Category Archives: Uncategorized

 ﮔﻮﯾﻨﻮﻣﻪ ﺩﯾﻤﻪ 
ﺩﺍﻭﻭﺩ ﺣﺴﻦ ﺁﻗﺎﯾﯽ

ﺭﻭﺯﮔﺎﺭ ﺍَﻟﯿﻧﮓ ﺩﻥ ﭼﻮﺥ ﮔﺋﻞﻪ ﻭﺍﺭﻭﻡ
ﺍَﻝ ﮔﻮﺗﻭﺭ ﺑﺎﺷﻭﻡ ﺩﺍﻥ ﮔﻮﯾﻨِﻭﻣﻪ ﺩَﯾﻤَﻪ
ﺷﮑﺎﯾﺖ ﻣﻦ ﺳﻥ ﺩﻥ ﻫﺭ ﺍﺋﻠﻪ ﻭﺍﺭﻭﻡ
ﺑﯿﺮﺷﯿﺪﺍ ﻣَﺠﻨﻮﻧﺎﻡ، ﻟﯿﻠِﺋﻤﻪ ﺩﻳﻤﻪ

ﻋﺠﺐ ﺧﺯﺍﻥ ﺳﺎﻟﺩﻭﻧﮓ ﭼﻣﻨﺌﻤﻪ ﺳَﻦ
ﻋَﺠَﺐ ﺍﻭﺕ ﺳﺍﻟﻤﻮﺵﺎﻧﮓ ﺑﺪﻧﺌﻤﻪ ﺳﻦ
ﻋﺟﺐ ﺑﯿﺪﺍﺩ ﺍﺋﺪﻱﻨﮓ ﻭﻃﻨﺌﻤﻪ ﺳﻦ
ﺗﻔﺭﻗﻪ ،ﭘَﺮﯾﺸﺎﻥ ﺍﺋﻠﺌﻤﻪ ﺩﯾﻤﻪ

َ ﻫﻤﺌﺸﻪ ﺧﺰﺍﻥ ﺩﺋﺮ، ﺑﺎﯾﺮﺍﻡ ﺁﺯ ﺍُﻻﺭ
ﺳﻭﺯﻭﻡ ﺍﻭﺭﮔﺌﻢ ﺩﻩ ﻗﺎﻟﻮﺭ ﺭﺍﺯ ﺍُﻭﻻﺭ
ﺑﻮ ﯾﺎﺭﺍ ﮔﻮﯾﻧﻮﻣﻪ َ ﻏَﻢ ﺩَﻣﺴﺎﺯ ﺍﻭﻻﺭ
ﻏَﻡ ﺩﻥ ﮐَﻤﺎﻥ ، ﺳﺋﻨﺌﻎ ﺑﺋﻠﺌﻤﻪ ﺩﻳﻤﻪ

ﺩﺍﻍ ﻻﺭ ﺑﺎﺷﺋﻪ ﺩﺍﻫﺍ ﺗﺭﻻﻥ ﺗﻭﻻﻤﺎﺯ
ﺧﺎﻟِﻭ ﺩﺋﺮ ﺑﺉﺸَﻪ ﻟَﺮ ، ﺁﺻﻼﻥ ﺗﻭﻻﻧﻤﺎﺯ
ﭼﯿﭽَﮑﻠﺋﻪ ﭼﻮﻟ ﻠﺮﺩَﻩ ﺟِﯿﺮﺍﻥ ﺗﻭﻻﻧﻤﺎﺯ
ﺁﻏﻮﺭ ﺍﺋﻞ ﻟﺮ ﻗﻮﻧﺎﻥ ﭼﻮﻟﻮﻣﻪ ﺩﯾﻤﻪ

ﯾﺋﻞ ﺍﺳﻤﺌﺶ ﻫﺮ ﯾﺎﻥ ﺩﺍﻥ، ﻗﻮﭘﻤﻮﺵ ﺩﻭﺭ ﻃﯿﻔﺎﻥ
ﻗﻮﺭﺭﻭﻣﻮﺵ ﻗﻮﻧﭽﺎﻻﺭ ، ﺧﺎﻟﯽ ﺩِﺉﺮ ﺑُﺴﺘﺎﻥ
ﮔِﺋﺮﺩَﮔَﻪ ﺍُﻭﺗﻮﺭﺍﻥ ، ﺑﯿﺮ ﮔﻮﻥ ﻭﺋﺮﺭ ﺟﺎﻥ
ﺧﺰﺍﻥ ﺩﺍ ﻗﻮُﺭﺭﻭﻳﺎﻥ ﮔﻭﻟﻮﻣﻪ ﺩﯾﻤﻪ

ﻣﻦ ﺑﯿﺮ ﺧﺎﻟﺺ ﺯَﺭَﻡ ﺻﺮّﺍﻑ ﺑﻮﻟﻮﻧﻤﺎﺯ
ﻫﺎﯼ ﺁﻗﺎﻻﺭ، ﺍﻫﻝ ﺍِﻧﺼﺎﻑ ﺑﻮﻟﻮﻧﻤﺎﺯ
ﻣﻨِﺋﻢ ﺳﻭﺯﻟَﺮﺋﻢ ﺩﻩ ﺧﻼﻑ ﺑﻮﻟﻮﻧﻤﺎﺯ
ﻗﻭﻱ ﯾﺎﺯﺍﻡ ﺣﻖ ﺳﻭﺯﻭ ،ﺍَﻟِﺋﻤﻪ ﺩَﯾﻤَﻪ

ﻧﻩ ﻋﺼﻤﺖ، ﻧﻩ ﻋﻔﺖ، ﻧﻪ ﻭﺍﺭ ﻃﻬﺎﺭﺕ
ﻧﻩ ﺑﯿﺮ ﻣﺭﺩﺍﻧﻩ ﻟﯿﮓ ، ﻧﻪ ﺑﯿﺮ ﺟﻮ ﻏﯿﺮﺕ
ﺩﺍﻭﻭﺩ ﺑﯿﺠﺎ ﭼَﮑَﺮ ﺭﻧﺞ ﻭ ﻣﺮﺍﺭﺕ
ﺑﺎﻏﻼﻧﻤﻮﺵ ﺯﻥﺠﯿﺮﺩَﻩ ﻗﻮﻟﻮُﻣﺎ ﺩﯾﻤﻪ

ﻣﺠﻠﻪ ﭼﺎﻏﺪﺍﺵ
ﻋﮑﺲ : ﮐﺎﻣﺒﯿﺰ ﻧﺠﻔﯽ

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Do You Remember? (D-S110)

How are you doing, peri?
Write when you can, and let me know,
when you have a moment in between
listening to that guy or this telling you
how gorgeous you are –

And you are gorgeous, you know that.
Your breasts are like chiseled marble,
you stand as elegant as alef, a fragrant spruce,
and your black curls frame your face
as sweetly as the sepals of a rose.

Do you remember, peri, while you slept
I’d stay all night to guard the incredible treasures
of your face and hair, and body?
The day I fell in love with you,
with your moonlit eyes and voice,
I entered into irremediable pain.

Do you remember, peri, I was saying,
“Dawn! Dawn!” a warning and a prayer,
in my state of mind, to preserve you
from being found out and ruined?

You shoved me in a cage and watched,
while my eyes followed you around the room
to catch a glimpse of any breeze of paradise
that might sift from your hair.

Do you remember, peri, that from start
to finish you lent your assets to everybody?
So it seemed, to every rake and drunk
who asked. And kept me caged, to watch.

To Mazun in his poverty, this is unendurable.
He rips his collar from his throat.
Tears well into his eyes. And yet,

he still endures because of you,
wipes his tearful face on your skirt
whenever you draw near, in full view
of your dark and moonlit eyes, peri.

Why

Far be it from me
to start arguing
about the cosmic
proprieties of love,
but consider:

God mixes water
with a little clay
and makes it walk –
and in its form and motion
puts the tidal power
of the moon –

But then he makes it all –
the blackness of an eyebrow,
and the way a braid
can catch a glint of light,
and how a woman’s lips
can purse just so –
he makes it all forbidden!

Why the love-slick,
Sweet, quick-witted girls
if what he wants
is undivided prayer?
If love is such debauchery,
why give us wine
to start with?

The moth won’t burn
without the candle.
The nightingale would keep
its head without the flower.
If Layla hadn’t broken faith,
Majnun would not
have wandered in the desert.

What I’m saying, I’m afraid,
is that both God’s essence
and his beauties irretrievably
are in my inner heart.

Why these troubled words
have leapt from love’s fire
and burnt into Ma’zun’s talk –
I wonder.

Manifestations of Love (D-S60-61)

In the bones and blood
of a lover are the signs
of the one he loves –
and inside that.

He feels her in his veins,
as if the Moon had carved
its signature in his blood –
as if a form of Venus,
scintillating in the evening
sky, had run a current
through his limbs –

Is she really, like an houri,
a descendant of the stars?
Or is this what human beings are –
this blinding body beauty?

In reality the one I love
is born of neither earth nor sky –
Every day her beauty deepens;
every day I’m further saddened.
She’s closer to me than I am
to myself, so close I don’t know
where she is at all –

Like attracts like.
Knowledge has intimate
relations with knowledge,
reason with reason.
So me,
I wander like Majnun,
helpless and accustomed
to the desert.

There’s a kind of guy
who roars like a lion
wanting just to see
his girlfriend’s face
when she’s away.

Another trembles with anxiety
every time he pictures
her hair.

Another can’t stop thinking
of her smooth round breasts –
so helpless that at dinner
when he touches an apple
he’s reminded of them,
and to everyone’s
embarrassment,
including his,
he starts
describing them!

And yet another rants so loud
about her leaving for the weekend,
you’d think he thinks we’re deaf –
To him, the mills of time
are grinding out a cosmic
prison term – they scrape
so loud his voice
seems faint,
to him,
who’s losing her.

Neither earth- nor sky-born,
but above all that, the one
I love’s compassionate,
like the widows’ husband –
comprehends the evidence
of things unseen –
a candle flame unmoved
by wind or breath, or time –

I am the lover.
My beloved
is the ocean –
and Mazun,
a fish in endless seas.