IS A SITE OF ART,LITERATURE, CULTURE AND SCIENCE,ESPECIALLY HEALTH AND MEDICAL SCIENCES,PUBLISHED IN MAJOR LANGUAGES AND IN SEVERAL CHAPTERS.THE GOAL OF THIS SITE IS TO PROVIDE,PRODUCE AND PROMOTE FREE WORDS AND IMAGES FOR FREE FOLKS OF OUR PLANET.
Tonight is the night of that unending wealth
It is not night,it is the wedding of gracefuls
That kind pair chanting in unison
Tonight is the night of journey of beautifuls
Your sound is our favorite
So eloquent and content,day and night
If your sound is weary,we are weary
Let your sound be always like sugar reed
There was no intimate but love for me
Not the first nor the last or beginning for me
The soul calling me from inside for me
Don't be hesitant of love,open the door for me
If you are all self,come out of yourself
Leave the stream and side with Oxus
As you bear the sphere
Circle up to the top of sphere
My heart is living for your sorrow
Stranger with people and intimate with your sorrow
your grace of sorrow be it not to my heart
but so lonely your sorrow won't fit
I thought of you when enchanted
I threw Saghi's glasses to break
Frenzy now,not sober nor drunk
but rumor says I am insane
Not that flowing stream won't wish fish
Not that fish won't wish flowing stream
Not that the soul of the world is weary of lovers
Not that lovers won't wish the soul of the world.
I said to you Saghi to bring straight wine
That wine who makes the living free
You said there will be wind in this sphere
Till it reaches here,pour more wine
Don't let it be without whispering for our ear's secrets
Don't let it be without lover's face for our eyes
Don't let it be without reed flute and wine for our feast
Don't let it be a breath without yours,o lover!
Who said the eternal living is dead
Who said the sun of hope is dead
That enemy of sun climbed to the roof
Closed both eyes and claimed the sun is dead..
We are lovers up and down
of our lover is the world up and down
of up and down our king came out pure
And up and down came one in the search
She came here but never left
This stream never been waterless
Is she bag of musk ,and we are the scent
Have you heard of musk without scent?
I wait to hold you tight like a harp
And play as lovers' note
If you want to hit the mirror
I will be coming to you with stone and mirror
Hear what reed flute narrates/She is complaining of separations
the opening line of masnavi molavi/also: mathnavi molavi
"The world suspended in a drop"
All drawn towards the door
With the whole world
is crowding in your face.
MORE ROBAIYAT RUMI
This is another Non-Fitzgeraldian experience in translation
TO CELEBRATE RUMI's BIRTHDAY
TR.by : F.S.
(all 3 parts to be linked to facebook}
AND RUMI SAYS:
*Came along screaming my drunken idol
Sat with me like a carafe of sorbet
Laid down harp and silk
Took off the cover naked that I;m happy and selfless
All to and fro to your quarter
All tendency of eyes and heart towards you
Even if convicted of all sins
Still seeing the whole world on your face
From frenzy nightingale I hear the song
From wind the attractive whirling
In the water all reveries of lover
From flower all familiar fragrance
Kai Akins ,baby boy,in utero at seven months, reciting Dr.Faramarz Soleimani's masterpiece poem titled :
this picture is taken virtually at Anusheh Amini Akins baby shower on August 28,2010, before happening!
I was waiting long
to kai you
then it took another longtime
Now after all that
O baby Kai!
I know if you kai
so I kai
but if I kai
I wonder if
you should kai too
or just to see
we all wait
for incidental happenining
at the time of happiness.
If I kai
or not kai
when barely there
you just bear with me.
till we kai.
you're going to Fred
to make it FredErick
and now you just kai
I just kai
We all kai.
Rain or shine
dry or wet
O Baby Kai!
faramarz soleimani I, cover,moj/wave,selected poems
faramarz soleimani II, back cover,new censure,special issue
faramarz soleimani III, cover ,new censure,special issue
faramarz soleimani IV,detail
DRAWINGS BY: M.K.SADIGH,
IRANIAN ARTIST ,POET AND WRITER
*from M.K.SADIGH,a new book of poetry ,ILAM,has been published in Farsi/English.
His other books of poetry are:
FROM A GLIMPSE TO PROFOUNDITY
Sadigh's paitings also published in a book and could be viewed in his website: http://www.mksadigh.com/ firstname.lastname@example.org
"El universo que otros llaman biblioteca,se compone de un numero indefinito,y tal vez infinito,de galerias hexagonales,con ventilacion en el medio."
در مقوله ی زندگی , شعر و هایکوهای بورخس ,نباید طرح های داستانی او را از یاد برد که گهگاه به کوتاهی یک فراز است و نماینده ی برخورد بورخس به داستان کوتاه.
در واقع بورخس به تمام ادبیات به شکل روایت به شعر می نگرد و خود را شاعری می نامد که در فاصله ها قصه نیز می نویسد تا بورخسی ها یا غیر قصه هایش را تکمیل کند که نوشته های دورانی مفرد , یا مفردات اوست در
چرخه ی زمان , چیزی که تاریخ نام گرفته است یا ادبیات بزرگ . بورخس این مقولات را با نوشته هایی در باره ی شکسپیر تعریف می کند که به زعم او پیش خدا جای دارد و که می گوید
من که بی هوده این همه آ دم ها بوده ام آرزو دارم یک تن باشم
و باز به گفته ی بورخس صدای خدا از گرد باد پاسخش می دهد
من نیز بی هوده این همه آدم ها بوده ام و آرزو دارم یکی باشم .شکسپیر کار تو را به رویا دید و در میان رویاهای من , تو هستی که چند تایی و هیچ یک ...
Having discussed Borges ' life through his poetry and haiku,one might overlook the fantastic fictions of this great writer of 20th century,also known as FICCIONES.,his short parables of a few pages long,and at times even a paragraph!
FICCIONES are popular personal introductory style of Borges in short story writing and numbering 18 of them in print.
In fact Borges looks at the whole literature as "story telling poem."He calls himself a poet who writes stories in between,and in him these two genres are supplementing his non-fictions,as BORGESIAN,which is that single cyclic writing in a circle of a time,called history or the grand literature within.He defines it through writing about Shakespear,who stands before God and says:
"I who have been so many men in vain,wish to be one"
and according to Borges again:
"God's voice answered him out of a whirlwind:
I,too,am not I .I dreamed the world as you,Shakespear,dreamed your own work,and among the forms of my dream are you,who like me are many,yet no one".
In Borgesian,as well as Ficciones,Borges came down the Tower of Babel as one or many,and yet no one,to share his fantasy with poets like Shakespear to Whitman.,Pound,Eliot,writers like Joyce(of whom he translated part of Ulysses into Spanish)Poe,Twain,Kafka ,Chekov,the realistic-fantastic Conrad and his mysteries,,and especially Cervantes with his Don Quixote,no matter if he read it first in English,and then indulged to digest it,in Spanish,as no one's imaginary world will take shape without Don Quixote de La Mancha.to satisfy one's appetite for epic,and dreadfull desire for dreams.
Borges once mentioned his works moved from expression to allusion.Expression is what the others are expecting you ,as a young author,to write.It is more for a common reader to be taken to common places and meanings.It satisfies publishers too,who are always after a few pages more.By all means he is immersed in Olde English and prefers "South American Speech"to fast pace of Spaniards and their writers.He dislikes blurring the words and the sounds.He is fascinated with literature and culture of The East.That is how his Ficciones are formed and delivered alongside with Borgesian.
jorge luis borger,author of poetry and prose,man of the books and biblioteques,loved khayyam and the robaiyat.in fact,his father,jorge borges ,translated robaiyat khayyam into spanish,through edaward fitzgerald's english version.
this could probably expain the tendency of borges to write shorter haiku poems and haikuesque stories.
See More: rendaan.blogspot.com/july2010/farsi translations
LA VASTA NOCHE
NO ES AHORA OTRA COSTA
QUE UNA FRAGANCIA/
the endless night
is now nothing more
than a scent
?ES O NO ES
EL SUENO QUE OLVIDE
ANTES DE ALBA/
is it or isn't it
the dream I forgo
BAJA LA LUNA
LA SOMBRA QUE ES ALAGRA
ES UNA SOLA/
under the moon
the lenthening shadow
is all the shadow
LA VIEJA MANO
PARA EL OLVIDO/
the old hand
goes on setting down lines
LO OCIOSA ESPADA
SUENA CON SUS BATTALLAS
OTRO ES MI SUENO/
the sword at rest
dreams of its battles
my drea is something else
EL HOMBRE HA MUERTO
LA BARBA NO LO SABE
GRECEN LAS UNAS/
the man has died
his beards doesn't know
his nails keep growing
JORGE LUIS BORGES,
poet,writer,story teller,metaficyionalist,critic of Spanish,Portuguese,French,Anglo-Saxon,Old Norse
Like Yush of Nima,Shiraz of Hafez and Sadi,Chile of Neruda,Andalusia of Lorca,St.Lucia of Derek Walcot,Dublin of Joyce,Paterson of Wlliam Carlos Williams,Prague of Kafka and...,Buenos Aires belongs to Borges.He did not like Peron and his Argentine version of fascism,similar to Franco,s.He disliked leftist poets like Neruda and lorca who travelled to Argentina in 1930's,but still praised them,also with magic realism of Marquez.He defended Videla,And visited another version of Videla,Peron and Franco in Chile,to say kind words about Pinochet who presented literary award to Borges.By these controversies,Borges denied himself a Nobel Prize in Literature.
Jorge Luis Borges who started publishing poetry and literary journals since age 22,continued writing through short stories and fictions/ficciones.He loved Iran and Persian culture,and in particular fascinated by Omar Khayyam(1048-1131).Interstingly,his father,The , Jorge Borges Translated Robaiyat Khayyam into spanish.
and Borges himself published: El enigma de Edward Fitzgerald ,in Otras inquisiciones,1952.Also:
In praise of shadow/Elogio de sombra,1969
Ajedres/Chess,in El hacedor/Maker,1960
He Once asked:
THERE WAS A GARDEN OR GARDEN WAS A DREAM?
The themes of Iran/persia and the east,together with tigers,swords and knife fighters,labyrinths and libraries,solitary horsemen and daredevils,mirrors,compassand chess are always present tthrough his works,to make along with dreams and nightmares,theory and translation.Speaking of translation,borges believes that originals are always unfaithful to translationsThe Tower of Babel also fascinates him,as is a passage to talk of translation and liguistics,as well.
Borges in his last piece(1986) wrote:
"The Tower of Babel,which is one of his ruses God laid flat on the plain,continues to project its shadow over the imagination of men...It is not impossible that the termTO BABBLE in English and BABBLN
in German drive from BABEL ,and not from the first sounds articulated by children."
As a twofold imagination,Borges quotes a bishop:"The myth of the Tower had its origin in the wonder felt by the nomadic tribes when they saw the temples of Babylon."
Borges ,the author of Buenos Aires Fever(poems,1923),Poems(2010)Ficciones(1944 and 2010),The Aleph(1949),Labyrinths(1962),El informe de Brodie/Dr Brodie's Report(1970, also directed the series
Biblioteca di Babele,an anthology of fantastical tales in thirty volumes.
Jorge Luis Borges ,who married his secretay,Maria Kodman, in april 1986,died of liver cancer in June 1986,in Geneva.On literature,he once said:
"In the order of literature...there is no act that is not the coronation of an infinite series of causes and the source of an infinite series of effects."
I open your calendar
in an enthusiastic red
escape the poison
of your impulses
the sky will bow
and you bow
to your beauty
of your sky
with your open calendar
if you may
I know poetry.
Now that you make a bouquet of poppy for me.
why it is yellow?
why not red?
why suspended in the air?
Poor editor asks.
we pass the firey bouquet.
we are on fire
within our red walls.
I open your book in the rain
I wonder if your poem
still a poem
or just wet.
I ask my Cameroonian friend
to wear a mask.
I ask my spanish friend
to be Don Quixote de la Mancha
if not Sancho Panza.
He did not feel to the occasion.
So I go back
to page you
in the rain.
Rain or shine,we do not wait .
Be a poet.
Vigorous and indefatigable facebookish friends posting poetical pearls or prose parables for enthusiastic people,friends or just hidden persons,disguised in pix and pen names.
These still seems to be more of a dialogue between parties,but not a reader-writer relationship in distance
or a faraway touch.
It is an impulse to participate,to take part in the play.To make play on the vast stage of the world.
PLAY is the keyword,
is the whole plain
in our planet of digitalia.
So actually as a play or main course,or discourse
we paly in a virtual playstation
day and night.
or even selfless.
As it has been discussed before on these notes about Facebook,this is an effective way to prevent total oblivion,Alzheimer's disease and or any other types of mental derangements.It is a social artifact to promote sociability,as a mind sport and exercise.It is a searching tool to promote search and re-search.It is denying pathology of patho.
LIFE,PROBABLY IS ANOTHER KEYWORD,WHEN PLAYS.
In the movie AMADEUS,when Mozart finishes his very first performance in the court,the emperor looks at Salieri,a musician-turned -critic,and asks his opinion.The envious Vienna man smiles and says:
Too many notes!
Antonio Salieri,could be Mozart by his own right-minus genius,but cast as villain-was born August 18,1750,Leganago,Italy,but grew up in Vienna,Austria.Among his pupils are Beethoven and Schubert.
He was more a composer of vocal music and wrote some 45 operas.
Salieri died 1825.
Was he able to collect some of Mozart's handwritten pieces to take home,if Ms Mozart allowed him?
Hey,you never know!
Working on DIGITALIA* of blog and facebook and website is like being on call in emergency rooms of hospitals.You always go back and give another shot to put another stitch or yet start another I.V.
It is a chief editor's desk without a coy chief editor!
*DIGTALIA:You know where digitalia is!It is a country which is there and still there is not.
It used to be called: internet.
EDVARD MUNCH.the Norwegian symbolist artist,sometimes turned realist-symbolist
is in NGA of Washington,D.C.,presenting his prints.
Munch meticulously cutting the layers of human psyche to expose fears in awe and screams.His works in 19th century fin-de siecle and before world war I has more of a poetical value to show human sufferring.Whether all these emotions are taken from photography or are inspired by his personal experience with witnessing the terrifying savage volcano,is still under debate.
But they are there,
The reality of apalling and fear.
the deep sound of scream,
a melodrama of madness and melancholy,
as W.H.AUDEN says:
HOW IT TAKES PLACE WHILE SOMEONE ELSE IS EATING
OR OPENING A WINDOW
OR JUST WALKING DULLY ALONG.
Ironically in a block away,on the west wing of National Gallery ,we are able to browse at a huge photgraphic howl
of King Allen Ginsberg ,of Beat Generation and his peers such as Jack Kerouac,William Burrows,Gregory Corso,Lawrence Ferlinghetti,Diane Di Prima,Gary Snyder,ang others.
It is a similar experience and still different.
It is realist and symbolist again.
And fear of a generation lived and wrote through the experience of war,
a man made volcano,offered to men,women ,culture and nature.
FARSI / PERSIAN
To supplement this site of 1000 posts or more
in English and other languages,
I have started: http://faramarzsoleimani.blogfa.com/
In Farsi/persian language.
It is growing with poetry and prose
It 'll grow
You were not with me
in Pei's pyramids
you were not with sun
and your images
were not at peak
to stay in camera obscura.
You were not you
and not of you of you.
You were unidentified by you
Are we getting
from bewitched bay?
Or giving the sly fox
Or agonizing steps
Versions of you
when you ask
for a big river in the valley
and or when you run it.
to wash off pale rainbows
after the rain,
IN WINDY WAVE.
Shrunk river swelling in you
like flip flop of august.
What color were you?
were your eyes
when you arrived
on your dream boat of some times?
AND SUN RETURNS
TO WASH OFF
YOUR PALE RAINBOW
WITH SWELLING RIVER.
BEHJAT SADR HANNANEH
One of the pioneers in persian modern painting,Behjat Sadr,also presented her works in international exhibitions,including Venice Biennal 1956
O KLLIOPE,also CALLIOPE
patron of poetry
mother of Orpheus
who lived in lyre
or gave birth to lyrics
innocent as virgin.
O lover of Apollo
who gave him two sons
mother of King Rhesus
the victim of Trojan,
mother of Linus
who gave birth to rhythm
O dear Calliope!
who slept in anyone 's bed
and no one's.
Everyday is your birthday.
Every moments of life
O muse of inspirations
We are in love with you
who are in love with poetry.
And you know that
poetry is a high wall
you either jump over
or hit it hard by bear head.
Long live logic of love
Death yo denialism,
O poetry of myth
against all outrageous boiling blooded fighters
of retro retarded era
O lovely Calliope
of naked dreams
Indulging your curiosity to Saghar.
She better be Saghar,then.
In my book
She is a cup or wine glass
and in older Farsi:
Leather,granulated and unprocessed.
I checked the 1400 friends
in this wild river
we swim everyday
and found her to be :
A PUBLIC PIC
Or may be a surprise?
Say to me.you!
In an era of possibilities
of Eistein Relativism.
And back to my book:
Saghar is Shagrin,in English,
Chagrin ,in French,like in Balzac novel
Also sometimes CHGHAR,for hard stuff in Farsi
and KEIMOKHT,leather before tanning or processing.
See More: www.facebook.com/saghar
We cross path by coincident
To exchange our dreams
Embarking on a labyrinth of lost love
Found in tomorrow's mystic river.
Swim with me
in this wild white river.
while singing wild.
Swim with me
O river rider!
*DMITRY SHOSTAKOVICH 25 SEP 1906-
He only looked at Stalin
on his deathbed
and he looked at him
he was quiet
he didn't say a word
he was quiet
he didn't say
and he only looked at him
with sergey prokofiev
in waiting for
dictator's last gasp
before his own,
He is still around and the new movie of him:
is out.Alive and well.
This is a 10 minute Keystone Studio silent comedy of 1914,from the genius,just released.
He plays a policeman but all the markers and signatures are there.So add it up to the list of Charlie;s classics,although he only appears for 3 minutes.
It is another treasure of his treasures.
It is a must see for Charlie's lovers.
and have fun!
...AND SAP POURING IN YOU AT THE TIME OF STORM LIKE A WALL PAPER FLOWER
Took the shadow
to the sun
a scaffolding tower of shadow
you were late in the afternoon
when I lost my way.
you were late in lost ways
now that I took you
to the shadow.
dancing with weathervane
spilled in grooves of
Time travels thru us
we beat her
until she succeds to
Someday I return
the one I lost
6 million years ago
if I see
to embrace her and
whisper in her pink ears:
I returned to find you
my lost love
of 6 million years
I still wavvve u!
Pen and dreams
stone and dreams
a sea of words
runs through sky screan
for gaudy reverbation
of sounds afar.
Did I say sounds
Naked behind transparant window
to get distracted by
To mourn is to remember
is to mourn.
We harvest memories
in all four seasons
to dust off memories
in a sea of reveries.
Silent by words