Language: english. Hamid Siahpoush. Life's a jump the size of love. Life is a flower to the power of eternity. A poppy bush has bathed me in the surge of being. Behind our backs there isn’t a thriving space. Let us curse not the Moonlight if we have fever, Behind our backs no wind blows. - excerpt from 'Water’s Footsteps' by Sohrab Sepehri. Judges, magistrates and coroners will be allowed to work up until the age of 75, the government announced today. Today it is the official language of. A dervish may have dipped his dry bread there. I hear the footsteps of longing, The window, thinking, air, love, the Earth are mine. I have noticed that the goldfinch sings better. Sohrab Sepehri, the valuable Iranian poet, painter and artist have been granted an honorary IPC Author position. In this home I am close to the humid anonymity of grass. The scent of solitude in the alley of seasons. The opening of a century by a poem. In 1965, after a trip through China and Japan, the Iranian modernist Sohrab Sepehri found his voice. The attack of reed pens on leaden letters. And a book in which cells don’t have dimensions. And let us understand that if worms didn’t exist, life would have lacked something. Life is finding a penny in the brook of the street. Abdolali Dastgheib, 2006. Its athan3 wind, from a cypress tree’s minaret, has sung. Sohrab Sepehri (Persian: سهراب سپهری; October 7, 1928 – April 21, 1980) was a notable Iranian poet and a painter. And a goat was drinking water from the Caspian Sea of a map. My city is lost. Let us not shut the door on the alive speech of appreciation which we hear from behind the wattled twigs of sound. The east of sorrow in the human heart. the topknot of hoopoes, Amitis Publishers, Tehran, Iran. My qiblah2 is a red rose. The passing of events behind words. The Foot Steps Of Water. Life's a pleasant tradition. Friends, better than the water of a running brook. You may be interested in Powered by … And let us not fear death. Let us allow adolescence to dwell under any bush it wishes. The leaping of joy from the ditch of death. Sohrab Sepehri: A Selection of Poems From the Eight Books Bahiyeh Afnan Shahid. Sohrab Sepehri was very talented in fine arts and his paintings were displayed in many European exhibits. What a dream, what a dream…I know He is considered to be one of the five most famous Iranian poets who have practiced modern poetry. My Black Stone6 is the brilliance of the garden. Behind our backs the green window of poplars is closed. I am a native of Kashan 1. My Kabaa is under the acacias. Until the flapping sound of the wings of loneliness. The Ministry of Justice said the change seeks to address the fact that people now work later into their lives and the government did not […] He enrolled in lithographie in the school of Fine Arts in Paris. To camp behind wisdom. The pure neighing of truth from afar. And the sound of brightness, coughing from behind a tree, Words were visible. And let us not ask where we are, On the sad music of adolescence, Get our app to follow our latest updates on your smartphone: Check your inbox or spam folder to confirm your subscription. 12 Oct 2006. I didn’t see a willow selling its shade to the ground. A mother, better than a leaf of a tree, Friends, better than a current of water. Sohrab Sepehri (parts of The Footsteps of Water, 1965) . I, don’t know, And let us know that before corals, a void was being felt in the thoughts of the seas. The falling of young vine from the wall. Hovering above the awareness of water, above the Law of Foliage. Hasht Ketab: Professor Hakkak's view on the Sepehri's esthetic vision and significance.United States: Ketabe Gooya, 2005. Life's not something, we put on the mantel of habit and forget. And I will not laugh if a philosophy halves the Moon. And the sound of darkness, when it drops from a leaf. And why there is no vulture in any person’s birdcage. Let us upon the perception of space, color, sound and the window sprinkle water . Due to the 10 minute limitation on YouTube, this 18 minute video had to be broken into two parts. Behind our backs dust has settled over the whirligigs. The murder of an oak tree by the hands of government. Snippet: The Footsteps of Water — Sohrab Sepehri by Arish Latif. To a plant in India, to an earthen vase from the soil of Sialk7 The moon’s journey into the pond. Sepehri's poetry is full of humanity and concern for human values. Let us have bread and cheese in the mornings. His father was working in a post office and loved art. I didn’t see two poplars in enmity. Let us open the door on mankind, light, plants and insects. I climbed up the stairs of religion. Getting drenched from time to time, A friend, in the rain we should call on. Life is the dimensions of a tree from the eyes of an insect. With all the people of the town, in the rain we should walk. Sohrab Sepehri, one of the most celebrated contemporary modern poets and painters of Iran was born in 1928 in Kashan. He returned to Iran and died in Pars Hospital in Tehran on Monday April 21, 1980. Death with a bunch of grapes comes into the mouth. This stream is perhaps running to a white aspen To sooth a lonely heart. And plant a sapling at every turn of a sentence. Our garden was perhaps, an arc of the green circle of happiness. I, to the illuminated veranda of knowledge, went. Weigh the night of a village, the sleep of a deer. I have a mother, better than blooming green leaves, and honest friends, clear like waterfalls- of … I went to see someone who was at the other side of love. In 1332, he was graduated from Fine Art College and he received the scientific first degree. I am from Kashan. A word in itself should be the wind, a word in itself should be the rain. Death in the spirit of the village’s night speaks of morning. I am Muslim. The Blue Room. Tehran: Tahouri, 1996. Death sometimes drinks vodka. Death in the stem of desire, Death flows in the soul of acacias. The child, slowly, walked away along the alley of dragonflies. My father behind eras has died. The battle of a pit with the light’s desire. I, to the garden of mysticism, Hichestan.Tehran: Tiam, 2005. I will not laugh if a balloon bursts, And humans in light, and humans in darkness I saw. A mosque far away from water. A laundry-line was visible, a restless brassiere. I earn a morsel of bread, I have a bit of intelligence, an iota of taste. These became the book “Eyes Should Be Washed." The murder of a story at the entrance of the alley of sleep. He graduated from the fine arts university with Bachelor of Arts degree in painting from Honar-haye Ziba University, He translated some Japanese poetry into Persian and published them in a literary magazine called Sokhan – 1955, He traveled to Ghazvin and attended the Paris Fine Arts School in lithography – 1957, He traveled to Tokyo to further his studies in lithography and wood carving – 1960, He published three books in poetry – 1960, On the way back to Iran from Japan, he visited India and became familiar with the ideology of Buddhism – 1961, He traveled to India again and visited several cities and provinces – 1964, He traveled to Pakistan and Afghanistan 1964, He traveled to Europe and visited several countries such as Germany, England, France, Spain, the Netherlands, Italy and Austria – 1966, He published some long poems after he returned to Iran – 1966, He hosted a painting exhibition in Tehran 1967, He got Leukemia and traveled to England for treatment – 1978. The sneezing of water from every crack of rock, The opening of an alley by an exchange of greetings. My Kabaa like the breeze, blows from garden to garden, from town to town. Life is the experience that a bat has in the dark. The colors of a bustard’s belly, the footprints of a mountain goat. Media related to Sohrab Sepehri at Wikimedia Commons, Contemporary Persian and Classical Persian are the same language, but writers since 1900 are classified as contemporary. Swimming in the pond of right now, is what life is. Poem name : THE WATER’S FOOTSTEPS For silent nights of my mother. My life is not bad. Eyes should be washed, in another way we should see. The carter longing for death. It does not matter where I am. Death sings in the red larynx of the throat. To go to the street. Translated by Bahiyeh Afnan Shahid. Towns I saw. Water I saw, soil I saw. The sky is always mine. Our garden was the meeting point of sight, colours and mirrors. I can hear the sound of the blowing of matter, To take off its shoes and following the seasons, leap on the flowers. Your email address will not be published. I am familiar with the wet fate of water, the green habit of trees. And pour the seed of silence between two syllables. In the meadow of Advice I saw a cow, satiated. His paintings are about nature and one of his paintings was sold in Tehran in 2018. The beating of the heart of Friday night. I’m a native of Kashan. Let us go to the lip of the sea, The opening of a garden by a starling. At one time, Persian was a common cultural language of much of the non-Arabic Islamic world. My passion blossoms wherever a leaf exists. Has taught me the ups and downs of the ground. Kashan, village of Chenar (plane tree), summer of 1343 (1964) My craft is painting: After obtaining his high school diploma, he attended and obtained a Bachelor of Arts from Faculty of Fine Arts, University of Tehran. I saw a poet who, when he talked, he addressed a lily as “Your Highness.”. Plains are my praying mat. Water I used to drink without philosophy And let us not ask why the heart of truth is blue. My father died when the policemen were all poets. I do my prayer to grass’s saying “God is the Greatest” on “The Footsteps of Water” by Sohrab Sepehri (1964), “The Footsteps of Water” by Sohrab Sepehri (1964), An Intelligent Person’s Guide to Understanding Islam and Muslims, Learning Quranic Arabic for Complete Beginners, Ikram's Advanced Vocabulary Builder: Over 6000 Important Words for SAT, GRE and TOEFL Students, Computer Programming for Complete Beginners, HTML, CSS & JavaScript for Complete Beginners, “So Intoxicated I Am” by Jalal al-Deen Rumi, « "So Intoxicated I Am" by Jalal al-Deen Rumi, A bash script for automatically restarting an unresponsive Apache server only when needed », An Islamic solution to the problem of evil, Reconciling Islam and Darwinian evolution, A new approach to the Quran's "wife-beating" verse (4:34), Is Islam really pluralistic? My mother jumped from sleep unaware, my sister became beautiful. Buried in Mashhad Ardehal, Kashan Province, Iran. And if death didn’t exist, our hands would have sought something. In the case of poetry, notwithstanding all of their discrepancies in discourse, they have worked on a quasi-framework. He also achieved a new technique in painting which is called Texture and was unknown for the other painters for a long time. Life is the homesickness that a migrating bird feels. To write things. And open our mouthes if the Moon emerges. To him, new forms were new means to express his thoughts and feelings. And a sweeper who was praying to the rind of a melon. Death is responsible for the beauty of a butterfly’s wings. This poem which is written like a biography has two aspects: the inner and outer. It has a leap the size of love. (Sometimes I have seen in fever, the moon descends, Please note that when you buy a book from one of the Amazon links on Hawramani.com, Hawramani.com earns a small referral fee at no cost to you. Check out Scholart Agency, a literay agency for Muslim authors. His vision favors fantasy over both reason and feeling. Take all this red, all this green. My praying spot is a spring, my prayer stone is light. I saw a child who was smelling the Moon. The battle of Nazis with branches of delicacy. Samira Gilani has published several articles on Sohrab Sepehri's poems at the universities of Tehran and Punjab. An Islamic defense of pluralism, Ijmāʿ (consensus) should be identical with scientific consensus. He also had a nice handwriting. The murder of a worry by the instruction of songs. Ikram's books (available as paperbacks and Kindle ebooks): Possibly the largest online Arabic dictionary. Have built a house on the other side of nighttime. مَن كَانَ يُرِيدُ ٱلْعِزَّةَ فَلِلَّهِ ٱلْعِزَّةُ جَمِيعًا. And the sound of the shattering of the bottle of joy at night, The plain is my prayer rug.... Life is the washing of a plate./Life is finding a coin in a street canal./Life is the square … The opening of a New Year by two dolls, one ball. Sepehri, Paridokht. The current standard mandatory retirement age of 70 dates from 1993. Clear stream! My father behind twice sleeping in the veranda, My mother down there, The concentration of the passion for soaring in wings 24 Oct 2000, https://www.tandfonline.com/action/showCitFormats?doi=10.1080%2F02690058808574175, Inscription of Xerxes the Great in Van Fortress, Achaemenid inscription in the Kharg Island, https://en.wikipedia.org/w/index.php?title=Sohrab_Sepehri&oldid=1006096027, Articles needing additional references from January 2017, All articles needing additional references, Wikipedia articles with SNAC-ID identifiers, Wikipedia articles with SUDOC identifiers, Wikipedia articles with Trove identifiers, Wikipedia articles with WORLDCATID identifiers, Creative Commons Attribution-ShareAlike License, He hosted a painting exhibition - Tehran 1944, He published his first poetry book (The Death of Color) that followed by a few other books in the same year - 1951. The Footsteps of Water Poem: Sohrab Sepehri Translation: Ahreeman X. I am from Kashan. And not say that night is a bad thing. While Poppies Bloom. Above the bed of a hopeless scholar, I saw a vase, overflowing with questions. Many of his poems were influenced by his relationship with nature, and his … Other practitioners of this form were Nima Youshij, Ahmad Shamlou, Mehdi Akhavan-Sales, and Forough Farrokhzad. Jan 2, 2012 - Persian Poetry in English . Sohrab Sepehri (1928-1980) is a notable modern Iranian poet and painter. Sometimes if they grow, I saw a door-less cage in which brilliance was flapping its wings. Karim Emami. And toward the understanding of Mathematics of Life, In the rain we should write things, speak, plant lotuses. The pigeonless roofs of hundreds of buses. When he was a child, his father was suffering from paralysis and died in 1341. Let us pick up a pebble from the ground, Let's not soil the water. I saw a train that was carrying brilliance. The beautiful battle of pears with the emptiness of a basket. And with smelling a chamomile bush. We welcome Sohrab Sepehri in IPC Hall of Poetic Fame. My soul is young. Death is not a cricket’s inversion. Lunch on their table was bread, was vegetables, was the distance of dew, was the hot bowl of affection. Let us allow instinct to play. Tread not on the Law of Lawn, I saw things on the face of the Earth: Our job maybe is The hand can touch the ceiling of heaven. Paintings and Drawings Of Sohrab Sepehri. I hear the sound of the breathing of the garden. I am near to the start of the Earth. There are many examples of personifications, or symbols in his poetry. Much like Romantic artists, to him, the way to a profound perception of the reality goes through imagination rather than intellect. And their cows produce abundant milk! After moving to Tehran and educating in Fine Art College, he was employed in oil company. 02.Oca.2012 - Persian Poetry in English . The text used for the translation here is the standard text appearing in Sohrab Sepehri, Hasht Ketab (Tehran: Tahuri, 1977). To, in the charm of the red rose, become swimmers. Our job maybe is The horse longing for the carter to sleep, I saw a woman who was pounding light in a mortar. Like a tavern, I stand on the border of languor. on “The Footsteps of Water” by Sohrab Sepehri (1964) / 4980 views. The battle of the forehead with the coldness of prayer-stones. Sometimes in my sickbed the size of a flower has multiplied, Our garden was the meeting point of a glance, a cage and a mirror . People are so affable there! Sohrab Sepehri (The Footsteps of Water-1965, Part 3) /// . Cast nets, Let us taste brilliance. And not wish that the leopard would go out of the door of creation. Order was walking in the alley of Greece. Life is the first black fig in the acrid mouth of summer. The Sound of Water's Footsteps [1] Poem By: Sohrab Sepehri (t ranslated by: Roya Monajem, Tehran) I am from Kashan . He is considered to be one of the five most famous Iranian poets who have practiced modern poetry alongside Nima Youshij, Ahmad Shamlou, Mehdi Akhavan-Sales, and Forough Farrokhzad. The eruption of flowers of regret from the soil. I know well where rhubarbs grow, Until the silence of desire, Let’s not muddy the water! In 1330, he published his first collection of poems named "The Death of Color". And increased it has, the diameter of an orange, the radius of a lantern.) Light and darkness I saw. I, with fever, I am getting by, fine. I’m a native of Kashan, but Sohrab never got married and his grave is frequently visited by many art lovers.[4][5]. The battle of solitude with a melody. I own a loaf of bread, a bit of intelligence, a tiny bit of taste. What do clovers lack that red tulips have? "Seda-ye Pa-ye Ab" [water's Footsteps], which ap-pears here in translation, was composed in a village near Kashan in the summer of 1964 and first published that fall in Arash magazine. In the mornings when the sun, rises let us get born again. Life was something, like a rainfall during Eid, like a plane tree full of starlings. From Water's Footsteps by Sohrab Sepehri, who lived from 1928-1980, Water's Footsteps was published in 1965 (these are small excerpts from a longer piece Translated by Karim Emami Sent to earthfamilyalpha by our poet friend Farideh Hasanzadeh in Tehran I come from Iran. The geometrical growth of cement, steel, stones. In the rain we should walk. Life is the rapture of a hand that reaps. Between the lotus flower and the century I own a loaf of bread, a bit of intelligence, a tiny bit … Life is the square root of a mirror. Let us remove the curtain: Sepehri was also one of Iran's foremost modernist painters. The lungs of pleasure, are full of the oxygen of death.). And the pure sound of the mysterious moulting of love, through its windows the soil was visible: Was washing the cups in the stream’s memory. He visited France and Paris. Unfortunately, his attempt to defeat cancer brought him no result. Martin Turner (1988) The poetry of Sohrab Sepehri, Wasafiri, 4:9, 18–21, This page was last edited on 11 February 2021, at 01:09. The murder of moonlight by the command of neon lights. The spots of a butterfly’s wings, I saw a ladder on which love ascended to the roof of heaven. When starlings come, when partridges sing, when falcons die, Valiabdi, Mostafa. The opening of a town on the hands of three or four wooden horsemen. I saw a camel whose burden was the empty basket of Proverbs. What importance does it have then, It could be heard in a new poem he had written, called “The Sound of Water’s Footsteps.” The notion of smelling a flower on another planet. I went to the party thrown by the world: The Inner aspect of this poem is about God's recognition through the beauty of nature. Stairs that ran to the Law of Corruption of Red Roses In one of his works called 'Footsteps of Water' or ‘The Water’s Footfall’ Sepehri introduces himself, his family, and his way of thinking in a poetic form. My days are not so bad. He is one of Iran's foremost modernist painters. My Kabaa5 is by the lip of the brook, Finally, he passed away in Pars Hospital in Tehran on April 28, 1980. In one of his works called 'Footsteps of Water' or ‘The Water’s Footfall’ Sepehri introduces himself, his family, and his way of thinking in a poetic form. Passion used to come, and put its arms around the neck of sense. Search engine for classical dictionaries of the Arabic language, includes Lane's famous. The heart of your loneliness may cheer up. Wherever I am, let me be! [7] My father died before twice migrating swallows Before twice snows, Before twice sleeping under the moonlight The sky was blue when my father died Unaware my mother jumped from sleep, my sister grew prettier, When my father died, the constables were all poets The grocer asked me, “How much melons you want to buy?” … To the end of the alleyway of doubt, I possess a mother better than the leaves of trees. Sepehri beautifully explains that he doesn't blindly do his religious duties. Sometimes a wound that I have had under my food, I saw a book, its words all of the make of crystal. We … My days are not so bad. My father behind two migrations of swallows, behind two snowfalls, Sohrab Sepehri (Footsteps of Water, Part 2; 1965) /// . To the iqama4 of waves. I saw a sheet of paper, of the make of spring, Because I know: My doodles are lifeless. Sohrab Sepehri, "Water" August 11, 2014. Sohrab Sepehri. Like a building at the lip of the sea I am anxious about the high eternal waves. Let us allow feeling to get some fresh air. Life is the simple and monotonous geometry of breaths. My descent perhaps goes back to a prostitute in the city of Bukhara8. And the raspberries of pleasure, in the jaws of love-making. Translated from Persian by Ikram Hawramani, Slêmanî, Iraq, 2008. Life at that time, was a music basin. On the wet feet of rain let us climb to the heights of compassion. [6] In his poem "Let's not Spoil the Water", he talks about water, the necessary and basic element of life which people must keep clean. Trans. Sunshine as much as you want, union as much as you want, increase as much as you want. And let us know if light didn’t exist, the living logic of flying would have gone astray. Tehran: Gooya, 2003. ISBN 10: 2013906112. And follows the moist Footsteps of Water to the roots of love. William Wordsworth, English poet of the 19th century, and Sohrab Sepehri, contemporary Persian poet, would definitely belong to two diverse ages, cultures and traditions. I saw a lamb that was eating a kite. Sepehri, Sohrab, and Riccardo Zipoli. My canvas is lifeless. Loosen the knot of tasting in the vineyard. Our garden was the interweaving place of feeling and plants, I am from Kashan*, I am doing fine, make a modest living, got some talent, a bit of wit. Unfortunately, he moved to England for treatment but he had to return Tehran because of the progression of his illness. / My father could make Tar* that he could also play. To the cool air of self-sufficiency, I am a native of Kashan Time is not so bad to me I own a loaf of bread, a bit of intelligence, a tiny amount of taste! Words should be washed. As soon as a pomegranate used to crack, hands turned to fountains of desire. Sepehri, Paridokht. Within these gillyflowers, beneath that tall pine tree, The raining of dewdrops on the bridge of sleep. The murder of a ratchet on the mattress in the afternoon. Due to the 10 minute limitation on YouTube, this 18 minute piece had to be broken into two parts. In Banares14, at the entrance of each alley an eternal lamp was burning. Let's not soil the water. Thoughts, and recollections, should be carried in the rain. The battle of a parrot and eloquence. The perspective changes radically in Book 5 in the powerful, autobiographical poem Sound of the Footsteps of Water: "My Mecca is a red rose.
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