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Farzaneh Ghavami
Poet
Iran
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Born in Tehran, Iran in 1968
She began poetry in 1998, when her poets and written texts were published in some cultural monthly magazines for the first time, as Kelk, Karnameh...
A number of her poets were nominated for "Karnameh Prize" in 2000.
Works
- 2002: "I Am One of Shahrzads, The Disturbed"
Collection of 30 Poems/Mir Kasra Pub./64 pages/Persian language/
- 2002: "Just A Pattern Remains of Me"
Collection of 31 Poems/Arvij Pub./73 pages/Persian language/
A Critic on Farzaneh's Poets: Manouchehr Atashi
After reading Ms Ghavami's poems over and over, I believed that dazzling her name as the prize winner of "Kar-nameh" Competition among two hundred poets, not only was not incidental, but also she was treated unfairly.
I never mean the others incapable though; actually all the process attending 7-9 negotiators with different concepts was managed reasonably and perfect; bearing in mind, it was a big deal!
Anyway, if some are offended or not pleased with; again it is considered as a result of difficulty of decision among 210 poems.
Farzaneh Ghavami's poems have a mental-emotional and intellectual structure that means the attentive reader can feel she is really a cultural-poetical well-backed poet, having her own style.
Her approaching to some aspects of Forough Farrokh-zad's style is well accepted. Forough's poem is in general considered as a reach point for mid 1960s poem and modern freestyle writings (especially for females) definitely are influenced by Forough; but Ghavami poems have tow more special points; her mental concepts and emotions represent her soul and continue to a routine mood and alive visions; also the way she writes not only is along with Nima and Forough, but also develops to the excited field of postmodernism; so it is a good picture for the future.
I Am One of Shahrzads, The Disturbed
Dreaming your tale, all the night, till the day, while awake
I am one of Shahrzads, the disturbed, as I told;
I cannot drop off, till tales are left
the just gathered crickets, dancing by the window
I cannot drop off.
I inquire the butterfly crosses on my notebook
about a sovereign, who nobody
took an auth to let the flowers woe, tattooed on all butterfly wings.
Tonight, fountains deliver stars
with placenta around the neck of the pool
and the ivy clanged on the wall
and the dance of the crickets unties them.
I still inquire about
the cross-shaped butterflies on the window
I am one of Shahrzads, the disturbed, as I told
all dreams tattooed on my eyes.
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