Simin Behbahani's dobāré meesāzamat vatan

Leyla: salām sahbā jān! Hello, welcome to another poetry episode!

Sahba: salām leylā jān! Thank you, it's wonderful to be here. Thank you for having me. 

Leyla: Yes, of course, so wonderful to see you again. We are recording this in April of 2026, and we've just weathered a big storm in the, for anyone that follows news with Iran. I don't know if we've weathered it or not, but it seems like we're in a period of calm. During this period of time, you have been posting a lot of poetry on your social media feeds and really wonderful poems that can kind of help us to weather these storms. So I thank you for continuing to do that. 

Sahba: Of course, my pleasure. Thank you. 

Leyla: Yeah. And I'm excited about diving into the poet today. So we're covering Simin Behbahani. And this is the first poem of hers that we're covering. Hopefully the first of many. But I'm not super familiar with her and her poetry, so I'm excited to do this introduction where Sahba will tell us all about her. But I do have a fun fact that my mom was involved with a cultural center in Dallas, and she came and visited that cultural center. And they did a recording of her, and maybe it was 10, 15 years ago at this point that my mom was tasked with getting the CD of the recording to her in Iran. So she got to go visit her in Iran and visit her house and see her and have a nice chāi with her in Iran. 

Sahba: How special! 

Leyla: Very special. And she passed away very shortly after that. So it was a really special experience that she had. 

Sahba: Yeah, I actually, I also had the good pleasure of meeting her in like 2000. What was it, 2000 and maybe like 8 or something. 

Leyla: Wow.

Sahba: She came to UCLA because she had just published, I think it was actually like the last anthology of hers called "sānsoor shodé-hā." So the poems that they hadn't allowed for her to publish. 

Leyla: Wow. 

Sahba: So the censored ones and she came and she published it here. And then we had her at UCLA, and I actually, a friend of mine was supposed to read a poem of hers. She’d chosen a poem from the collection to read at this gathering that we had for her at UCLA. And then my friend fell sick, and she asked me to read it. 

Leyla: Oh, amazing. 

Sahba: It was sad for my friend. But I got to read her one of her own poems and she was so sweet. She was like, you know, I didn't really like this poem, but now that you've read it, I actually really like it. 

Leyla: Oh, that's so nice. 

Sahba: Yeah. 

Leyla: What a special experience. It might have been around the same time then, maybe she was doing a tour.

Sahba: It was probably.

Leyla: It must have been. Yes. 

Sahba: Yeah. 

Leyla: That's amazing.

Sahba: If your mom saw her not long before she passed, it was probably a little bit after. Yeah. Your mom. 

Leyla: Yeah. Wow. That's amazing. Yeah, it's amazing how, I mean, there's so many of these people still alive, you know, very special, important figures in Iranian culture. And it's amazing how accessible a lot of them are in Iran. And I feel like Iran is this very special place where you can meet these cultural figures. They're out among people. Yeah. You know, it's very special in that way. Yes. But and also coming to these universities and if you're around in a good university, I'm in Austin, Texas, where we do have a really robust Iranian studies program. There's a lot of cultural figures that come through. I bet, I bet. I don't know about right now, but. Before. Yeah. So yeah, so definitely take advantage of that. But now let's, let's go back to Simin jān. Can you tell me, let's start with her in general and where, what time period she was in. Obviously, she's a contemporary figure. We have a lot of classic poems. This is not a classic poet. So she uses very modern language, is a modern poet. And so can you give us some context into her? 

Sahba: Absolutely. Of course. Simin Behbahani, like you said, is one of our most, renowned and beloved modern poets, poets of modern Persian poetry. "she'ré mo'āser," as we call it, in Persian. She was born in 1927. And she passed away in 2014. 

Leyla: And I want to pause to say, I really appreciate that you said that she's one of our foremost modern poets. I feel like a lot of times, both in, it's like in American culture and a lot of cultures. That would be, it would be preceded by our most, you know, popular female poet. 

Sahba: Yeah, yeah, yeah. 

Leyla: And I feel like that was a really nice wording that you chose, because I do feel like she's like one of the top poets in general, and we don't need to qualify it that way. 

Sahba: No, not at all. No, no. And like, yeah, actually, you raise a very interesting point there because I think often, it's like we divide poets and female poets. You know, like female poets become their own sort of group. But I think with Simin, like a, she's one of our best poets of the modern period. But also she writes about her womanhood and being a woman is an important and integral part of her poetry actually, and not as a differentiator from like, any poet, but like it's part of who she is, you know, part of her also poetic persona. She's actually known as "sheerzané eerān." That's the title they often refer to her as. 

Leyla: Can you define "sheerzan"? 

Sahba: "sheerzan" means..."sheer" is 'lion', and "zan" is 'woman', so the lion woman of Iran. The lioness of Iran, essentially. Yeah. And "sheerzan" is a term that we use quite commonly in Persian to refer to a woman who is exceptionally strong and, yeah, just strong. It's in my eyes, it's always been an incredible compliment. So I know a lot of "sheerzan"s who have been in my life. And as I know you do too. And I think our lives have been formed by these "sheerzan"s in many ways. And now the world has seen the "sheerzan"s of Iran in the past few years, too, on the world stage. But so, yes, so Simin Behbahani is the sheerzan of Iran, in Iranian literature. And she's really renowned for revitalizing sort of the classical genre of Persian poetry. But, giving it a new, modern and contemporary flavor and essence. And what I mean by this is that she initially began writing more in a modern style, in the "sabké neemāyee," so this style which is closer to Nima Yooshij, who is the father of Iranian contemporary, modern Iranian poetry, "she'ré nō," new poetry. So she initially was in that school, and then at some point, she goes into more of the classical style, and she's actually known for her composition of the ghazals, the love lyric poetry, but with a distinctly modern flavor and, covering modern topics and modern issues. So this is the very unique thing about Simin is that she revitalizes the ghazal, which is a classical poetry form, but infuses it with contemporary social and political themes, essentially. Yes. 

Leyla: And when did she start writing poetry? 

Sahba: She begins writing at quite a young age, actually. She publishes her first poem at the age of 12. 

Leyla: Wow. And what year was this? 

Sahba: Sorry, she began writing at 12. And she publishes her poetry, first poem, at the at the age of 14. 

Leyla: Okay. 

Sahba: If she's born in 1927 plus 14 

Leyla: Okay. 

Sahba: Early. 

Leyla: Wow. What was the context in Iranian history of when she was writing poetry in the beginning? 

Sahba: So this is a time when, you know, women have been writing poetry in the Iranian context forever. So this is not, it is not anything new. But I think it's a time when Iranian women are becoming more present in the common ground, you know, stage of Iranian poetry and contemporary poetry. And she was born in a family of highly educated and literary individuals, too. So from the beginning of her life, this was sort of a part of her upbringing, her mother was also a poet. 

Leyla: Oh, wow. Okay. And she was born, actually, before Forough Farrokhzad then, is that right? 

Sahba: Yes. 

Leyla: A few years before. Okay. So then were they in the same circles or? 

Sahba: They were. They were contemporaries. Yeah. I mean a lot of poets were contemporaries. So Simin Behbahani, Forough Farrokhzad, Nader Naderpour. Many of them. Yeah. 

Leyla: Wow. Okay.

Sahba: There’s actually a really nice picture of I think it's her Forough Farrokhzad, Nader Naderpour and another poet too. And, like, they're all together, if I find it, I’ll send it to you. Yeah. 

Leyla: Yeah. I mean, they're all, yeah, they're all contemporaries of one another. That's really cool. Okay. And at the time, like, was this a profession that people could have in Iran, like it was economically viable to just have this profession?

Sahba: I don't know if it was necessarily economically viable to have it as just a profession. No, I think oftentimes these people came from backgrounds that they were able to be supported, and they could write also on the side, maybe after some time, it could be semi-economically sufficient. But I don't think it was something that, generally speaking, would just be your day job. No.

Leyla: Yeah. Got it.

Sahba: And so Forough Farrokhzad died tragically in 1967. But then Simin Behbahani obviously lived for a lot longer than that. So she went through kind of the constitutional crisis or the crisis in 1953 with Mosaddegh, she went through the Iranian Revolution. She went through— the Iran-Iraq War. Yeah.

Leyla: Wow.

Sahba: And she stayed in Iran the whole time. She stayed in Iran and she was there for the Green Movement, she was there. Yeah, yeah, yeah. So she actually was very involved, like, quite involved politically. And her poetry really talked about, especially if you’re reading the "sānsoor shodé-hā." That book, a lot of it is very critical of the ruling powers and how they behave. And as a result of it, actually, I think it's in 2010 or around then that she gets mamnool khorooj, she gets, she’s not allowed to leave the country for a while. And she was imprisoned for a short period, I think.

Leyla: Wow.

Sahba: So she suffered for it too, definitely. I think she got, if I'm not mistaken, she got tasered in one of, like, the, protests that she had gone to.

Leyla: Wow.

Sahba: And at an old age. So she was very much involved and engaged. And she has poetry that's dedicated and written to political prisoners. Of course, not the poetry that was published in Iran so openly, but she was quite open and vocal about, you know, what she believed and who she was. And that's why she was a "sheerzan."

Leyla: Yes. She didn’t cower at anyone's threats.

Sahba: Absolutely.

Leyla: And what about the context of, you said she writes a lot about being a woman. What kind of things would she write about that subject?

Sahba: I mean, so her womanhood is it's slightly different, maybe from the way Forough approaches it to some extent. But she's not necessarily, like, Forough’s controversy of poetry is that she writes openly about, sort of, the female sexual desire and female sexual experience. With Simin Behbahani, it's not that. But she does do also what Forough did in that the gaze reverts in her poetry. And instead of the male gaze being on the female, it's the female gaze, you know, upon a man or just the experience of being a woman. So she has two poems that I really love, both of which are in the "sānsoor shodé-hā" collection. One is called "hashtād sālegee ō eshgh." So it's '80 and Falling in Love'. She writes about falling in love in an old age and what it means, and, you know, just like being older but also still being coquettish. And she was a very, in the best sense of the word, a very coquettish character. She was always dressed really nicely and had her lipstick on and, you know, she was, she wasn’t, yeah, she was very coquettish in a very admirable and sweet way.

Leyla: Would you call that "eshvéyee"? Is that the word that you would have for in Persian or what?

Sahba: It’s a hard phrase to actually translate for a woman of her stature too in Persian but she always had, I don't even know what word I would use, but she was, she, she had a very special sense to her, je ne sais quoi, I don't even know.

Leyla: Yeah, interesting.

Sahba: And you can see it in the photos of her, actually, if you look at the photos, she's always, like, done up very nicely. And like, she's always, there's always this, like, elegance about her.

Leyla: Nice.

Sahba: And so that's one poem that comes to mind. Another one that is my favorite poem by her is called "zarbé shādé panjéyé mādar," and it's about her as a young girl and her experiences as a young girl. So her being a woman is actually, I think, really central to a lot of her poetry. And even her sense of justice, I think in some ways, is tied to her strong sense of womanhood too. Which I love because it takes that idea of like female poets and male poets and like does away with it, but at the same time, like there's something very specific about like this is what it, this is what my experience is and this is what, this is my lens of the world and one that is adoptable by all. You know what I mean? It's not just by women for women necessarily.

Leyla: Yes. Right.

Sahba: It’s showing you a different way of lens of seeing that actually helps everyone grow.

Leyla: Wow. Amazing. That deserved it.

Sahba: That deserved it. It deserved.

Leyla: I don't know if it'll stay in the recording, but confetti just came out. I think that that was really good because I did have the question since so many of our students are going to be male students. I kind of had the question in the back of my mind, well, what makes this interesting for men to read? But, I mean, you would never ask that question about a male poet, so I didn't ask it.

Sahba: No, exactly.

Leyla: I refrained.

Sahba: It doesn't even beg that question because bé ghālé tō, why are we reading men all day long and, like, who's asking what does this have to do with women? It's exactly the same with her. You know, she's showing you a better way to see the world, essentially.

Leyla: Wonderful. Yeah, I love that. Okay, cool. And then so now we have this specific poem. Well, is there anything else that you want to say about the context of Simin Behbahani when she lived?

Sahba: I mean, the context of Simin Behbahani in many ways depends on the time period. You said yourself, māshallāh, she lived a longer life. And also, through multiple different historical events. Yeah. And so I would, you know, I think and luckily, what we have with her because she's a modern contemporary poet is that a lot of the poems are dated, actually, they have dates signed below them. So you can to some extent put it in context to see what is she referencing, what's going on in that period of time, you know, rather than saying abstractly, well, what could we, you know, refer to.

Leyla: So like, if I'm not mistaken, the poem that we're reading today is written, around the Iran-Iraq war. Okay.

Sahba: It's a little after the Iran-Iraq War I think.

Leyla: One other bit of context that I want to add is that my grandfather was born in 1920 in Iran. And, you know, he wrote his memories of, like, being a child in Iran at that time up to he lived until 2012. So similar time frame of Simin Behbahani. But he talked about how when he was growing up, you know, what Iran looked like at that time and then going through World War I, even we haven't mentioned, World War II, I'm sorry, World War II, Iran was a part of it. He worked translating English during that time. And all the changes, even just technological changes that Iran went through of being like, you know, very technologically behind a certain point. And then the British Petroleum Company coming in and all the changes that came throughout that period are just mind-blowing. So he published a memoir, which I'd like to translate and to have out there for everyone, because it's such an interesting period of time. But she also went through that exact same type of— I think it's hard for us to fathom, like the amount of change until, you know, 2012, when there, you know, there's iPhones and there's this and that and that, and there's just so much change. The world was a completely different place.

Sahba: Totally different world. Yeah. What they saw was just this wide, vast spectrum of life.

Leyla: Yeah.

Sahba: Absolutely. Absolutely. Yeah.

Leyla: So I think that's a good spot to start talking about our specific poem, why you chose this particular poem at this particular time?

Sahba: Well, I think the poem will give itself away with the first line. Yeah. But I think it's very pertinent to what we're going through today. I think as voices in Iran are largely silenced due to the internet, you know, blackout that's ongoing. And as I think everyone wants what is best for the, well, we want what's best for the Iranian people. And, you know, and what the Iranian people want. I think it's really pertinent to that. You know, this concept of rebuilding a homeland that for many decades has felt like just to many, not like a homeland or like a place that has been slowly unraveling. Yeah.

Leyla: So then this poem, have you abridged it from the original?

Sahba: I have not, no. This is the whole poem. This is the full thing. Yeah.

Leyla: Okay.

Sahba: I thought it's a good size to just keep probably.

Leyla: It is a great size. And so as we do always in our poetry lessons, what we're going to do is today, we're going to read this with Sahba. We're going to read both the Persian and the English translation. And we will go over it, the general meaning and we’ll translate it as we go along as well. And then in subsequent lessons, I'm going to be going over the whole poem again, word by word, phrase by phrase. And obviously this is a modern poem. So it's going to be all modern words that you will be able to use in conversation. This is my favorite way to learn the language because you come across concepts and words that you wouldn't necessarily come across in a language lesson. And you'll be able to take these and integrate them into your own speaking, into your own poetic, expression of self. And so that's a, that's a fun way to learn a language. Okay. So now we're going to read the entire poem. Sahba is going to read two lines of the Persian, and I'll read his translation of it. And then we'll go over the entire thing, talk about the general meaning of the poem, and go through some of the distinct vocabulary that we have in there and just talk about the poem in general. So without further ado, let's start starting with the title.

Sahba: So the title of the poem is its first line, it's "matla'," and it is "dobāré meesāzamet vatan."

Leyla: Which means?

Sahba: 'I will build you again' or 'I will rebuild you, o my homeland'.

Leyla: And I can't wait to get more into that word "vatan.” Let's go.

Sahba: dobāré meesāzamet vatan agar ché bā kheshté jāné kheesh

Leyla: once again I will build you, o homeland, even if with the bricks of my very own being

Sahba: sotoon bé saghfé tō meezanam agar ché bā ostokhāné kheesh

Leyla: I'll raise columns to your roof even if it be with my very own bones.

Sahba: dobāré meebooyam az tō gol bé maylé naslé javāné tō

Leyla: once again I will smell your flowers through the endeavor of your generation of youth.

Sahba: dobāré meeshooyam az tō khoon bé saylé ashké ravāné kheesh

Leyla: once again I'll wash away blood from you through the flood of my flowing tears

Sahba: dobāré, yek roozé āshenā seeyāhee az khāné meeravad

Leyla: once again, one familiar day darkness will leave home

Sahba: bé she'ré khod rang meezanam zé ābeeyé āsemāné kheesh

Leyla: I will color my own poetry with the blue of your own sky

Sahba: agar ché sad sālé mordé-am bé gooré khod khāham eestād

Leyla: even if I have been dead for a hundred years, I will rise and stand on my own grave.

Sahba: ké bardaram ghalbé ahreman zé na'réyé ānchenāné kheesh

Leyla: so that I can tear apart the devil's heart with my loud roaring

Sahba: kasee ké “azmé rameem”-rā dobāré enshā konad bé lotf

Leyla: the one who re-writes the “moldering bones” through his grace and beneficence

Sahba: chō kooh meebakhshadam shokooh, bé arséyé emtehāné kheesh

Leyla: will grant me splendor, like a mountain, in the arena of his tests.

Sahba: agar ché peer-am valee hanooz, majālé ta'leem agar bovad

Leyla: though I am old, but still if the opportunity to learn arises

Sahba: javānee āghāz meekonam kenāré nobāvegāné kheesh

Leyla: I will begin anew my youth beside my own grandchildren

Sahba: hadeesé hob ol-vatan zé shogh bedān ravesh sāz meekonam

Leyla: the hadith of “Love for one's country,” passionately I will pursue in such wise

Sahba: ké jān shavad har kalāmé del, chō bargoshāyam dahāné kheesh

Leyla: that every word of the heart will come to life when I so much as part my lips.

Sahba: hanooz dar seené āteshee, bejā-st k'az tābé sho'lé-ash

Leyla: still in my heart a fire burns, from whose flames

Sahba: gomān nadāram bé kāheshee, zé garmeeyé doodemāné kheesh

Leyla: I sense no extinction, by dint of the warmth of my ancestors

Sahba: dobāré meebakhsheeyam tavān, agar ché she'ram bé khoon neshast

Leyla: once again, you'll bestow upon me strength even if my poem sits in blood

Sahba: dobāré meesāzamet bé jān, agar ché beesh az tavāné kheesh

Leyla: once again I will rebuild you by my soul, even if it lays beyond my strength.

Okay. That feels like it was written this week.

Sahba: Yeah.

Leyla: I can't wait to dive into it. So this was written during the Iran-Iraq War?

Sahba: Yes, it's written during the Iran-Iraq War in 1980, ’81.

Leyla: Okay. So then let's provide a little bit of context into that war. So 1979 is when the revolution happened and the war started pretty much directly afterwards, right?

Sahba: Yeah, yeah, in the ’80s, early ’80s.

Leyla: So can we say kind of what the content, what was the war? What was the context of it?

Sahba: The war in Persian is often called "jangé tahmeelee," which is an offensive war. That basically Iraq attacks Iran, seeing it at a time of, at a time that's volatile. It's volatile and weak because of the new government. And so it attacks western Iran. And so then Iran falls into this 8 year war with Iraq that takes the lives of many, many, many, many youth who were sent to the front line to fight. It's also a time of ideological formation, furthermore, and yeah, it's a very intense period. It's a difficult period. It's a period that many lived through. And that sort of solidified their experience of the early days of the of the new government and the new system.

Leyla: Were you there at the time?

Sahba: I was not, no, I was not there at the time.

Leyla: I was.

Sahba: Go ahead, you were.

Leyla: I was there, and, I mean, I was there until I was, what, three and a half. But yeah, it was, from my experience of it, I, of course, have, like, memories of memories. Who knows? But, everybody had a "zeerzameen," which is the underground, and then the "āzheer" would go off the, what do you call them? Sirens would go off. "āzheer", yeah. And that's when the missiles would be striking. And so, everyone would run underground. And it was a period of great fear, a period of great destruction, as you said, like Iran was at a low. And so, everybody was already kind of shell-shocked from this revolution that didn't quite go the way they had thought that it was going to go. You know, hijab was becoming mandatory. You know, people were losing a lot of their freedoms. And then on top of that, they were being attacked by Iraq, backed by the U.S. So that was kind of the. Yeah. And ’82, ’83 is also when like, you have the mass killing of the political prisoners and all of that. So it's a time of internal turmoil and external turmoil, perhaps not very different from what we're experiencing now, actually, in some ways, yeah.

Sahba: Absolutely.

Leyla: I mean, very, very pertinent to now. Yeah. And let's kind of go back to that first line that you said, dobāré meesāzamet vatan. What a defiant, you mentioned the word "sheerzan," this 'lion woman', and the whole poem is very defiant, and "sheerzan," and like standing on your two feet.

Sahba: Yes. Exactly. Yeah. Yeah.

Leyla: So that's really interesting. And I said we were going to go back to the word "vatan," so let's talk about that. What does "vatan," mean in all its glory?

Sahba: "vatan," is homeland, right? It's your motherland, fatherland. It's the homeland. It's an Arabic word in origin. The Persian equivalent for it is "meehan." So you have "vatan" and "meehan" used interchangeably. But yeah, and it's a word that has been part of the slogans that people have used for a very long time. You see it resurface, you You saw it resurfacing with the current movement too.

Leyla: Yeah, it's an important term.

Sahba: It's a very important term. And, you know, what I love about this poem is that from the get go, like you said, from the first line, you have, it is a strong beginning, very strong beginning, strong emotions from the very start of the poem.

Leyla: And I'd say also the word "vatan" comes with really strong roots. Because, you know, those of us who are in the U.S., we don't really, we have the concept of patriotism or like nationalism, and that kind of thing, but we don't really have the concept of homeland, like home. The smells of home. And also the US is such a mobile country. It's a young country. It's a country where people move around a lot and they don't really have that concept of "vatan", of this like internal, the smells, the feels and that concept of "vatan," I would think. Do you agree with that? That’s interesting.

Sahba: No, I wouldn’t, I think—

Leyla: You think they're very "vatanparast" too?

Sahba: I think it's the same for someone who is like, you know, been here for generations and they love, you know, whatever elements there are, I think when you come from another like when you, you know, I think even for us as like, hyphenated Americans or hyphenated Iranians, it's still the same, I promise you, if we were to move somewhere else and live outside of this, one then recognize, I think in many ways one defines "vatan" once it's in some ways in danger. Do you know what I mean? When it's like.

Leyla: Okay, interesting.

Sahba: And by danger I don't mean like actual danger necessarily, but even when it's like you're away from it and it's been taken from you and then you realize, oh, like, I don't know, like, I feel like even like the most mundane things become part of "vatan" for Iranians, you know, but even for Americans too, like a Costco hot dog becomes part of "vatan" when, like you can’t get it. You know? Yeah. Yeah.

Leyla: Okay. Okay. Interesting.

Sahba: I don't know, that's my take on it.

Leyla: Okay. Okay, I like that. That's interesting. "vatanparast" that I said, basically means someone who worships the "vatan." So someone who's a, like, nationalistic pride.

Sahba: Yeah, yeah. Patriot essentially is "vatanparast." Yes. Quite an intense word for patriot. Like patriot is softer. I think that "vatanparast" is... you nailed it. You worship your homeland. Yeah. Yeah, yeah. So she says dobāré meesāzamet vatan agar ché bā kheshté jāné kheesh So in that second line, too, you have this beautiful use of 'even'. 'I will rebuild you even if it's with the bricks...'. "khesht" is literally 'adobe'. Yeah, it's mud bricks. Yeah. So even if it's with the mud bricks of my very existence. Now, "jān," as, obviously, you know, can be 'soul'. It can also be 'life'. You can translate it as 'I will rebuild you even if it's with the mud bricks, with the bricks of my own soul' or 'with the bricks of my own existence, my own being'. "sotoon bé saghfé tō meezanam," 'I'll raise columns to your roof', "agar ché bā ostokhāné kheesh," 'even if it's with my own bones'. For me, that's like the strong imagery where like she's literally using all that she has at her disposal, even if it's her own body to rebuild the homeland, her own existence. "dobāré meebooyam az tō gol bé maylé naslé javāné tō," 'I'll smell flowers again...'. Also, notice the different sensory images or visuals that are coming in, right? So soul, sort of like air, and "khesht," 'earth' and 'body', then "gol," 'scent', the concept of scent relating back to the homeland. "dobāré meebooyam az tō gol," 'I'll smell your flowers once again', "bé maylé naslé javāné tō." Now, "mayl," maybe some of the students are familiar with it because we say sometimes "mayl dāree?" "mayl nadāree?" 'Do you desire something?', 'do you not desire something?'. "mayl" is really 'desire'. To the liking. The liking. Yeah. So we translated it as endeavor, sort of, but it's basically like through the desire and endeavor in that sense of your younger generation. "bé maylé naslé javāné tō." "dobāré meeshooyam az tō khoon bé saylé ashké ravāné kheesh." Here, you have the juxtaposition of blood and tears with one another, right? Blood is being washed away with the tears actually that one sheds. And that blood I think is then obviously very pointedly referencing to what was going on in Iran at that time, both externally and internally. Right. "dobāré, yek roozé roshanā, seeyāhee az khāné meeravad." This is a very Iranian concept, the concept of light versus darkness, good versus evil. Right. So she's saying again one bright day. Yeah. Sorry, "yek roozé āshenā." I'm reading it as "roshanā." I'm reading it as "roshanā."

Leyla: Oh, "āshenā," oh yes, yes.

Sahba: Yeah, yeah. I think actually in some texts it might be "yek roozé roshanā." I don't think I just made that up, I think in some editions it might be that. I could be wrong, but yeah. "dobāré, yek roozé āshenā," 'again, one familiar day', "seeyāhee az khāné meeravad," 'darkness will leave the homeland'. Again, that's the very Iranian concept. Darkness versus, you know, and light. "bé she'ré khod rang meezanam zé ābeeyé āsemāné kheesh." This is interesting because she is promising to paint color her poetry again. And so this juxtaposition against darkness and clear. "zé ābeeyé āsemāné kheesh," 'from the blue of my own sky'. Now you can say my own sky, I translated it as your own sky because kheesh can also— it just means self. So it depends which self she's referencing. Yourself to the "vatan" or myself. This, I should also say, is interesting because at this point is when, you know, in the ’80s and in the early ’90s, women were only allowed to wear dark colors.

Leyla: Oh, right. That's right.

Sahba: And so it's interesting because it's this juxtaposition of things being dark and yearning for color once again, for color to come back. It wasn't until the late ’90s when, like, women's "māntō"s were allowed to be, you know, dark green and dark, you know, different colors. And then they obviously changed. So imagine the whole country looked like it was in mourning, which is a good transition to our next couple lines. Yeah. "agar ché sad sālé mordé-am, bé gooré khod khāham eestād." This is probably my favorite line from the poem.

Leyla: Wow.

Sahba: 'Even if I have been dead for a hundred years', "agar ché sad sālé mordé-am," 'even if I have been a hundred-year dead one', "bé gooré khod khāham eestād," 'on my own grave, I shall stand'. 'I will rise and stand upon my own grave'. Why? "ké bardaram ghalbé ahreman zé na'réyé ānchenāné kheesh," 'so that I can tear apart the heart of...'. I translated "ahreman" as 'devil' because that's basically what it is, but "ahreman" is the evil force, the dark force in the Iranian, well in Zoroastrianism and in Iran. 'So that I can tear apart the heart of the devil, of the evil force' "zé na'réyé ānchenāné kheesh." "na'ré" is a 'growl', a 'roar'. It's what a lion does, it's what a lion does. 'From my growling', and "ānchenān" is 'such that', so literally, 'from the such that growling of my own', 'from my own such that growling'. “ānchenān” means ‘extreme’, ‘my own extreme’, that high sense of.

Leyla: So even in death we are being defiant and, showing that "sheerzan" spirit.

Sahba: Yeah. Exactly. Even in death she's being defiant. Yeah. Now it gets a little complicated. She says "kasee ké azmé rameem-rā dobāré enshā konad bé lotf." This “azmé rameem” that's in quotations too, is a concept that exists in Persian poetry from a religious background. "azm" means 'bones', and "rameem" means 'decaying, moldering'. And what it's referencing to is actually it’s referencing the story of Jesus in religious tradition who could revive even moldering bones and bring it back to life. She says, 'the one who wrote the reviving of the "moldering bones"', referencing God, actually, she's saying so the one who wrote this reference to the moldering bones, "dobāré enshā konad." "kasee ké azmé rameem-rā dobāré enshā konad be lotf," 'the one who rewrites, who recomposes this concept of the moldering bones being resuscitated to life', "chō kooh meebakhshadam shokooh," 'like a mountain, he will grant me splendor'. "bé arséyé emtehāné kheesh," 'in the arena, in the field of the tests he will give me'. She's referencing God in this line. She's saying God, who wrote this or who rewrites this story of this miracle of the moldering bones coming back to life, if it be his will, he will grant me splendor once again, as he will revive me from the dead to come and fight again in the arena of the tests that he will give. Because God always gives us tests through which we can progress and become better. "agar ché peer-am valee hanooz..." This is another favorite of mine. "agar ché peer-am valee hanooz majālé ta'leem agar bovad," 'even if I am old but still," "hanooz, majāl," ya'nee 'the opportunity, the chance'. 'The chance of' "ta'leem," 'of learning'...

Leyla: Wow!

Sahba: 'The chance of learning' "agar bovad," "agar bāshad," 'if the chance of learning exists or should it come up', "javānee āghāz meekonam kenāré nobāvegāné kheesh." 'I will restart youth again', 'I will start youth again next to, beside, my own offspring, my own children and grandchildren'.

Leyla: That is really beautiful.

Sahba: So again, referencing to what you touched on earlier, her being a "sheerzan," this is the concept, again, of never giving up. She's saying even if I am old, but should the opportunity arise again, I will again begin my youth. I'll restart again so that I can grow once again with the younger generation.

Leyla: Which I think is a great metaphor for learning in general. Like whatever it is, if that opportunity arises to learn, you always want to do that because that is the fountain of youth. We have so many students who have discovered that, you know, they start learning this language, which is a hard thing to do if you're not a baby, but it does make you young again, just like a child. You're learning again. You're learning this whole new thing. So it's a great metaphor.

Sahba: And Simin Behbahani really had that in her that where I talking about her like being stylish and like was an element of her never growing old like that youth always remained in her.

Leyla: That's wonderful.

Sahba: Yeah. Both in her resistance, but also in her even appearance.

Leyla: Yeah!

Sahba: "hadeesé hob ol-vatan zé shogh bedān ravesh sāz meekonam." Again, this is a little complicated. "hadees," what's "hadees"? "hadees" are stories. 'Hadith' actually means like a story or something that is retold that referenced the life of the Prophet Mohammad. Yeah. So they're, they're often sayings that are attributed to him. So they're hadiths saying the Prophet did x, y and z, or the Prophet said x, y, and z, and they, along with the Quran itself, construct an important part of Muslim identity and Muslim life and what one follows, essentially. And so there's a hadith that says, "hob ol-vatan men al-eemān." ‘The love of one's country is from faith’, or my understanding is ’a kind of faith’, essentially. So the importance of the love of one's own country, essentially. So she says, "hadeesé hob ol-vatan zé shogh," 'this hadith of "Love for one's country"', she's referencing it. "zé shogh," 'out of passion', 'passionately', "bedān ravesh sāz meekonam." 'In such wise, I will' "sāz meekonam." 'I will make', 'I will do', 'I will endeavor towards', 'I will pursue', "ké jān shavad har kalāmé del," 'that every utterance, every word of my heart will become life, its very self' or 'will take on the soul', 'will come to life', "chō bargoshāyam dahāné kheesh," 'when I so much as open my mouth'. So even when I open my mouth, just as I open it, the words that come out will each take a life of their own. I will love my country in such wise. I will follow that hadith of "hob ol-vatan men al-eemān" in such wise that even if I open my mouth and the words come out, the words themselves will take on life. "hanooz dar seené āteshee, bejā-st k'az tābé sho'lé-ash," 'still, within my breast, within my heart, a fire' "bejā-st," 'stands', "k'az tābé sho'lé-ash..." "ké az," 'that from the dancing of its flames, the movement of its flames', "gomān nadāram bé kāheshee," 'I don't sense...' You helped me translate this, 'cause the term "gomān," 'sense' is a great translation that leylā joon came up with for it. 'I sense no decline', 'I sense no decline' "zé garmeeyé doodemāné kheesh," 'because of the innate warmth of my ancestry'.

Leyla: Wow!

Sahba: 'The warmth that runs in my lineage'. It's strong, no?

Leyla: Yeah. Yeah it is. Okay.

Sahba: Yeah. I mean, even more I mean, that's another very strong sense of defiance and "sheerzan." Yeah. And this pride in your lineage, too. She's saying that heat that lives in my heart comes from the warmth of my lineage. It comes. It runs, it's like the blood that runs in my veins.

Leyla: Amazing. Yeah. Beautiful.

Sahba: "dobāré meebakhsheeyam tavān, agar ché she'ram bé khoon neshast." 'Again, you will bestow upon me', "meebakhsheeyam," "bakhsheedan." 'You will bestow upon me' "tavān," 'strength', "agar ché she'ram bé khoon neshast," 'even if my poem is steeped in blood', 'even if my poem sits in blood'. "dobāré meesāzamet bé jān." 'Again, I will rebuild you by my soul, with my soul, through my soul, through my life', "agar ché beesh az tavāné kheesh," 'even if it is beyond my ability'.

Leyla: Wow. It's hard to see that this was written at that period of time and like it, yeah, again could have been written so, so recently and I wonder how she felt by the end, like she had these works that had been censored, that she wasn't able to publish in her own country. If she regretted having stayed, I doubt she regretted having stayed.

Sahba: I don't think so. No. I'm 100% sure she did not.

Leyla: Yeah. There's no way she would have left with a poem like this. I do have one question translation-wise: "zé garmeeyé doodemāné kheesh." We're still using the word "kheesh," so in what times is it about yourself? And how is that referring to ancestors?

Sahba: That's actually a great point. And actually, to go back to the poem, it would be an interesting poetic exercise to see, where we could translate what to what. Now, I've translated it as "kheesh" is herself, but one could argue that actually all of the "kheesh"s should be, and I should have done actually, what I should have done was remain more consistent maybe. But the "kheesh"s could all be referencing to herself, but also could be referencing the homeland itself. Yeah. So when she says "zé garmeeyé doodemāné kheesh," it could be 'by dint of the warmth of', sorry. She could be saying 'by dint of the warmth of your own ancestry', but also you've nailed something on the head here that I hadn't even thought about is that she is playing with this idea of herself and the homeland being one, essentially.

Leyla: Okay.

Sahba: When the "kheesh" becomes... Where is it Simin and where is the "kheesh" the homeland?

Leyla: Interesting. Yeah. Interesting. Beautiful.

Sahba: I hadn't thought about that. That is so beautiful. Yeah. Yeah I mean that's what's so nice about reading these poems and going through it so in detail because when you, it’s kind of like they say you haven't read a book until you reread it, you know, poetry. We have the gift of being able to reread it over and over again and also through this act of memorization, kind of going through these and really feeling these words and it changes as you keep reading it and your understanding changes too. And I think actually a really important part of it perhaps, is reading it together like we just did, you know, because then you have insights into something, you see something that I've, I've read this poem 20, 30, maybe more times. You know, I’d never saw that. You helped me see that. So I think that's an important part of sharing these things too, is we see things that others don't see necessarily. And when you do that act together, it's much more enriching, actually. Yeah.

Leyla: And so we also said that, you know, she wouldn't have regretted leaving. I think that that comes up so much in the poem, like the part where she says, like, even if I'm dead for so long, I will stand on my grave like so, even, even if I'm covered with blood, the imagery of blood keeps coming over and over again in the poem. The imagery of death keeps coming over and over again, the imagery of destruction and, you know, all this, but then also juxtaposed with this, like, splendor and youth and passion and all of these are together so that really is very interesting to me as well.

Sahba: Absolutely, absolutely. No, she was truly someone to be studied, you know, someone to be studied in her works. I don't, to my knowledge, no one has done, you know, like an academic dissertation or something on her work. And I think that would be an excellent thing.

Leyla: Oh, interesting. Yeah. And also, like, do you think that you have to be Iranian in order to understand this poem? Or do you have to be in a place with like war, destruction or how do you read it in that way?

Sahba: No, I mean, I would argue someone who's Ukrainian could read this right now and it would touch them just as much. You know, I think it's someone, it's kind of like what I was saying earlier. It's someone that has to have experienced their country being their homeland, being in some sort of turmoil or a potential danger, you know, and this love for the homeland that keeps returning. I don't think, I think she has poetry that maybe is you have to be familiar with Iranian culture and so on to sense. But I don't think this is one of them. Really. No, I think it's something that anyone in this situation can identify with.

Leyla: I'd be curious what the students think, actually, in this regard.

Sahba: Yeah. Yeah, definitely.

Leyla: And then you'd mentioned in the beginning that she brought back the ghazal structure. Is this a poem in which it has the ghazal structure?

Sahba: Yes. Yeah.

Leyla: And how does that— can we talk a little bit about that? What is the structure?

Sahba: Sure. So ghazals tend to be either love poetry and they tend to be shorter. So as you see with this poem, it’s a perfect example of that in length, but also even in topic because it doesn't— traditionally it would have to be about love of one another person. But this is about love of the homeland, right? And the homeland is often seen as a person too. And then it's the, it's the rhyme, it's the rhyme and the meter of it. And the "ghāfeeyé," the ending of each line that matches with one another. So the poem is shorter, but it carries the same, obviously the same rhythm, but it also carries the same. Why am I blanking on this word? It carries the same ending of each of each stanza, essentially. Yeah. Got it. Okay. "kheesh" being the marker of bringing everything together.

Leyla: Okay. Wonderful. Yes. So that's something that we'll explore when we go over the individual words and phrases. So we have a lot of repeating words in here, a lot of opposite words in here. It's going to be exciting to cover. And then of course we'll ask our students, as always to memorize. We're going to ask for a paragraph, your favorite paragraph. Is there one that you would recommend, Sahba, if you were to memorize this, which one would you go for? I know you said there was a few favorite lines that you had in here.

Sahba: Which stanza would I go for if I were to memorize it? Yeah. Oh. That's tough. Let's see. I think, you know, honestly, I would I would maybe go with the first one if I were to memorize only one stanza. Yeah. Yeah, yeah. No, I take it back, I take it back, I take it back. I would go with the second one.

Leyla: Okay. Yeah. I feel like the second one too.

Sahba: Yeah, "dobāré, yek roozé āshenā seeyāhee az khāné meeravad," from there. Yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah. But honestly, the first stanza is so iconic. Like everyone knows it. Yeah. You know. Right. Right, right. You can't really fight. Oh, the other thing we should mention actually, is that this poem was then made into a very popular song by the pop icon Dariush.

Leyla: Oh, that is very important. Okay.

Sahba: So Dariush sings it. It's not the whole poem. It's only parts of it that are taken. But it's a very strong song. And it's a strong music video too, actually, if you watch the music video it’s kind of intense.

Leyla: Amazing. Okay, we'll put that. That's always very helpful when we have a song to go along. But Dariush did leave his homeland. So I wonder how he felt singing that.

Sahba: Yeah, yeah. I mean, I think that's the interesting thing too is that, you know? Does it mean that if one leaves the homeland, that one doesn't have these feelings I guess still, right? One doesn't have that right still to the homeland. You know, that's a question to be asked. I mean, the second one is a really a question. The first one, I think the answer is no. You, like, leave your homeland, but you still miss it, obviously. And you still want to partake in the rebuilding. But yeah. And then once you get that, once you hear that song, you can't unhear it. It gets stuck in your head. So good luck to everybody.

Leyla: Okay, good, good, good. Well then we'll link to that and then that'll be very helpful in memorizing it. Well, sahba jān, is there any last thoughts? As people embark on, or they kind of let this sink in this week. Before we go into the individual words and phrases next week, is there any last thoughts that you want to leave people with as they're thinking about the poem?

Sahba: I think just appreciate that you are learning a poem by a contemporary poet who is truly incredible. As an incredible writer, an incredible poet, an incredible person, and a very strong individual. So I think it's something that everyone can link to and connect to, and I think just enjoy it is what I would say and really appreciate it.

Leyla: I love that. Okay. Wonderful. Well, thank you so much for another beautiful poem and introducing us. A lot of people, this is probably their first introduction to her. So thank you so much for choosing this poem and as always, for the wonderful discussion.

Sahba: My pleasure. Thank you.

Leyla: And we'll be back with part two next week. khodāhāfez bé hamegee.

Sahba: khodāhāfez.