Now I don’t remember if I’ve written on the blog already (I can’t see
my own blog here!), or in my diary or for a magazine, but I want to
remember one dialogue I had in Tehran’s Laleh park. I was speaking
with a journalist about many topics when suddenly after discussing the
concepts of freedom he said: “The difference between Europe and Iran,”
and I was expecting another blunt admire of liberty, but he continued
“is that poetry here is in everyday life.”
And truly, this is not bullshitting. Three times in Tehran I
accidentally came across somebody who was just organizing a poetry
reading for friends. Old men are making some extra money by selling
short poems in envelopes on streets. Everybody knows some versed by
one of the great Persian poets by heart. Hafez, Sa’adi, Mevlana and
others. Even people who can’t read and write memorize some poems at
least. Great was my visit to poet’s tombs in Shiraz where I was just
asking random people around to recite few lines for me above the grave
of the author and really anybody is capable of that. Fun! It was like
people interactive encyclopedia.
Here’s some sample by Omar Khayyam (11th century AD), in translation
by E. Fitzgerald:
And strange to tell, among that Earthen Lot
Some could articulate, while others not;
And suddenly one more impatient cried –
“Who is the Potter, pray, and who the pot?”
—
Oh, come with old Khayyam, and leave the Wise,
To talk, one thing is certain, that life flies;
One thing is certain and the rest is lies,
The Flower that once has blown for ever dies
—
The Moving Finger writes; and having writ,
Moves on: nor all your Piety nor Wit
Shall lure it back to cancel half a Line
Nor all your Tears wash out a Word of it
Filip's Garden 