tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-88642263982983291832012-02-01T07:45:08.660-05:00In this space, we shall talk about our contemporary world, and as it is appropriate we shall discuss the issues concerning Life and the Arts of Living in Chaos.Twoshortieshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16946502442453471005noreply@blogger.comBlogger3741100tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8864226398298329183.post-64238846419438322172011-05-09T22:32:00.001-05:002011-05-09T22:34:48.445-05:00

I Am I am-yet what I am, none cares or knows; My friends forsake me like a memory lost:-- I am the self-consumer of my woes;-- The rise and vanish in oblivion’s host, Like shadows in love’s frenzied stifled throes:-- And yet I am, and live—like vapours tossed Into the nothingness of scorn and noise— Into the living sea of waking dreams, Where there is neither sense of life or joys, But the

Twoshortieshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16946502442453471005noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8864226398298329183.post-87079759215979078392011-03-27T20:26:00.004-05:002011-03-27T23:33:38.133-05:00

May you all enjoy the New Dawn, the New Day, and be prosperous, healthy and content, May the children of Iran enjoy this ancient tradition with peace of mind and comfort, in our own ancient land, And may we all see our Home free, the Evil destroyed and demons of many dark souls subdued. Katayoun

Twoshortieshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16946502442453471005noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8864226398298329183.post-54913952986589732592011-02-12T19:39:00.006-05:002011-02-13T18:03:27.085-05:00

I hear that a few days ago, the 32nd anniversary of the American-Islamic-Revolution of 1979{a preparetory effort in bringing "Democracy" and "peace" to the Middle East} was "celebrated" in a quiet way, quite contrary to the way the Revolutionaries of the first rate would have cheered for the triumph of the imported "democracy" and "peace" thirty years ago, when Khomaini was alive. Two decades ago

Twoshortieshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16946502442453471005noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8864226398298329183.post-66800673692531575322011-01-24T21:11:00.006-05:002011-02-12T21:16:40.174-05:00

Come to me in my dreams, and then By day I shall be well again. For then the night will more than pay The hopeless longing of the day. Come, as thou cam'st a thousand times A messenger from the radiant climes, And smile on thy new world, and be As kind to others as to me. Or, as thou never cam'st in sooth, Come now, and let me dream it truth. And part my hair, and kiss my brow, And say--My

Twoshortieshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16946502442453471005noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8864226398298329183.post-18926520975316867882011-01-04T00:35:00.004-05:002011-02-12T21:20:10.802-05:00

Well, it's here--in fact, it has already arrived four days ago, the New Year, of course. Many people celebrated it's arrival, many with great hopes for a pleasant year ahead--perhaps,same-old-wishes are being recycled, if there is such an action as recycling wishes-- marched on to the unknown. Around me, as far as I am aware, there is a general tendency to be refreshingly optimistic, who knows

Twoshortieshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16946502442453471005noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8864226398298329183.post-77414669336808196422010-12-24T22:19:00.003-05:002011-02-12T21:25:10.958-05:00

There will be a new post for the approaching year, but first there has to be a post to round up the "passing one". You know, it is always nice to say something about the year that is almost gone and is now going to be a thing of past, a history! And this history is a part of the story of our lives; bad or good, we have done what we could, or have we?! I am sure, 2010 has been great for many, and

Twoshortieshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16946502442453471005noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8864226398298329183.post-41073600138377407432010-11-14T19:51:00.003-05:002011-02-12T21:29:07.662-05:00

To Mercy, Pity, Peace, and Love,All pray in their distress,And to these virtues of delightReturn their thankfulness.For Mercy, Pity, Peace, and Love,Is God, our father dear:And Mercy, Pity, Peace, and Love,Is Man, his child and care.For Mercy has a human heart,Pity, a human face,And Love, the human form divine,And Peace, the human dress.Then every man of every clime,That prays in his distress,

Twoshortieshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16946502442453471005noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8864226398298329183.post-65035170952969166582010-10-11T18:09:00.002-05:002011-02-12T21:32:09.257-05:00

I am your other half, disjointed, yes, indeed we are, but in spite of it I remain close to you. Because, you see, our fate is alike. And it is true that while you and I are lingering in the dark, sadly the others are writing down our history, just to make a point across!What a Fate, don’t you agree?You are at Home, that is your advantage, of course. But, you see, I am away, not by choice, which

Twoshortieshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16946502442453471005noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8864226398298329183.post-42813669708851071492010-09-20T23:49:00.001-05:002011-02-12T23:46:23.814-05:00

Mr. T said in a serious tone of voice, “I’ve got something funny to tell”. So, I said, “I am ready to laugh”. And immediately he responded, “Well, wait to hear the news and then see if you can laugh”.Anyway, the “funny” thing, according to my friend, is that, “Ahamdinejad’s wife and her female entourage are going to attend a private fashion show in New York, while her Husband-President is

Twoshortieshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16946502442453471005noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8864226398298329183.post-56137221900906761452010-09-07T21:31:00.006-05:002011-02-13T00:15:07.610-05:00

I am-yet what I am, none cares or knows;My friends forsake me like a memory lost:--I am the self-consumer of my woes;--The rise and vanish in oblivion’s host,Like shadows in love’s frenzied stifled throes:--And yet I am, and live—like vapours tossedInto the nothingness of scorn and noise—Into the living sea of waking dreams,Where there is neither sense of life or joys,But the vast shipwreck of my

Twoshortieshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16946502442453471005noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8864226398298329183.post-39096547781715578492010-08-16T23:49:00.002-05:002011-02-13T00:39:53.823-05:00

I wonder how the average-liberal-minded American would take the pain of an erected Menara of a mosque being jabbed at the heart of the Financial District in the United States of America? And I also wonder why the President of “the most powerful country on this planet” will play the role of the Archbishop of Whitehouseberry, and puts Americans in such a rotten position as to push them to the

Twoshortieshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16946502442453471005noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8864226398298329183.post-58740846431057431932010-08-01T18:06:00.002-05:002011-02-13T01:05:05.970-05:00

I was angry with my friend:I told my wrath, my wrath did end.I was angry with my foe:I told it not, my wrath did grow.And I watered in fears,Night & morning with my tears;And I sunned it with smiles,And with soft deceitful wiles.And it grew both day and night,Till it bore an apple bright.And my foe beheld it shine,And he knew that it was mine,And into my garden stole,When the night had veild the

Twoshortieshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16946502442453471005noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8864226398298329183.post-54658357863202556862010-07-27T00:12:00.003-05:002010-07-27T10:40:55.591-05:00

http://www.notablebiographies.com/images/uewb_08_img0539.jpgEvery year, on such a day, I post a special note in commemoration of our Late Shahanshah, Mohammad Reza Shah Pahlavi, and I do it to salute a man who fought the greatest battle of any King’s life into which he was thrown.For those who remember his reign with consideration to the time and the circumstances of that time, their greatest

Twoshortieshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16946502442453471005noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8864226398298329183.post-28409139407111510002010-07-24T19:15:00.001-05:002011-02-13T01:17:49.739-05:00

A few posts ago I promised to write a weekly-post, Allah's Names, and in my last post I delivered my promise, on that week. But then something happened. No, don't worry, I did not become a born-again-muslim, instead as weeks went by I became less interested in the concept I thought I would like to work on, only because of a long discussion about the subject with a friend who insisted that I

Twoshortieshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16946502442453471005noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8864226398298329183.post-63108985697273753092010-06-29T22:56:00.002-05:002011-02-13T01:39:17.246-05:00

A couple of years ago, a Saudi guy, who worked as a “personal trainer” at an upscale gym where my friend tried very hard to melt away her unwanted fat, gave her a Christmas present, a special Quran. What is so special about that Quran? Well, each verse appears in Arabic, and in pure gold, and under each verse, in another line appears a very interesting “English translation” of that same verse in

Twoshortieshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16946502442453471005noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8864226398298329183.post-48634901534098568762010-06-08T17:13:00.004-05:002010-06-08T17:18:20.690-05:00

http://impression.alloilpaint.com/manet/manet33.jpgIn sad time such as now,Let us hear a good Song,To soothe our wretched soul,With the sweetness of rhymeLet us hear the good SongBy a metaphysical poet, John Donne.KatayounSongGo and catch a falling star,Get with child a mandrake rootTell me where all past years are,Or who cleft the Devil’s foot,Teach me to

Twoshortieshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16946502442453471005noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8864226398298329183.post-28897443190112038332010-06-02T22:46:00.001-05:002011-02-13T01:44:57.169-05:00

Before I begin a series of posts, under the heading of ‘Allah’s Names,’ I should like to clarify a point or two as to why I want to write, in brief and casually, about a few of Allah’s Names and their meanings. If I may be frank with you all, I must say that when you look at the history of Islam and its subsequent advancement in Iran, you will note that Allah has been a great force of nature,

Twoshortieshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16946502442453471005noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8864226398298329183.post-43429601288415814392010-05-30T16:30:00.002-05:002011-02-13T01:50:49.375-05:00

Alas, ‘tis true I have gone here and thereAnd made myself a motley to the view,Gored mine own thoughts, sold cheap what is most dear,Made old offenses of affections new,Most true it is that I have looked on truthAskance and strangely; but, by all above,These blenches gave my heart another youth,And worse essays proved thee my best of love.Now all is done, have what shall have no end;Mine appetite

Twoshortieshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16946502442453471005noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8864226398298329183.post-60109479449232642752010-05-27T22:27:00.003-05:002010-05-29T17:06:51.206-05:00

As I have developed some kind of uneasy and uncomfortable feeling around seeing too many images representing Lables, within our wonderful city of Toronto and also as I am trying to hopefully get this unsettling feeling off of my chest, I decided to dedicate this writing to and hoping to provoke some question in the minds of the readers of this blog.As advertising is a huge dilemma in our culture

Twoshortieshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16946502442453471005noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8864226398298329183.post-52746121230280665322010-05-13T23:22:00.002-05:002010-05-13T23:26:18.371-05:00

I whispered, ‘I am too young,’And then, ‘I am old enough,’Wherefore I threw a penny,To find out if I might love.‘Go and love, go and love, young man,If the lady be young and faire’.Ah penny, brown penny, brown penny,I am looped in the loopes of her hair.O love is the crooked thing,There is nobody wise enoughTo find out all that is in it,For he would be thinking of love,Till the stars had run

Twoshortieshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16946502442453471005noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8864226398298329183.post-30555834591685509132010-05-11T17:27:00.002-05:002011-02-13T01:58:47.197-05:00

Allah, some believers would say, has 1001 Names, and if you happen to know the “secret one” then you are redeemed and can have a meal with Allah in the Paradise!But my question is this: Should we believe in what we read or hear, all the time?Just to keep in mind, in my next post, there will be a few of Allah’s Names, and their meanings, just for the fun of it, of course!Katayoun

Twoshortieshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16946502442453471005noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8864226398298329183.post-83846110124180297062010-05-04T18:11:00.007-05:002010-05-04T18:26:23.172-05:00

There is only a few more days till Mother's day. I would like to take this wonderful opportunity to write about mothers and there importance in our life. Many people may not had or have the opportunity to experience what a good mother may be and it is perhaps very difficult to define what a good mother means, simply because in many cases our experiences and our needs vary and depending on that

Twoshortieshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16946502442453471005noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8864226398298329183.post-1604266828873270582010-04-25T20:59:00.002-05:002011-02-13T02:05:56.728-05:00

Robertson Davies on engage writers:“Unquestionably some writers are deeply moved by political and social causes, and they write with power to support whatever they think is necessary to bring about a better world. Every revolution has had a few writers involved in it at the beginning; at the end they are frequently either disillusioned or dead…There are many writers, however, who regard

Twoshortieshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16946502442453471005noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8864226398298329183.post-50753876962185434152010-04-23T23:02:00.005-05:002011-02-13T02:15:47.382-05:00

To talk about “Friend,” first, let see what OED has to offer, as to the definition of the word, so that you can ponder on it, before reading this short note. According to OED, “Friend” is “a person you like and you know well, and who is not usually a member of your family”. Good starting point.My father often spoke of “friends” and the value of their presences in our lives. He believed that, “A

Twoshortieshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16946502442453471005noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8864226398298329183.post-9568575178109127822010-04-19T23:18:00.006-05:002010-04-22T18:54:35.439-05:00

What I am about to say may seem offensive to those Iranians who think they have done a lot! But I am merely talking of a dark truth, a truth about our lack of appreciation, understanding, out unwillingness to acknowledge our own fault as a suppressed nation.Every time an Iranian of worth (worth mentioning their name) passes away a certain sadness overcomes me to the point that it paralyses my

Twoshortieshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16946502442453471005noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8864226398298329183.post-62155067715644791792010-04-15T22:23:00.003-05:002011-02-13T02:34:48.269-05:00

Everything about Politics is nauseating to me. I hate political games, and I cannot respect politicians, for in my time, I haven’t met one, who is not only a crook, but also an ass too.Re-mapping the Middle East, eh?You ought to be out of your bloody mind to dare to suggest such a thing. You ought to be out of your mind to make a dirty deal with Devil. Haven’t you heard of the “man” who sold his

Twoshortieshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16946502442453471005noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8864226398298329183.post-18029688079126036752010-04-06T22:04:00.003-05:002011-02-13T02:44:20.703-05:00

This post presents to you The New Definition of Love by Andrew Marvell (1621-1678), an English (metaphysical) poet. I am sure you all know the universal definition of love, but not many of you knows another man’s definition of love. So, this is for those who like to hear something different about Love!The Definition of LoveIMy Love is of a birth as rareAs ‘tis for object strange and high:It was

Twoshortieshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16946502442453471005noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8864226398298329183.post-63235626071859514212010-03-29T21:21:00.002-05:002011-02-13T03:22:50.505-05:00

In this note, however brief, I would like to point a finger at jealousy in relation to stupidity.The Oxford Advanced Dictionary, the one that sits like a bible on my desk, defines Jealousy (which should be beneath a mature being) as “a feeling of being jealous”. Shall we assume, for a second and for the purpose of this note that, jealousy is in us, but its degree of severity varies from one

Twoshortieshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16946502442453471005noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8864226398298329183.post-87883954036020379832010-03-27T19:14:00.002-05:002011-02-13T13:56:44.229-05:00

Those ancient poets used to say It with an extraordinary simplicity, that is still beyond ordinary reach, and when they said their say they sure knew that It will never be lost in time.Cheers to those who can be simple, yet mysterious at onceIn the Monastery of the MagiWhy do they honour us?The fire that never diesBurn in our heart.Hafez (14th Century Iranian Poet, from the glorious city of

Twoshortieshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16946502442453471005noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8864226398298329183.post-74499917885981490232010-03-19T23:23:00.001-05:002010-03-19T23:26:16.519-05:00

In the background, there is an “old” song sang by Guitti, an Iranian female artist famous in the 70s, and in the foreground, there is a picture of Norooz celebration during the reign of His Majesty, the Late Mohammad Reza Shah Pahlavi, meanwhile, I am trying to write this note in between painting the eggs, and wrapping the gifts.Be merry and gay, for Norooz-e Djamshidee is here. Our ancestors

Twoshortieshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16946502442453471005noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8864226398298329183.post-19749542844912012252010-03-14T21:06:00.003-05:002011-02-13T15:08:05.716-05:00

I know that many of you are familiar with the poetry of Robert Frost, a famous American Poet, a distinguished-four-time winner of the Pulitzer Prize, and I also know that many amongst you are in favour of Fire and Ice, because of its powerful display of a poet’s instinct, and his philosophical turn of mind. But I wanted you to read it again so that you could know why Fire over Ice!KatayounSome

Twoshortieshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16946502442453471005noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8864226398298329183.post-16499761571126288992010-03-13T19:26:00.003-05:002011-02-13T15:14:29.703-05:00

Exactly in a week, Norooz (Nowrooz) will arrive to bring us an armful of hopes and dreams. Are we ready to celebrate its arrival? Nearly five million Iranian-exiles will welcome the New Year, the ancient Norooz, far away from their Home, and will have only one wish: To celebrate Norooz at Home, perhaps the next year. Will that be an unattainable goal? Only time will tell. Meanwhile, I will go on

Twoshortieshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16946502442453471005noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8864226398298329183.post-25320463231351666442010-02-28T20:08:00.011-05:002011-02-13T18:41:30.706-05:00

From : Song of Myself I am the poet of the Body and I am the poet of the Soul, The pleasures of heaven are with me and the pains of hell are with me, The first I graft and increase upon myself, the letter I translate into a new tongue. I am the poet of the woman the same as the man, And I say it is as great to be a woman as to be a man, And I say there is nothing greater than the mother of men

Twoshortieshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16946502442453471005noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8864226398298329183.post-92168704122096754242010-02-16T00:27:00.003-05:002011-02-13T18:45:18.363-05:00

A couple of days ago, a colleague of mine called to invite me to join the “Iranian-Opposition-in Exile’s gathering—he called it a “Protestation”—at Mel Lastman Square in North York, Toronto. He said they would wish the whole world—I tried to reason with him that “the whole world” does not mean Mel Lastman Square in Toronto—to know that they have a Plight and that is to bring about “a gradual

Twoshortieshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16946502442453471005noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8864226398298329183.post-22934685609861636772009-12-27T01:34:00.007-05:002009-12-27T01:41:31.570-05:00

Alden Nowlan (1933-1983)In Those Old WarsIn those old warsWhere generals wore yellow ringletsand sucked lemons at their prayers,other things being equalthe lost causes were the best.Lee rode out of historyOn his gray horse, Traveller,so perfect a herohad he not existedit would have been necessary to invent him—war stinks without gallantry.An aid, one of the few who survived,told him,Country be

Twoshortieshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16946502442453471005noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8864226398298329183.post-32703482928510056082009-12-20T17:44:00.003-05:002011-02-15T18:50:51.684-05:00

Yes, that’s the title of this note. And, why such a title, you may ask? Well, why not?! It is as good as any subjects you would wish to pick. And since I heard it uttered by a man who was serious about “getting to know” a woman, I thought that it might be a good subject to write a few sentences about. The reason: well, to be quite frank with you, it always baffles me, when people claim that they

Twoshortieshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16946502442453471005noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8864226398298329183.post-66418407329562650212009-12-06T01:44:00.002-05:002009-12-06T01:58:22.203-05:00

WWW.Allposters.com This week’s poem, Sunrise, is by a very famous Tudor Queen Elizabeth I. Read it, slowly, that’s how you should read any kind of poetry in any written language you can decipher, and see the depth of the self-revelation of a powerful female monarch, whose loyalty to what was under her care surpassed her care for her

Twoshortieshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16946502442453471005noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8864226398298329183.post-26947600550924285572009-11-29T01:57:00.001-05:002011-02-15T19:44:32.075-05:00

How do you spot an idiot?At a friend’s house a curious friend of a friend asked me, “How do you spot an idiot?”I wish I could strike back, “What kind of a stupid question is that?!” Instead, I paused for a moment, and then replied calmly, “What’s your definition of ‘an idiot’?”“An idiot is someone who looks for trouble, when there is no need to look for it” said a friend who sat to the left of

Twoshortieshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16946502442453471005noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8864226398298329183.post-50691555771930650372009-11-19T23:52:00.002-05:002011-02-15T19:48:13.670-05:00

A slumber did my spirit seal:I had no human fears:She seemed a thing that could not feelThe touch of earthly years.No motion has she now, no force;She neither hears nor sees;Rolled round in earth’s diurnal course,With rocks, and stones, and trees.William Wordsworth

Twoshortieshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16946502442453471005noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8864226398298329183.post-44631669935999137422009-11-13T00:24:00.002-05:002011-02-15T19:51:52.440-05:00

Call me selfish, but I want to live a long life, and because hearing or reading “the news” will shorten its span, therefore I have decided to be done with the news! The day I made my decision I thought to myself, I have a right to live life and enjoy it, so why should I have to upset my stomach by reading the news at 6:30 a.m. when I am trying to swallow my breakfast and run out to work?Recently,

Twoshortieshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16946502442453471005noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8864226398298329183.post-8109097212124209622009-10-30T20:07:00.001-05:002011-02-15T19:55:49.961-05:00

Irving Layton (1920-2006)From Colony to NationA dull people,but the rivers of this countryare wide and beautifulA dull peopleenamoured of childish games,but food is easily come byand plentifulSome with a priest’s voicein their cage of ribs: buton high mountain-tops and in thunderstormsthe chirping is not heardDeferring to beadle and censor;not ashamed for this,but given over to horseplay,the

Twoshortieshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16946502442453471005noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8864226398298329183.post-75176187469070382272009-10-24T23:26:00.002-05:002009-10-30T20:07:42.017-05:00

After a long time, I now know that to enjoy life as much as one can, one must look at some people as characters. However poorly or richly a character is developed, he or she is the salt of life; without them life would be a dull thing.Whether a pompous ass or a jealous mutt, or a successful self-made-type-of-a-lowest-cast-of-mind, or a self-proclaimed authority on some sort of a shim-sham, these

Twoshortieshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16946502442453471005noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8864226398298329183.post-56784670529344372732009-10-17T01:20:00.004-05:002011-02-15T19:56:37.614-05:00

A poem for you? No, a poem for both of us. Something to take us away from all that is unreal, that has us in its grips, that we need a great poet to release us from its hold. Yes, someone with a rhythmic imagination, who rhymes in meaning, will give you what you want to hear! You don’t agree? Oh, well, hear what

Twoshortieshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16946502442453471005noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8864226398298329183.post-79713347235526437012009-10-10T19:31:00.012-05:002011-02-15T20:01:25.790-05:00

My maternal grandmother used to tell me that, “the way you treat your parents is the way they have treated theirs,” and life has never showed me otherwise. We learn from our parents, from our society, from our traditions, from our religious beliefs, but we may as well choose to put our learning to use, carefully.The other day I was at a shop, where women buy hosieries and stuff like that, and I

Twoshortieshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16946502442453471005noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8864226398298329183.post-15945407231193567682009-09-26T01:13:00.006-05:002009-09-26T01:23:53.500-05:00

John Keats TombstoneI love autumn in Ontario. One glance at the colourful foliage in autumn makes you believe that, although autumn is considered to be the middle-age of the four-seasons, it is as glorious as any season of the year. There is something about autumn that has everything to do with the majestic turning of the leaves. And what turning is that! If autumn were not as colourful as it is

Twoshortieshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16946502442453471005noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8864226398298329183.post-89119649418865914902009-09-15T16:31:00.003-05:002009-09-15T16:34:55.650-05:00

I wish I could trust Mr. (former professor/lecturer/author) Michael Ignatieff, but I can’t. I mistrust this precious Canadian Elitist and his supporters. Although I have to admit that he, Mr. Ignatieff, has a great potential to be the “next Charismatic Leader” of Canada. Only if he had what Joseph Philippe Pierre Yves Elliott Trudeau (In Office: 1968-1979) possessed. Alas, some people are not the

Twoshortieshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16946502442453471005noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8864226398298329183.post-15791605633109709502009-09-12T01:05:00.003-05:002009-09-12T01:10:22.486-05:00

In life, we make many promises, and sometimes we break some of them. Not a problem. We are human, and thus we’re obliged to be true to our biological make-up and prove ourselves capable of changing our minds, swaying to our own tunes, and breaking our own promises. Now, having said that, I have to break a promise that I made to myself a little while ago, and talk, even in brief, about the glory

Twoshortieshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16946502442453471005noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8864226398298329183.post-40996337095287453442009-09-06T00:44:00.000-05:002009-09-06T00:45:13.983-05:00

I’ m a pain for no one but myself!Katayoun

Twoshortieshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16946502442453471005noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8864226398298329183.post-55356903533682445812009-09-05T00:37:00.001-05:002009-09-05T00:44:26.985-05:00

When in a split second, a microscopic entity becomes vile and exerts itself rudely and attacks a poor immune system viciously, it shows to prove the extent of the fragility of the human body. In reality, we do not know how vulnerable we are until we see the sour point of our vulnerability as a condition to our complicated existence.In Canada we have yet to react, but there are chances that some

Twoshortieshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16946502442453471005noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8864226398298329183.post-43009064132356956622009-08-31T00:38:00.002-05:002009-08-31T00:42:54.989-05:00

A Hymn to God the FatherHeare mee, O God!A broken heartIs my best part:Use still thy rod,That I may proveTherein, thy Love.If thou hadst notBeene sterne to mee,But left me free,I had forgotMy selfe and thee.For, sin’s so sweet,As minds ill bentRarely repent,Untill they meetTheir punishment.Who more can craveThen thou hast done:That gav’st a Sonne,To free a slave?First made of nought;With all

Twoshortieshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16946502442453471005noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8864226398298329183.post-46319633975424585142009-08-28T00:26:00.002-05:002009-08-28T00:28:51.389-05:00

Bridging the gap between you and I, my dear fellow Iranians, is a TRY of all tries.We no longer know one another. We are different. Why, you think we are not?! Well, think again.I am here. I packed my bags years ago and left. Not a word was uttered; you didn’t even notice my absence. And years later, when I unpacked my bags, you did not notice it, again. But later on, when the reality hit, you

Twoshortieshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16946502442453471005noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8864226398298329183.post-78286993204849014862009-08-20T16:57:00.002-05:002009-08-20T17:02:47.611-05:00

A DreamI saw a ship of martial build(Her standards set, her brave apparel on)Directed as by madness mereAgainst a stolid iceberg steer,Nor budge it, though the infatuate ship went down.The impact made huge ice-cubes fallSullen, in tons that crashed the deck;But that one avalanche was all—No other movement save the foundering wreck.Along the spurs of ridges pale,Not any slenderest shaft and frail,

Twoshortieshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16946502442453471005noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8864226398298329183.post-58534545983325000292009-08-12T18:15:00.004-05:002011-02-15T20:05:18.271-05:00

“The lot of a man who sees life truly and thinks about it romantically is Despair. How well we know the cries of that despair! Vanity of vanities, all is vanity moans the Preacher, when life has at last taught him that Nature will not dance to his moralist-made tunes”.(The Preface to CAESAR AND CLEOPATR: “Better Than Shakespear”. Bernard Shaw)katayoun

Twoshortieshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16946502442453471005noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8864226398298329183.post-72659482381976196062009-08-11T00:05:00.004-05:002011-02-15T20:06:53.935-05:00

“Let me hear the jokes of a nation and I will tell you what the people are like, how they are getting on and what is going to happen to them.” My Remarkable Uncle: Studies in Humour. 1942 Stephen Leacock (1869-1944)

Twoshortieshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16946502442453471005noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8864226398298329183.post-71039787642871207582009-08-08T19:29:00.002-05:002011-02-15T20:09:43.228-05:00

Weeks after the Presidential election in Iran, still the nation is suffering from the aftermath of Ahmadinejad’s presidency. Apparently, the whole system has gone mad! The Vali-e Faquih (Khamanei) gave the president, his son-in-faith, a very cold shoulder. Every one gasped. What, the Basij is now the Supreme force! Excuse me, did we miss something?The Revolutionary guard, Sepah-e Pasdaran-e

Twoshortieshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16946502442453471005noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8864226398298329183.post-81010964755475817192009-08-05T00:53:00.004-05:002009-08-05T00:58:21.072-05:00

Gustav KlimtA subtle chain of countless rings The next unto the farthest brings; The eye reads omens where it goes, And speaks all languages the rose; And, striving to be man, the worm Mounts through all the spires of form Ralph Waldo Emerson (1803-1882)Katayoun

Twoshortieshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16946502442453471005noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8864226398298329183.post-32766376462820702762009-08-01T02:20:00.001-05:002009-08-01T02:21:36.098-05:00

I am the one who knows how much I like to see my own people, the people of Iran, free from the grip of the Islamic Evil. But, I will not (not even for a second) put my fate and trust into the care of those who have, either directly or indirectly, helped with the laying of a foundation for the establishment of an Islamic Republic in Iran. Especially I am weary of those, who have now one foot in

Twoshortieshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16946502442453471005noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8864226398298329183.post-27111504853608350092009-07-31T22:16:00.003-05:002009-07-31T22:25:19.304-05:00

"Persia that imaginary seat of Oriental splendour! that land of poets and roses! that cradle of mankind! that uncontaminated source of Eastern manners…no country in the world less comes up to one’s expectation than Persia, whether in beauties of nature, or the riches and magnificence of its inhabitants. But in what regards and manners and customs, it appears…that no Asiatics bear so strong the

Twoshortieshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16946502442453471005noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8864226398298329183.post-47570761494100834522009-07-19T23:01:00.003-05:002009-07-19T23:09:52.904-05:00

Courbet, Jean Dir Gustave (1819-1877) Neither Out Far Nor In Deepby Robert Frost (1874-1963) The people along the sand All turn and look one way. They turn their back on the land. They look at the sea all day. As long as it takes to pass A ship keeps raising its hull; The wetter ground like glass Reflects a standing gull. The land may vary more; But whenever the truth may be—

Twoshortieshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16946502442453471005noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8864226398298329183.post-20488809316001800972009-07-14T19:05:00.004-05:002009-08-02T02:08:36.560-05:00

The map of Persia, illustrated by Cyrus Leroy BaldridgeIt is a strange fate to be a stranger in a strange land, and if that’s your fate, then it is up to you to meet the challenges that arise from such strange life-circumstances with diligence, care and a certain degree of objectiveness. After all it is your fate to be a stranger, but not the “strange”. Thus

Twoshortieshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16946502442453471005noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8864226398298329183.post-74731765035348562772009-06-28T20:27:00.001-05:002009-06-28T20:31:23.369-05:00

Corruption (1650)Sure it was so. Man in those early daysWas not all stone and earth;He shined a little, and by those weak raysHad some glimpse of his birth.He saw heaven o’er his head, and knew from whenceHe came, condemned, hither;And, as first love draws strongest, so from henceHis mind sure progressed thither.Things here were strange unto him: sweat and till,All was a thorn or weed:Nor did

Twoshortieshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16946502442453471005noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8864226398298329183.post-4167710764492065772009-06-24T18:42:00.001-05:002009-07-09T13:21:09.409-05:00

Bloggists and twitterists alike, even the blessed stepchildren of the Newspaper Man, the Freelance-reporters and journalists have all been trying to draw the world’s attention to what is, at the very moment, the current state of the ongoing unrest in Iran. There are thousands of pictures in print or on the net, that have captured the belligerence of the Islamic regime in dealing with the people

Twoshortieshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16946502442453471005noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8864226398298329183.post-24865170331157819152009-06-24T12:32:00.001-05:002009-06-24T12:34:10.026-05:00

The following is an excerpt from an email I received this morning from a friend who is in Iran. Of course, I know that there is nothing new in the email in terms of what it conveys, which is the obvious truth about the vile nature of the Islamic Republic, but having said that, due to the nature of the current unrest in Iran, it is absolutely necessary to listen to every voice that reaches us

Twoshortieshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16946502442453471005noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8864226398298329183.post-57807998949467656482009-06-20T18:52:00.001-05:002009-06-20T18:54:30.113-05:00

Wisdom and goodness to the vile seem vile;Filths savor but themselves”(King Lear 4.3, William Shakespeare).

Twoshortieshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16946502442453471005noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8864226398298329183.post-43670592038050605722009-06-18T00:29:00.005-05:002009-06-18T01:14:06.278-05:00

Mir Hossein Mossavi, a prime minister with hope! Today, my friend Mrs. Gosaleh had accused me of indifference and insensitivity to Iranian’s Plight, because of last Saturday, when I refused to participate in the gathering of the Iranian community at Mel Lastman Square in North York, Toronto. I refuse to chant what I do not enjoy.Was I shocked at such rude

Twoshortieshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16946502442453471005noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8864226398298329183.post-55839333900462183882009-06-13T00:23:00.001-05:002009-06-13T00:30:02.428-05:00

A Metaphysical Poet, John Donne, has a lot to offer. Even to those who neither understand language nor appreciate metaphysical poetry, poetry of this nature has an appeal that is undeniably of a unique kind. Perhaps the mystery of such appealing nature lies in the hand of the real poet, who has not only a rich imagination but a wit that equals it, who knows the language he uses and knows it well

Twoshortieshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16946502442453471005noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8864226398298329183.post-21590296771122018132009-06-08T00:13:00.002-05:002009-06-08T00:16:02.843-05:00

www.okeeffemuseum.orgI was thinking about the subject of a new post when it dawned on me that I have never had a chance to have a heart-to-heart on this blog. Surely you know what I mean!Well, let me be straight and present to you my grievance in a plain style. It’s a daunting task for me to write for this blog, when my audience is

Twoshortieshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16946502442453471005noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8864226398298329183.post-27401295696476951632009-05-17T23:22:00.001-05:002009-05-17T23:23:45.625-05:00

Another Shakespearian sonnet, sonnet 94, for this week! Hope there is something for you in it.   They that have power to hurt and will do none, That do not do the thing they most do show, Who, moving others, are themselves as stone, Unmoved, cold, and to temptation slow; They rightly do inherit heaven’s graces And husband nature’s riches from expense; They are the lords and owners of

Twoshortieshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16946502442453471005noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8864226398298329183.post-86425131490653963552009-05-16T21:26:00.006-05:002009-05-16T21:33:48.566-05:00

“…Whenever a new god rises to power, it is the job of those who worship him to provide evidence that he has always existed” (A Voice From The Attic, 1st Ed.193).

Twoshortieshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16946502442453471005noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8864226398298329183.post-79765121488444495752009-04-25T23:06:00.008-05:002009-04-25T23:22:15.189-05:00

http://www.desrimes.be/ From the Fables of Marie De France—a 12th-Century poetess, I have selected The Wolf and the Sow, translated by Harriet Spiegel (1987), reprinted in The Norton Anthology of English Literature.(7th ed., vol I.)The Wolf and the SowOnce long ago a wolf strolled downA path and chanced to come uponA sow who was with piglets big.He hastily approached the pig.He’d give her peace,

Twoshortieshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16946502442453471005noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8864226398298329183.post-52715006302290768822009-04-20T23:23:00.002-05:002009-04-20T23:27:04.781-05:00

Northern IranWhat I had in mind, when I started my contribution to this blog, was a raw idea of being a voice of a generation that was lost in the depth of revolution, war, and forced-migration. I wanted to be a voice of that particular generation, many of whom perished during the youth-cleansing of the 1983-1989 charged by the very power of the Islamic Revolution of the 1979, while the

Twoshortieshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16946502442453471005noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8864226398298329183.post-29960409098159026292009-04-11T13:58:00.002-05:002009-04-11T14:03:32.632-05:00

"When, in a city of 100,000, only one man is unemployed, that is his personal trouble, and for its relief we properly look to the character of the man, his skills, and his immediate opportunities. But when in a nation of 50 million employees, 15 million men are unemployed, that is an issue, and we may not hope to find its solution within the range of opportunities open to any one individual"(9).

Twoshortieshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16946502442453471005noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8864226398298329183.post-55526345145825756162009-04-09T22:21:00.002-05:002009-04-09T22:26:02.330-05:00

The National Gallery, LondonLeda and the SwanA sudden blow: the great wings beating stillAbove the staggering girl, he thighs caressedBy the dark webs, her nape caught in his bill,He holds her helpless breast upon his breast.How can those terrified vague fingers pushThe feathered glory from her loosening thighs?And how can body, laid in

Twoshortieshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16946502442453471005noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8864226398298329183.post-87262314226522386032009-04-06T23:36:00.003-05:002009-04-06T23:42:00.815-05:00

The Province of Gilan, IranWhen an Iranian-Canadian, who has, only recently, moved away from Iran to live in Canada tells me that I no longer “belong” to Iran because I no longer live in that country, I get twitch all over my body. Ah, the stupidity of these narrow-minded mules makes me chuckle but with tears in my eyes.A friend who is with me interjects, “are you crazy? We’re all Iranians. You

Twoshortieshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16946502442453471005noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8864226398298329183.post-84827525738859823402009-03-30T22:53:00.005-05:002009-03-30T23:08:14.592-05:00

The Dying Swan By Alfred Tennyson (1809-1892)I.The plain was grassy, wild and bare,Wide, wild, and open to the air,Which had built up everywhereAn under-roof of doleful gray.With an inner voice the river ran,Adown it floated a dying swan,And loudly did lament.It was the middle of the day.Ever the weary wind went on,And took the reed-tops as it went.II.Some blue peaks in the distance rose,And

Twoshortieshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16946502442453471005noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8864226398298329183.post-73501983342180500312009-03-28T01:42:00.001-05:002009-03-28T02:04:16.660-05:00

I believe that the first note of the New Year—the Persian New Year, of course— is the most important one, because it sets the tone for the whole year. So, with this hanging in mind, I sat down to write a short note in light verse, but a friend’s phone call diminished all the hope for making a light verse! Wailing and whining, she was a mad horse trotting through conversation, and stepping on

Twoshortieshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16946502442453471005noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8864226398298329183.post-89054767960400441842009-03-22T19:55:00.002-05:002009-03-22T20:00:51.553-05:00

Letter to a Future GenerationWe did not anticipate you, you bright onesthough some of us saw you kneeling behind our bombs,we did not fervently grow towards youfor most of us grew backwardssowing our seed in the black fields of historyavoid monuments, engrave our names beneath your ownfor you have consumed our ashes by nowfor you have one quiet mighty language by nowdo not excavate our citiesto

Twoshortieshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16946502442453471005noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8864226398298329183.post-85235012108244394222009-03-19T21:46:00.006-05:002009-03-19T21:54:50.401-05:00

Happy NowroozTwoshorties

Twoshortieshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16946502442453471005noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8864226398298329183.post-45473080370678017902009-03-15T11:49:00.003-05:002009-03-15T13:05:51.838-05:00

In less than a week, the Iranians around the globe will celebrate the arrival of the spring equinox, Nowrooz (Norooz)—the New Day—with many hopes and dreams in their hearts. In Iran, without a doubt, the Iranians will celebrate the arrival of the New-Day deservedly, as it has been with them for many centuries now. And they do it wholeheartedly, even though the Islamic State has never been happy

Twoshortieshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16946502442453471005noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8864226398298329183.post-18049146702715209272009-03-12T15:51:00.003-05:002009-03-12T15:58:24.845-05:00

What the Chairman Told TomPoetry? It’s a hobby.I run model trains.Mr Shaw there breeds pigeons.It’s not work. You don’t sweat.Nobody pays you for it.You could advertise soap.Art, that’s opera; or repertory—The Desert Song.Nancy was in the chorus.But to ask for twelve pounds a week—married, aren’t you?—you’ve got a nerve.How could I look a bus conductorin the faceif I paid you twelve pounds?Who

Twoshortieshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16946502442453471005noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8864226398298329183.post-20738371241189995252009-03-07T17:46:00.007-05:002009-03-07T17:54:56.151-05:00

William Adolphe Bouguereau (1825-1905)It is a day in which Womanhood is celebrated around the globe! Well, they say that Women’s Day is an international-day, and I wonder if that’s the fact in countries such as Saudi Arabia, Iran, Afghanistan, Pakistan, Ethiopia, Somalia, and Nigeria, to name a few. Anyhow, as a Woman I must celebrate my womanhood everyday and I do. But today, it is a special

Twoshortieshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16946502442453471005noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8864226398298329183.post-73688717374983528042009-02-27T23:55:00.002-05:002009-02-28T00:02:36.073-05:00

Every week when I select a poem for you to read, I choose that which presents itself to me in the most persistent manner. This week it was William Shakespeare’s Sonnet 116, “the marriage of true mindes”. I shall not tell you what the sonnet is about, because you will find that out if you read the poem carefully, but I’ll tell you one thing. Whenever one reads a poem one should be freely in the

Twoshortieshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16946502442453471005noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8864226398298329183.post-14921757821128786582009-02-26T17:06:00.006-05:002009-02-26T23:47:37.652-05:00

Discoveries: Early Letters 1938-1975“…because…I have travelled in a number of countries, I have never been in one yet where there were no distinctions of class, and I think that it is more honest and healthy to acknowledge that fact than to ignore it. Certainly I do not think that it could be maintained successfully that there are no distinctions of class in the United States…democracy as it

Twoshortieshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16946502442453471005noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8864226398298329183.post-4854381803770769262009-02-16T23:56:00.002-05:002009-03-08T23:12:53.686-05:00

If you are a regular visitor of this page, you should know that I do not choose a poem unless it speaks with me in a language that is evoking. Usually I look for three elements in a poem and if I like a poem I know that one of those cherished elements must be there or I should not have been interested in it. Firstly, be it a rhythmic verse or a blank one, a poem must show me a working of an

Twoshortieshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16946502442453471005noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8864226398298329183.post-64502208916831905202009-02-16T02:51:00.002-05:002009-06-08T00:19:29.250-05:00

After a long pause, I am back again! A little refreshed and more excited than before, because I'd to write notes that are a little personal and subjective, a little more entertaining and bold! A new thing, I know. But, I like new things. For me, new things are like new hopes and dreams; you can depend on them, for they guide you through new discoveries, usually personal and intimate ones.Anyways

Twoshortieshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16946502442453471005noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8864226398298329183.post-35223266531931931072009-01-21T23:39:00.005-05:002009-01-21T23:57:57.487-05:00

Robert Frost (1864-1963)Mending WallSomething there is that doesn’t love a wall,That sends the frozen-ground-swell under it,And spills the upper boulders in the sun;And makes gaps even two can pass abreast.The work of hunters is another thing:I have come after them and made repairWhere they have left not one stone on a stone,But they would have the rabbit out of hiding,To please the yelping dogs.

Twoshortieshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16946502442453471005noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8864226398298329183.post-9224818324124146732009-01-20T01:28:00.001-05:002009-01-20T01:31:30.719-05:00

Originally I had a plan for this first post of 2009; it was to be light, brief and seasonal. But then, my mood changed when I received the sad news of the passing of an acquaintance, who lost his battle with cancer, this past Saturday night.As I am neither a composer of an obituary note, nor a mourner of close relation to the deceased, but a grieved acquaintance who came to know a little about

Twoshortieshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16946502442453471005noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8864226398298329183.post-52374575935779637542009-01-04T23:06:00.003-05:002009-01-04T23:11:38.568-05:00

My heart was settled on George Herbert’s (1593-1633) The Pulley. Do you know what Pulley means? Well I tell you what Pulley is. Pulley, according to Oxford English Dictionary, is a “noun,” no doubt, but it is a “wheel or set of wheels over which a rope or chain is pulled in order to lift or lower heavy objects”. But what such a noun has to do with a poem is an inquiry of kind, that results in an

Twoshortieshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16946502442453471005noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8864226398298329183.post-5617640749808173722008-12-30T23:05:00.002-05:002008-12-30T23:14:22.288-05:00

While the old year is limping toward its end, the new one is lurking around the corner awaiting its own term, and the future, in spite of being absolutely predictable, does not seem bright at all! But, I am not going to whine about the grayish tone of the near future, rather, I would like to focus on the beaming surprises that will lighten up the subdued tone of the colour of that gloomy sky of

Twoshortieshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16946502442453471005noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8864226398298329183.post-59041623173838828522008-12-25T19:08:00.007-05:002008-12-26T01:05:56.806-05:00

"The Lady of Shalott"byDante Gabriel RossettiThe Lady of Shalott by Lord Alfred Tennyson (1809-1892) Part I“On either side the rive lieLong fields of barley and rye,That clothe the wold and meet the sky,And through the field the road runs byTo many-towered Camelot;And up and down the people go,Gazing where the lilies blowRound an island there below,The island of Shalott.Willows whiten, aspens

Twoshortieshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16946502442453471005noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8864226398298329183.post-48646368640781978912008-12-22T18:12:00.003-05:002008-12-22T18:27:46.588-05:00

It is that time of the year, when the spirit of the season gets under your skin and makes you post the kind of post you are about to read. To be honest with you, there is a voice in my head that tells me to do one thing, “don’t write any thing gloomy,” and as I must listen to that voice, I warm up myself for a suitable short piece, something that goes well with this season. How about this: how to

Twoshortieshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16946502442453471005noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8864226398298329183.post-63353871346441630782008-12-14T02:27:00.001-05:002008-12-14T02:30:23.714-05:00

Desert PlacesSnow falling and night falling fast, oh, fastIn a field I looked into going past,And the ground almost covered smooth in snow,But a few weeds and stubble showing last.The woods around it have it—it is theirs.All animals are smothered in their lairs.I am too absent-spirited to count;The loneliness includes me unawares.And lonely as it is, that lonelinessWill be more lonely ere it will

Twoshortieshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16946502442453471005noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8864226398298329183.post-46018477181188394352008-12-05T19:27:00.001-05:002008-12-05T22:03:59.175-05:00

Every time a traveler comes back from Iran, horrid stories of that hell-hole of religiosity and godliness are always beside the sweets I receive as my gifts.If you expect me to tell you one of those stories, you will be highly disappointed, because I shall not. Those stories are not good for your spirit. They are sickening, and depressing. Horrible, disturbing stories, each so shocking, that you

Twoshortieshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16946502442453471005noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8864226398298329183.post-29714379295820332042008-12-01T23:35:00.005-05:002008-12-01T23:45:42.223-05:00

When I came across the following, I thought, why not! If it made sense to me, it shall, I hope, make sense to you too! Just to let you know, David Hume, a major figure of the Scottish Enlightenment, “died calmly and quietly without any belief in the comfort of religion”. An excerpt from “Of the Standard of Taste” by David Hume (1711-1776)“The admirers and followers of the Alcoran (The Koran,

Twoshortieshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16946502442453471005noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8864226398298329183.post-34418060218731970222008-11-27T18:48:00.006-05:002008-12-04T16:58:36.057-05:00

A few years ago, a very dear professor of mine attended a conference in Cambridge, England. And there she visited the famous Fitzwilliam Museum, where she purchased a little reprint of a Flemish painting called “Courtship: Book of Hours” (C. 1500) as “special gift,” for her Persian student of Medieval Literature. (By the way, the reprint is scanned for your view and used here as an ornament to

Twoshortieshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16946502442453471005noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8864226398298329183.post-10165845714584550032008-11-26T00:34:00.001-05:002008-11-26T00:36:19.186-05:00

As I was organizing my notes, it occurred to me that I, as one of the Twoshorties, have never expressed my gratitude for your constant support of this blog in providing us the encouraging feedbacks by which we shape the very form of Without the Slightest Hesitation. So, thank you for being here with us.katayoun

Twoshortieshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16946502442453471005noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8864226398298329183.post-62852636870668741712008-11-23T19:24:00.002-05:002008-11-23T19:29:22.173-05:00

Alexander Pope (1688-1744)An excerpt from: An Essay on Criticism‘Tis hard to say, if greater Want of SkillAppear in Writing or in Judging ill:But, of the two, less dang’rous is th’ Offence,To tire our Patience, than mis-lead our Sense:Some few in that, but Numbers err in this,Ten Censure wrong for one who Writes amiss;A Fool might once himself alone expose,Now, One in Verse makes many more in

Twoshortieshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16946502442453471005noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8864226398298329183.post-37981981281361311772008-11-19T23:55:00.006-05:002008-11-20T00:31:38.628-05:00

In the heart of the Middle East, in an ancient land of Iran, I was born and bred in Tehran; the city of dangerous charm and enviable spirit, a jewel in the palm of Damavand. Tehran of my time was the city of tall sycamore trees, narrow alleyways, old architecture, mysterious courtyards, historic gates and squares, a rarity in its own right. An old city with a young soul, ambitious in heart and

Twoshortieshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16946502442453471005noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8864226398298329183.post-90145975720407891822008-11-14T22:20:00.002-05:002008-11-14T22:23:54.719-05:00

This week’s poem is by an exceptional poet, a renaissance man, a “Dante scholar,” Dante Gabriel Rossetti (1828-1882); he is a man of raw wisdom, healthy intellect and peculiar character.Now, listen to what he has to say. Let the man speak to your soul. It’s good for you!A SuperscriptionLook in my face; my name is Might-have-been;I am also called No-more, Too-late, Farewell;Unto thine ear I hold

Twoshortieshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16946502442453471005noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8864226398298329183.post-84128834932132114632008-11-10T16:49:00.002-05:002008-11-10T17:41:03.374-05:00

Among bloggers there is an ongoing debate about the “appropriate length” of a post, and its relation to the establishment of the readership of a blog. Some even “insist” that a “professional blog”—a space that is established as an intellectual/artistic place of expressions—“should” contain posts that are “short in length,” and precise in meaning. I have nothing against precision in the

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