DARI CLASSICS

USTAD MOHIT TABATABAI

2012-02-06T21:22:00.008-08:00

IN THE MEMORY OF A GRAND TEACHER - USTAD MOHIT TABATABAI

The empty rock-frames of the Buddha statues in Bamiyan take observers to different thoughts with most of which I may take part. But for me there is also a particular cause to think, when I recall the memory of some happy days I spent there, many years ago; the days in companionship of a grand and honourable teacher, letterman and historian. And this is the story:

Many decades ago, when I was a grader student, I was fond of some literary programs broadcasted from radio. Among those programs, there was a historical lecture delivered on Thursdays’ afternoon. When I listened to the lectures, in his stentorian and expressive voice, I could not believe, even I could not imagine that in a far future I would met this professor, or we would travel together, or I would call him in his home, and he would receive me in his nineties. I took it as a God-gift, just to listen to him and learn every week many good new things from his lectures. The program was called The borders of knowledge, and the grand professor was Mohit Tabatabai.

In the evenings I had enough time for listening the radio, but the literary or historic programs that I liked, were broadcasted at the middays. There were popular literary programs during the nights, for me “The borders of knowledge” was a special gift. I should make it clear that this was the neighbour-relative’s radio that I had the permission to use it, and during the days I could have it easily. Every Thursday, returning from school, tired and hungry, the only thing to which I thought was listening to the program, “The borders of knowledge” that for me, was as an advanced class in literature and culture. When Professor Mohit was speaking, his voice came to my ears as the voice of an emperor who was the sovereign of the kingdom of knowledge. It was through his speeches that I found strong and holy meaning for the words of culture and literature. He spoke in full strength and he had dominance over the subjects on which he spoke. His articles also were published in some professional periodicals which we could read, or better to say, study. Those days passed. I left my home-city for Kabul to continue my high education. After graduation, I worked for many years in the Northern provinces as a journalist. It was about fifteen years after listening to the “Knowledge Borders” programs when I had the luck of seeing the grand teacher Mohit Tabatabai.

It was the summer of 1978 and I was working in the deportment of The Information and Culture as a member of the Historical society. One day the dean of the publication department called me and said: Ustad Mohit Tabatabai is on his way to Kabul. We are asked to send two persons to accompany him during his visit. The other person, whom they asked for, is not our employee. They may call him personally. He asked me if I agreed to be with the famous scholar and of course my response was yes. I did not only agree but also I was fond of seeing the scholar, whom I praised with so deep respect and reverence. Ustad arrived Kabul at due date. A schedule was made for visiting the historical as well as naturally beautiful places and landscapes. We went to Paghman, Karizmir and Stalif around Kabul. It was a great pleasure to see those beautiful places, accompanying such a great scholar. In every context he had a piece of knowledge, an epigram, or a verse. Thus, every second, one could learn something interesting and new from him.

After we visited certain places in Kabul, it was time to go to Ghazni, once the capital of poetry and literature, and the glorious centre of Ghaznavid Empire. There were four persons accompanying Ustad Mohit. Unfortunately I cannot recall the name of the driver who was one of the drivers from the Ministry of Information and Culture. Three others were Dr. Ravan Farhadi, Dr. Uussain Khadiv Jam and I. Khadiv Jam, famous writer and translator then was the cultural secretary of the Iranian embassy in Kabul. How great was watching the beauties of Ghazni and listening to the comments of that grand scholar. It was a rare opportunity I had found to be in company with three most learned scholars, particularly listening to Ustad Mohit’s comments and explanations on historical points which were vital for me to know. We visited most of Ghazni’s shrines and historical places during the day. Even though I had visited Ghazni and those shrines many times, on that day I thought as if I were visiting and discovering those places for the first time.

That was not all, because Ustad Mohit liked to see Bamian. On those days, traveling to Bamian was not easy. The roads to Bamian were barren and mountainous, not suitable for Ustad Mohit’s conditions. There, on those days we had in Kabul small planes called Twin Otter, which were used in civil flights. A Twin Otter plane was arranged to take Ustad Mohit and companions to Bamian. Fortunately the Governor of Bamian, on those days was Late Naqshband Dashti, a well-known teacher and man of culture, and the head of tourism in Bamian was Hassan Qassim, a young intellectual writer. He was also the manager of Bamian luxurious hotel. No doubt that Mr Qassim was very glad to see Ustad Mohit.

Twin Otter was a small light plane and when it got off the ground it swerved on the side that Ustad Mohit was sitting. The plane made a noise and Ustad cited a praying clause: O Salvager! Save us please. I remember that late Khadiv Jam said: Ustad, don’t worry. These are very good planes. Be sure we are safe. We flew over snowy mountains of central Afghanistan and landed in the city of Bamian. The scholarly governor of Bamian had come in person to the airport to welcome Ustad Mohit. During our staying there, the governor did whatever kindness he could. The guests were very comfortable in Bamian Hotel thank to kindness of Mr Qassim and Mrs Qassim. However it was not her duty, Mrs Qassim notwithstanding her little baby prepared delicious dishes for the grand guest. So being with an intellectual governor and a young writer- manager every thing in Bamian was in its best. Ustad liked to walk in Bamian. He walked and whenever he met folks, particularly children, he would stop and talk to them. He listened to every word carefully and it seemed he was comparing their speeches with the Persian classics. We went to see Buddha statues. He leaned on his cane and stared for long times to the tall awesome stature of the statues as if he were glancing the pages of the history. After 34 years, still I recall his thoughtfulness looks and his satiric smile there.

In addition to the statues, there were also other masterpieces in Bamian. Those were extremely beautiful paintings on the walls inside many caves around the area where the statues were located. I have no idea how many of those rare masterpieces have survived from catastrophes of war.

We had scheduled one day for visiting Band-e-Amir a natural dam within the mountains. The dam looked like a huge stone goblet overflowed with azure water. From several points of the brim of the dam there sloped many narrow falls creating a fantastic melodic music.

At the foot of the dam, where also could be said around it, there were many restaurant most of them having western names. A mud-walls restaurant caught the attention of Ustad and we went there. The restaurant waiter explained the foods he could bring us and we chose Afghan Plaw and Afghan Kabab, the one we called Kabab-e-sikhi. The dishes were really delicious and it pleased Ustad very much, so he continued to eat far more than he used to. Dr Khadiv Jam started worrying. Ustad got his restlessness and said: Hussain jan! Don’t worry, nothing will happen to me. I like the place as well as the food. Let me be satisfied. In the afternoon, Ustad, supported by his cane, walked as much as he could and observed everywhere. Wherever he saw a group of children, he asked them to cite folkloric poems or Charbaitees (consisted of two verses). He would become excited listening to them as much as sometimes he would turn to tears. At the end he would give children some coins as a bonus, making them happy and thankful.

On return to Kabul, he spent one or two days resting there before leaving for Tehran. At the Kabul airport he gave me as a very valuable gift: Waazha-naamak ( a Persian vocabulary of Shahnama) compiled by Abdul Hussein Noosheen. He had written, on the first page of the book, very kind words attributing to me which made me extremely happy.

Days, months, and years passed. About ten years later, when I worked for Great Encyclopaedia of Islam, Dr Khdiv Jam said that Ustad Mohit likes to see us. We appointed a time, an afternoon and went to Ustad’s home, in Tehran, Zhaala Ave. Ustad looked very happy seeing me, and I was very glad to see that great teacher. There were many scholars and lettermen, who had come to visit Ustad. Everybody helped himself pouring tea at samovar-stand. There came a harmonic sound of porcelain cup tinkling, which turned everybody’s attention. The sound was coming by the trembling Ustad’s hands, holding the cup of tea. Almost all the guests got up to take the cup of tea from him, but he said: No! I want to bring a cup of tea in person for Asef Jan. And he did. I was sweating for being shy.

Two or three years later when I was in Mashhad, I heard that grand teacher, historian and letterman passed away. Pray God grace his soul.

Asef Fekrat

Ottawa, February 7, 2012

Habibi- a grand teacher

2009-12-09T19:17:00.011-08:00

The day when the sky opens
The day when the stars turn dark
I will grasp your skirt, saying:
O beloved, for which guilt I was killed
I remember this quatrain cited by Professor Abdul-Hai Habibi in the last session of a literary seminar, in the Intercontinental Hotel in Kabul. I never forget his articulated enunciation whenever he cited a text, and I dare say, whenever he spoke, and after decades, I remember, completely, whatever I heard from him. I can recall his teaching, not only through my ears of head but also through my ear of soul and heart. I wrote ‘the last session’ so where and when was the first?
The firsts were during the best years of my life, when I was studying in the Kabul University. Late Professor Habibi was teaching us Persian (Dari) Classics, or as we used to say, Ancient Texts. I remembered plenty of verses from classic poetry; whenever he cited a piece of poetry or prose, with his sweet Kandahari dialect, I recalled this verse from great poet, Sa’di:
May thousand loving story-teller nightingales
Learn from you Dari conversation and speech.
Entering to the classroom, he would respond the greetings of students, with a smile, and sit. Initially, we were attracted by his two acts: first the use of two seats of glasses, frequently, when he looked at the text and at us, and then the frequent closing of the lid of pen, immediately after writing down a note, even if it was not in use only for seconds. Later we learned the logic of his reasonable behavior. When we were in second year, we watched his public speeches and his directorate in the academic sessions and seminars. It was the Translation Seminar that took place in the hall of the university‘s library. We, sophomores of the faculty of letters, were allowed to attend the sessions, as “listeners”. There, we learned how the world scholars revered and greeted Prof. Habibi, and how they listened fondly, and carefully paid attention when he lectured or even simply spoke, particularly Iranian letterman, late Dr. Natel Khanlari who liked him very much. Khanlari, as the director of the Pahlawi Foundation, agreed to publish Habibi’s works. The graduation years in the university, where we learned from Habibi were over. I worked for two next years in Balkh and Herat, but I missed those beautiful years, and always dreamed returning to Kabul as it came to reality. There was a plan for the constitution of the Afghan Academy in the Ministry of Information and Culture. In the chart, I was chosen as the secretor for the president of The Afghan Academy, Professor Habibi. The Afghan Academy was being founded on the base of the Afghan Historical Society. It meant that I practically became a member of the Afghan Historical Society and reentered to the instructive circle of my previous teacher and faculty professor. Habibi was such a teacher from whom the students could learn through his lectures and writings as well as his behavior. His actions were precise and sound. He would say a little, but meaningful and scrutinized. As for Farsi (Dari) literature and linguistics in which I was more in touch with my teacher, whatever new point he found he would search about it as much as he could. He would use all available means to assure about the accuracy of a newfound subject. Here is an example from my own experiences:
I had written an article (in 1969) which was under his edit to approve it to be published in the Ariana Quarterly. I remember he came to our office-room and asked me where had I seen the word lashgar (army)? I immediately understood that I should have written Lashkar, but not lashgar. I said it is my fault and I apologize for it; I believed it would be easier for Farsi speakers to pronounce lashgar. He said “ yes, and it is why I would like to know if you had seen it in a credible or classic source.” This incident was so important to me, that I learned how thirsty a scholar should be in finding the accurate facts. I appreciated it with myself when I compared his searching to those who, without any investigation say that is wrong or that is right. Professor Habibi’s behavior was instructive for lucky students who worked with him. Today, after 36 years I can feel his presence, his stout stature however in his seventies, at front of my desk, with a microfilm or a sheet of paper in his hand. He could summon me or other colleagues for inquiry, instead of coming himself, but he did not. Perhaps he liked to teach reverence to others, practically.
In those days the Afghan Historical Society office was located in Qal’a-ye-Fathollah. It was a two-story building, a tiny classic house which was rented for the office. With a small lawn, a few ornamental trees and flowers, more natural than decorated, it looked appropriate for a historical office. It was very calm and comfortable.
In the office, each one of our colleagues had a work projects. Some of them were working fast and some slow. The society had its own academic quarterlies, Ariana and Afghanistan. If I am to name the most active and prolific member of the society, there was nobody more active and prolific than Habibi himself. Among Habibi’s students there were two young researchers who had concentrated all there attentions on his instructions; they were Habibullah Rafi’ and Zalmai Hewadmal, both of whom, now, are well-known professors. From Habibi, every student could learn according to his or her own capacity and ability. Habibi’s books and innumerous articles show his versatility in history and literature. His works, even his preliminary works, are among the historical and literary masterpieces in Afghanistan and abroad. The late professor had innumerous edited works (classic texts edited by professor Habibi). My teacher Dr. Ravan Farhadi in the second volume of The History of The Pashto Language Conjugation, has written a comprehensive biography for Ustad Habibi including a long list of his works.
Habibi had a good sense of humor. However he would say jokes, sometimes, in the offices, but he was more humorous outside, particularly when he was in a picnic with friends and colleagues. He had a treasure of epigrams, japes, and jokes, most of them real and practiced or seen by himself. Everybody liked to listen to those pieces and nobody could help laughing loud. Even some memories that were ordinary when said by others, were extremely interesting to hear when narrated by Habibi.
My career in the Afghanistan Historical Society ended next year and I was appointed in journalistic duties outside the Capital, but after two years, I was lucky to find new opportunity to learn from Prof. Habibi, this time more academically. This time it was in the preliminary sessions to a series of academic seminars. To those sessions senior scholars were invited and weekly sessions were chaired by Habibi. However every scholar would express his or her view about the agenda, but most classic information was delivered by Habibi and modern academic methods were presented by Ravan Farhadi. For young members of these sessions, the lectures, instructions and information given by those two prominent professors were equal to a progressive class in a university. There was a reciprocal reverence between both of scholars, Habibi and Ravan.
Concluding theses lines, here is a short account of the quatrain mentioned in the first paragraph. It was the last of abovementioned seminars; last because the system of the government in Kabul was changed and there was no desire for such seminars anymore. But the last one was held because the invitations for foreign scholars had been delivered before the last government was overthrown. The seminar was directed by Professor Habibi while most his colleagues, in other words, most of the intellectuals and scholars, including Raven Farhadi were imprisoned. In the closing session, Habibi delivered a short speech. While tears in his eyes he cited this quatrain:
The day when the sky opens
The day when the stars turn dark
I will grasp your skirt, saying:
O beloved, for which guilt I was killed
He continued: we attended this seminar in a condition that our most prominent friends, among them, Dr. Ravan Farhadi and Prof. Ismail Moballigh are in jail. We are in deep sorrow and profound grief and we ask the government to release our scholarly friends and colleagues. Even though Ravan Farhadi was released two years later, but unfortunately, famous and prominent Philosopher, Professor Ismail Moballigh was martyred.
Ottawa, April 18, 2007 (translated, with abbreviation, in December 9, 2009) – Asef Fekrat

Ravan Farhadi, a Versatile scholar

2009-10-12T19:59:00.006-07:00

Honourable readers have asked for English translation of Persian/Dari Memoirs I had written during last years. Here I begin with a short memoir about my dearest teacher and friend, His Excellency Professor Doctor Ravan Farhadi.
It was 1975 ( 1353 HS) when I was on a trip to Iran during the annual vacation, when late Professor Daneshpezhooh entered the office of Prof. Iraj Afshar and asked me with worries about Ravan Farhadi, and praised him for his profound knowledge particularly in French language. He recalled a conference he had attended in Paris, where ‘a Meddle Eastern scholar delivered a lecture in French with such a profound mastery as if he was speaking in his first language’ while Prof, Afshar who accompanied Daneshpeshooh would say that he was Dr. Ravan Farhadi, the Afghan ambassador. Late Daneshpezhooh who had heard that Ravan had been relieved from the embassy and had been summoned to Kabul was concerned about his conditions. I told him that Dr. Ravan was my teacher and he was doing quite well. I told him that he was relaxing at home and was busy with his studies and researches.
Here, I am writing a few lines on what I may remember about Dr. Ravan Farhadi in that year, hitherto and afterward. But first, I will write an account of our initial visit with this great diplomat, politician, mystic, author, linguist, philologist, and translator.
First visit with Khodayar Kabuli
It was around 1968 when I was a freshman in Kabul University and at the meantime I was working as a producer of artistic and literary programs in Kabul Radio, including a program called Honar wa Zendagi (art and life). Following the instructions of my teacher and boss, late Prof. Sabahoddin Kushkaki, I had opened, in that program, a chapter for book reviews. For this chapter I interviewed famous scholars among whom were high-ranking government officials. To have a review on a juridical book by Dr. Walid Hoqooqi, I was told that an appointment had been made with Dr. Ravan Farhadi, the Politics Department Director in the Foreign Affairs ministry. I was told that Dr. Ravan would say something about the book and I had to write his words down instead of of recording his voice.
Next day, I went to the Foreign Affairs Ministry. It was very exciting, because for a freshman student, on those days, going to that ministry, then visiting a personality like Ravan Farhadi, was not an easy job. But it had become possible for me. I tried to look perfect for visiting such a luminary official. I was so impressed by the glory of the environment that I forgot to wonder how young Dr. Farhadi was, and he looked as old as looked the foreign ministry itself. He asked some questions and said a few words before going to main subject, the book review. I did not know shorthand and he was dictating so rapidly that, at first, I though it was impossible for me to go along with him. But I heard, as if somebody shouted inside me, that do not give up this opportunity, or you should give all ambitions up. It was when felt as if I had become with all my existence a pen, running in the white sheet, writing what I could not even follow hearing. Fortunately it was finished and I asked how should I write his name. He said smiling that it was a good question and added’ Write, Khodayar Kabuli’.
Marvelous! So he was the author of the morning liturgy program that I liked so much and heard every day. That litany under the signal of “The Right Way” everyday was ending with the name of the author recited by the announcer: written by Khodayar Kabuli. Anyway such was my acquaintance with Ravan Farhadi. During my studies in university and simultaneously working in Radio Kabul, I always sought an opportunity to go and see Dr. Ravan Farhadi, and I always succeeded in my efforts and always learned vital lessons. Thus Dr. Ravan Farhadi became my teacher, not only in knowledge but also in culture. He never spared what he should have taught me. His teaching and guidance were not only with amenity and leniency, but sometimes with warning and anger. For example, first I did not care about punctuality. He told me once: do you know what may happen in this world in ten minutes when we are late? Gradually, I became as punctual as I always, even now, try to arrive a few minutes earlier for any appointment and wait outside for the exact time.
The Honorable Specialist =Janaab-e Motakhasses
After graduating from the university, for some reason, I had to work for one year in my hometown, Herat, as a high school teacher. After one year, my friends and colleagues called me to return to the Press, but it was not easy then, for teachers, to leave teaching for another job. I should have earned the agreement from the Ministry of Education. When Dr. Ravan knew the problem told me that the Honorable Specialist will help to get the agreement from the Education Ministry. But who was the Honorable Specialist, and one may ask, why am I writing about him, here? I am writing about him because he was a relative of Ravan and a paragon of the high culture of Kabul. He had attracted the me and without doubt so many others by his etiquettes and manners. He was late Professor Mohammad Yonus known as the “Motakhasses”, which means The Specialist, because he was specialist in chemistry. In those days he was a senior man, in his seventies, and he was an adviser in the Ministry of Education. He was very tactful and polite and very orderly with everything in his daily life. Although he was a specialist in chemistry, his reputation was mostly for his endeavors in adults education, particularly adult literacy. He was a founder of the adult literacy courses in Afghanistan, and in addition to a book that he had compiled which was named The Rules of Yonus (Osool e Yonus), he arranged publishing a monthly magazine by the name of Read and Know ( Bekhwan wa Bedaan ). He was Ravan’s father in law.
So on the appointed day, for my agreement from the ministry of education, I went to see the honorable Specialist, Prof. Yonus, at early morning, and we went together to the ministry. He took the paper that was given to me by the information and culture ministry, and went room by room to fulfill the procedure. I remember that in every office, where he entered, high-rank officer would stand for his respect and asked for the paper to complete in his behalf, but he would denied and said that he himself had been asked for the job, and it was his own duty to complete it. As they knew his manner they would not insist, but bowed to him. I kept on following him till afternoon until the work was done and the agreement was ready. I remember that late Professor smiled and asked: Did I complete my job? Am I dismissed?
I believe, his manners and ethics were, ad are, a good paragon for young generation. It’s worth saying that the Professor had a special interest to my hometown, Herat, where he had served as the director for the department of education. Even though he was chemistry professor, had a broad knowledge in different branches of human sciences. Most people who had met him, always recall his useful academic advices. Late Rona Ravan Farhadi, Professor’s daughter was a pattern of high-culture Kabuli ladies.
Again, let us resume writing of my teacher and very dear friend Professor Doctor Ravan.
One of his characteristic habits was to encourage his students and friends for academic works.
Balkh and Yaghma magazine
I was working in the Balkh province, in the department of information and culture in 1970. In Balkh, the anniversary of Nawrooz was celebrated nationally, or even internationally. It was a national festival as well as a pilgrimage because in Balkh, there is the shrine of Hazart-e Ali the fourth caliph of Islam. On the first day, VIPs came from the capital, Kabul, and in that year Ravan also came as the first person in the Foreign Affair Ministry. I was among the host officers welcoming the guests and pilgrims. He was there for a few hours and had to return because he could not keep out from the office for a long time. I did not know he was coming and surprisingly I met him and after inquiry he said that he had brought Yaghma, Persian literary journal and handed it to me. He had brought that journal because there had been published an itinerary of Dr. Islami Nodoshan and there was a chapter about his visit to Balkh, where we, Nadoshan and I, had met together. It was the habit of my teacher, Dr. Ravan who did not ignore any opportunity to encourage his students and friends. Later I was transferred to Kabul and Dr. Ravan was the political deputy in the Foreign Ministry and I went to see him every now and then, and was always welcomed generously. Later he was appointed as Afghan ambassador to Paris and went there, and we were in contact by letters.
Five years at home
There is proverb in Farsi: Attachment to the king is a burning fire. So was the case for my teacher. I prefer ignoring the story in detail and passing by with that ironic proverb. So, around 1975 he was summoned to Kabul without being appointed to a new job for five years. In press as well as Internet nobody has written, in detail, on Dr. Ravan’s literary and cultural activities during this period. I daresay, without doubt, that this was most productive period for Dr. Ravan Farhadi.
Jahanbeen, a journalist and political commentator
During this period, I learned how talented Ravan was in journalism particularly in writing political commentaries and world review. And this is a fact from which his admirers, even most of his close friends have not been aware. When I served as a member of the editing board in Jamhooriat (Republic) newspaper run by late Dr. Asef Sohail, there was published a weekly world review under the name of Jahanbeen. Sohail tried to have participation of elites in the paper. So Ravan was invited to write for the newspaper, and he wrote that weekly review but under the penname or Jahanbeen. Majority of readers were interested in that review, while none of them knew the author was Ravan Farhadi. It was a long review, written very precise and full of facts and new points. It is worth mentioning that the compilation of the punch book, Mahmood Tarzi’s Article in Sarajul-akhbar was also a pattern of his interest in journalism.
A productive cultural movement
In 1974, the Afghan government approved a series of seminars, on life and works of elite personalities, to be held in Kabul. To plan and make a better arrangement a series of regular academic sessions were held at the Ministry of Information and Culture. In the ministry, there were personalities who acknowledged the superiority of academic and diplomatic character of Ravan Farhadi. Some of those people, are alive now, and may God bliss those who are not in this world anymore. One of these scholarly officers was Dr. Akram Osman, who was the director of publicity in that ministry. He was, and he is, a letter man and a skilled novel writer and he has always has reverence to cultural and literary personalities, particularly a person like Ravan Farhadi. Dr. Osman was the chief executive of these proposed programs. Akram Osman had also gathered many intellectuals and cultural employees. So there had been arranged a list of historical personalities, lettermen, academics and scientists, worth celebration. Among the names in the list were classic scholars like Daqiqi, Senayi, Naser Khosraw, Khwaja Abdullah Ansari, Farabi and many others.
In the ministry, to carry on this task, there was arranged a council of scholars who were invited from all over the Capital. Among famous scholars were Prof. Abdulhai Habibi and Prof. Ravan Farhadi. Habibi chaired the council and Ravan was the main speaker there. Ravan not only gave the advices but he also would show the easy and effective way for the achievements. One would relish seeing the reciprocal reverence and respects of those two scholars. A clear evidence of Ravan’s deep respect to Habibi is his book, A history of Pashto etymology. Dr. Ravan, in the second volume of the book has written a comprehensive academic biography of Dr. Habibi.
Although there many seminars were held before for celebrities like Ansari, Jami and others, but now there was a notion to introduce the culture of the society in a more worldwide scale. It was Ravan who, at this period of time- free from political involvements and fond of doing something effective for the culture, helped the executors to do their job as best as it was possible. He helped the cultural offices of the country to introduce country’s culture and literature to world in an unprecedented manner. This movement also made it possible for intellectuals to compile, research and publish hundreds of new literary, cultural and scientific books, save thousand of articles written, in this period of time by the scholars of the country and world. Ravan knew the world’s scholars better than the others did as he knew the world better than the others did. In each seminar Ravan put a finger on certain scholars names whom he thought more useful and whose participation was more practical. He also helped the executors to establish new international standard which made the seminars superior in the region.
Of course it could be, academically, beneficial for Ravan himself. He searched, wrote and edited a series of books some of those had many prints inside and outside the country. Were Ravan in his official governmental post could have done such marvelous academic works, is not easy to judge. During this period of time, if he were working as a politician or diplomat, as he was before, one me ask: could he do such a great number of academic works?
Didn’t he need really?
In Canada, I heard from some friends, followed by newspapers, that Iranian cultural institutions has appreciated Dr. Ravan’s endeavors in Literature and culture appointing a sum as reward or donation. They said that Ravan being gratitude of this appreciation, asked that the amount be give to one of Kabul’s charity centers, Lunatic Asylum. Those who delivered the news, were wondering how and why he did this while he himself did need it. I not only did not wonder, but the news reminded me another occasion I had seen many years ago while Dr. Ravan needed. It was about forty years ago when his translation of Mansoor-Hallaj’s Biography, by Luis Macignon was published by the Bonyad-Farhang_e_Iran (Iran Cultural Foundation ) . When the foundation sent him a check for his work, he returned the check, attaching a thanking letter, asking that the amount of the check be divided among the typesetters who had worked on that book in the printing house.
Imprisonment
Anyway, this period also passed and a very sad time was waiting for Dr. Ravan as well as for his friends. It was when he was imprisoned, as were thousand other Afghan scholars, intellectuals and elites(c. 1978-1980). Here, I do not want to recall those bitter tormenting memories of which most readers are aware. I just like to mention his answer to a question I frequently heard in various sessions from him. When he was asked of the most difficult moments in the prison, he would say: It was when they called one or many of our friends and took them some where we knew why the took them and we did not know where they were left (soulless). Perhaps for Ravan there had had been more difficult times from which he did not say anything but could see some traces of those days: He showed me a small hard stone retracted to a string like a locket then hung from his son, Hamed’s neck. In that stone was engraved by Ravan, the name: Hamed. It may have been engraved for tens of days, by a means one does not know.
I n the USSR
The political atmosphere became milder and Ravan, and many others, who survived, returned home. Thousands of friends and students went to see Dr. Ravan, it the first days of his coming back home. The number of the visitors was exciting.
In 1980 the government of Soviet Union wanted to show the Soviet life and communities to the Afghan elites. For the purpose a great number, around two hundred neutral, nonpartisan, intellectuals were invited to visit some Soviet Republics. Among the invitees were Dr. Ravan and I. Of course all of us were fond of visiting Central Asia where we were supposed to go. The delegation was comprised from different categories of intellectuals like university professors, teachers, poets, authors, translators, traders, clergies, craftsmen and others. I had many short trips before in companion of my teacher, Dr. Ravan, but this was our first long trip together. All along the trip, we were together. Of course this was an excellent opportunity for me to learn whatever I could from him. One may know how valuable is being in ancient cities of central
Asia accompanied with a scholar who knew scholarly and scientifically every inches of those places like Tashkent. Osh, Kokand, Dushanbe, and many other historical places of which we had only known through the classic texts.
I have many good memories from that trip all worth mentioning from which I will mention only a few:
At the time of that great man
We were in Frunze, the capital of Kirgizstan there was a literary session. There, a local poet recited a poem, an eulogy praising the deceased president. At the end, he asked the guests to cite their alike eulogies for that great man. Among the guests, Dr. Ravan rose his hand that made all the guest wonder what he would cite. He said ‘I just want to tell your honorable Professor, that at the time of that great man almost all writers and poets were in prison.’ This caused murmur among the guests and hosts and later we knew that the man was blamed for such a request.
Prediction of a long war
One night there was an invitation in a beautiful place named Charmaghzdare ( the Walnut valley). For the toast, the governmental speaker delivered a long speech, explaining the quality and quantity of walnut of that place and its export to foreign countries and so and so. On the tables there they had put trays of walnuts with nut-breakers. After the host speech, Dr. Ravan stood up , as a guest speaker and delivered a long speech on Panjsheer and its main product, walnut, from which Afghans make a sweet-like food, by adding mulberry(toot). He added that in difficult circumstances Afghans may live on only a small peace of tarkhan (walnut and mulberry) for months, even for years. He said that if there is famine, or if the an enemy power invades their territory, they will resist and fight for a long time with the help of walnut and mulberry.
There in the session a senior Afghan, sitting beside me, whispered and asked me if did I know what my teacher meant, and what he was predicting? I said, no, what did he mean? The man said, that Dr. Ravan was predicting a long war by Russia in Afghanistan, and he was right.
The grandparents’ songs of independence for soviet-invaded countries children
For us, it was not easy to imagine that Central Asian countries will get their independence and sovereignty in less than a decade. But Dr. Ravan, those days was telling me that parents were busy in Soviet-style life, and it were grandparents in whose bosoms their grandchildren were brought up. He would say that those grandparents would tell their grandchildren all the realities about their life and their culture, and those children who were future’s men and women would seek their lost Paradise. They would regain their culture and their sovereignty. And it was the truth. We saw it happened.
There, in every city we visited, both of us with the help of our nationalist Kirgiz guide would see cultural institutes where we were welcomed by people who were fond of seeing us whom they thought very near to themselves.
A flight for good
We were back home from the Soviet trip. Dr. Ravan was the Super Adviser in the Ministry of Foreign Affairs, but all he was thinking about, was how to leave. In those days, there was felt the necessity of compiling an Afghan edition of the Hajj Guidance, and Ravan was the best editor for such a book. He began and ended it immediately with the help of Prof. Habibullah Rafi who edited the Pashto version of that book. When it was the time for a payment for there work, both of them asked for a Hajj Pilgrimage and the government accept. Thus Ravan left Kabul. And did not returned.
A rude student?
Ravan’s kindness and tolerance has always permitted me to feel free in asking him tough questions; such a questions that nobody else would dare ask him. He always had and still has very reasonable answers to my questions.
With saying that some people were criticizing, once I asked him why did he take the duty of execution the wedding ritual in wedding parties, while there were certain persons for the job. He said: this is a cultural and religious duty for everybody. I am doing it because I want people not to down-look those who take that responsibility. Once it happened that Dr, Ravan was invited to a wedding party in Ottawa. He cited the Khotba (wedding prayer) and wrote all the documents himself, and it was really interesting for me. I was sorry for transferring others’ critics through my own questions.
Chastity of tongue
Ravan always has a clean tongue, and does not use ugly words. I remember when he was narrating a joke and the joke looked more serious than simple ludicrous joke. It happened that another person on the other occasion, narrated the same joke that one could not help laughing aloud. It was because Ravan had omitted an ugly word, in other word an F word.
Multidimensional scholarship
Ravan has a multilateral scholarship. His vast knowledge in politics, diplomacy, and linguistics is known all over the world. Half a century ago he wrote the book named Kabul Oral Language. He also wrote a book on Tajik Dialect. His books in mysticism have many prints, in Afghanistan and Iran. He also took participation in introducing modern literature in Afghanistan, and translated Topaz and Misunderstanding. He encouraged me to compile Herati Oral Language. He was my guide in my fist researches and writings, and thank to his encouragements, as one of his humble students could write and translate more than 30 topic of books an hundreds of articles.
October 12, 2009
Asef Fekrat
Ottawa-Canada

In Those Days:

2008-03-07T16:34:00.007-08:00

Nawrooz in Herat

I remember childhood’s beautiful times,
Those exciting spring-days of childhood
(From a Persian song)

Keywords:
Nawrooz; Nowrooz; Norooz; Herat; Chella; Seagull; Swallow; Spring-cleaning; Charshanbe-sooree; Eavesdropping; Falgoosh; New Year’s Napery; Haftseen; Haft-miwa; Sabza; Samanu

First signs of spring
Those days, from the first week of February (second decade of Dalw or Bahman, Persians' eleventh solar month) we smelt the sweet smell of spring. Not only we believed that Chella khurd (Little Forty, from first of February to 10th of March) was much warmer than Chella kalaan (The Big Forty, from December 21 to February 1st) but we also felt it as a reality. If there were snow on the ground, a clear steam was rising from beneath of that snow, as if the Earth were respiring. Even in Kabul, where there is a colder winter, they believe likewise. I had heard from Kabuli seniors: Forty days to Aries, hug the lamb! It means that forty days to Aries (almost 10th of February) the weather gets warm so cattle and sheep can give birth. It is interesting for us in Canada that this is the time when groundhog, for the first time, comes out from its home after the winter hibernation.
On February 20s the signs of spring were more clear. The flamboyant tree by the flowerbed of our house was beginning to flower, and the buds and ivies of the only vine plant were parading. The presence of the spring became more realistic when gardeners brought loads of fresh but leafless branches which they had cut in the yearly pruning in the country. These branches remained many days on the courtyard before moving to the kitchen stock. We played with those branches and examined their freshness. They had a violet bright skin and when we broke them, the inside of sprigs was watery and fresh and some of the buds had been grown to opening small leaves. We tried to chew them as if we were testing the delicacy of the spring. I think we called these woods, jungle. All these plays taught us experiences about how spring comes. During the month of Isfand or Hoot (Piscine) hyacinth and daffodil flowers were brought to shops for sale. I remember my grandfather was the first who bought and brought bunches of hyacinth and daffodil which were set at the shelf of the living room, scattering sweet smell and beautifying the decoration of the room. On March weekends, people began going picnic, to the skirts of Takht e Zafar (means Throne of Triumph) mountains, where thousands of purple and flamboyant flowers were flourished. On returning back, some picked and brought bunches of these flowers as messengers of spring. These flowers were the clearest signs of spring. Appearance of immigrant birds on the sky was another sign of Nawrooz. Those birds were and are called Nawroozi-birds (seagull). Sometimes seagulls were fallen when there was a storm; otherwise they flied through dept of sky, and we could see their orderly rows as well as could hear their sounds and crowing.

Swallows, the guests of the warm seasons
Then it was swallows’ turn to come and check their nests. We assumed, every year, that the same last years’ swallows were coming. They checked their nests, and if the nests need repair they repaired them by bringing mud and straws and they were doing the repairing job as if they were expert architects. Swallows built nests on the ceilings of rooms. People loved swallow and liked their songs. They believed that swallows were citing a short chapter of the Holy Book. They were beautiful black birds with red beak. They did not harm any body even they did not eat any thing at home but they found worms, and might be insects, from streams and brooks and river beds, to living on. Swallows liked to swing; so people fixed swings for them near their nests. They sit on the swing, swinging; while they were singing, what we were told, were verses from the Holy Book.
No conserve foods anymore
This (Chella Khurd=Little Forty) was the time when we had to leave some of our winter habits that we were forced to have them during the cold season. We stopped cooking and eating dried meat, and some other conserved foods because our seniors believed those things were not healthy anymore.
Spring cleaning
Then we had our yearly spring cleaning before Nawrooz. Spring cleaning is a traditional custom of Aryans’ like Iranians, Tajiks, Afghans, and others in the Meddle East and Central Asia. During the spring cleaning, people moved all house wares, washed and cleaned them. They also moved curtains, carpets and rugs, and washed them or shook them to drive all the dust that was sat on them during the last year. They cleaned all floors and walls and ceilings by brooms and other devices; then they placed everything to its place and rearranged the rooms for the New Year. They often repainted the rooms.
Special days and nights
Charshanbe-sooree
There were some special days and nights around Nawrooz; like the years last Wednesday, some called Charshanbe-Sooree (means Red Wednesday, or Happy Wednesday) and the years first Wednesday, and thirteenth of Nawrooz.
On Cahrshanbe-Sooree, people lit huge pyres of fire in open spaces, and while the fire was all flames, youngsters jumped over the fire from one side to the other side saying:
Your redness mine; my paleness yours.
In other words, they were addressing the fire:
Take my pale face and my grief and sorrows, and burn them
Instead, give me a red joyful face
So I live joyfully all next year.
The tradition of making fire on last Wednesday night of the year, and some other special days and nights, is an old custom and one can find accounts of this tradition in detail in Persian classics.
Eavesdropping on Charshanbe-sooree was another old folkloric custom that in Persian is called Faalgoosh. It was thus that somebody, who liked to know about his or her destiny or about the result of some work or subject, would stand at the back of a door or a window listening to what insiders were talking. This person took some of their conversation as an omen and would anticipate his or her future or the future of the subject that was meant.
Nawrooz’ Moment
Then it was Nawrooz itself. Time of transition to New Year differs. It is being appointed by astronomers according to their astronomic calculations and accounts for the end of every year. Sometimes it may be in the morning, while another year may be in the afternoon or midnight. Even it’s being accounted for minutes and seconds. Transfer time of the year would be declared by astronomers who were called Monajjem, in Arabic, and Setara-shenas, in Persian, both which are translations for astronomer. Those days, in every country, there was only one Astronomer, mostly an official one. He made a calendar, which was a booklet around 24 pages or more, for one year. This calendar had all information for one year. In the calendar, even there were some advises for people about there personal lives. What they should do and what they should avoid during certain days. It was according to the belief they had for the influence of stars on human life. Nawrooz’ exact time, that was at a certain hour, minute and second, was also mentioned in the calendar, mostly on the front page. For example, Persian coming year will transfer on Wednesday, Farverdin 1, 1387, at the hour 18:9 and 19 second and here in Ontario, Canada on Thursday, March 20, 2008, at 1:48 AM.
There were some traditional rules that people observed at the time of transferring to New Year. All members of the family tried to be at home together. They were all bathed and wore clean clothes sit by the “Sofra-ye-Nawroozee” which means the Napery of the New Year, waiting for the New Year’s transition, there were fantastic folkloric imaginations. According to one belief the Earth was placed on one horn of the Cow while the Cow was stood on the back of the Fish. So at transition time, the Cow moved the Earth on his other horn. It was why some people put an egg on a laid mirror or on another smooth level. They believe that when the cow moves the Earth to his other horn, the egg would move and would tumble.
New Year Napery
For the arrangement of the Napery, people started to at least ten days before Nawrooz. They had to prepare Green, which is called Sabza, as Tajiks pronounce, of Sabzeh, as Iranians pronounce. They put a piece of clean cloth in a plate. Then they bring some seeds, like oat, lentil or grass pea, on the cloth then pour some water to wet it and keep it fresh. They put also another piece of cloth to keep the moist. They water the plate every day. After a couple days, the seeds sprout, and the upper cloth should be taken over, not to prevent the growth of the sprouts. At the eve of Nawrooz, the green in the plate looks like a micro-flowerbed. The height of the green will be around five centimeters or a little higher. This beautiful green may have a red or any color ribbon around it neat knotted. There may be many plates of Sabza as one likes to have on the napery. These greens on plates are kept inside till thirteenth of Nawrooz. Then they are thrown on the garbage. Some place them on the trunk of their cars while leading to 13th picnic.
One may ask what the reason for making such a green is. It is because an ancient time people liked to have their Nawrooz ceremony outside in open air, and on lawns and in gardens. Since in some regions there was still wintry weather, people contrived to bring a piece of spring inside. These green plates were those pieces of spring.
Another way of having green is cress on the pitcher. They take a new earthen pitcher, and stick a wet cotton cloth all around the outer surface of the pitcher; then they spread a layer of cress seeds all over the cloth. They fill the pitcher with water. Every day they refill the pitcher which loses some water by secretion and being absorbed by the seeds. After a couple of days the pitcher turns to a beautiful green one, by the new sprout herbs.
Haft-seen
Haft-seen means 7S’s; it is a napery or a tray in which there are seven plated filled with seven items that their names begin with S. Like Seeb (apple), Sanjid (service), Sirka (vinegar), Sakka (coin), Seer (garlic), Sumac (sumac), and Samanu. People have many reasoning for choosing these seven items, but the fact might have been that in ancient times people liked there napery or table to be decorated with things resembling God-given gifts as foods. They though what how there napery was at the transition instance, it would be likewise till the end of the year.
Haft-miwa
Some people choose seven kinds of dried fruit. They soak them, after cleaning them, for two tree days; then at the first days of the New Year they serve a cup of the fruit soaked in the water for their guests or they send a jar of it to their friends and relatives.
In the napery, people also put many other things for the omen. They put many boiled colored eggs, apples, oranges and other fruits and sweets they may have at home or the afford to prepare. They also put there a holy book, rosary and mirror.
Samanu
Samanu was another special dish for Nawrooz that people prepare for both the taste and its omen. Samanu is made of the wheat sprouts. They grind the sprouts and cook it in water. Without sugar, it turns to a delicious sweet dish. Samanu is usually cooked by women and it requires some traditional rituals to become proper. The cooks and audience should be clean and should wear clean clothes. During the cooking, while they stir the boiling pot, they sing a special song made for the samanu cooking. A plate of samanu is being put on the Nawrooz Napery and many plates or bowls are sent to friends and relatives to put on their own naperies or tables. Since cooking samanu is not an easy job, only a few families can cook it, and that is also with the help of other women who come and help in stirring and singing. So, samanu party is a very happy and amusing party for women.
Pray for the New Year
In the eve of the New Year’s transition instance, all members of the family, all bathed and in clean and neat clothes, came and sat together by the napery. There were some prays and benedictions for this moment; the most famous, this one:
O God, Thou, the turner of hearts and eyes
O, God, Thou, the Creator of day and night
O God, Thou, the transferor of the states and time
Turn our state into its best.
People had special dinner for Nawrooz; some preferred a spinach dish with meat and rice, while some liked to have fish with rice.
Thus they welcomed the New Year and they hoped to be likewise in a good mood all the year. Of course these ceremonies and rituals for Nawrooz were not practiced all over the communities. Most people had abandoned them for many reasons. Some reckoned them as antireligious while some others disliked them because they were being practiced by some other nations. The fact is that these ancient customs are neither in contrast with any religion nor with any national value. They show the values and the knowledge of the ancient people.
In ancient times there was a 13-day vacation but now in most countries there is a one-day holyday. Some people go to other cities even outside the country while others stay and exchange parties with relatives and friends. Some go to countryside and enjoy fresh air of the first days of spring. On the day or the days of Nawrooz there were different amusements and entertainments for children and youngsters.
A great number of people travel to the holy shrines and spend New Year’s first days there. Some people travel to Mazar-Sharif where is believed to be the Holy Shrine of Ali, the fourth caliph of the Islam Prophet.

Ottawa, March 1, 2008
Asef Fekrat

زبان و آشنایی

2007-07-27T11:42:00.000-07:00

شکرپاره ها

سه پاره است اگر
سه نام دارد اگـــر

زقند پارسیان تا زبان تاجیکان
زبان نغز دری
به کام من بخدا هر سه پاره شـــــــیرین است
سه پاره است ولی بیگمان ز یک شـکر است

اتاوا 25 جولای 2007
آصف فکرت
........................................

آشنایی

ندانم دلبر سعدی زکابل بود یا از بلخ
ولیکن بلبل دستانسرای عاشق شیراز
به هنجار دری از وی سخن گفتن همی آموخت *ـ
*
گرم رانند و گر بیگانه ام خوانند
مرا با شهریاران، شهرداران نیست پیوندی و پیمانی
ولی من آشنای دلبر شیرازی خویشم
چرا گویم زبانش را نمی دانم
پیامش را نمی خوانم
گرفتم آنکه آسان در نیابم من زبانش را
ولی باشد مرا فرّی ز فرهنگی
که گوید "همدلی از همزبانی خوشتراست" ای دوست!ـ

اتاوا 27 جولای 2007
آصف فکرت
..............................................

: سعدی فرماید*
هزار بلبل دســـــتانسرای عاشق را
بباید از تو سخن گفتن دری آموخت

Wisdom

2007-03-30T10:58:00.000-07:00

On old days, I heard these very thoughtful Persian verses from one of my literature teachers whose name I can not recall now. God bless him and God bless the poet who wrote this piece of wisdom and literature. Here I translate it for you. Asef Fekrat

Knowledge

One who knows and knows that he knows,
He will drive the chariot of honor above the skies.
One who knows and does not know that he knows,
Awaken him; let him not remain ignorant.
One who does not know and knows that he does not know
He also will drive his lame donkey to the village
One who does not know and does not know that he does not know
He well remain in double ignorance, forever.

Selected Verses from Persian Poets

2007-03-03T17:12:00.000-08:00

Here are some Persian verses, selected and translated, for you, by Asef Fekrat.
This selection will be continued:

Flame

We are flames,
Clad in black from the smoke of our heart
Burning silently, like a tulip
(Asef Qommi)

Empty

Excited of your beauty
I am fallen, senseless
Like an empty bottle of wine
(Aahi Herawi)

Hurry

I hurried in expressing my love
Made her upset
Love requires patience
My heart was restless
(Ibrahim Shirin Ojaq)

Breeze and tress of hair

Breeze gifted a flower smell to his collar
Her tress of hair caught it
Threw it away
(Bismil Sistani)

Wine and flower

Your beauty garden, flourished from wine
The flower on your hair
Looks like a drunk nightingale
(ibid)

An Ode by Rumi

2007-02-03T18:10:00.000-08:00

All Night

I was searching for something in Rumi’s poems, when I encountered this ode. So I translated it for you: Asef Fekrat

Where is the beauty that I saw on your face all night?
And sugar-like words that I heard from you, all night
Even though my heart was burning of your face
I flew around the candle of your face all night
The night before your moonlike face, was fixing tent
I was tearing the tent on the night like the moon, all night
The soul, like a cat, was licking its lips, desiring you
And I, like babies, was licking the tip of my finger, all night
My chest was crowded like the nest of bees
Since I was getting honey from you, o spring of honey! All night
The trap of the night came and took the souls of the peoples
I was palpitating, in that trap, like the heart of a bird, all night
To whom all souls are subdued like pigeons
In that trap, I was searching him, all night

Four short poems

2006-11-11T14:46:00.000-08:00

By Asef Fekrat
(original in Persian)

Last Scene

A faded autumn leaf
With all its existence
Stuck on the ground
So, even at the last moment,
Have had left a memory from its beauty

Weeping

Lightning, rain, and breeze
Came together
Which lover
Has reminded weeping
At your skirt

You..?

Today, breeze blows tended
The dawn bird has awaken earlier
Passengers look more kindly to each other
-
Have you passed by, last night, here?

Thinking of you

Nice and pleasant
Like the smell of a red rose
To think of you
--
I am thinking now

Asef Fekrat

A Story

2006-11-08T19:10:00.000-08:00

Morning Glory

It is a summer Saturday, and I am walking back home from library. Today, as previous days, I change my way and choose a new street. I am new in Ottawa, and I want to know my neighborhood and my new city better. I expect to see new things, as I have already seen. Saturday is silent and solitude. As I walk, I watch the flowerbeds at front of houses. There are many flowers, which I know. However, many are new to me, or, in my hometown, we know them as wild flowers. Suddenly, I stop. There is Morning Glory, my favorite flower. I love it for many reasons. I love it from my childhood. I like its heart shaped leaves. I like its different colors. I like it because it makes mornings more beautiful. It changes the light of the sun in a lovely manner. It spirals around any subject that is near to it as if it has fallen in love with it. It is why in my hometown they call it “love spiraled.” I love Morning Glory because it reminds my childhood lovely days. My mother liked this flower and always planted its seed and I watched its growth since it was a seed until it became a spiraled lovely plant full of flowers. Therefore, it is my mother’s flower, and there is no doubt that I love it. I stand and watch it carefully and lovingly. From a far distance, a senior lady is walking to my side. I continue looking at flowers as well as at old buildings, which have a lovely style. It is getting late. I resume walking. I feel my necktie moved on one side because I have worn a thin slippery shirt that cannot hold the tie. I need a mirror to fix my tie. I reach to a parked car, and I look at its window’s mirror to fix my tie. The woman is very near to me. She has a meaningful look at me and claps her hands together. I resume walking. All neighborhoods’ dogs bark. I am happy, and the lady is happy too. I am happy because I have found another thing that links Ottawa to my childhood hometown; the lady is happy of thinking that she has saved others’ property. Everyday I learn a new lesson in my new hometown.

October 9, 2006
Asef Fekrat

Khorasanian Mystic and Poetry

2006-10-21T20:22:00.000-07:00

Aboo Sa’id Abulkhair great mystic of Khorasan (370 – 440 AH/ 992-1062 AD ) was sitting with his followers, while one of them was citing Persian poem. The man cited this verse aloud:

I will hide inside my words
To kiss your lips
When you read my ode

Aboo Sa’id was excited and asked whose poem was? The man said: Emara Marwzi was the poet. Emara”s tomb was in Mahana, where Aboo Sa’id lived. Aboo Sa’id said: God bless Emara. He rose, asking his followers: Let us go to Emara’s tomb for a pilgrimage.
This is the Emara’s Persian verse:

PIRAMOOZ

2006-10-19T17:51:00.000-07:00

A beautiful script, Piramooz, that was famous and favourite in Khorasan about 1000 years ago. This pattern is written by Asef Fekrat based on the ancient manuscripts, preserved in Astan-Quds Library in Mashad, Iran

Kufic script

2006-10-11T18:34:00.000-07:00

I wrote this calligraphic pattern, based on a manuscript from 5th AH/ 11th AD century. I was studying and watching the manuscript for many days, and still I liked to look at different aspects of its artistic characteristics. The original manuscript was written in Khurasan. One can imagine how fantastic the original work is.

Kufic Script

2006-10-11T15:04:00.000-07:00

salwaat, another calligraphic work by Asef Fekrat, from his book, Kufic Script, published by Kian-Ketab, Tehran, 1998.

KUFIC SCRIPT

2006-10-11T14:28:00.000-07:00

AUthor: Asef Fekrat
Publisher: Kian Ketab
Tehran, Iran, 1998

Introduction:
Kufic Script is directly derived from Hijazi Script, whose origin may in order be traced to Hirian, Nebtian, Anbarian, and etc.
Here we do not intend to examine the different views about the exact source and origin of the Kufic Script, and find the integrity of our investigation concerning this subject, which has hitherto been studied by many competent researchers. An analytic-descriptive definition of Kufic Script will be explained as an introduction to theme propounded in this work.
The available petrographs and existing documents, which belong to the first century (AH), indicates that in different kinds irregular arabesque writing Naskh and Kufic scripts have been carelessly used, and no rule or method was officially proposed to follow.

The objective has only been restricted to recording of the written materials and their concepts without paying attention to the elegance and artistic issues, which would have enriched those handwritings.
Such samples can be found in some available inscriptions on stones and in a few documents as well. But when calligraphy was employed in the service of the religion of Islam for the purpose of writing and recording holy Qur’anic verses, it entirely got changed and gradually paced at the path of perfection from viewpoint and aspect of art and elegance.
The first style of the Islamic writing in which the manifestation of art, delicacy and beauty are explicitly evident, is that of Kufic Script. As this very handwriting is said to have been developed in the city of Kufa, so it is called Kufic. The invention or innovation of this script has been ascribed to His Holiness Ali( A.S.).
During the first three centuries(A.H.), the Glorious Qu’ran was practically written and recorded with Kufic Script, while calligraphers of every land used to use there personal style and taste in this sort of handwriting. The nibs of their pens might have been different from one another, or tendency of vertical ribs of the letters towards left and right sides together with some other invented differences exerted in the chosen letters might have characterized the style and place of writing. Thus, various ways of inscribing letters like those of Kufic, Madani, Basri, Shami( Syrian), and Maghrebi scripts came to existence.
In spite of these differences so long as using the Kufic Script uses practically restricted to the Arabian Peninsula, no significant changes appeared in the original forms of this handwriting.
In fact Kufic Script can be known as the first and earliest calligraphy used in writing many copies of the Glorious Qur’an, which are still found here and there in every part of today’s world.
“E’rab” and “E’jam” ( sounds and point of vowels):
The early Kufic Script did not have any signs to display the correct pronunciation of words. Even dots were not used on or under the letters. However, in the course of time, signs for pronouncing vowels gradually appeared. Abul-Aswad- Doeli (688 AD) has been known as the first scribe who used such signs.

In the available copies, written in Kufic Script, cinnabar circles are more or less contiguous to the Arabic letters to show the proper sound of the desired pronunciation. Dots and points (E’jam) can bee seen in the following copies within our reach.
Signs for eloquent reciting Qur’nic Verses later appeared based on Choice and Convention of readers or Scribes of the Holy Qur’an. With the advent of Ibn-e- Moqla ( 328 AH) and Ibn-e- Bawwab (413 AH) the Kufic Script was no more used by the Arab calligraphers, and it was replaced by other scripts like Thulth, Raihan, Muhaqaq, and Naskh.
Thence the Arab Scribes only used Kufic Script in writing the rubrics of the Qur’anic Chapters and on the margins, which were mostly as decorative designs consisting of ceruse or gold work traces done on azure background.
In non-Arab Muslim lands, the use of Kufic script was not practically restricted to this aspect or dimension; instead in the course of time, it got evolution and was used in inscribing many epigraphs and writing books in a vast area stretching between the borders of China and Spain.
At the present time and era the Piramuz Kufic script has greatly acquired reputation as an eastern or Iranian Script. This form or style of writing is indeed beautiful from viewpoints of its elegant characteristics such as having regular separations between the related letters which make words.
In order to avoid spending much time for and on writing, the calligraphers gradually gave up the method or style of using separate letters in putting down a singl word; thus, new letters were regularly joined like those of Kufic or other words inscribed.
Although such a style of writing has been relatively transformed in the course of time, taking new kinds and shapes, and being used in different lands, ruled by different governments, yet it is still known as the eastern or Iranian Kufic Script. Large numbers of the copies of the Glorious Qur’an and too many books, written or printed in Farsi (Persian), as well as various manuscripts are, at present, available here and there in different libraries founded and found all over the world.
The reason of the long prevalence and vast circulation of this style of writing lies in its easy quality of being either written or read.
Having been use in the service of writing the Holy Qur’anic verses, different kinds of the Kufic Script became as sacred phenomenon and got a holy aspect. The calligraphers tried to create as more beautiful and charming letters and words as possible in innovative handwritings.
Thus, those skilled and tactful scribes and calligraphers carefully prepared many elegant and exquisite copies of the Glorious Qur’an.
It is worth mentioning here that various sorts of artistic symbols introduced natural things or manmade objects were used and observable in those sacred letters and words. The present description of the above-mentioned works cannot quench the thirst of those who may seize the opportunity of witnessing such beautiful copies and holy manuscripts with their own eyes. One can enjoy one’s time by watching for hours or even for days in appropriate occasions.
Despite the existence and availability of various copies of the Glorious Qur’an in different Kufic Scripts, preserved in authentic libraries, all over the world, it should undoubtedly be admitted that a large number of these beautiful and matchless copies are, at present, preserved and on display in the Astan Quds Library, in Mashad.
I have had the opportunity and the luck of witnessing such interesting collection for many years.
Having been used in architectural designs on the basis and tastes in the fashion of every land or vogue of time, the Kufic Script has been chronologically changed from viewpoint of its shape, style and inscription. The decorative design of this script can bee seen on some pillars, minarets, porches, and on the walls of palaces. These decoration have been either done through plaster-moldings or by stone-carvings. Some ingenious craftsmen or artisans have successfully shown their artistic creations concerning Kufic Script in fine and multicolored glayed tiles and sorted out bricks. The history of this covers a long period of 1000 years. In short one has to try much to discover the mysterious beauty and elegance of the different decorative designs skillfully used in presenting the Kufic script here and there in different objects and instances.
The manifestation of such Eslimi beauties has been spread from Al- Hamra Palace in Spain to the ruins of the Victory Garden in Ghazna. Reports and records have been hitherto prepared on these relics by the experts of calligraphy and graphology. Many of the examples found in the present collection have been given on the basis of such inscriptions.

M. Asef Fekrat
Mashad,
1998

LOVE AND BEAUTY- 9

2006-06-16T19:55:00.000-07:00

AN ANTHOLOGY OF PERSIAN POETRY FROM 17TH CENTURY
(Selected and translated by Asef Fekrat)

Amusement
Repeating your sweet words, on our union days,
I amuse myself, in the lonely nights.

Corner of your lips
How can I have another desire?
My heart is settled
In the corner of your lips
Like a kiss

Like a kiss
She mentioned my name
How lucky I am?
I found a way
To the corner of her mouth
Like a kiss

Apple brandy
I am senseless drunk
By your sweating chin
How strong was your apple brandy?

Tell me
My soul?
- It is yours
My heart?
-It is yours
Your eyelashes say something
But I don’t understand
Tell me!

Sun and crescent
Who is the sun?
A nurse of her face
Who is the crescent?
A fallen by her eyebrows

Like….
If I were not called a pagan
I would have said:
You are matchless
Like your creator

Eternal fire
If you want to burn me
Kindle by the fire of your face
And see, my ashes
Lightening forever

Ruby...

2006-05-14T14:15:00.000-07:00

An Ode by Sa’di
(13th century C.E.)

O’ laughing darling! Who has tasted your ruby lips?
O’ garden of purity! Who has bitten the quince of your cheek?
Nobody has ever had such a beautiful hunt
Nobody has ever sliced such a sweet melon
Is that wine on your skirt? or, the blood of your victim?
Or the stain of the black mulberry?
You are associating with all, but escaping from me
It is not your guilt, but it is my misfortune
The fruit well no longer remain in the garden
When everybody knew it was ripe and sweet
It is good that the wall collapsed at once
So you won’t claim nobody has seen the garden
Remember the rose, yesterday, when it did not open its mouth
See it today, when its all secrets have gone with the wind
Sa’di, knock another door in dream of love
Leave this farm, where flocks have pastured

Translated by Asef Fekrat

ODE

2006-04-12T22:41:00.000-07:00

By Hafez

The bird of garden sang unto the rose
New blown in the clear dawn: “Bow down thy head!
As fair as thou within this garden, close
Many have blown and died

She laughed and said:
That I am born to fade grieves not my heart;
But never was it a true lover’s part
To vex with bitter his Love’s repose

The tavern step shall be thy hostelry
For Love’s diviner’s breathe comes but to those
That suppliant on the dusty threshold lie

And thou, if you wouldn’t drink the wine that flows
From lives bejeweled goblet, ruby red,
Upon thy thine eyelashes thine eyes shall thread
A thousand tears for this temerity

Last night when Irem’s magic garden slept
Stirring the hyacinth’s purple tresses curled
The wind of morning through the alleys stept

Where is thy cup, the mirror of the world?
Ah, where is Love? Thou throne of Djam” I carried
The breeze knew not, but “Alas” they sighed,
“The happiness should sleep!” and wept

Not the lips of men Love’s secret lies
Remote unrevealed his dwelling place
Oh Saki, come the idle laughter dies
When thou the feast with heavenly wine dost grace

Patience and wisdom, Hafez in a sea
Of thine own tears are drowned; thy misery
They could not still nor hide from curious eyes.

(Translated by Gertrude Bell)

Here is the Persian Text::

صبحدم مرغ چمن با گل نو خاســـــــــته گفـــــت
ناز کم کن که بســــی چون تو درین باغ شکفت
گل بخنـــــــــــــــــدید که از راســـت نرنجیم ولی
هیچ عاشـــق سخن سخت به معشــــــوق نگفت
گر طمـــع داری ازان جام مرصّـــــــــــع می لعل
ای بســــــــــا دُر که به نوک مژه ات باید ســـفت
تا ابد بوی محبت به مشامش نرســــــــــــــــــــد
هر که خاک در میخانه به رخــــــــــــــسار نرفت
در گلســــــــــــــــــتان ارم دوش چو از لطف هوا
زلف سنبل به نسیم سحری می آشـــــــــــــــــفت
گفتم ای مســـــــــــــــــند جم جام جهان بینت کو؟
گفت افســـــــــــــــــوس که آن دولت بیدار بخفت
سخن عشق نه آنســـــــــــــــــــــت که آید به زبان
ســـــــــــــاقیا می ده و کوتاه کن این گفت و شنفت
اشـــــــــــــــــک حافظ خرد و صبر به دریا انداخت
چکند سوز غم عشق نیارســـــــــــــــــــــت نهفت

LOVE AND BEAUTY- 8

2006-03-15T21:20:00.000-08:00

AN ANTHOLOGY OF PERSIAN POETRY FROM 17TH CENTURY

(Selected and translated by Asef Fekrat)

Awaken!
Welcome to the garden
Awaken by a smile
The nightingale’s eye
The luck of the breeze

Defamed
Seeking you
Garden to garden
I am called:
Sensual by the nightingale
Faithless by the flower

Drunken eyes
Your drunken eyecups
Overflowing of wine
Eyelashes with both hands
Keep them so much fine

Glad to be weak
I am glad I am so weak
My heart is fallen on your feet
I cannot pick it up

Wine
I got your letter
I can neither talk nor think
Might have you used wine
In your pen instead of ink

Lonely
Candle and butterfly
Flower and nightingale
All are together
We still apart
O my darling, come!
Have mercy on my lonely heart

Offended
You are offended, O my darling,
From my rude look of my thirst
I am excused
I was thirsty
It was the first

Dimple
Dimple of her chin
Looks like Joseph
Came out from the well

Your smell
Thousand smells of flowers
Come and go
Your smell
Stays in my mind forever

Alas
Dressed in red
I saw from far
Desiring you
I went near
Alas! You were not
I caught fire

Pretext
Leaving your home
I made a pretext
Forgot my heart
To see you again

Old lover
O young darling
Sit nearer
I want to see you
Me, your old lover
I cannot see well
Even from near

Jealous
I dare not send you
Anybody as a messenger
He who comes to you for once
Never returns, I am sure

LOVE AND BEAUTY-7

2006-02-12T09:11:00.000-08:00

AN ANTHOLOGY OF PERSIAN POETRY FROM 17TH CENTURY(Selected and translated by Asef Fekrat)

Shying sweetheart
My sweetheart is childish
Shies away from messengers
Throw my letter on her way

Amorous gestures
From head to toes
Whenever I look at her
Amorous gestures
Poll my heart, saying:
It is the place!

Adventure
Do not tell anybody
From last night’s adventure
The gardener was asleep
The flower drunk
The nightingale released

Your face
After seeing your face,
If eye looks at flower
Walks on thorn,
Barefoot

Sweet smell
The rose,
If has not embraced my sweetheart,
Why does it have sweet smell of her shirt?

Excused
I am not sorry
For not depicting your lips
No need to depict the life-water

Travel
You are traveling
I am traveling too
You leave the city
I leave the world

I wish
I wish I were a breeze
Mixed with your smell
Hanging in your hair
Kiss your cheeks

Stranger
Since you have left
Breeze is enemy to flowers
Spring is a stranger

Sweat
Your shying sweaty cheeks,
In the mirror
Look like rose, under the water

Your hair
Breeze unlocked your hair
Flower gardens dance

Your shade
Upon my tomb
If you cast shade
The gravestone will shine
Like sun’s forehead

Sunshine
Under the blue shirt
Her body is dawn
From her collar
Appears sunshine

Sun and crescent
Is this your collar rent?
Or upon the sun
Shines the crescent

Center and circle
We are like the centre and circle
She turns around my heart
I turn around her body

Address
I asked your address from the sea
The water boiled up
The shell brought out ears
The fish lost its tongue

First day
On first day of your love
I cut the faith and the world in two pieces
And threw into the fire

Soul on fire
Is this your hair strand?
Upon your shiny face
Or my soul
Restless on fire

I have left it, it doesn’t leave me

2006-01-30T19:52:00.000-08:00

A poor tutor, in a cold winter, wearing a one-fold robe, with his students was walking by a stream. The students saw that the water brought a fur, and told the teacher while he needed it, he could dive and take it. The tutor, who was really in need of such a warm cloak, dived to pick the fur. But it was not a fur; it was a bear, whose head was under the water, and was driven away by the flood. The bear grasped the poor tutor and the water carried both of them. The students shouted: Sir! Bring it, if you can, otherwise leave it and save yourself. The tutor answered helplessly: I have already left the fur, but the fur doesn’t leave me...!
Thank God that we have not the authority to go where we think is good for us, and it is another power that takes us, where we should be taken.

From Feeh -maa –feeh by Rumi; selected and translated by Asef Fekrat

LOVE AND BEAUTY-6

2005-12-27T19:06:00.000-08:00

AN ANTHOLOGY OF PERSIAN POETRY FROM 17TH CENTURY
(Selected and translated by Asef Fekrat)

Days and nights
Every night
I am thinking of leaving your love
But in the morning
I am your new lover

Never
My eyes
As old lovers
Have never seen
Such high eyebrows
Such long eyelashes

Fire
How warm you are?
As if your mother had been milked you fire
Instead of milk

Paradise
Looking at your face
In this room
Is watching the flower-garden
In Paradise

Childish
My mother
Had given me the pearl of heart to play
I am childish
I forget it wherever I go

Breeze of spring
Is it the breeze of spring?
Or you are coming?
Is it a flower laughing?
Or you are opening your collar?

God blessing
Did she open her collar for a moment?
Or the blessing window of God was opened and closed

Way
I seek a way
From your heart to mine
I do not know letter
I don not know message

Fire
Entered into my heart
But left immediately
As if she caught fire

In the morning
My sweetheart does not awake
Unless the sun kisses her hands and feet

Madness
Leave the love that makes you mad gradually
Good for me
I went mad from her first look

Hands and feet
With your feet
Shoes are vases
With your hands
Sleaves are candlesticks

Promise
Enlivened me promising
But killed me wainting
Such are fairily promises

First look
Her first look filled my cup
How may I afford the second?

A Heavenly Gift for Herat

2005-12-17T17:04:00.000-08:00

Discovery of Grape and Wine in Herat -
My Home City
Edited and translated by Asef Fekrat

Herat, on the west of Afghanistan, is an ancient city, with a long history. In Avesta (Darmester, Zand Avesta, 2110) is mentioned that “Herat is the sixth good place that God has created in the world”. Almost all historians and geographers, who have written about Herat, unanimously have told that it is one of most important, populous, fertile cities, and a centre of trade and full of knowledge goods. There are stories about famous kings, including Alexander the Great, who loved this city. Alexander built an Alexandria there about which are interesting stories. The city is also famous for its art and architecture. Herat, for its glorious period in 15th century, has gotten the title of the “Centre of the East Renaissance”. It is located on a crossroad of the world trade. It has been called the Gate of India because it always has been the first place that conquerors entered on their way to India.
It has four proper seasons, long and fantastic sunset, delicious fruits, beautiful pine and cedar trees, more than hundred kinds of grapes, and many other worth mentioning things. These several kinds of grapes all exist, and each one has its own name. Herati grapes are the world’s most famous and delicious grapes. It is as sweet and fine as if it doesn’t have skin. But the wonderful thing for the city is that there is an old story of discovery of wine there for the first time. The story of discovery of grapes and wine in Heart, is mentioned in a famous book - Nawrooznaama- that means ( the book on Equilibrium Day) written by great and famous scholar and poet of 12th century, Omar Khayyam. This story is also turned into poetry by Asef Fekrat. Here, you read a translation of that story that originally is written in Persian.

Wine a Heavenly Gift for Herat

In the heart of Asia
Is located an ancient city now called Herat
Its ancient names were Aria, Hari, and Herai
Once there was a king
Who lived in the citadel called Shamiran-dezh
It means the castle of Shamiran
Therefore, the king entitled Shamiran shah
Famous, brave, just and kind
Loved his subjects and they loved him
In his time, Herat was populous and the people were well-to-do
One day, around the Equinox that they call Nawrooz
The king, the royal family, and courtiers were in country side
Entertaining, hunting, and sightseeing
Suddenly, over their heads, in the deep sky, appeared an eagle
Coiled by a fearful serpent, looked miserable and helpless
Flapping its wings, as if it entreated for help
Shamiran shah addressed his courtiers:
“Who is who wants to save the eagle from this terrible serpent?”
His son, Prince Badhan, stood in front of his father; kissed the earth,
The king gave a hint that meant permission
The Prince kneeled, took the bow, pulled the arrow, targeted the serpent
Without harming the bird, the serpent fell far away, nailed into the earth by the arrow
The eagle, released, enjoyed its freedom and turned around the crowd, several times
One would say it was appreciating the Prince and thanking the king
Finally, the bird disappeared
That year passed well and another spring came
The countryside became green and trees flourished with blossoms
At the same time they were sitting at the same place
Perhaps, the story of the eagle and the serpent had been forgotten
Suddenly, the eagle reappeared
Free, and flapping its wings energetically and joyfully
Turned around, above their heads, several times
Fled down before the court of the king
Threw something from its beak on the earth
Then fled up, turned around the sky several times and disappeared
The king bade the servants to see what the bird had thrown
There were some seed or grain-like things, never seen before
Chief Gardener was summoned to examine what the seeds were
He kissed the earth in front of the king and said:
“God saves the king!
Since we can remember, nobody has seen nor mentioned such a thing
However, let us sow them and wait if they sprout and grow”.
***
They sew the seeds that sprang after some days
The little plant was quite different from the beginning
Fine and winding branches, beautiful well-shaped leaves
The plants grew and brought up clusters of fruit
When the fruit ripened, one would have said they were shining jewels
***
When the fruit looked quite ripened
Chief Gardener picked some clusters
Put them in golden plates and brought them to the king
The king was excited but said:
“Nobody should eat the fruit without experiment
Lest it be a poison “
Put the fruit in hives and take its juice
They put them into hives, and closed the doors
After some times the gardener saw that the hives were boiling
He came to inform the king
Kissed the earth and said:
“God saves our king, the juice in hive is boiling
Without heat and fire”
The physicians of the court said:
Let it boil now, and bring it when it ceased boiling
***
When the juice was ready
Chief Gardener poured some into crystal jars
Brought them to the court, and placed them in front of the king
The king summoned the ministers, physicians and wisemen
Told them to think what they should do
At last, they gave their advice to which the king agreed:
“At prison, there are many guilty people
Convicted to sentence, and waiting for execution
Give them some of this mysterious juice
If they died, they would have been punished
If they survived, let them be free as rewarded
***
They brought a prisoner who was to be executed the next day
Bade him to sit and gave him a cup of the juice
He avoided screaming: “No poison,
Kill me by a sword or hang me!”
However, soldiers forced him to drink
He frowned when he drank and said:
“I never had tasted such a bitter thing.”
But after a while, he rose his head and said:
“May I have another cup?”
They give him other cup and he wanted more
After a third cup and he wanted fourth
They gave him as much as he asked
The more he drank the more he liked to drink
His face became ablaze and his eyes turned red
He laughed, he screamed, he wept, he cried
He said different things he never would have said before
Eventually, he fell in a deep heavy sleep
He remained asleep for three days and three nights
When he got up he said: “Where is that miraculous water?
Please give me some more.”
The king released him as a thanksgiving
****
Then the king summoned all wisemen and all physicians
To decide and test the mysterious drink
They agreed that it was a gift from God and had come from the heaven
But no one should exceed drinking
If one drinks orderly and in a proper way
It will be like the water of life and antidote
But if one exceeds in drinking it will be worse than a poison
They celebrated the event all around country
Then the king ordered to distribute the seeds all over the country
After some time there grew numerous grape gardens and orchards
They called the plant “tak” and “raz”
They called the grapes “angoor”
They called the wine “ mai”
Khayyaam, the great Persian poet and scholar says:
If you drink wine, drink with wise people
Or drink with a beautiful smiley tulip-face sweetheart
Don’t drink too much, don’t be addicted, don’t drink in public
Drink sometimes, drink a little, and drink in private.

Resources:
Darmesteter. Zand Avesta -------> Uraniski. Iranian Etymology. Tehran. ?
Khayyam, Omar. Nawrooznaama (Persian). Editor: Mojtaba Minowi. Tehran. 1321 (Persian calendar).
Saifi Herawi. ( The History of Herat ) (Persian). Editor: Zobair Seddiqi. Culcutta – India. 1943
http://www.globalgourmet.com/food/wineday/2000/wd0900/wd090500.html

Lost One

2005-11-24T21:34:00.000-08:00

I heard that a Kurd lost his camel in a desert
He searched for the camel but did not find
He could do nothing but to sleep by the way
Sad and grieved for the camel
The day went and the night came
The moon enlightened the desert
The Kurd awoke, heart full of sorrow
But he saw the camel standing under the moonlight
He looked at the moon and said:
How can I praise you?
You are good, nice, beautiful and bright

O Lord! Kindle a light in this desert
So the human wisdom may find its lost one..!

From an ode by Rumi, translated by Asef Fekrat

Mirror at night*

2005-10-04T17:14:00.000-07:00

The heart again excited:”O’ God! O’God! ”
The night passed, and without coming dawn, here, another night

Tears flew down from eyelashes, ineffectively
So I felt sorrow for the fall- down of stars

I saw the manner of the wise-men of our time
Our mad was the most polite one

Without you, I imagined the Paradise
It was a death, visiting a fever

I am ashamed unto the waiting custom
I gave, but the ghost that I didn’t have

O, drinkers, there is a message on the edge-line of the wine-cup
The messenger came from the territory of natural disposition

Don’t expect feeling ashamed from statesmen
Where dignity comes, morality leaves

Beware of leaving the honour
Whenever you request anything from anyone

I tried to reach to an ear like a speech
I heard from all, but no one heard from me

It is examined: the less one has
The more one is comfortable

Beedil, I didn’t meet the reality
I got the mirror, but at night

By Beedil, translated by Asef Fekrat

* Beedil, Abdul –Qader(d.1755 CE) is the greatest poet of Hindi School in Persian Poetry. Here you read a translation of one of Beedil’s odes.

You Don’t Go Away

2005-09-11T20:21:00.000-07:00

If the vision, the wisdom and the soul go, you don’t go away
I don’t need them, but I need you; you don’t go away
The sun and the heaven are under your shadow
If this sky and sun go, let them go; you don’t go away
O thou, whose toughest words are more lenient than a fine nature
If the purity of this poetic gift goes, you don’t go away
You don’t go, or take my soul with you;
Otherwise you don’t go away
With you, every part of the world is garden or flower bed
In the autumn, if the splendour of gardens goes, you don’t go away
Don’t show me your separation; your separation is cruel
O thou, that stone of Badakhshan are ruby for you, you don’t go away
Who is a particle to tell the sun “you don’t go away!”?
Who is a slave to tell the king “you don’t go away!”?
But you are the water of life and all creatures are fish
It is your kindness and mercy; you don’t go away
The sheet of my heart, as long as the eternity
Written from top to bottom: YOU DON’T GO AWAY

By Rumi - translated by Asef Fekrat

2005-08-24T10:52:00.000-07:00

LOVE AND BEAUTY-5
AN ANTHOLOGY OF PERSIAN POETRY FROM 17TH CENTURY
(Selected and translated by Asef Fekrat)

Tomorrowless
So much better with you,
The longest winter night
No, a tomorrowless night

My Letter
Tore my letter,
Without reading
It is another sign
Knowing the subject

Pigeon
I wrote thee a letter
Submitted it to my heart
Faster than all carrier- pigeons

She cannot
She can do anything
But cannot forget me

Ignorance
Ignored me intentionally
You did well
As I watched you better

Together
You with me
Like wave with coast
Coming near-
Running from

Even for once
O drunk of mincing
Even if pour it on earth
Take the cup from my hand
Even for once

Better
Have mentioned me
But at the margin of her letter to my foe
Alas
So much better your forgetfulness was!

Never
For my heart
I shall take
Either a kiss or an abuse
But never back my heart

Quenched lamp
With enlightening cheeks
Wherever you strut
Enlighten by you skirt’s breeze
Quenched lamps

Get the start
In this spring
Even flower cannot find a place
In the garden
Get the start of the verdure
At the bed of the Brooke

Gift
Every stone
Which my enemies throw
For your love
I take as a gift to my friends

First look
From your first look
Yet I have some wine
At the bottom of my cup

Hundred answers
O messenger!
Don’t blame my sweetheart
By tearing my letter.
She sent me hundred answers

First show
From your first show
The sun fell from the sky
From the first motion of your hand
The moonlight was spilled
From the edge of the roof

Days and nights
Thy nights pass like the nights of flowers
My days like the days of nightingales
My life passed in disturbance for your hair
Like water in the shade of hyacinth

2005-08-17T11:45:00.000-07:00

LOVE AND BEAUTY-4
AN ANTHOLOGY OF PERSIAN POETRY FROM 17TH CENTURY
(Selected and translated by Asef Fekrat)

Lasso
With a lasso from thy black hair
I will catch my gone life

Long life
I lengthen my short life
Till the Last Day
Attaching to thy hair

Chain
I like unlocking the curls of your hair
With my teeth
Like a mad
Chewing his chain

All together
Drunkenness, madness, and ecstasy
Collected by your eyes
Poured together in my cup

Beauty
Thy hanging hair
A rare night
Thy blazing face from wine
Wonderful twilight

Fragile
My heart
A fragile cup
Thy eyes drunk
Lest they break it funning

Shelled almond
Thy body, clean silver
Delicate, like shelled almond
Thy eyes, ravens
Eyebrows, raven’s feather

Eyelashes
Thou, ravished my heart
Ask why my eyes are red?
Frankly I say:
I am restless from thy turned eyelashes

If…
If your eyes have a glance upon me
Almond blossom shall grow forever
On my tomb

Blue eyes
Kindle a blue candle
Upon my tomb
I am martyr of European blue eyes

Gazelle
Thy eyes,
The gazelles who capture the lions
Not being tamed,
Not startled

Sedition
Thy black eyes
Excited a sedition in the city
The gazelles closed the door of desert

Eyelashes
Thy quarrelsome eyelashes
Splits the heart of rock
Fire sweats from thy charming look

Syrup
Wanted to look at me
Looked at herself
She drank her patient’s medical syrup

Fresh
Why should I smell a flower?
My mind is, forever
Fresh from thy hair

Musk
I wrote thy hair’s description
Sweet smell arose from the paper

2005-08-05T10:19:00.000-07:00

LOVE AND BEAUTY-3
AN ANTHOLOGY OF PERSIAN POETRY FROM 17TH CENTRY
(Selected and translated by Asef Fekrat)

Thee or soul?
In my life,
How can I describe thy place?
You are in my heart?
Or it is my soul!

Days and nights
Days, I worry for nights
Being without you
Nights, I am restless for tomorrow

Broken room
You did well
Left my heart
No one lives in broken room

Plunder
I had a religion
A heart
And a sure-mind
All are plundered
By curled hair and drunk eyes

Rose
Mincing, sprays rose-water on her body
Stranger rose – smell
Finds its homeland

Sun and dew
Lovely sweat drops
On your cheeks
Reconcile sun with dew

Sun flower
A drop or your sweat
Trickled on the earth
Grew sun flower

Sweat drops
Sweat drops on your face
Flood victims
My wisdom and sense

Empty breast
So fine and spiritual are you
Embracing you
I feel empty my breast

Breeze
My flower branch
Thin and fine
Can not afford embracing

Your flower bed
Your stature-cypress
Your cheeks-purples
No need going to a garden
Have garden at home

Eyebrow- knot
Your cheerful face
Is it eyebrow-knot?
Or dew on rose!

Picture
Amazed of your beauty
I am lifeless
Like a picture on the wall

Your hand
Spring is thankful
You picked off flowers
Your hand keeps them fresher
Breeze
Is it breeze playing with your skirt?
Or curtain shivers upon a silver statue!

Where
Where were you grown?
O strutting cypress!
Charming, like a spring dream

LOVE AND BEAUTY-2

2005-07-30T19:18:00.000-07:00

AN ANTHOLOGY OF PERSIAN POETRY FROM 17TH CENTURY
(Selected and translated by Asef Fekrat)

THY WORDS
Kindness or abuse
Your words pacify my heart
Like water
Cold or warm
Extinguishes the fire

THY SMELL
So fond of you
I smell your sweet smell
From my breath

HEART’S PALPITATION
Standing aside you
My heart’s palpitation
Keeps me far away

DUST
The dust from your way aroused
My every hair is a desire hand

RESURRECTION
I want to resurrect from a point
Where my lovely sweetheart
Even for once
Has put her feet

FLOWER
Cheerful flower
Leaves the garden
To be in your room

ROSE BRANCH
Like a rose branch
Grappling with breeze
She likes to be with me
But runs away

SWEAR
I swore one thousand times
Not to mention your name
But I swore always
By your name

FOOTPRINT
Your footprint
Wave of life water
Your footfall
Partridge’s laugh

TWO
Don’t blame
If I have two sweethearts
To be alive
You need one soul and one heart

LIKE A CAT
From a corner of the wall
A hole of the window
Or a gap of the door
Like a cat
I will find my way to you

YOUR SMELL
I was a moment with you
My poem savours of paradise

PERFUME
The breeze is perfumed
By your breath
The water by your picture

LONELY
Without you
Like abandoned rooms
My eyes are closed against all

CROSS
Erect a cross on my tomb
I am leaving this world
Loving a Christian sweetheart

MIRROR
It is not dew upon lawn and flowers
The spring, missing you
Threw down the mirror

LOVE AND BEAUTY-1

2005-07-29T19:19:00.000-07:00

AN ANTHOLOGY OF PERSIAN POETRY FROM 17TH CENTURY
(Selected and translated by Asef Fekrat)

HONEY-MILK
Thy silver of body
Like shelled fresh almond
How can I praise thy oval eyes?
***
Thy lips and teeth – when you talk
Are mixed honey with milk

READY
Thy cheeks’ roses
Wet of sweat dew
Thy lips
Buds, ready to kiss

ENVY
Dying of envy
How can I look at cup of wine!
Kisses her lips
Resigns its being

JUJUBE
Jujubes of thy lips
Prescribed for lover’s fever

CHILDISH
Among fairs
I’m fond of a childish one
Allows a kiss
Wants it back

HURT
Thy lips are hurt
Woe is me!
Drank the wine
Broke the cup

TASTE
Allow a kiss from lips
Another from cheeks
I’ll tell you
Which was the best?

PROFITABLE
Snatching a kiss
A profitable theft
Is double
If retake

PARROTS
Your smile in the rose-garden
Turns the leaves
Into sweet-spoken parrots

OVERJOYING
The bud is overjoying
It’s told
Looks like your mouth

BUD AND CEDAR
The bud saw thy lips
Dares not to laugh
The cedar saw thy stature
Dares not to boast

DESSERTLESS
How long can I drink dessert- less?
I am thirsty for thy lips
Serve wine- with dessert

SWEET DEATH
Sweetest death forever
Kissing thy lips
Submitting my soul

EYELASH
The eyelash turned up
Told the eyebrow:
Our arrow
Doesn’t need a bow

EARLY MORNING
Stood by my side
Early morning
Enlightening-enlivening
Like the sunshine
Upon a poor grass

FLOWING WATER
My life passed
All in your thought
Like flowing water
In flowers’ shade

GOD’S BLESSING
Is your collar open?
Or the door of God’s blessing?

Night

2005-07-28T17:03:00.000-07:00

What is “night”?
It keeps lovers safe from strangers
***
Particularly “tonight”
When the moon is my roommate
***
Me, drunk
The moon, in love
The night, mad…!

A quatrain by Rumi
Translated by Asef Fekrat

Mad?

2005-07-27T17:34:00.000-07:00

I said:
“You are wine
I am your cup
I am dead
You are my soul
Now, open the door of the faith”
She said:
“Who may release a mad in the room?”

A quatrain by Rumi
Translated by Asef Fekrat

You

2005-07-27T09:54:00.000-07:00

I don’t know water from soil
I am spoiled and unconscious
I find no one here, in this home
You may do
You are cautious.
***
You are keeping friends together and fine
You are turning the party on
As if you are dining us or you are wine..!
***
Outwardly, you are Sun of all suns
Inwardly, you are Soul of all souls
***
You are enlivening
You are Christ
You make the gardens laugh
You are breeze
But for the thirsties
You are tough
***
O lucky young friend!
Dance and sing:
“O, my young days..!
I miss you
You are remembered- always”

From an Ode by Rumi
Translated by Asef Fekrat

My Flower

2005-07-26T20:51:00.000-07:00

Hi, I am writing these words with best wishes for all readers. As the title of this page shows, I would like to write about Persian classic poetry and literature, but I am new in this site, and it would take time till I learn how to use this page. So as a test, first, I will put some of my own so called poems.

My Flower

I wish the flower I pick for you
Could be cherished by your hand
I wish the flower I pick for you
Touch your finger like a diamond
***
I wish the flower I pick for you
Be at your front just for a while
Attract those big black eyes
Be opened with your smile
***
I wish the flower I pick for you
Be scattered on your way
If just could kiss those sacred feet
Then let it be blown away
***
Do whatever you like to do
With the flower I pick for you
But don't offer it, please
With your hand unto my foe!

Asef Fekrat - October 12, 2003

Thy Hands

2005-07-26T18:06:00.000-07:00

Thy hands
The messengers
Interpreting peace,love and modesty
Thy hands
Beautiful swans
Adorning the lake of life.
By short attractive flights,
Parade the fervency of youth.
Thy hands
Rhythmical palpitations,
Narrating the story of love and hope
Beyond letters or sounds.
Thy hands
Two fountains up to the apogee,
Rising from a hidden spring.
Defusing light on cold hurt heart.
Thy hands
The safeguards,
In the ocean of thousand storms.
Rescue me,
Before I be drown.

Asef Fekrat