for Saf
Like the Italian one, my family’s rebirth
spawned masterpieces, caused a breakdown
like the civil wars of the Reformation
with few victors, countless casualties. Mine
a kind of persecution: bullied, beaten
at school for being a ‘dirty terrorist’ and
my resurrection stunted, my ‘new
start’ delayed. Immigration was more than
traumatic, abusive, for my father: defeat
and capitulation at the hands of employers
dreading a foreign-educated ‘wog’ without
‘acceptable’ Western work history. Mum’s
reshaping as an ‘Aussie’ almost aborted:
she returned to Iran (temporarily, it turned out)
when denied recognition of her degrees
by the union. I took up drugs; became a drunk
to forget the bullies, banish from my ears
the din of my parents’ jousts in the kitchen. But
my sister, a triumphant genius, the Leonardo
of this renaissance tale: the death of her Iranian
identity, followed by calm gestation – caring
daughter in the crossfire between workless father
and alcoholic brother – and then, yes, successful
delivery: a modern young woman, her alacrity
salary, property, paid holidays, etc. In photos
her posture, an homage to Michelangelo’s David.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
salam agha ali khubid? az ashnai ba shoma khoshbakhtam man arghavan hastam mele shoma shere english khub nemigam vali farsi bad nist. age dust dashtin tu google esmamo search konid bekhunid. khishhal misham. omidvaram bargharar bashid.