In Memory Of
In memory of, 2015
This mural is featuring three contemporary Iranian writer and poet, Simin Daneshvar, Forough Farokhzad and Simin Behbahani.
Simin Dāneshvar (Persian: سیمین دانشور) (28 April 1921 – 8 March 2012) was an Iranian academic, novelist, fiction writer and translator, largely regarded as the first major Iranian woman novelist. Daneshvar had a number of firsts to her credit. In 1948, her collection of Persian short stories was the first by an Iranian woman to be published. The first novel by an Iranian woman was her Savushun("Mourners of Siyâvash", also known as A Persian Requiem, 1969), which went on to become a bestseller. Daneshvar's Playhouse, a collection of five stories and two autobiographical pieces, is the first volume of translated stories by an Iranian woman author.
From "Savushun", by Simin Daneshvar
He paused to light a cigarette and continued, “I’ve said all this nonsense to soften you up. When my father’s letter came-`I am sorry that, I am sorry that’-I sat down and wrote a story for your twins . . . for Mina. Well, Mina and Marjan are the twins. Where is my story? I put it next to my father’s letter. I want to build an airplane that drops toys for children . . . or pretty stories. Once upon a time, there was a little girl whose name was Mina. This girl was the only girl who cried for the stars when they were not in the sky. In all my life, I had never seen a child who cried for the stars. Only Mina. When she was younger, her mother would pick her up, show her the sky and say, `Moony, moony, come, come; go into Mina’s chest,’ or something like that. That’s how Mina fell in love with the sky. Now, every night when it is cloudy, Mina cries for the stars. I hope their maid will sweep up the sky; she is a slob. She only displaces the dust, scattering it in the sky. On the nights that the maid has done the sweeping, at least some of the stars are visible. But what a treat when mother sweeps; she sweeps the sky clean, collects the stars and the moon, puts them in a gunnysack, sews up the top, and locks the gunnysack in the cupboard. Now, Mina has found a way. She teams up with her sister and steals mother’s keys, and goes to sleep hugging the keys. Without the keys, they can’t sleep at all. I have never seen another girl who thinks as much about the stars, and I have never seen another city in whose cupboards you can hide stars.”
A tree will grow in your house and others in your city, and even more in your land. And the wind will convey the message from tree to tree, ‘Did you see the dawn on your way?
در خانهات درختی خواهد رویید و درختهایی در شهرَت و بسیار درختان درسرزمینت. و باد پیغام هردرختی را به درخت دیگر خواهد رسانید و درختها از باد خواهند پرسید: در راه که میآمدی سحر را ندیدی؟
Forugh Farrokhzad (Persian: فروغ فرخزاد; January 5, 1935 — February 13, 1967) was an Iranian poet and film director. Forugh Farrokhzad is arguably one of Iran's most influential female poets of the twentieth century. She was a controversial modernist poet and an iconoclast. forughfarrokhzad.org
The Captive [ Asir ] I want you, yet I know that never can I embrace you to my heart's content. you are that clear and bright sky. I, in this corner of the cage, am a captive bird. from behind the cold and dark bars directing toward you my rueful look of astonishment, I am thinking that a hand might come and I might suddenly spread my wings in your direction. I am thinking that in a moment of neglect I might fly from this silent prison, laugh in the eyes of the man who is my jailer and beside you begin life anew. I am thinking these things, yet I know that I can not, dare not leave this prison. even if the jailer would wish it, no breath or breeze remains for my flight. from behind the bars, every bright morning the look of a child smile in my face; when I begin a song of joy, his lips come toward me with a kiss. O sky, if I want one day to fly from this silent prison, what shall I say to the weeping child's eyes: forget about me, for I am captive bird? I am that candle which illumines a ruins with the burning of her heart. If I want to choose silent darkness, I will bring a nest to ruin.
In the garden I plant my hands, I know I shall grow, I know, I know
دستهایم را در باغچه می کارم، سبز خواهم شد، می دانم، می دانم، می دانم