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  • Date :
  • 4/28/2014

Parvin’s Rebirth

parvin etesami

When my divan was published and the poem readers accessed it, according to my friends and relatives, Tehran encountered a great wonder. A woman had entered the realm of poetry, with firm, durable and beautiful poems. And all these were composed by a young woman named Parvin E’tesami. Of course this is what I heard from friends and relatives or read in the magazines. When others talked about my poems or I read somewhere or heard from somebody that my book was reviewed or discussed, I felt that I wasn't the composer of those verses. I felt that Parvin E’tesami was another lady, other than me. I felt that my verses had been separated from me. I felt that I had been torn into pieces and as much as those verses I had been scattered among the people.

It was one year after the publication of the first edition of my divan that a Third Grade Scientific Badge was present to me by the Ministry of Culture. But I never put the badge of honor on my chest. What was the use of the badge of honor when I knew that there were still some orphans whose tears rolled down their cheeks. I was searching for honor in the smiles and kind faces of the common people of my motherland. When the badge of honor was presented to me, my poems had become completely commonplace and usual for me. The seeing of the book didn't excite me any more. The excitement gradually faded away and I by and by realized that the publication of my book hadn't been an important event. I still had some great aspirations that I could possibly never fulfill them. The aspirations that looked foolish and funny in view of some people. For instance, I wished that a day would come when no orphan would shed tear out of fear of his master and no orphan would innocently cry because of breaking a worthless water pot. No little girl would moan or cry in the shanty houses. No animal would go to bed hungry. I couldn’t tolerate the tears of the poor and needy. My heart would be lacerated by seeing their tears and my eyes would turn red. Even I couldn’t see the hunger of dogs and cats. I had a friend along with whom I would go to the houses of the needy and poor women during the nighttimes and if we could we would try to lift a burden from their shoulders and commiserate with them. Those days I used to work at the library of the Tehran Institute and I had enough savings to help some of those women.

Translated by: Sadroddin Musawi

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