My dear friends & fans, Mama et Papa have not yet seen fit to travel with me to Iran, and yet I feel I know that country as I would a distant, but precious cousin. Thus I've written a poem to share with you. Part 1 concerns Tehran. Part 2 skims Ahvaz, Brougherd, Doorood and the mountains along the western boarder. Part 3 explores my family and the food I know they'd serve me-- if they had the chance to do so. So please relax and enjoy this arm chair traveler's tribute to Iran. And note that two of the photos above were shot by my friend in Tehran, Soban, whose erudite blog, Culture & Communication, I urge you to visit.
Song of Tehran, Rejoicing
part 1
May 2005, 3 weeks before Iran's national elections.
Among protests and international nuclear oversight, stand amongst it all, The Carpet Museum,
The Museum of Contemporary Arts. Overwhelmed by happiness as I trod ancient
cross-roads,
I meet 100 close relatives, visit tourist sites and also rejoice.
Tehran. Decorated with fresh flowers
With neon sculptures in each [round] square
Tehran's symphony blares cars, cycles, messenger bikes and voices, belching smog.
One longer line for 1 loaf of sangack, a shorter one, two or more.
North Tehran in early evening cools the heat of a day's frenetic work.
Students gather relaxed, eating cooked beans and cherries, chatting amongst themselves,
sequestered from grownups' ears & eyes, boys & girls, boys with girls.
Another northern neighborhood, each apartment a penthouse. Smelling of roses,
Chanel and beckoning everyone.
Bibi [bakery] marks a central location where girls & boys walk to school and later,
run home.
Please revisit my blog soon to discover my impressions of other areas & imagined experiences in Iran, to meet those 100+ relatives, and to enjoy arm-chair traveling with me.
Yours, M²
4 comments:
Mercury, Even I did not know you were a poet. Fascinating & I look forward to the next 2 parts.
Your loving Mama.
THANK YOU, MERCURY, FOR THAT DELIGHTFUL VISIT TO TEHRAN. I COULD HEAR THE TRAFFIC AND SMELL THE FLOWERS.
LOVE, GRANDMERE
A wonderful evocation of a place I fear I will never see (but I'm hoping). Still, some familiar notes, especially that of furtive lovers. India's parks are full of them huddling behind bushes and trees, daring to hold hands and even kiss.
Thank you, little Lucy, my good friend (& perhaps relative) for taking the time to read my blog.
Yours, Mercury
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