English

THE FLY

I chased the fly out of the kitchen

He will die tonight

I opened the door onto the yard

And many times I shooed him out with the yellow napkin

And each time he came back in.

In a small saucepan on the stove

I was cooking black-eyed beans

The fly flew toward the pan

Drinking in the stem from the beans

I swatted at him with the napkin

Careful not to hit him-

I don’t want his blood on my hands.

He made a turn and hid under the table

I could easily have grabbed him

I was scared I would catch germs and kill the fly as well.

I don’t want his death to be at my hand.

I chased him out with the yellow napkin

And quickly closed the door

If I want to have a smoke in the yard

I must remember to shut the door after me

If the fly were smart

He would go and sit on that vent- is it from the boiler?

There is always warm steam there

I don’t think he is that intelligent

And I wouldn’t know how to explain this to him

And anyway, he is not going to last the winter is he?

Translated by Alireza Abiz and W. N. Herbert

THE LEGENDS

I am sitting in Legends

In a dark corner of the bar

Nursing a glass of beer

And thinking

In a hundred years- just one hundred years-

None of these people will be alive

Not that one up there on the little stage

Playing a new track every few minutes

Nor those young boys and girls skilfully filling glasses

And taking money

Nor this crowd moving their bodies un-rhythmically

And not me

-The melancholic scribbler of these lines-

And the almighty god of these words

Not one of us will continue to be

We’ll all be lost in Legends.

From the window of my basement room

Only the topmost wintry boughs are visible

I hear the crying of the crows

A cold morning envelopes me

In the mirror another man looks at me

With puffy eyes and white hairs in his temples

A two-day beard

He says: Look at the world with fresh eyes

Tomorrow night there’s a seminar “Rejuvenate with Love” in the Methodist church

“People of all faiths and no faith welcome”

The man in the mirror asks me in English:

“What is your faith?”

I reply: Speak in your mother tongue

With the words that you carry in your mind from the distant past

Speak with the words of your ancestors

Did my grandfather suffer any doubt in his faith?

Does my father ever think about this?

The world is too brief a space for thought.

Translated by Alireza Abiz and W. N. Herbert