My Journey to Persian Poetry
Keith Thomas
My name is Keith Thomas—I am a scientist and engineer working on research and development of new materials in Switzerland. I am 35 years old and was born and raised in Albuquerque, New Mexico, but I have been living in Europe for more than a decade. Thanks to my proximity to the mountains, I make the most of my free time hiking, climbing, and skiing, and exploring the Swiss Alps. I am a lifelong language and literature enthusiast and always have a classic novel, poetry collection, or historical book tucked away in my backpack. From time to time I also enjoy writing original poetry.
My first real encounter with Persian culture was in 2010 after becoming close friends with several Iranians while studying abroad in Germany. The goal of one day learning Farsi was planted in my mind, but it lay largely dormant due to academic and professional obligations until 2020, when coronavirus-related lockdowns left me with much more free time than usual. Inspiration arose from limitation, and I downloaded a few language-learning apps to make a proper attempt at learning Persian.
After building up some basic vocabulary, I was able to make much more progress thanks to the help of Ali Najmi, a fellow engineer and language instructor working remotely from his home in Indonesia. Once I had basic conversational fluency, I sought out a handful of online language-exchange partners to help further my progress, mainly offering my assistance preparing for English exams in return for help with Farsi. When it comes to learning a language, the best approach isn’t necessarily the fastest or most efficient one, but rather one that keeps you motivated. For me, that is reading and translating poetry with the help of my Iranian friends.
Over the past two years, I have explored and translated a broad selection of Persian poetry, ranging from medieval to modern, elegant to obscene, and protests for peace to political propaganda. My translations are intended to provide an English-language echo of the Persian originals, reflecting as much of the beauty, sonority, structure, and meaning as possible. As with any translation, compromises are inevitable, but it is my sincere hope that the reader will derive as much pleasure from reading these poems as I have from translating them.
روز‌های آخر آبان
اثر پانته آ صفایی بروجنی
درخت‌ها همه عريان شدند، آبان شد
و باد آمد و باران گرفت و طوفان شد
نيامدی و نچيدی انار سرخی را
كه ماند بر سر اين شاخه تا زمستان شد
نيامدی و ترک خورد سینۀ من و … آه!
چقدر يكشبه ياقوت سرخ ارزان شد!
چقدر باغ پر از جعبِه‌هایِ ميوه شد و
چقدر جعبِۀ پر راهیِ خيابان شد!
چقدر چشم به راهت نشستم و تو چقدر
گذشتن از من و رفتن برايت آسان شد!
چطور قصه‌ام اينقدر تلخ پايان يافت؟
چطور آنچه نمی‌خواستم شود، آن شد؟
انارِ سرخ سر شاخه خشک شد، افتاد
و گوشِ باغ پر از خندۀ كلاغان شد…
The Last Days of Autumn
by Panthea Safai Borujeni
The trees had all shed their leaves; autumn had gotten old
The wind blew and the rain fell and in the torrent rolled
You never returned to pick the red pomegranate
Left hanging from this branch till the onset of winter’s cold
You never returned and finally my chest burst… oh!
Overnight red ruby’s price fell by a thousandfold
How full of crates packed with fruit, the garden overflowed
How full of crates the lanes became, their fruits long since sold
How earnestly I yearned to again set eyes on you
How easily you moved on and left me pigeonholed
How has my life story concluded so bitterly?
How has this fate I’d tried to avoid now taken hold?
The red pomegranate withered on the branch and fell
And in the garden’s ears the sound of crows cackling tolled
صد دانه یـاقوت
اثر مصطفی رحمان دوســت
صد دانه یـاقوت دســته به دســته
بــا نظم و ترتیب یک جا نشســته
هر دانه ای هســت خوش رنگ و رخشان
قلب سفیدی در سینه آن
یـاقوتها را پیچیده بــا هم
در پوششی نرم پروردگارم
هم ترش و شیرین هم آب دار اســت
سرخ اســت و زیبــا نامش انار اســت
One Hundred Rubies
by Mostafa Rahman Doost
One hundred rubies, all packed in a group
Neatly arranged, they form one great troop
Crimson flushed, each one like the rest
An ivory heart beats in each grain’s chest
Gems tucked away, within a soft case
Placed by God’s hand, kept under his grace
Both sweet and sour, yet juicy all the same
Such splendid scarlet; and pomegranate is its name
