A friend of mine is living in Iran (don’t ask me why, I think he’s an idiot) and working as a Farsi to English translator. He’s working on a project where he’s translating 33 Persian poets, all working in the same form, 3 poems apiece. So, he asked me to look them over and give my input.
Reading is a trip
As I read the poems, I realized again why I am unqualified to criticize other people’s poetry. When someone writes a poem, they are giving you a look inside their mind, and casual, frivolous criticisms, worrying over a choice of words feels like throwing an empty potato chip bag on the ground in the park. Also, I don’t always understand it.
I particularly liked one about a young girl examining the objects in the room and saying that they were the center of the universe and she was looking out the window. I liked the one about the Sycamore trees coming to terms with the sidewalks. I liked the one of the boy smoking a cigarette in an upstairs room in the late afternoon, watching a girl as she walked around a bend in the road and out of sight. I liked the one about the prophet of the insects.
For the most part, I enjoyed reading them. It was not only a quick peek inside the heads of some poets who are as different from me as can be, not just as poets but as people, but it was also a quick education in their culture.
I’m afraid I wasn’t of much assisting in amending the translations. I told him basically he should leave everything as it was.
www.gurukalehuru.com 