﻠﻴﺪﻯ ﺍﺭﻣﻐﺎﻥ ﻛﺮﺩﻳﻢ
ﺗﺎ ﺩﺭﻭﺍﺯﻩﻯ ﺑﺎﻍ ﻫﺰﺍﺭ ﭘﺮﺳﺶ ﺭﺍ
                               ﺑﻪ ﺭﻭﻯ ﺧﻮﻳﺶ ﺑﮕﺸﺎﻳﺪ!
اسفند 68
 
 
***
 
 
 
 
At a sandy bank
 
 
Polar star,
kisses the highest wave
and
the warm moonlight of your shoulder
casts over the sea.
 
The essence of the world
is
a kiss that you offer my lips
and
the moment of your joy
spreads
to the far reaches
of existence.
(At the sandy shore,
droops
the curtain of reservation.)
 
My inflamed hands form
the shell
enclosing the cool pearl
of your face.
And my lips
drink
from the transparent spring
of your body.
(When will the empty body spread
its weariness
over the cool sands?)
 
Your curled hand is a pleasant chain,
to which I grow accustomed!
(On a sandy bank,
two waves mingling
are two naked shadows!)
 
Fisherman,
snatch fish from the sea,
and I snatch
the most hidden phrases
from your mouth.
 
Only the sea, moon and sand
sing the silence
which is
the most beautiful song in the world
 
(At a sandy bank,
the sands
become transparent
from
the world of love!)
 
There was no speech,
no sound
Whatever happened upon that shore
was a whisper.
 
The soul makes waves
and the sea
brings a rhapsody
to a dance.
 
With its tongue
the sea
licks
the two entangled shadows,
(At the sandy bank,
a trace of ourselves
cast over the shadow of the sands!)
 
I came home,
to find you gone,
but
the sand particles
imbued with your scent
Flung!
in the corners and sides
of the room.
 
ﺑﺮ ﺑﺴﺘﺮ ﺷﻨﻰ
ﺳﺘﺎﺭﻩﻯ ﻗﻄﺒﻰ ﺑﻮﺳﻪ ﺑﺮﺑﻠﻨﺪﺗﺮﻳﻦ ﻣﻮﺝ ﻣﻰﻧﻬﺪ،
ﻭ ﻣﺎﻩِ ﮔﺮﻡِ ﺷﺎﻧﻪﺍﺕ ﺑﻪ ﺩريا ﻣﻰﺗﺎﺑﺪ.
ﻋﺼﺎﺭﻩﻯ ﺟﻬﺎﻥ ﺑﻮﺳﻪﺋﻰﺳﺖ ﻛﻪ ﺑﻪ ﺩﻫﺎﻥﺍﻡ ﻣﻰﺑﺨﺸﻰ.
ﻭ ﻟﺤﻈﻪ، ﺳﺮﺧﻮﺷﻰِِ ﻣﺎ،
ﻛﻪ ﺗﺎ ﺍﻧﺘﻬﺎﻯِ ﻫﺴﺘﻰ ﻣﻰﮔﺴﺘﺮﺩ.
         ﺑﺮﺳﺎﺣﻞ ﺷﻨﻰ
         ﭘﺮﺩﻩﻯ ﻓﺎﺻﻠﻪ ﻓﺮﻭﻣﻰﺍﻓﺘﺪ.
ﺻﺪﻑِ ﻣﻠﺘﻬﺐِ ﺩﺳﺘﺎﻥﺍﻡ
ﺩﺭﻣﻴﺎﻥ ﻣﻰﮔﻴﺮﻧﺪ ﻣﺮﻭﺍﺭﻳﺪ ﺧﻨﻚ ﺳﻴﻤﺎﻯﺍﺕ ﺭﺍ.
ﺍﺯ ﭼﺸﻤﻪﻯ ﺯلاﻝِ ﺗﻦﺍﺕ ﻣﻰﻧﻮﺷﻢ.
ﺁﻧﻚ، ﺗﻦﭘﻮﺵﻫﺎﻯ ﺗﻬﻰ ﺑﺮﺷﻦﻫﺎﻯ ﺳﺮﺩ
                    ﻛﻪ ﭘﺮﺍﻛﻨﺪﻩ ﻣﻰﺷﻮﻧﺪ.
ﭘﻴﭽﻚِ ﺩﺳﺘﺎﻥﺍﺕ، ﺧﻮﺷﺎﻳﻨﺪ ﺯﻧﺠﻴﺮﻯ،
ﻛﻪ ﺑﻪ ﺁﻥ ﺧﻮﻣﻰﮔﻴﺮﻡ!
         ﺑﺮ ﺑﺴﺘﺮِ ﺷﻨﻰ،
         ﺩﻭ ﺳﺎﻳﻪﻯ ﺑﺮﻫﻨﻪ، ﺩﻭ ﺧﻴﺰﺍﺏﺍﻧﺪ
         ﻛﻪ ﺩﺭﻫﻢ ﻓﺮﻭﻣﻰﭘﻴﭽﻨﺪ!
ﻣﺎﻫﻰﮔﻴﺮﺍﻥ، ﻣﺎﻫﻴﺎﻥ ﺭﺍ ﺍﺯ ﺩريا ﻣﻰﺭﺑﺎﻳﻨﺪ
ﻭ ﻣﻦ،
ﭘﻨﻬﺎﻥﺗﺮﻳﻦ ﻭﺍﮊﻩﻫﺎﻯ ﺍﺳﺎﻃﻴﺮﻯ ﺭﺍ ﺍﺯ ﺩﻫﺎﻥﺍﺕ.
ﺗﻨﻬﺎ، ﺩريا ﻭ ﻣﺎﻩ ﻭ ﺷﻦ ﺳﺮﻣﻰﺩﻫﻨﺪ ﺳﻜﻮﺕ ﺭﺍ
  ﻛﻪ ﺯﻳﺒﺎﺗﺮﻳﻦ ﻧﻐﻤﻪﻯ ﺟﻬﺎﻥ ﺍﺳﺖ.
         ﺑﺮﺑﺴﺘﺮ ﺷﻨﻰ، ﺷﻦﻫﺎ
         ﺍﺯ ﺳﺨﻦِ ﻋﺸﻖ ﺷﻔﺎﻑ ﻣﻰﺷﻮﻧﺪ!
ﺩﻳﮕﺮ ﻧﻪ ﮔﻔﺘﻪ، ﭘﭽﭙﭽﻪﺋﻰ ﺑﻮﺩ
ﺁﻥ ﭼﻪ ﺩﺭﻛﺮﺍﻧﻪﻫﺎﻯ ﺗﻐﺰﻝ ﺯﻣﺰﻣﻪ ﻣﻰﺷﺪ.
ﺟﺎﻥ ﻣﻮﺝ ﻣﻰﺯﺩ
ﭼﻨﺎﻥ ﻛﻪ ﺩريا، ﻣﺮﺟﺎﻧﻰ ﺭﺍ ﺩﺭﺧﻮﻳﺶ ﺑﺮﻗﺼﺎﻧﺪ.
ﺩريا، ﺯﺑﺎﻥ ﻓﺮﺍﺥ ﻣﻰﻛﻨﺪ ﻭ
ﺩﻭﺳﺎﻳﻪﻯ ﺗﻨﻴﺪﻩ ﺑﻪ ﻫﻢ ﺭﺍ ﻣﻰﻟﻴﺴﺪ.
         ﺑﺮ ﺑﺴﺘﺮ ﺷﻨﻰ
ﻧﻘﺸﻰ ﺯﻣﺎ ﺑﺮ ﺍﺑﺪﻳﺖِ ﺷﻦﻫﺎ ﺳﺎﻳﻪ ﮔﺸﻮﺩﻩﺳﺖ!
ﺑﻪ ﺧﺎﻧﻪ ﺑﺎﺯﺁﻣﺪﻩﺍﻡ،
ﺗﻮ ﻧﻴﺴﺘﻰ ﺍﻣّﺎ،
ﺷﻦ ْﺭﻳﺰﻩﻫﺎ ﻫﻨﻮﺯ ﻋﻄﺮ ﺗﻮ ﺭﺍ
ﺩﺭﺟﺎﻣﻪﻫﺎ ﻭ ﻛﻨﺞ ﻭ ﻛﻨﺎﺭﻫﺎ ﻣﻰﭘﺮﺍﻛﻨﻨﺪ!
 
***
 
 
The Warning Songs of the Dead
 
 
Sometimes, to remind myself of the value of life, in all its infirmity, I go to a graveyard and I wonder “if the dead could speak, what would they say?” These songs were borne of this thought.
 
 
Philosopher
 
I was the counselor to the troubled
and myself had troubles!
 
I discoursed over a thousand pages!
not one befitting me!
 
Now that I wish to talk
my mouth is filled with soil!
 
Doubt was gnawing me
while I proclaimed certainty!
 
Otherwise, I know that existence
is a double-sided mirror
not facing but backing away.
 
On one side I saw the inward
and on the other the outward.
 
Be aware that you are neither lying upon scented silk
nor upon purple waves
you are lying on a bed that will turn you to ashes!
 
For only death is a repetitious certainty
Just as the pit of the fruit is its only existence!
 
 
A Virgin
 
 
In this non-fertile world
whose inhabitants do not communicate
except
with silence,
candles were lit upon my grave,
I am no longer used to light!
 
But you have discovered my mirror,
wipe the dust from it
so all may discover
the beauty I possessed,
the abundant beauty I carried with me
to
the company of the soil.
 
If white lily grows from my hair
or
if a morning glory grows from my shoulder
-          they are my answer to the world!
 
Under my silent window
remained a minstrel
playing a guitar
The window which was always closed to joy
awoke from the songs
of
the tipsy minstrels!
 
Why?
Why didn`t I open the window
to love
which tiptoed in on the fingers
of a wise man?
 
Still – my   reflection remains in the mirror!
 
 
A Stranger
 
 
How heavy is the gravestone of time upon my chest
How bitter to be deposited in strange soil!
 
Where is my birthplace?
No! I will not become ashes!
I have born my loneliness upon my tired shoulders
from the most remote lands.
 
I was not seeking the soil,
but release.
 
Now, I am waiting in the field of ashes1
No! I was no ash,
therefore I refuse to satisfy
the
appetite of the soil
 
Where is that beautiful hand,
that mingles this bitter soil
with the soil of my home?
 
 
 
Khayam
 
 
Little by little,
I am ascending from the roots of the tree
and I will spread myself bright and fragrant
over
the wet bed of leaves.
 
Little by little,
the sun and wind
drink me
breathe me!
 
You breathe me and know
that the air
is nothing but our scattered beauty.
 
We are buried alive,
we are
fermenting in the wine of the soil.
We are the sparkle
in
the diamond dew.
We are flooded
with
a rain of phrases.
and
with ripened fruit kiss your mouth.
 
We know death
is
a measuring cup full with soil
being filled and emptied!
 
 
 
The Child
 
 
The stone, scorpion, and silence
No,
a cradle is not as such!
- dirty rain drops at his lips
merge with the appetites of the earth
before
he has suckled the breast of the soil.
 
Why was he not allowed to pluck a fruit
with his mouth
from
 
the old tree?
 
I bring the sun towards you
because
from your resting place
blooms a bed of flowers!
 
 
 
Scavenger
 
 
The silver castle did not satisfy me
Neither did the orchard of pomegranates, pistachios and grapes.
 
I wanted the entire earth, with its pregnant deserts,
the seas and their bounty
and the mountains laden
with
diamonds and rubies.
 
I wrapped the world around me.
like a large cloak!
I wanted to compress the earth
so I could fit it like a coin
in my closed fist.
 
Now, the earth compresses me
in its fist
like a small coin.
 
I were revived, I would rest upon the dew.
 
 
 
 
An Unknown
 
 
My name was “human”
and it still is!
 
My home floated
from region to region.
I lived among you.
 
If I adopted or dropped a quality
it was your quality.
 
If I sang a song
It was from your throat
 
I drank in the face of the earth
with your eyes.
 
It was you
and still it is.
 
Yet, in a twinkling you nominated for yourselves
an unknown death!
 
 
 
A Monk
 
 
Even Christ has forsaken me!
Only maggots in abundant fields
remember my name!
 
I have no desire any more
Except
to revive
and return for an hour
so I may commit the sin
whose shame is within me!
 
And offer my rueful smile
to a woman who loved me!
 
Even Christ has forsaken me!
I have no desire,
except to die again without regret.
 
 
 
Soldier
 
They taught me;
“Kill to live!”
So I aimed at another`s forehead
and
a bullet passed through my own!
 
It is always as such,
humans do not fire
except into a mirror!
 
If I fought, it was for life --
it was for this I killed.
 
It was for death that they did not allow me to live!
 
Do not touch my forehead
it burns still
from the bloom
of a bitter red poppy.
 
 
 
سرودهاى عبرت مردگان
 
 
 
هزار گاهى براى آنكه ارزش زيستن را با همه ی نيك و بدهايش فراموش نكنم سرى به گورستان مى زنم. گاه مى انديشم كه اگر مردگان را مجال سخن بود، چه مى گفتند؟ سرودهاى زيرين در اين فضا هستى يافته اند.
 
 
فيلسوف
 
 
مرشد مسئله گو بودم و
خود مسئله دار!
با هزار صحيفه سخن گفتم
بى چيزكى فراخور گفتار!
اکنونم كه كلامى فرا چنگ آمده
دهان همه از خاك است!
شك مرا مى خائيد
بگاهى كه داعيه ی يقينى داشتم!
 
ديگر امّا مىدانم كه هستى
دو آينه ی رودررو كه نه
آينه ئى دو رويه بود.
زانسويش بدرون تابيديم و
زينسويش برون شديم.
 
هشدار كه
نه بر حرير معطّر
نه برامواج ارغون،
بر بسترى خواهى غنود
كه خاكسترت مى كند!
زان كه تنها مرگ
يقين مكررى ست
چنانكه هسته
هستى بادام است!
 
 
 
دوشيزه
 
 
در اين سرزمين سترون
كه ساكنانش
جز با سكوت، سخن سر نمى دهند
بر گور من چراغ ميفروزيد
ديگرم با روشنى الفتى نيست!
امّا گر آينه ام را يافتيد
غبار آن بزدائيد
تا دريابيد
چقدر زيبائى
با خود به ميهمانى خاك آوردم.
 
مينائى سپيد اگر روئيد بر گيسوانم
و يا نيلوفرى شكفت اگر ابر شانه ام
پاسخم به جهان خواهد بود!
زير پنجره ی خاموشم
هنوز هم مردى عاشق
تنبورمى نوازد
پنجره ئى كه هيچگاه
از نغمه هاى سرخوش خنياگران نيز
بيدار نشد!
 
چرا؟
چرا پنجره را نگشودم
به عشق كه مى شكفت
در سرانگشتان عارفى؟
هنوز تصويرم
در آينه ها باقى مانده ست!
 
 
 
غربت
 
 
چه سنگين است سنگتخته ی زمان
كه فرو نشسته بر سينه ام.
چه تلخ است
امانتى خاك بيگانه بودن!
زاد بوم من كجاست؟
 
نه،
خاكستر نخواهم شد!
تنهائى ام را
بر شانه هاى خستگى
تا دورترين اقاليم آوردم
من خاك را كه نه
رهايش را مى جستم
اکنون امّا
در آستانه ی خاكستر.
انتظار مى كشم!
 
نه!
خاكستر نبوده ام
پس اشتهاى خاك را بر نخواهم آورد!
كجاست آن دست زيبا، كجا
كه خاك تلخم را
با خاكهاى وطن درآميزد؟
 
 
 
خيام
 
 
خردك خردك
از ريشه ی درخت فرا مى خزم
روشن و معطّر
بر بستر تر برگ فرا مى گسترم.
خردك خردك
خورشيد و باد مرا مى نوشند
تنفسم كن!
تنفسم مى كنى و مى دانى كه هوا
جز زيبائى پراكنده ی ما نيست.
 
زنده بگورانيم ما
در شراب خاك تخمير مى شويم
در الماس شبنم ها مى درخشيم
با واژگان باران فرو مى باريم
و با ميوه ی رسيده، دهانت را مى بوسيم
و مى دانيم مرگ
پيمانه ئى سرشته ز خاك ماست!
 
 
 
كودك
 
سنگ و عقرب و خاموشى.
نه
گهواره اينچنين نبايد باشد!
چركدانه ی باران بر دهانش.
دراشتهاى زمين فرو شد
پيش از آن كه
از پستان زمين بنوشد.
چرا نگذاشتند
از آن درخت كهنسال
ميوه ئى به دهان گيرد؟
 
آفتاب را
به جانب تو خواهم آورد
زان كه از خفتنگاه ات
غنچه ئى
سربرزده است!
 
 
 
مال اندوز
 
 
كاخ بزرگ نقره كم ام بود
باغ انار و پسته و انگور نيز.
تمام زمين را مى خواستم
با دشتهايش آبستن و درياهايش پر اندوخته
با كوه هايش، جارى الماس و ياقوت.
 
چه تنگ بود مرا دنياى فراخْ دامن!
مى خواستم زمين، فشرده شده
چون سكه ئى
در مشت بسته ام در گنجد
و زمين است اکنون
كه مرا چون پشيزى
در مشت خويش مى فشرد!
اگر دوباره برآيم شايد
آشيان در شبنمى بگزينم!
 
 
 
گمنام
 
 
نامم آدميزاده بود
هنوز نيز چنين است!
 
خانه ام ديار به ديار جارى بود.
ميان شما زيستم
در قامت شما بود
قامتى اگر گشودم و بستم
با خنجره ی شما بود
ترانه ئى اگر كه سرودم
با ديدگان شما بود
جمال جهان را اگر كه نوشيدم.
شما بودم من
هنوز نيز چنين است
و طرفه آنكه شما خود را
مرده ئى گمنام نام نهاديد!
 
 
 
 
راهب
 
 
مسيح نيز فراموشم كرده است!
تنها موريانه ها
در بايگانى متروك
نام مرا به خاطر دارند!
 
ديگرم آرزوئى نى
مگر كه ساعتى بر گردم
و گناهى را كه حسرتش با منست
بشكوفانم!
و لبخند دريغ شده ام را
ارمغان زنى كنم
كه دوستم مى داشت!
 
مسيح نيز فراموشم كرده است!
ديگرم آرزوئى نى
مگر كه ديگر بار
بى حسرتى بميرم!
 
 
 
سرباز
 
 
مرا آموختند:
" بكش تا زنده بمانى!"
پيشانى اش را نشانه گرفتم
و گلوله ئى از پيشانى ام گذشت!
 
هميشه چنين است
كه آدمى جز به آينه ی خويش
آتش نمى گشايد!
 
براى زندگى بود
اگر كه جنگيدم.
براى جنگ بود
اگر كه كشته شدم
و براى مرگ بود
اگر كه نگذاشتند تا بزيم!
 
بر پيشانى ام دست مگذاريد
هنوز نيز
از شعله ی شقايقى تلخ مى سوزد!