Wednesday, May 28

This week's poem by Allan Ginsberg

WILD ORPHAN (New York, April 13, 1952)

Blandly mother
takes him strolling
by railroad and by river
-he’s the son of the absconded
hot rod angel-
and he imagines cars
and rides them in his dreams,

so lonely growing up among
the imaginary automobiles
and dead souls of Tarrytown

to create
out of his own imagination
the beauty of his wild
forebears-a mythology
he cannot inherit.

Will he later hallucinate
his gods? Waking
among mysteries with
an insane gleam
of recollection?

The recognition-
something so rare,
in his soul,
met only in dreams
of another life.

A question of the soul,
And the injured
losing their injury
in their innocence
-a cock, a cross,
an excellence of love.

And the father grieves
in flophouse
complexities of memory
a thousands miles
away, unknowing
of the unexpected
youthful stranger bumming toward his door

Allen Ginsberg

Monday, May 26

Without a Title!

In order to boost my optimism, I have been trying to see the events of the world, especially of my homeland Iran, through a pair of colourful spectacles. And to tell you the truth, I have a dual feeling towards the use of such a device, because I am not too sure about the long-term effects of the usage!

I read the news about the current affairs in Iran, but not without my magical glasses on. I zoom in. I see no idiot called Ahmadinejad, but a mad, delusional “president”, whose comprehension of the reality of the political games equals that of the wit of a five-year old preschooler. A goat that follows the rest of the herd has more wit than this “president” whose sole purpose is to create internal and external tensions in order to help the Fascist regime maintain power and control. Not a bright, pensive, stately man, but an ordinary fellow with too much faith dumped on his shoulders, while leading a hysteric crowd towards creating a state suitable for Allah’s trustee on earth. I should remove my spectacles every now and then, just to defy my sense of judgment.

Again I put my spectacles on, when I look at Khamenei’s picture, the so called “spiritual leader of the Islamic Republic”. I see a blood thirsty clergy- man in the field of guiding--mainly men--people toward Allah. No, I see devil in his most usual disguise. To be frank with you, with my magical spectacles on, I see Ali Khamenei as a man who had been prepared for his role even before the so called “triumph of people’s revolution, the Islamic revolution of 1978-79”. A “spiritual leader” under whose authority the most heinous crimes have been and are committed, with the hope to please Allah.

Even with my spectacles on, I cannot see why Allah should have waited all these eons to redeem humanity?

Sunday, May 18

"My pain"

My pain, still smothered in my grieved breast,
Seeks for some ease, yet cannot passage find
To be discharged of this unwelcome guest:
When most I strive, most fast his burdens bind,
Like to a ship on Goodwin’s cast by wind,
The more she strives, more deep in sand is pressed,
Till she be lost; so am I, in this kind,
Sunk, and devoured, and swallowed by unrest,
Lost, shipwracked, spoiled, debarred of smallest hope,
Nothing of pleasure left; save thoughts have scope,
Which wander may. Go then, my thoughts, and cry
Hope’s perished, Love tempest-beaten, Joy lost:
Killing Despair hath all these blessings crossed.
Yet Faith still cries, Love will not satisfy.

Lady Mary Wroth

Thursday, May 15

Good luck To you all!

Yes, let us be jubilant and gay, my dear Anglophiles, because our beloved Queen Elizabeth II, has adorned her majestic head with a scarf, instead of a crown decorated with precious gems--the generous “gifts” from the King of Saudi Arabia, or the Raja of Rajestan--in order to enter a holly place, an “Ottoman mosque”, in Turkey.
A friend said, “A British hound never spoils a good hunt! <<Good luck to you all>> is what they say before they commence the hunt. But, at this moment this is what I say: good bye my beloved home, Iran. Good bye peace and hello Hell”. He may be right, who knows!

The head of the Church of England, her majesty Queen Elizabeth II, the Queen of England, and the Common Wealth, loosely but adequately, covering her silver grey, enters the house of Allah, in Bursa, Turkey. And I ask myself, whatever happened to those good old days where Charlemagne and Rolland killed more than 20,000 pagans-a-day?
Perhaps, Christianity has bowed down only to offer an olive branch. I am trying to be an optimist! Then, if I let the optimism penetrate a little deeply, I will have to expect that in a near future, the children of the Old Patriarchs will follow their heathen brethrens, as well

Who knows, ey?

Saturday, May 10

This Week's poem

The latest Decalogue

Thou shalt have one God only; who
Would be at the expense of two?
No graven images may be
Worshiped, except the currency.
Swear not at all; for, for thy curse
Thine enemy is none the worse.
At church on Sunday to attend
Will serve to keep the world thy friend.
Honor thy parents; that is, all
From whom advancement may befall.
Thou shalt not kill; but need’st not strive
Officiously to keep alive.
Do not adultery commit;
Advantage rarely comes of it.
Thou shalt not steal; an empty feat,
When it’s so lucrative to cheat.
Bear not false witness; let the lie
Have time on its own wings to fly.
Thou shalt not covet, but tradition
Approves all forms of competition.

The sum of all is, thou shalt love,
If anybody, God above:
At any rate shall never labor
More than thyself not love thy neighbor. (1862)


Sunday, May 4

As La Fontaine said:

Comme La Fontaine l'a dit: ((Rien ne sert de courir, il faut partir à point)).

Thursday, May 1

How long have they been waiting for each other?

A thousand and a few hundred years of enslavement has rubbed them off of their dignity, the poor creatures of gullible mind. Tortured souls, wounded spirits, shaken down to their bones, with fear of a vicious god, named Allah, in their hearts. History has it that they have been raped, pillaged, murdered, stoned, but they never ceased to give up their scattered fight.
So many words are exchanged in silence, even though the air is noisy to the point that one can hardly hear the sound of one’s own thoughts.
Congregated in a specific zone, shoulder-to-shoulder, but no one is looking up. Perhaps they are looking at what is happening under their feet, as if they are tired of sinking so low. Something must have gone terribly wrong. Wouldn’t you wonder?
And of course, something has gone wrong, and no one knows how, but they all know why! The miserable condition of life in that ancient land, Iran, where, once, people laughed, fell-in-love, and kept their head-up, has taken its toll on the nation. But, now, the words are prancing around, trying to attack those who have fallen behind the wheel. Denial is no longer an option. The truth is now naked, and exposed for you to take your luckiest pick at it, and declare yourself a Saint! Perhaps, in the darkest moments of a nations’ life, even silence is a sign.