|
|
|
Fanous BahadorVand
Poet, Translator
Iran
|
I was born and grown in Masjed Soleiman. It is located in south west of Iran, a town luxurious with beautiful sky, shining stars, green hills full of tulips in spring. A land rich of oil and poem, but many poor people.
When I was 18, I entered Tehran University to study literature. At a time that many university students were influenced by political matters. My great ideals have been democracy and social justice.
Literature has been soul for my body from my childhood. However, I continued as an English teacher, then I began to translate and to write. I do love poetry too. Until 2004, I have translated 8 books, 5 dramas of Federico Garcia Lorca and some other subjects:
*The Blood Wedding, Lorca
*Dona Rosita, Lorca
*Yerma, Lorca
*The House of Bernarda Alba, Lorca
*Mariana Pienda, Lorca
*Gypsy Ballads, Lorca (Collaborated with my friend Mrs. Malaktaj Tayarani)
*Peter Pan, G. M. Barrie
*Silence, Leonid Anderiov
I would be happy, if I be able to publish my poems in 2005. Writing poems and drama deeply satisfies me. Reading novels, poems and critics overfills me.
The Dark Song
by Ahmad Shamlou; Translated to English by Fanous BahadrVand
Upon the Plum beaus back ground
of morning
the rider
is standing silent
and perturbs
his horses long mane in the wind.
O'God O'God
riders shouldn't be standing
The time that
Happening is warned
beside the burned hedge
The girl
is standing silent
and her thin skirt
is shaking in the wind.
Let Compose my Poems,
by Mohammad Ali Shakeri Yekta; Translated to English by Fanous BahadrVand
The day that storm and darkness fired the garden
I took out the seeds
you had grown.
Why do you want to find my foot sign?
I am here
beside the silence of tree.
The alley is alone
without tortuous fair waiting
back of the passion window
You that wondering round yourself
to search you
Let compose my poems
My hand is shaking from loneliness
my lip from silence.
The Dark Song
by Forouq Farrokhzad; Translated to English by Fanous BahadrVand
I feel heart sore
I feel heart sore
I go to divan and touch
The night's stretched skin
with my fingers
The lights of relation are dark
The lights of relation are dark
Nobody will introduce
me to the sun
Nobody will take me
to the sparrow's feast
Remember the flight
Each bird is to die.
|
|
|
