Shams Langeroodi in English

Poem 25 / Notes for the Wooden Nightingale

2010-02-24T10:13:00.000-08:00

Soldier

2010-02-22T21:49:00.001-08:00

3 Decades of Motherland or Dear Day! I Know You Will Arrive

2010-02-10T17:20:00.001-08:00

Poems by Shams Langeroodi
Translated by Sina Fazelpour

1985
Poem 4 / In the Moonlight Terrace of the World

How innocent it stares at me,
this broken sunlight
this bent tree
this mute duck.

How dumbstruck it looks at me,
my harvested motherland.

1991
Poem 1 / The Thorn Umbrella

Rain was falling recklessly
rain and snow
as to not get wet
we found shelter
in a dark well.

What a bitter trap-hole
one way a trap door to snow, blood and mud
one way leviathan, the attack of ghosts, death's hunting hum
the broken ladder.

You dear deities who turn the guilty
with a flick of a finger
into stone and star
curse us
curse us
so we could fly out of this well
in the shape of a bird
with an exploded heart.

2000
Poem 25 / Notes for the Wooden Nightingale

Speech about freedom is incomplete
when not even a breeze
assists
the dead
to shake grasses and ants
from their dark eyelashes
with some pride.

Speech about freedom is incomplete
when martyrs
don't open up their lips to speak.

Speech about freedom is incomplete
when you stand in line for bread
and the opportunity to vote
is gone.

2010
Poem 47 / Lip Readings of My Trout

Dear day!
I know you will arrive
don't know if I will
see you.

Poem 3 / The Thorn Umbrella

2010-02-10T17:01:00.001-08:00

I had opened up the window
to call you
a wall of leather and smoke
stood in front of me
I cried
no whisper came about,
I sighed
a bee of foam took wing in my throat
and a burning thread
sewed my lips tight.

Between the layers of my body
the spy was sleeping
I didn't know.

Poem 1 / Poems for You Who Would Never Hear

2010-01-22T10:40:00.000-08:00

Crumpled in the mass of thorns
I'm stuck, without a road
without a voice.

Fall will arrive
I will think of you
will you
still be pale, laying down on your side? -
Pale and on your side, void of dreams, bent with a bit of blood
around your lips,
solely
listening to the echoes of the galloping horses
inside the wide mirror fields
empty fields, clear, convulsive and captivated
inside the glasses
and a flower stem in your hand
to place upon the lips of your first savior horseman
a horseman without a body
without a horse
without the limits of time
erected inside the dreams.

Poem 28 / Sailor of The Streets

2009-10-11T11:48:00.000-07:00

The game is over
and they killed you in the game.

Poem 14 / Poems for You Who Would Never Hear

2009-10-10T17:01:00.000-07:00

Of the chairs
none were missing,
we set the table
pulled the chairs forward
placed your photograph
over your empty spot
and stared at each other

like some horses that suddenly
listen to the faraway shivers of an oncoming quake.

Poem 16 / The Gardener of Hell

2009-10-10T16:37:00.000-07:00

Having returned from the journey
the journey doesn't return
from me.

Poem 13 / The Gardener of Hell

2009-10-10T16:28:00.000-07:00

I like the nighttime rain
midst of night
bright lamps of parks
and a car that is rushing away
at the speed of life.

Poem 1 / 22 Elegies in the Month of Tir

2009-07-21T10:36:00.000-07:00

For Neda

My girl
it was their tradition
to bury you alive
you were killed
a nation gets buried alive.

See how calm he lays his head on the pillow
the one who got money from your death
eats halal dinner.

you were just standing
and watching optimistically
to return to your home
but never again you will see your small room my girl
and plenty of pleasant future thoughts
wing on its door and walls.

Like a halal chicken, you were trapped
an astonished chicken
that was searching her hunter's face anxiously
you were trapped
like a cluster of grapes
that was crushed under feet
and is turning into forbidden wine.

Who are these
hidden behind windows, on rooftops
who are these in the dark
that bark
with the voice of a housebird.

They killed you my girl
they killed you
so there would be one less person
but how do you get multiplied.

Oh my dear Neda
the red rose that had grown on your neck
opened
spread
and clothed the map of Iran in the humming of its petals
and those who are raising their voice*
are nightingales
millions seating around a flower
and calling your name.
Does it mean it's possible you don't hear their voice which sings for you
does it mean they closed your window so you won't even hear the sound of your own victory
see how calm he lays his head on the pillow
the one who eats the halal prey.

*Neda means voice or calling. This line can both mean those who are raising their voice or those who have gave(lost) Neda

The Presence

2009-07-15T11:25:00.000-07:00

They are present everywhere
in the buzzing of the bees
taking wing
and pouring honey on your shirts for free.
between two raindrops
that remain unsure for a moment
where to sit,
between two space stations
that only
ghosts and demons seem to commute,
in the space between two fingers
that we spread in our hearts as a sign of victory
while in line, ...
everywhere
they are present everywhere
under our shirts
inside our mobile phones
god
now this is an invasion to the privacy of others hell

Soldier

2009-07-15T11:04:00.000-07:00

Never
was I a soldier of the motherland
but my body is
an orchard full of explosive traps.

In no front-line have I fought
but the one who was being killed repeatedly
was me
all along.

Commander!
what is my remainder
other than a wooden piece of freedom flag
for playing golf
in the minefields.

Poem 20 / Sailor of The Streets

2009-07-15T10:07:00.000-07:00

Solitudes are deep
deep
like face of the dead.

How lonely are snails
other than their shells they don't have a companion.

Solitudes are deep, my tiny nest!
And you shine in my darkness
in fire and light you shine
and me I love you so much
that I forget
life
goes on only by devouring the living.

Poem 39 / Notes For The Wooden Nightingale

2009-07-15T09:39:00.000-07:00

How juvenile you wait for my guest innocent pear!
how cheerful you are waiting
you that in an hour
in a small plate
will remain cut

2000

Poem 37 / Notes For The Wooden Nightingale

2009-07-15T09:22:00.000-07:00

What simple things that a man forgets
see?

The world is beautiful my darling
and we who didn't know
don't have a chair
for life to sit beside us

So it wasn't for no reason that for so long
singing of nightingales
seemed like delicate crystal laughters

2000

Poem 15 / Notes For The Wooden Nightingale

2009-07-15T09:16:00.000-07:00

The nest of the wind is a closed door
your tomb
suddenly makes us worried
the thought of the key
that we've forgotten
at home.

2000

Poem 25 / Notes For The Wooden Nightingale

2009-07-15T09:06:00.000-07:00

Speech about freedom is undone
when not even a breeze
assists
the dead
to shake ants and grasses
with pride
from their dark eyelashes.

Speech about freedom is undone
when martyrs
don't open up their lips to speak.

Speech about freedom is undone
when you stand in line for bread
and the opportunity to vote
is gone.

2000

Poem 41 / Fifty Three Love Songs

2009-07-15T08:27:00.000-07:00

Wanted to be a song
that school children memorize
sea upon hearing
hides its storm behind its back
and leaves of grass
compose their notes of colliding
from my voice.

Wanted to be a song
so fountain murmurs me
waterfall
with cymbal and kettledrum
sings me

But I'm a sad song
and the sea, at dusk
gathers its children so they don't hear my voice

My notes undone
why
did you leave me

September 2003

Poem 22 / 22 Elegies in the Month of Tir

2009-07-13T15:24:00.000-07:00

No symbols or allusions
in between
Newspapers all get corrected
lines (are)
rows of crushed roach corpses inside publishing houses
images
Goya's painting
on newspaper stand's shelf
people
seem to stare
at blank newspapers
and review
their hopes and what has remained in their hearts

July 2009

Poem 6 / 22 Elegies in the Month of Tir

2009-07-13T11:28:00.000-07:00

Yaghoob Barvayeh was my student

With a robe and a cane death wings towards you
Run away Yaghoub Barvayeh run away

Glitter of joy in your eye
won't let you see the face of death
Yaghoub Barvayeh run away

You had gone to the street in praise of life
Death they gifted you
Run away
Yaghoub Barvayeh run away

July 2009

Poem 16 / 22 Elegies in the Month of Tir

2009-07-10T18:39:00.000-07:00

Have we mistaken
On this bench
under these pine trees you were sitting
wasn't it you waving your hand
and cinder of sorrow was pouring from your hums

Are we mistaken
that you too one day have seen this house, street, bakery, market
But why did you turn into a candle mass
on the wooden bench, under the trees
and above your head, from the strands of your hair
a silver smoke is raised

July 2009

Poem 14 / 22 Elegies in the Month of Tir

2009-07-10T18:26:00.000-07:00

Now my breakfast is you.

The piece of cheese that I take like a bullet to mouth
is the foam of the sea
when your mouth remained open
like the mouth of a little fish on the coast,
As I break a piece of bread
I touch pieces of your shirt.

All over my day is you.

solely at nighttime
like an invisible leopard
I stand on a silent valley
and I see the cardboard moon glowing
and I hear the crickets
muttering in their underground workshops
and secretly, sewing their little chirps
into an armor
like many fugitive soldiers
in a jailed streamlet
on a spring midnight

July 2009

22 Elegies in the Month of Tir

2009-07-10T18:07:00.000-07:00

"22 Elegies in the month of Tir" has been published on Wednesday July 8th, 2009 as an online mini book. It contains 22 poems events surrounding the post election Iran. You may download the poems from here. (in Persian)