Where From? Poem by Nassy Fesharaki

Where from?

Days ago before this shadow of homelessness, I read
A poem, a poem that had needles was needle and…
I saved it, saved, saved, saved and forgot that is what I want…
So I write, most of the time; write to write and recall, forget, its past, forgot
It is nice…if I can … but can I?

In a U-Turn In a return in a recall, I…
Played the game of Fesharak flight of the crow… (Kalagh Par) Is it a game?
True or real? No, not, never…never nothing is for, “Just to have said.”

To change buy a watchband I went to Center Point,
Armenian owner was not there, a woman he was, his accent, character
Behaviour made me say: “Where is the accent from? ” “I am Jewish, ” he replied
…a beaten voice, beaten one I know many of them this kind
I oppose judging by a few a group a gang…I have mediated between them
I have, saved them from them inner one is more dangerous

We spoke Russian with sting of the wasps, spiders USSR, Russian, pretenders (this hurts)

Some write memoir ‘Between two Gods’ they feel free, as does Alison Pick; not him:
“I am a Jewish.”

The poem I had read:
“Here among them the dead the others the aliens I see you without
Coke bottle glasses a wavy comb over your nose buried inside a notebook…”

Poet is influenced Robert Hayden; and he Auden and Langston.

And I by them all and the book of pains ‘My city, Fesharak’

Pain is precious pain is everywhere it is the roots of the tree we are from…

“And home? ” I ask.
He prefers to work he is a Black-Jacket German Jews call him.

“Without a homeland exiled from their villages learning to say hello with accents thick with nostalgia for their purple planets border crossing, ” he is North American.”

Hayden says:
“Drifting night in the Georgia pines, coonskin drum and jubilee banjo.
O fly away home fly away, ” let us do so….each both.