Poetry International Poetry International
Poem

Bijan Elahi

FIVE SCENES FROM ICARUS

Justice

Each word
is sacrificed to a sword
that beams forth its light.
It rains.
Each word wears a white mask
and a self to be
submitted to the rain.
Each word is an angel
trembling from nakedness.

I have lifted the sword.
I rip the mask
off the word
and place it on my face.
I submit myself
to the rain
and before the scent of life ascends,
I take flight
with the angel’s two wings.
 
The rain has stopped.
The sun of language
draws near!

Misty Dreams

The sky wanted
a misty sip from me
when the hood of the stroller filled with dew.
In the stroller, sleep seized you!

Through the vineyard, through the mist,
slumber and wine were distributed.
Cheers
in the mist!

Icarus
fell.

Icaruses

The word with its movement—the word in flight—
has filled the space with the scent of flesh.
What is a poem but the movement of a word?

In the room the women
are talking of Icarus
while Icarus’ poem
is not composed.

Just one word:
the sun!

And if you return someday
from that burning pilgrimage,
I will fill the torches cup by cup with the sea
and you will know that its flame
is the bluest and coldest of flames.


In Reverse
to Mohsen Saba

1.
The one who left will never return
will collapse.
At the cloud the narcissus stares at the cloud.
It rains. It does not rain.
Beneath the wet cloak,
when will I be moved to bring the firewood?

2.

Oh, my friend! My friend!
Twice is enough.
The third is spring air.
When Icarus falls
from the green sky
The narcissus’ corolla fills with rainwater.
Look inside! A small Icarus
ascends.


From Icarus and the Bondsman of the Deer

Just as the thunderstorm in the rainbow
mixes colors with colors
I wish that poetry could mix the two legends together
so that we could stare at each other in the poison sunrise,
and the plants would recognise water in the poison sunrise.
(Water is our majestic selflessness and has taught them
the secret of life and us the secret of death.)
And the sun would fit into the grape.
(The grape is the Holy Last Supper.)
Now that the flood of sun has taken the wing away,
the deer is helpless.
He falls.
Generous deer bestow nothing.
They watch and watch and watch.
Now that the sun slowly
moves west
on the hill, two fires have turned red.
The horizon is recognised in your compromise.
This horizon of bliss: the bondsman of water
concealed in wet firewood.

پنج مجلس از ایکار

پنج مجلس از ایکار

عدالت

هر کلمه
فدای شمشیری‌ست
که در او رخشان است.
باران می‌بارد.
در هر کلمه نقابی‌ست سفید،
جانی‌ست تا به باران
تسلیم شود.
هر کلمه فرشته‌یی‌ست
که از عریانی می‌لرزد.

شمشیر را به دست گرفته‌ام
نقاب را
در‌می‌آرم از کلمه
به رخسار می‌زنم،
جان به باران
تسلیم می‌کنم،
و هنوز عطر عمر برنخاسته،
با دو بال فرشته
پر می‌گیرم.

باران بند آمده‌ست،
خورشید زبان
چه نزدیک است.

خابهای مه

جرعه‌یی مه گرفته
از من آسمان می‌خاست
که سقف کالسکه پر از شبنم شد.
در کالسکه، تو را خاب در ربود.
از تاکستان، از میان مه،
خاب را، با شراب، پیش آوردند.
در مه،
بسلامتی!

و ایکار
افتاد.


ایکارها

کلمه با حرکت خود –کلمه، به پرواز-
فضا را از عطر گوشت آکنده‌ست.
پس به جز حرکت یک کلمه، شعر چیست؟

زنان در اتاق
از ایکار سخن میگویند،
لیک، شعر ایکار
ساخته
نمی‌شود.
فقط یک کلمه:
خورشید!

وز آن زیارت سوزان
روزی اگر باز آیید،
دریا را، کاسه کاسه، در مشعل‌ها میریزم
تا بدانید شعله‌اش
آبی‌ترین و سردترین شعله‌ست.


بالعکس

۱

آن که رفت،  بازنمی‌گردد،
می‌افتد.
نرگس، به ابر خیره‌ست، به ابر.
باران می‌بارد، لیک نمی‌بارد.
زیر شنلی مرطوب
پس کی وحی می‌رسد که هیزمی بردارم؟

۲

آه، ای یار! ای یار!
دوبار تکرار، بس است
که سومین، هوای بهاری‌ست.
آن دم که از آسمان سبز
ایکار، سقوط می‌کند،
جام نرگس پر باران است
و در آن –ببین!- ایکاری کوچکتر
عروج میکند.


از ایکار و ضامن آهو

چنین که رگبار، در قوس قزح
رنگ در رنگ می‌آمیزد،
کاش که شعر، میتوانست دو افسانه را به هم آمیزد:
تا که ما، در طلوع سم، به هم نظاره کنیم
تا گیاهان، در طلوع سم، آب را به جای آرند
(آب که ایثار بزرگ ماست، و به آنان
راز زندگی، و به ما راز مرگ را گفته‌ست.)
و خورشید در دانه‌ی انگور بگنجد؛
(انگور که شام آخر قدسی‌ست.)
اما اکنون که سیل خورشید، بال را برده‌ست
از آهوان هیچ ساخته نیست.
او، می‌افتد
و آهوان سخی هیچ نمی‌بخشند
جز نظاره، نظاره، نظاره.
و اکنون که آفتاب، ارام آرام،
به غرب می‌رود،
دو تش، بر تپه سرخ شده‌ند،
و در سازش تو، افق شناخته می‌شود
افق رضا: ضامن آب پنهان هیزم تر
که به آتش گذاشته‌ند.

 
Close

FIVE SCENES FROM ICARUS

Justice

Each word
is sacrificed to a sword
that beams forth its light.
It rains.
Each word wears a white mask
and a self to be
submitted to the rain.
Each word is an angel
trembling from nakedness.

I have lifted the sword.
I rip the mask
off the word
and place it on my face.
I submit myself
to the rain
and before the scent of life ascends,
I take flight
with the angel’s two wings.
 
The rain has stopped.
The sun of language
draws near!

Misty Dreams

The sky wanted
a misty sip from me
when the hood of the stroller filled with dew.
In the stroller, sleep seized you!

Through the vineyard, through the mist,
slumber and wine were distributed.
Cheers
in the mist!

Icarus
fell.

Icaruses

The word with its movement—the word in flight—
has filled the space with the scent of flesh.
What is a poem but the movement of a word?

In the room the women
are talking of Icarus
while Icarus’ poem
is not composed.

Just one word:
the sun!

And if you return someday
from that burning pilgrimage,
I will fill the torches cup by cup with the sea
and you will know that its flame
is the bluest and coldest of flames.


In Reverse
to Mohsen Saba

1.
The one who left will never return
will collapse.
At the cloud the narcissus stares at the cloud.
It rains. It does not rain.
Beneath the wet cloak,
when will I be moved to bring the firewood?

2.

Oh, my friend! My friend!
Twice is enough.
The third is spring air.
When Icarus falls
from the green sky
The narcissus’ corolla fills with rainwater.
Look inside! A small Icarus
ascends.


From Icarus and the Bondsman of the Deer

Just as the thunderstorm in the rainbow
mixes colors with colors
I wish that poetry could mix the two legends together
so that we could stare at each other in the poison sunrise,
and the plants would recognise water in the poison sunrise.
(Water is our majestic selflessness and has taught them
the secret of life and us the secret of death.)
And the sun would fit into the grape.
(The grape is the Holy Last Supper.)
Now that the flood of sun has taken the wing away,
the deer is helpless.
He falls.
Generous deer bestow nothing.
They watch and watch and watch.
Now that the sun slowly
moves west
on the hill, two fires have turned red.
The horizon is recognised in your compromise.
This horizon of bliss: the bondsman of water
concealed in wet firewood.

FIVE SCENES FROM ICARUS

Justice

Each word
is sacrificed to a sword
that beams forth its light.
It rains.
Each word wears a white mask
and a self to be
submitted to the rain.
Each word is an angel
trembling from nakedness.

I have lifted the sword.
I rip the mask
off the word
and place it on my face.
I submit myself
to the rain
and before the scent of life ascends,
I take flight
with the angel’s two wings.
 
The rain has stopped.
The sun of language
draws near!

Misty Dreams

The sky wanted
a misty sip from me
when the hood of the stroller filled with dew.
In the stroller, sleep seized you!

Through the vineyard, through the mist,
slumber and wine were distributed.
Cheers
in the mist!

Icarus
fell.

Icaruses

The word with its movement—the word in flight—
has filled the space with the scent of flesh.
What is a poem but the movement of a word?

In the room the women
are talking of Icarus
while Icarus’ poem
is not composed.

Just one word:
the sun!

And if you return someday
from that burning pilgrimage,
I will fill the torches cup by cup with the sea
and you will know that its flame
is the bluest and coldest of flames.


In Reverse
to Mohsen Saba

1.
The one who left will never return
will collapse.
At the cloud the narcissus stares at the cloud.
It rains. It does not rain.
Beneath the wet cloak,
when will I be moved to bring the firewood?

2.

Oh, my friend! My friend!
Twice is enough.
The third is spring air.
When Icarus falls
from the green sky
The narcissus’ corolla fills with rainwater.
Look inside! A small Icarus
ascends.


From Icarus and the Bondsman of the Deer

Just as the thunderstorm in the rainbow
mixes colors with colors
I wish that poetry could mix the two legends together
so that we could stare at each other in the poison sunrise,
and the plants would recognise water in the poison sunrise.
(Water is our majestic selflessness and has taught them
the secret of life and us the secret of death.)
And the sun would fit into the grape.
(The grape is the Holy Last Supper.)
Now that the flood of sun has taken the wing away,
the deer is helpless.
He falls.
Generous deer bestow nothing.
They watch and watch and watch.
Now that the sun slowly
moves west
on the hill, two fires have turned red.
The horizon is recognised in your compromise.
This horizon of bliss: the bondsman of water
concealed in wet firewood.
Sponsors
Gemeente Rotterdam
Nederlands Letterenfonds
Stichting Van Beuningen Peterich-fonds
Prins Bernhard cultuurfonds
Lira fonds
Versopolis
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Gefinancierd door de Europese Unie
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Stichting Verzameling van Wijngaarden-Boot
Veerhuis
VDM
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