Now that I've recovered from putting on The Threepenny Opera, I'll try to get back to posting things here. Who knows?
Today's link on Silliman's blog to an article about five Afghani women poets reminded me that I wanted to post this poem "from Turkey, written by the Armenian poet Zahrad" (neither from Afghanistan nor a woman), included in Madhur Jaffrey's amazing World Vegetarian cookbook.
A WOMAN CLEANING LENTILS
A lentil, a lentil, a lentil, a stone.
A lentil, a lentil, a lentil, a stone.
A green one, a black one, a green one, a black. A stone.
A lentil, a lentil, a stone, a lentil, a lentil, a word.
Suddenly a word. A lentil.
A lentil, a word, a word next to another word. A sentence.
A word, a word, a word, a nonsense speech.
Then an old song.
Then an old dream.
A life, another, a hard life. A lentil. A life.
An easy life. A hard life, Why easy? Why hard?
Lives next to each other. A life. A word. A lentil.
A green one, a black one, a green one, a black one, pain.
A green song, a green lentil, a black one, a stone.
A lentil, a stone, a stone, a lentil.
Today's link on Silliman's blog to an article about five Afghani women poets reminded me that I wanted to post this poem "from Turkey, written by the Armenian poet Zahrad" (neither from Afghanistan nor a woman), included in Madhur Jaffrey's amazing World Vegetarian cookbook.
A WOMAN CLEANING LENTILS
A lentil, a lentil, a lentil, a stone.
A lentil, a lentil, a lentil, a stone.
A green one, a black one, a green one, a black. A stone.
A lentil, a lentil, a stone, a lentil, a lentil, a word.
Suddenly a word. A lentil.
A lentil, a word, a word next to another word. A sentence.
A word, a word, a word, a nonsense speech.
Then an old song.
Then an old dream.
A life, another, a hard life. A lentil. A life.
An easy life. A hard life, Why easy? Why hard?
Lives next to each other. A life. A word. A lentil.
A green one, a black one, a green one, a black one, pain.
A green song, a green lentil, a black one, a stone.
A lentil, a stone, a stone, a lentil.
2 Comments:
At June 15, 2006 at 9:28 PM, david raphael israel said…
mmm nice -- and considering how aggrevating small stones are when eating cooked lentles (if not first sifted out by that work), the context of the work gives a different kind of urgency to the poem that would be lacking if they were wholly "idly" chosen words.
cheers,
d.i.
At May 13, 2010 at 2:29 PM, poetrytranslations said…
Zahrad was an Armenian poet of Persian descent.
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