Iran Poetry Quotes

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Do you know what you are? You are a manuscript oƒ a divine letter. You are a mirror reflecting a noble face. This universe is not outside of you. Look inside yourself; everything that you want, you are already that.
Rumi (Jalal ad-Din Muhammad ar-Rumi) (Hush, Don't Say Anything to God: Passionate Poems of Rumi)
You think of yourself as a citizen of the universe. You think you belong to this world of dust and matter. Out of this dust you have created a personal image, and have forgotten about the essence of your true origin
Rumi (Jalal ad-Din Muhammad ar-Rumi) (Hush, Don't Say Anything to God: Passionate Poems of Rumi)
My whole being is a dark chant that will carry you perpetuating you to the dawn of eternal growths and blossomings in this chant I sighed you, oh in this chant, I grafted you to the tree, to the water, to the fire.
Forugh Farrokhzad
you’re already naked in this world in this time in this life beacause your next love your next hunger you next laughter and even your next tear may never come
Baharak Sedigh
I have heard that in the day of Hope and Fear the Merciful One will pardon the evil for the sake of the good. If you see evil in my words, do the same.
Saadi
The white butterly slowly sinks into the wine of your age.
Bijan Elahi (High Tide of the Eyes)
Newspaper letters review the deserted cities & drowse at the windows in pale sun & the evening breeze’s rales. The train has stopped. ("Anna Karenina / October 18, 1910," Translated by Kayvan Tahmasebian and Rebecca Ruth Gould )
Hasan Alizadeh (House Arrest)
When I was a kid, I had a passion too. It was poetry but I knew becoming a poet wouldn’t put food on the table. The fact that I couldn’t do anything about it made me miserable. It made me despise the world. It made me despise life.
Soroosh Shahrivar (Tajrish)
Azita Ghahreman, is an Iranian poet.[1] She was born in Iran in 1962. She has written four books in Persian and one book in Swedish. She has also translated American poetry. She is a member of the Iranian Writers Association and International PEN. She has published four collections of poetry: Eve's Songs (1983), Sculptures of Autumn (1986), Forgetfulness is a Simple Ritual (1992) and The Suburb of Crows (2008), a collection reflecting on he exile in Sweden (she lives in an area called oxie on the outskirts of Malmö) that was published in both Swedish and Persian. Her poems directly address questions of female desire and challenge the accepted position of women. A collection of Azita's work was published in Swedish in 2009 alongside the work of Sohrab Rahimi and Christine Carlson. She has also translated a collection of poems by the American poet and cartoonist, Shel Silverstein, into Persian, The Place Where the Sidewalk Ends (2000). And she has edited three volumes of poems by poets from Khorasan, the eastern province of Iran that borders Afghanistan and which has a rich and distinctive history. Azita's poems have been translated into German, Dutch, Arabic, Chinese, Swedish, Spanish, Macedonian, Turkish, Danish, French and English. A new book of poetry, Under Hypnosis in Dr Caligari's Cabinet was published in Sweden in April 2012. [edit]Books Eva's Songs, (persian)1990 Autumn Sculptures,(persian) 1995 Where the sidewalk ends, Shell Silverstein(Translated to Persian with Morteza Behravan) 2000 The Forgetfulness has a Simple Ceremony,(persian) 2002 Here is the Suburb of Crows,(persian) 2009 four Poetry books ( collected poems 1990-2009 in Swedish), 2009 under hypnosis in Dr kaligaris Cabinet, (Swedish) 2012 Poetry Translation Center London( collected poems in English) 2012
آزیتا قهرمان (شبیه خوانی)
The familiar song of a night-singing nightingale rises from somewhere in the garden. A nightingale that in this season of cold should not be in the garden, a nightingale that in a thousand verses of Iranian poetry, in the hours of darkness, for the love of a red rose and in sorrow of its separation from it, has forever sung and will forever sing.
Shahriar Mandanipour (Censoring an Iranian Love Story)
Sanctions levied Sanctions heavy
Break my back
But you will not end me Many have assailed
Many have failed
Pack after pack
Blood shed but to no avail Had my share of years
Had my share of tears
SAVAK to crack
A century of polluted atmosphere This is my land
This is my clan
Turn the clock back
I'm as old as the history of man Gone are the golden days
Gone are the golden ways Stopped in my tracks
Time will lead me out of this maze Keep my people in pain
Keep my people in chains
Wrapped in my flag
The end welcomes tyranny's campaign Levy your sanctions
Heavy my reaction
From The Burnt City to Ganzak
I, Simurgh, will rise from the ashes History will go round History will go down
Evil, domestic and foreign Will burn to the ground Time bears witness Time bears justice
Our mystic misfortune A lingering dark nimbus Rise up my wings
Rise up my kings
This majestic sovereign Will be reborn once again
Soroosh Shahrivar (Letter 19)
Sanctions levied Sanctions heavy Break my back But you will not end me Many have assailed
 Many have failed Pack after pack Blood shed but to no avail Had my share of years Had my share of tears SAVAK to crack A century of polluted atmosphere This is my land This is my clan Turn the clock back I'm as old as the history of man Gone are the golden days Gone are the golden ways Stopped in my tracks Time will lead me out of this maze Keep my people in pain Keep my people in chains Wrapped in my flag The end welcomes tyranny's campaign Levy your sanctions Heavy my reaction From The Burnt City to Ganzak I, Simurgh, will rise from the ashes History will go round History will go down Evil, domestic and foreign Will burn to the ground Time bears witness Time bears justice
Our mystic misfortune A lingering dark nimbus Rise up my wings
Rise up my kings
This majestic sovereign Will be reborn once again
Soroosh Shahrivar (Letter 19)
Sanctions levied Sanctions heavy Break my back But you will not end me Many have assailed
 Many have failed Pack after pack Blood shed but to no avail Had my share of years Had my share of tears SAVAK to crack A century of polluted atmosphere This is my land This is my clan Turn the clock back I'm as old as the history of man Gone are the golden days Gone are the golden ways Stopped in my tracks Time will lead me out of this maze Keep my people in pain Keep my people in chains Wrapped in my flag The end welcomes tyranny's campaign Levy your sanctions Heavy my reaction From The Burnt City to Ganzak I, Simurgh, will rise from the ashes History will go round History will go down Evil, domestic and foreign Will burn to the ground Time bears witness Time bears justice Our mystic misfortune A lingering dark nimbus Rise up my wings Rise up my kings This majestic sovereign Will be reborn once again
Soroosh Shahrivar (Letter 19)
Beyond the headlines about war and death, the region is alive with music, art, books, theater, social entrepreneurship, advocacy, libraries, cafes, bookshops, poetry, and so much more, as old and young push to reclaim space for cultural expression and freedom of expression.
Kim Ghattas (Black Wave: Saudi Arabia, Iran, and the Forty-Year Rivalry That Unraveled Culture, Religion, and Collective Memory in the Middle East)
Love is a common theme in the poetry of Iran...While love is highly promoted in poetry, the concept of marriage is not.
Nakhati Jon (Survey of Shia Marriage in Iran: Based on literature, media and personal interviews)
I’d noticed that in Britain and America the word Persian is generally used for the ‘nice’ things: Persian carpets, Persian food and restaurants, poetry and art, that kind of thing. But when it comes to talking about politics, and say, the nuclear programme or human rights, anything that the western media considers intimidating or distasteful, then it’s ‘Iran’ and ‘Iranian’.
Lois Pryce (Revolutionary Ride: On the Road in Search of the Real Iran)
I dreamed of that red star when I wasn’t asleep
Forugh Farrokhzad (Let Us Believe in the Beginning of the Cold Season)
Timeworn, so I spin and spin. Reborn, for I am once again.
Soroosh Shahrivar (Tajrish)
Iran was the glamour and glitz of Tehran, Shiraz, Esfahan. (...) she was struck by the high fashion and opulence of the cities. Parties overflowing with champagne. Women dressed in the latest Paris haute couture. But when Louise left Iran in search of horses, the landscape quickly changed from high rises to the high peaks of the Alborz Mountains, and overflowing rice paddies replaced champagne parties. (...) This was Persia. Roads that ended in orchards. Mountains rising and rivers tumbling in white and blue. All shades of green contouring farming fields and jagged peaks. (...) Iran was politics; Persia was poetry.
Pardis Mahdavi (Book of Queens: The True Story of the Middle Eastern Horsewomen Who Fought the War on Terror)
Part of Darya had always felt ashamed of her homesickness for Iran. How could she be homesick for a place filled with cruel laws and bottomless sadness? Because it was filled with so much more than that. Because her father was still there. Because her sister was too. Because the lemon trees and pomegranates were still there. Because the poetry was still there. Because her ancestors had cultivated a life and a legacy there. Because that place was home. Her home.
Marjan Kamali (Together Tea)