I must begin this post with a confession: I have never used a romantic, poetic way in my life. I think that some of my wonderful friends who are great poets have noticed that I am not the one, and they may be right” 😁😉
Therefore, I want to present this post to these appreciated poetesses and poets. especially; Holly @hrenehunter / Yassy @yaskhan / Deborah Gregory @liberatedsheep / Mike Steeden @michaelsteeden And surely many others. 🙏💖🤗💖🤗🙏
When I was young, I chose the path of logic. However, I likely read romantic novels, and even when I got into the world of theatre, I used both the methods of Konstantin Sergejewitsch Stanislawski and Bertolt Brecht. However, there is a huge difference between them. Stanislavski believed that the actor(ess) must bring the character on stage to life, and Brecht disagreed, wanting the Technique on stage: {Epic Theatre}, but I used them both appropriately. You can find more here.
First, let me tell you about the old style and the modern one in Persian poetry: poetry in the old times belonged to the high society, and the poets were appreciated by kings and queens, as in all countries: Athens, Rome, and Persia. In the old Persian, they had a special norm and regulation to write or make a poem; it had to be written in two sentences in separate rows with the same weight and in rhyme.
Wisdom arrived, and all faith and the world were destroyed.
Molana Jalal al din Rumi
I surely have some favourites among those old poets, like Rumi, Khayyam and Hafez.
But it never means that I wanted to block all the modern poetry in those days. My brother, Al, had a great knowledge of literature, including poetry; therefore, I was very involved in it. But my interest was not so strong as his, especially when modern poetry became famous in Iran, and it was a very beloved subject in the meetings of the young intellectuals in some private apartments, particularly after the Islamic revolution. We had a lot of discussions about the new poems, and also there were young poets as newcomers, and I had to challenge with them, then I had some problems getting accustomed to the new poetry, I always meant that I had to understand it when I read a poem! They said that It might because of my lack of interest or understanding about the new wave but I had an argument: I answered I’d appreciate one of the new poets and it was him; Nima Yushij, the revolutioner who made a break in the old form of poesy in Iran and when I heard his poets I had not only understood it completely, it even had touched my soul.
Of course, these young poets were likely trying to get my approval for their own works, and I was very amused when I once told a young poet, “I like one of your pieces.” he was fascinated, encouraged and happy!
Now, let me introduce this great poet.
Nima Yushij
His real name is Ali Esfandiyari. He was born in 1896 and lived till 1960. He was the eldest son of Ebrahim Nouri of Yosh (a village near Nour county in Mazandaran province, Iran). He was a contemporary of Tabari (Mazandarani dialect) (my father was born almost in his neighbourhood) and a Persian poet who started a new movement in Persian poetry called she’r-e no (“new poetry”) or sometimes called she’r-e Nimaei (Nimaic poetry).
Here is one of his poems that might not be so famous, but the one that hit my heart and soul. (As hard as it was, I have tried to translate it into English)
My Home is Cloudy, by Nima Yushij:
My home is cloudy
The entire earth is clouded by that
from the height of the mountains pass,
broken, ruined, and drunk,
The wind whirls, and the whole world has been shattered by that,
and so have my senses.
Ay, flautist, that the sound of your flute brought you out of the road, where are you?
My home is cloudy
But the cloud seems to tend towards rain
in the reverie of my bright days that have been lost,
I, in the face of my Sun, carry to observe at the threshold of the sea.
And all the world is ruined and shattered by the wind
And on the path, the flautist who blows into his flute in this cloudy world has his own path ahead.
And here is the original version;
خانه ام ابریست
یکسره روی زمین ابریست با ٱن
از فرازه گردنه ، خرد وخرابو مست
باد میپیچد ،
یکسره دنیا خراب از اوست
و حواس من.
ی نیزن که تورا ٱوای نی بردست دور از ره. کجای ٱ
خانه ام ابری است
اما
ابر بارانش گرفته است.
در خیال روزهای روشنم که از دست رفتندم
من به روی ٱفتابم می برم بر صاحت دریا نظاره
و همه دنیا خرا ب و خرد از باد است ،
وبراه نیزن که داىم مینوازد نی در این دنیای ابر اندود راه خود را دارد اندر پیش
Here are some great poets (the old and new) from Persian; hopefully, you’d enjoy 🤗💖🙏
lampmagician 
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