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Reza Shirmarz writes poetry mostly in Farsi. He has been writing poems since the outset of his career. For him poetry is a unique way of expressing untold stories and seemingly unimportant aspects of life. He takes an apparently insignificant situation, object or concept and changes it into a poetically significant one. For him poetry means to revive lost moments of life and illustrate the unthinkable details of existence. He believes that “poetry needs to be simple and elegant, not overcomplicated and unapproachable for the readers. Simplicity does not lower the artistic value of poetry, but makes it more exposed to the minds and hearts of the audience.” A group of his poems were translated and published in France and Greece. |
Here are some of Reza's poems translated into English. Click to read:
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A war-game
The Green Boy
A dead-end alley
Friendship
A bird-man
I am a bird with useless wings in an old horrible cage, far from stars all over the night, never seen the Sun. They –builders of my iron cage- adored me of my ability to fly and deprived me of my certain right to fly since cut my feathers not to escape. I am a bird of silence, they –my illegal owners- put dry branches & forged flowers in my prison to remind me of my lost freedom. They applause my dead songs of broken beaks as sometimes I madly tried to break the bars and touch freedom –enclosed in a dark room- I’m a bird of reality a bird of ill omen a bird of no paradise. I can’t even fly in my messy dreams can’t feed through my cracked beaks but still love through my shattered heart. I love the sound of wings there outside. I’m fond of birds singing on an ambiguous tree or in my owners’ TV set. Now I feel my wings are going to change into hands my beaks into lips my forked legs into feet on the ground. I’m a man in a cell needs to sleep a while I must go to work in the morn in a shop, as a bird-man. Getting old
My hair turned white one by one like the roads and alleys I stepped on buried and entombed under the snowfalls whitewashing the sepulchre of times cruelty… My skin turned red pigment by pigment like the bodies of the children kept afloat by blood between the rivers… The City of the Dead
Over their shoulders humans feel the weight of houses, flat and factories, on their souls carry the burden of smog, storms and fires, they bear nonstop the load of wars, massacres and diseases. Every man is a mouse circumscribes by a four-walled inescapable house, every woman is a pussy cat circumvent the walls to meet a male, every couple is a twin cherry fallen off the tree on an overcrowded road. The Wall
You are the wall grown between our hands an ancient hand makes a brick wall in cold blood to brick minds and hearts off one more time. Every brick is a tear of frustration brought to the eyes of Gaia as red as the tears of an abandoned goddess. The muddy hands lay the foundation and the blood oozes from every brick set upon. Every bloody brick is the soul of a citizen every brick is a man bloodied but unbowed to build up the wall of walls he brought down the other day. Wanna Risk with My Words
Wanna risk days and nights wanna risk all the while dancin' sadly among the dead drinkin' blood trapped in wars wanna risk to escape from the flat I live wanna risk to get out of any shelter wanna tear my CV in my dirty skivvy head off to a river wash my hands and feet: from the blood of trees from the blood of the seas from the blood of Venus from the blood of gays wanna risk days and nights wanna heal all the bites on my selfish tiny body on my tired dying soul wanna face away from civilization wanna seek a bit of annihilation wanna find a jungle full of horror wanna prefer it to our desolation to the nameless abeyance to the faceless nescience to the baseless reliance to the endless dalliance… wanna risk a little wanna risk a lot wanna risk only risk not to die for my words wanna risk with my words… Headless Doll
Through a window The child Looks At the headless doll, Snow Buries it Little by little Nobody but I Mourns for the child's tears Nobody but the child Sees my ghost Escaping Through my lips With each breath. A Romantic Eye
Snow falls out of her hands and I grow old over a night, poems freeze in my skull, I have a romantic eye on you -fire pours out of her eyes- my nights get the scent of your flames. The Shadow of Disgust
My eyes were singing with the color of your eyes, stars poured out of your throat into my clenched fists, my fists opened, the Sun bloomed, my heart danced like a pendulum, and I fired the shadow of disgust. Reconciliation
You and me standing on the doorstep, our shadows magnify yours smoking mine drinking. You kiss the cigarette, my shadow becomes a poet and says a song with the smoke dancing between your lips. The outset of the song is my end and the ending, my outset. Standing on the doorstep, we're waiting for the other to smile. I Love a Book
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