By Syma Sayyah, Tehran
Simin Behbahani is without doubt the most
intriguing lady of letters in Iran. Not only she is talented, hard working
and beautiful, but there are two characteristics that I admire most about
her. She has a great sense of
humor, and she is always supporting good causes. Whether they are for freedom of
speech, women's liberation, building a college in Bam or a celebration, a
remembrance of one of her many friends and colleagues or a demo as well as other
worthy projects, there she is at the frontline along with other young people, as
she is truly young at heart herself and never afraid to speak
out.
Recently I had the pleasure to go to
the lovely little apartment that she shares with her son Ali who is a well-known
translator. There, while she was
talking to us, she would not stop offering us cold drinks or fruits in that hot
afternoon. I noticed her big desk
was filled with her notes and drafts of works she wanted to send to printers
among others. I was completely
mesmerized by her energy, modesty and femininity.
Like many of you, I look forward to
her next book which we hope to come out soon. When I asked when we can expect that,
she said she has several works at hand but she hopes that one or two will be out
before the end of the Iranian year. A few years back (1999) a book of her poems
was translated into English titled A Cup of Sin in the West by
Farzaneh Milani & Kaveh Safa and published by Syracus University Press.
There is also another book in English which includes her poems called Wounded
Rose along with works of three other Iranian Poets (published by Readers Int. in
1980).
It's Time
to Mow the Flowers
It's time to mow the
flowers,
don't procrastinate.
Fetch the sickles, come,
don't spare a
single tulip in the fields.
The meadows are in bloom:
who has ever seen
such insolence?
The grass is growing again:
step nowhere else but on its
head.
Blossoms are opening on every branch,
exposing the happiness in
their hearts:
such colorful exhibitions must be stopped.
Bring your
scalpels to the meadow
to cut out the eyes of flowers.
So that none may
see or desire,
let not a seeing eye remain.
I fear the narcissus is
spreading its corruption:
stop its displays in a golden bowl
on a
six-sided tray.
What is the use of your ax,
if not to chop down the elm
tree?
In the maple's branches
allow not a single bird a moment's
rest.
My poems and the wild mint
bear messages and perfumes.
Don't let
them create a riot with their wild singing.
My heart is greener than
green,
flowers sprout from the mud and water of my being.
Don't let me
stand, if you are the enemies of Spring.
--Translated by Farzaneh Milani and
Kaveh Safa
