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This article may require to meet Wikipedia's. No has been specified. Please help if you can; the may contain suggestions. (July 2009) Sohrab Sepehri Born ( 1928-10-07)October 7, 1928, Died April 21, 1980 ( 1980-04-21) (aged 51), Resting place, Occupation Poet and Painter. Express rip 1 92 keygen software.

BoxRec.com uses cookies to make the site simpler. Find out more about cookies. He laughed and said: 'Since the days of war against the Mongols, I have expelled the thoughts of fighting from my head. Then did I see the earth arrayed with spears like a forest of reeds. I raised like smoke the dust of conflict; but when Fortune does not favour, of what avail is fury?

Sohrab Sepehri (: سهراب سپهری‎) (October 7, 1928 - April 21, 1980) was a notable modern poet and a painter. He was born in in province. He is considered to be one of the five most famous modern Persian (Iranian) poets who have practised 'New Poetry' (a kind of poetry that often has neither meter nor ).

Other practitioners of this form were,,,. Sohrab Sepehri was also one of Iran's foremost modernist painters. Sepehri died in hospital in of.

His poetry is full of humanity and concern for human values. He loved nature and refers to it frequently. The poetry of Sohrab Sepehri bears great resemblance to that of. Well-versed in Buddhism, mysticism and Western traditions, he mingled the Western concepts with Eastern ones, thereby creating a kind of poetry unsurpassed in the history of Persian literature.

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To him, new forms were new means to express his thoughts and feelings. His poetry has been translated into many languages including,,,,,,,.

Contents • • • • • • • • • Poetry MORNING GLORY Translated by Past the border of my dream The shadow of a morning glory Had darkened all these ruins What intrepid wind Transported the morning glory seed to the land of my Nod? Beyond glass gates of dream In the bottomless marsh of mirrors Wherever I had taken a piece of myself A morning glory had sprouted Forever pouring into the void of my soul And in the sound of its blossoming I was forever dying in myself The veranda roof caves in And the morning glory twines about all columns What intrepid wind Transports this morning glory seed to the land of my Nod? The morning glory germinates Its stem rising out of my transparent sleep I was in a dream Flood of wakefulness overflowed.

To the view of my dream ruins I opened eyes: The morning glory had twined all about my life. I was flowing in its veins It rooted in me It was all of me What intrepid wind Transported this morning glory seed to the land of my Nod? NEAR A DISTANT REALM There was a woman at the door Standing with a body as ever I approached her: Her image flooded my eyes. Speech turned into wings of passion and knowledge. Shadow turned into sun. I walk out in the sun I was carried away by pleasing signs: I went as far as childhood and sands As far as delightful mistakes As far as abstract objects I neared picturesque waters And trees laden with pears With an ever-present trunk I breathed with the wet truth.

My feeling of wonder mingled with the tree. I perceived I abutted on the throne of God I felt a bit distraught. Man goes to seek solace When he feels crestfallen. I went as far as the table The yogurt’s taste, the fresh green plants There was bread to eat with a cup and saucer: My throat pined for a goblet of vodka. I returned: The woman was there at the door Standing with a body of deadly wounds. An empty can Kept paring away The water's throat.

THE FLOW OF WATER When knowledge Still nestled by springs, Man Indulged himself in his azure philosophy In the delicate indolence of a meadow. His thoughts flew with the bird. He breathed with trees. He was submissive to the poppy's conditions.

Intrepid meanings of the waters Roared in the depths of his speech. Man Slept In the context of the elements And woke up In dawning fear. But sometimes The strange music of growth Echoed In the frail joints of his joys And dust settled On his struggling knees.

Then His creative fingers, Idled and got lost In precisely geometrical grief. THE OLD TALE OF NIGHT O you lost in the stellar green wonders! The fig of ignorance Epitomizes the virgin rocks The heart of water is pining For the reflection of a garden The everyday apple tastes of illusion in the mouth. My fingers went numb when you came to me.

Tonight My hands know no fear: Tonight they pluck fruits From the branches of myths. Tonight Each tree bears As many leaves as my fears. Audacious speech thawed in the burning meeting of eyes O colorful beginnings! Protect my eyes from the evil magic: I am still Dreaming of Unknown nocturnal blessings. I am still Thirsting for Wavy waters. My buttons Look like ancient magic words.