Poem
Maryam Hooleh
PUT A PIECE OF SUGAR IN MY MOUTH
As the hair of a continent tickles the nostril of a crow
philosophy sneezes
radiators get ready for the Marathon
to get closer to the fossils of neurological shifts
in the foggy arctics of the volumes of the Highway Codeand the imagination of colourful planets in the painting of infantile roads . . .
Now I am getting closer to Earth
A mummy from an expensive museum
is appointed as the UN Secretary General
America wins the Indian presidential elections
And Bill Clinton Iran’s beauty queen of the year!
Women spit in the paddy fields
so they won't be got at for their body odour
I experience joy in the manner of clouds and contented creaturesJoy takes me away
to the march of trees along the gutter
the ferrous conversion of oxygen
in the peering of progressive poets
in the peering of progressive poets
and ozone’s chemical reactions
to the encroaching movement of the sociality of cockroaches
The sky which is the utmost disinfection of brown
from behind the delight before my eyes . . .
And the cotton-wool of my brainsthat under the magnifying glass in sunshine
catches fire!
Put a piece of sugar in my mouth
and in gypsy clothes kidnap me to a tent
lead me to a corner
where you can divvy up the weight of your poppycock with me
And under your teeth I would give birth to a child
so at some point the canvas roof would collapse on him
a point hewn with my last delight when I spit at the sun
so it won’t grab my son
The day when fire gallops forth in its name
and the earth is no longer a place for galloping
© Translation: 2013, Abol Froushan
قندي به دهانم بگذار
قندي به دهانم بگذار
موي قاره به دماغ کلاغ که مي رود
فلسفه عطسه مي زند
رادياتورها براي ماراتون آماده مي شوند
تا به فسيل حرکت هاي مغزي نزديکتر شوند
در قطب مه گرفته ي کتاب هاي راهنمايي و رانندگي
و تجسم سيارات رنگي در نقاشي جاده هاي خردسال ...
حالا به زمين نزديک تر مي شوم
يک موميايي از موزه اي گرانقيمت رييس سازمان ملل مي شود
آمريکا در انتخابات رياست جمهوري هند مي برد
و بيل کلينتون زن سال ايران !
زنان در کشتزارها تف مي اندازند
تا پاچه شان را نگيرند زماني به خاطر بوي تن شان
من به شيوه ي ابرها و موجودات خرسند لذت مي برم
لذت مرا مي برد
تا رژه ي درختان کنار فاضلاب ها
آهن شدن اکسيژن در نگاه شاعران پيشرفته
و ترکيب هاي شيميايي اوزون
که به جريان سوسياليته ي سوسک ها مي انجامد
آسمان که نهايي ترين سم پاشي قهوه اي ست
از پشت نزديکترين لذتي که روبروي چشمم گرفته ام ...
و پنبه ي مغزم که زير تابش آفتاب بر ذره بين
آتش مي گيرد !
قندي به دهانم بگذار
و با لباس کولي ها مرا به چادري بدزد
به گوشه اي راهنمايي ام کن
که وزن ياوه هايت را با من تقسيم کني
و من زير دندان هايت کودکي به دنيا مي آورم
که زماني سقف چلوار بر سرش خراب خواهد شد
زماني که از پشت آخرين لذتم به خورشيد تف مي اندازم
تا پاچه ي فرزندم را نگيرد
روزي که آتش به فرمان « او» پيش مي تازد
و زمين جاي خوبي براي تاختن نيست !
© 2000, Maryam Hooleh
From: Cursed Booth
Publisher: Baran, Stockholm
From: Cursed Booth
Publisher: Baran, Stockholm
Poems
Poems of Maryam Hooleh
Close
PUT A PIECE OF SUGAR IN MY MOUTH
As the hair of a continent tickles the nostril of a crow
philosophy sneezes
radiators get ready for the Marathon
to get closer to the fossils of neurological shifts
in the foggy arctics of the volumes of the Highway Codeand the imagination of colourful planets in the painting of infantile roads . . .
Now I am getting closer to Earth
A mummy from an expensive museum
is appointed as the UN Secretary General
America wins the Indian presidential elections
And Bill Clinton Iran’s beauty queen of the year!
Women spit in the paddy fields
so they won't be got at for their body odour
I experience joy in the manner of clouds and contented creaturesJoy takes me away
to the march of trees along the gutter
the ferrous conversion of oxygen
in the peering of progressive poets
in the peering of progressive poets
and ozone’s chemical reactions
to the encroaching movement of the sociality of cockroaches
The sky which is the utmost disinfection of brown
from behind the delight before my eyes . . .
And the cotton-wool of my brainsthat under the magnifying glass in sunshine
catches fire!
Put a piece of sugar in my mouth
and in gypsy clothes kidnap me to a tent
lead me to a corner
where you can divvy up the weight of your poppycock with me
And under your teeth I would give birth to a child
so at some point the canvas roof would collapse on him
a point hewn with my last delight when I spit at the sun
so it won’t grab my son
The day when fire gallops forth in its name
and the earth is no longer a place for galloping
© 2013, Abol Froushan
From: Cursed Booth
From: Cursed Booth
PUT A PIECE OF SUGAR IN MY MOUTH
As the hair of a continent tickles the nostril of a crow
philosophy sneezes
radiators get ready for the Marathon
to get closer to the fossils of neurological shifts
in the foggy arctics of the volumes of the Highway Codeand the imagination of colourful planets in the painting of infantile roads . . .
Now I am getting closer to Earth
A mummy from an expensive museum
is appointed as the UN Secretary General
America wins the Indian presidential elections
And Bill Clinton Iran’s beauty queen of the year!
Women spit in the paddy fields
so they won't be got at for their body odour
I experience joy in the manner of clouds and contented creaturesJoy takes me away
to the march of trees along the gutter
the ferrous conversion of oxygen
in the peering of progressive poets
in the peering of progressive poets
and ozone’s chemical reactions
to the encroaching movement of the sociality of cockroaches
The sky which is the utmost disinfection of brown
from behind the delight before my eyes . . .
And the cotton-wool of my brainsthat under the magnifying glass in sunshine
catches fire!
Put a piece of sugar in my mouth
and in gypsy clothes kidnap me to a tent
lead me to a corner
where you can divvy up the weight of your poppycock with me
And under your teeth I would give birth to a child
so at some point the canvas roof would collapse on him
a point hewn with my last delight when I spit at the sun
so it won’t grab my son
The day when fire gallops forth in its name
and the earth is no longer a place for galloping
© 2013, Abol Froushan
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