A Good Day

Burnt Meadow Mountain, Brownfield ME.

The Names of Mountains

(This is the English version of: Imena Planine.)

I love you for nothing that you did,
but for what you brought forth from my heart
with your little names.

For your love of bread, and for the times
we rolled down the windows and sang
for no one but our selves.

In the kennels the dogs all ask
Who lives in the silence that follows me?

(And when I dream, your birthmarks are my constellations,
hand-in-hand we sit on castles, fly above silent promenades.)

If today I woke up and could not remember your face
I would change the names of mountains, tear up the maps,
shake the words from every book.

And like a child, I would set out
believing I could find you again.

Montazeri’s Statement

The Grand Ayatollah Hossein Ali Montazeri issued a statement a few days ago in regards to the ongoing protests. I’m unable to get an exact date on the letter as Montazeri’s website is down but judging by a few other blogs I’m about eight days late on this one. Not really breaking news but the statement itself is pretty impressive, some ringings of Thoreau’s Civil Disobedience are in the air. Keep in mind that this is not a “priest” speaking in a secular democracy but a majah in a democratic theocracy and as such has a large amount of political power.

This is the statement, some of the formalities are abridged:

In the name of God

People of Iran

These last days, we have witnessed the lively efforts of you brothers and sisters, old and young alike, from any social category, for the 10th presidential elections.

Our youth, hoping to see their rightful will fulfilled, came on the scene and waited patiently. This was the greatest occasion for the government’s officials to bond with their people.

But unfortunately, they used it in the worst way possible. Declaring results that no one in their right mind can believe, and despite all the evidence of crafted results, and to counter people protestations, in front of the eyes of the same nation who carried the weight of a revolution and 8 years of war, in front of the eyes of local and foreign reporters, attacked the children of the people with astonishing violence. And now they are attempting a purge, arresting intellectuals, political opponents and Scientifics.

Now, based on my religious duties, I will remind you :

1- A legitimate state must respect all points of view. It may not oppress all critical views. I fear that this lead to the lost of people’s faith in Islam.

2- Given the current circumstances, I expect the government to take all measures to restore people’s confidence. Otherwise, as I have already said, a government not respecting people’s vote has no religious or political legitimacy.

3- I invite everyone, specially the youth, to continue reclaiming their dues in calm, and not let those who want to associate this movement with chaos succeed.

4- I ask the police and army personals not to “sell their religion”, and beware that receiving orders will not excuse them before god. Recognize the protesting youth as your children. Today censor and cutting telecommunication lines can not hide the truth.

I pray for the greatness of the Iranian people.

Five of the twenty-nine Marjas have spoken up against the election or at least the treatment of the protesters. One has reportedly issued a fatwa making it haraam (forbidden by the faith) to work for the government of Ahmedinejad.

I was going to write “Progress in religion,” but that does not convey the proper meaning. This is not religion progressing, this is the progression and moderation already existing in religion and coming to the forefront to speak out against the state.

Imena Planine

Volim vas za ništa da učini
nego i za ono što izvede iz mog srca
sa svojim malim imena: nudi, bubi, stari.

Za tvoju ljubav kruha, i za vrijeme
Smo pjevali za sebe, ali nitko ne.

Sklonište psi pitati
Tko živi u šutnji koja slijedi mene?

(A kad san ja, vaše pjega su moje konstelacija
ruku pod ruku mi sjediti na dvorci, lete nad tihim šetališta.)

Ako danas sam se probudio i nije mogao sjetiti vaše lice
ja bih promjenu imena planina, razderati karte,
stresat riječi iz svake knjige.

I kao dijete ja bih putovanje
vjerujući sam mogao naći vas opet.

The Language of Strays

Maybe there is a word in the language of strays; written in the books they never kept.

It would be wasted anyways, as each word is wasted, this empty ringing, a silence hanging from a dead phone.

A poor poet writes: ‘today small things remained small, and in the distance the mountains kept their size,’ but at least he is honest.

Our hearts plunder and break like waves on the shores of the world. Who, if given a choice would want to be a man?

Better to be a dog—who would know the word appropriate for giving up, when nothing changes but yourself.

Moving place to place, a fool to Novelty: so small, and full of pain.

Small Change Goes Worldwide

Ahmadinejad is re-elected, and the shift towards moderation seems to have made slow progress in some corners of the world. Yesterday at work I poured over Mr. Ahmadinejad’s main rival, Mr. Houssein Mousavi’s political history and his policies and found myself getting excited. Pictures of girls in beautiful sea green chadors and hijabs waving green placards looked so much like the sea of blue at the Democratic National Convention. I was pleased. Maybe due to the number of the photos of the opposition I found myself hoping to wake up in the morning with a new face to represent Iran. I entertained the idea of a time when I could actually go visit the country without worrying that my identity might cause offence. That there might be a time for wounds to heal. Alas, there is none.

On top of this Mousavi is claiming that the election was a charade, which seems familiar.

I’m filled with doubt about this whole thing. From my own experiences I was shocked when Bush was re-elected in 2004. The Ayatollah Khameni who endorsed Mousavi is calling the whole thing fair, but again the words “landslide victory” just don’t seem to fit. The state news has denied Mousavi a broadcasted statement and police have been quelling small protests.

So much hope quelled by so much silence.

Simulacra (Part I)

PART I. ISTINA (f)

I want to write you this poem
but I can’t.
Each time I look
to another place.
Where did I go
when I retreated back into myself?
Leaving you to build your island
and wait for the news
that I was never coming back.

You cried
and told me you wanted
to be held. I was busy writing
a little play.

My nonsense, my simulacra
it consumes me.

I began this
wanting to write about your eyes.
I wanted to apologize
for using them
as mirrors to see my self in.

I wanted to make the connection
between your istina
and my truth.

How now it makes
so much sense: the feminine case.
How truth can never belong to men.

But it did.

Now, the line of your neck
is the most lonesome place on earth
for me,
and the memory of your voice
rings the air in an empty room.

The Artist as a Young Man

In Dover-Foxcroft, Maine after the premiere of The Transition of Minor Skies. Photo courtesy of Jeff Griecci.

Still a young man. Still recognizing that slowly. Here I am considering my oeuvre when I haven’t created enough to even have one yet.