Writing West Midlands

With one week to go now until the Poetry Translation Centre’s Persian Poets’ Tour arrives in Birmingham with our event, An Evening of Persian Poetry we thought we would tell you a little bit about Shakila Azizzada.

Born in Kabul, Afghanistan in 1964, Shakila studied Law at Kabul University. It was while she was studying that she also began to write poetry and stories, many of which were published in magazines. She then went on to read Oriental Languages and Cultures at Utrecht University in The Netherlands.

Her first collection of poems Herinnerin aan niets (Memories About Nothing) was published in Dutch and Dari and her second collection will be published later this year. Shakila has also written plays, several of which have been published and performed.

Kabul by Shakila Azizzada

If my heart beats
for Kabul,
it’s for the slopes of Bala Hissar,
holding my dead
in its foothills.

Though not one, not one
of those wretched hearts
ever beat for me.

If my heart grieves
for Kabul,
it’s for Leyla’s sighs of
‘Oh, dear God!’
and my grandmother’s heart
set pounding.

It’s for Golnar’s eyes
scanning the paths
from dawn to dusk, spring to autumn,
staring so long
that all the roads fall apart
and in my teenage nightmares
side roads
suddenly shed their skins.

If my heart trembles
for Kabul,
it’s for the slow step of summer noons,
siestas in my father’s house which,
heavy with mid-day sleep,
still weighs on my ribs.

For the playful Angel of the Right Shoulder
who keeps forgetting
to ward away stray bullets.

It’s for the hawker’s cry
of the vegetable seller doing his rounds,
lost in my neighbours’ troubled dreams,
that my heart’s trembling.

Translated by Zuzanna Olszewska and Mimi Khalvati

Original poem:

کابل by Shakila Azizzada

برای کابل
اگر دلم می تپد
برای دامن بالاحصار است
که مرده هایم را
در آغوش می کشد
هر چند، هیچ گاه
هیچ یک از آن دل های نامراد
برای من نتپیده است

برای کابل
اگر دلم می سوزد
برای “ویش خدا” گفتن لیلا است
که دل مادر کلان را
کلچه کلچه داغ می زد

برای راه کشیدن چشم های گلنار است
که از پگاه تا بیگاه
از بهار تا تیر ماه
آنقدر بر راه ماندند
تا همه ی جاده ها پوسیدند
و بیراهه هایش
ناگهان
در خواب های نورس من
پوست انداختند

برای کابل
اگر دلم می لرزد
برای نیمروز های کند پای تابستان است
که هنوز خانه ی پدری را
به سنگینی خواب نیم چاشتی اش
بر صندوق سینه ام بار می کند

برای فرشته ی بازیگوش شانه ی راست
که هی یادش می رود
گلوله های غیبی را بتاراند

برای گم شدن صدای
سبزی فروش دوره گرد
در خواب های پریشان همسایه هاست
که دلم می لرزد

View From Afar by Shakila Azizzada

I’m left again with no one standing behind me,
ground pulled from under my feet.
Even the sun’s shoulders are beyond my reach.

My navel chord was tied
to the apron strings of custom,
my hair first cut over a basin of edicts.
In my ear, a prayer was whispered:
‘May the earth behind and beneath you
be forever empty’.

However, just a little higher,
there’ll always be a land
purer than any land Satan could wish on me.

With the sun’s hand on my shoulder,
I tear my feet away, a thousand and one times,
from the things I leave behind me.

Translated by Zuzanna Olszewska and Mimi Khalvati

Original poem:

دورنما by Shakila Azizzada

بازخالی می شود پشتم
خالی می شود باز زير پاهايم
دستم به شانه های آفتاب نمی گيرد

نافم را
بر پايه ی عادت گره زدند
مويم را بر طشت بايگانی بريدند
در گوشم اذان گفتند:

“همواره پشت تو
همواره زير پايت خالی باد”
همواره اما
بالاترک زمينی ست
سُچه تر از نيايش ابليس

با دست آفتاب بر شانه هايم
پا می کنم هزار و يکم باره
از مانده های من

Epitaph by Shakila Azizzada

Whose dying breaths
are sleeping
in your hazel eyes?

What small child’s gaze
goes blank at your trigger?

For what young girl,
her heart in your palm,
legs bloodied, does your heart beat?

Mountain man!
What fate will tear the cliffs
from under your feet?

What woman will feel her nipples burn
for your black curls in the dust,
what mother for her son?

Tell me,
in the depths of whose eyes
will your dying breaths find peace?

Translated by Zuzanna Olszewska and Mimi Khalvati

Original Poem:

لوح by Shakila Azizzada

در چشمان ميشی ات
آخرين نفس ِ
کدام ها می خوابد؟

نگاه کدام کودک
با ماشه ات خالی می شود؟

دلت برای کدام دوشيزه ی
دل در کف ِ
ی در خون می تپد؟
کوه مرد!

کدام تقدير
صخره از زير پا هايت می گيرد؟

سياه زلفان به خاک آلوده ات
نوک پستان های کدام زن را می سوزاند؟

بگو
نفس آخر تو
ته چشمان که آرام می گيرد؟

This information was taken from the Poetry Translation Centre’s website, http://www.poetrytranslation.org/

For more information about the event An Evening of Persian Poetry and to book tickets, please see the event page by clicking here.