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نمایش نتایج: از شماره 1 تا 5 از مجموع 5

موضوع: اشعار فروغ فرخزاد به انگلیسی

  1. #1
    negar92 آواتار ها
    • 2,576

    عنوان کاربری
    باز نشسته بخش زبان و ادبیات انگلیسی
    تاریخ عضویت
    Jan 2012
    شغل , تخصص
    دانشجو مترجمی زبان انگلیسی
    رشته تحصیلی
    مترجمی زبان انگلیسی
    راه های ارتباطی

    filish اشعار فروغ فرخزاد به انگلیسی

    Another Birth

    My whole being is a dark chant

    which will carry you
    perpetuating you
    to the dawn of eternal growths and blossoming
    in this chant I sighed you sighed
    in this chant
    I grafted you to the tree to the water to the fire.

    Life is perhaps

    a long street through which a woman holding
    a basket passes every day

    Life is perhaps

    a rope with which a man hangs himself from a branch
    life is perhaps a child returning home from school.

    Life is perhaps lighting up a cigarette

    in the narcotic repose between two love-makings
    or the absent gaze of a passerby
    who takes off his hat to another passerby
    with a meaningless smile and a good morning .

    Life is perhaps that enclosed moment

    when my gaze destroys itself in the pupil of your eyes
    and it is in the feeling
    which I will put into the Moon's impression
    and the Night's perception.

    In a room as big as loneliness

    my heart
    which is as big as love
    looks at the simple pretexts of its happiness
    at the beautiful decay of flowers in the vase
    at the sapling you planted in our garden
    and the song of canaries
    which sing to the size of a window.

    Ah

    this is my lot
    this is my lot
    my lot is
    a sky which is taken away at the drop of a curtain
    my lot is going down a flight of disused stairs
    a regain something amid putrefaction and nostalgia
    my lot is a sad promenade in the garden of memories
    and dying in the grief of a voice which tells me
    I love
    your hands.

    I will plant my hands in the garden

    I will grow I know I know I know
    and swallows will lay eggs
    in the hollow of my ink-stained hands.

    I shall wear

    a pair of twin cherries as ear-rings
    and I shall put dahlia petals on my finger-nails
    there is an alley
    where the boys who were in love with me
    still loiter with the same unkempt hair
    thin necks and bony legs
    and think of the innocent smiles of a little girl
    who was blown away by the wind one night.

    There is an alley

    which my heart has stolen
    from the streets of my childhood.

    The journey of a form along the line of time

    inseminating the line of time with the form
    a form conscious of an image
    coming back from a feast in a mirror

    And it is in this way

    that someone dies
    and someone lives on.

    No fisherman shall ever find a pearl in a small brook

    which empties into a pool.

    I know a sad little fairy

    who lives in an ocean
    and ever so softly
    plays her heart into a magic flute
    a sad little fairy
    who dies with one kiss each night
    and is reborn with one kiss each dawn


    طــــروات زندگـــی در جریان یادگیری است
    ذهن های بسته بوی مـــــرگ میدهند...

    http://up.pnu-club.com/images/vce8ofsvkn51mo3s63t.jpg

  2. #2
    negar92 آواتار ها
    • 2,576

    عنوان کاربری
    باز نشسته بخش زبان و ادبیات انگلیسی
    تاریخ عضویت
    Jan 2012
    شغل , تخصص
    دانشجو مترجمی زبان انگلیسی
    رشته تحصیلی
    مترجمی زبان انگلیسی
    راه های ارتباطی

    پیش فرض

    Gift
    I speak out of the deep of night
    out of the deep of darkness
    and out of the deep of night I speak.

    if you come to my house, friend

    bring me a lamp and a window I can look through
    at the crowd in the happy alley.


    طــــروات زندگـــی در جریان یادگیری است
    ذهن های بسته بوی مـــــرگ میدهند...

    http://up.pnu-club.com/images/vce8ofsvkn51mo3s63t.jpg

  3. #3
    negar92 آواتار ها
    • 2,576

    عنوان کاربری
    باز نشسته بخش زبان و ادبیات انگلیسی
    تاریخ عضویت
    Jan 2012
    شغل , تخصص
    دانشجو مترجمی زبان انگلیسی
    رشته تحصیلی
    مترجمی زبان انگلیسی
    راه های ارتباطی

    پیش فرض

    The Wind Will Take Us

    In my small night, ah

    the wind has a date with the leaves of the trees
    in my small night there is agony of destruction
    listen
    do you hear the darkness blowing?
    I look upon this bliss as a stranger
    I am addicted to my despair.

    listen do you hear the darkness blowing?

    something is passing in the night
    the moon is restless and red
    and over this rooftop
    where crumbling is a constant fear
    clouds, like a procession of mourners
    seem to be waiting for the moment of rain.
    a moment
    and then nothing
    night shudders beyond this window
    and the earth winds to a halt
    beyond this window
    something unknown is watching you and me.

    O green from head to foot

    place your hands like a burning memory
    in my loving hands
    give your lips to the caresses
    of my loving lips
    like the warm perception of being
    the wind will take us
    the wind will take us



    طــــروات زندگـــی در جریان یادگیری است
    ذهن های بسته بوی مـــــرگ میدهند...

    http://up.pnu-club.com/images/vce8ofsvkn51mo3s63t.jpg

  4. #4
    negar92 آواتار ها
    • 2,576

    عنوان کاربری
    باز نشسته بخش زبان و ادبیات انگلیسی
    تاریخ عضویت
    Jan 2012
    شغل , تخصص
    دانشجو مترجمی زبان انگلیسی
    رشته تحصیلی
    مترجمی زبان انگلیسی
    راه های ارتباطی

    پیش فرض

    LOVE SONG

    The night is painted by your dream

    Your perfume fills my lungs to extreme

    You are a feast for my eyes!

    All shapes of woe you belie


    As the body of earth is washed by rain

    From my soul you cleanse all stain!


    In my burning body you are a turning gyre

    In the shade of my eyelashes you are a blazing fire.

    You are more verdant than a wheat field!

    More fruit than golden boughs you yield!

    To the suns you open the gate

    To counteract dark doubt’s spate

    With you there is nothing to fear

    But the pain of joyful tear

    This sad heart of mine and profuse light?

    This din of life in the abyss of blight?

    The glance in your eyes is my field

    And with it my eyes are sealed

    Before this I had no other image

    Or I would not but you envisage

    The pain of love is a dark pain

    Going and demeaning oneself in vain

    Learning against people with black sight

    Defiling oneself with the filth of spite

    Finding in caresses venom of wile

    Finding villainy in friend’s smile

    Handing gold coins to the marauding band

    Getting lost in the midst of the bazaar land

    With my soul united you will be

    From grave you will raise me

    Like a star on wings decked with gold

    You come from a land untold.

    You alleviate sorrow’s pang

    Flooding my body with embrace’s tang

    You are a stream flowing onto my dry breast

    My bed of my veins with your water is blest

    Within a world which on darkness does feed

    With every step you take I proceed

    Underneath my skin you go!

    There like blood you flow

    Burning my tresses with a fondling hand

    Flushing my checks with an urging demand

    You are a stranger to my gown

    An acquaintance with my body’s lawn

    You are a shining sun that never dies

    A sun that rises in Southern skies

    You are fresher than first light

    Fresher than spring, a luster sight

    This is no longer love: this is pride

    A chandelier that in silence and darkness died

    When love did my heart entice

    I was filled with a sense of sacrifice

    This is no longer me, this is no longer me

    My life with my ego amounted to a null degree

    My lips your kisses prize

    Your lips are the temple of my eyes

    In me your stir a great rhapsody

    Your curves are an attire on my body

    O how I crave to sprout

    And my joy with sorrow shout

    O how I wish to rise

    And my eyes with tears baptize

    This forlorn heart of mine and incense perfume?

    The music of harp and lyre in a prayer room?

    This void and these flights?

    These songs and these silent nights?

    Your glance is a wondrous lullaby

    Cradling restless babes thereby

    Your breath is a transcendental breeze

    Washing off me tremors of unease

    Finding in my morrows a place to sleep

    Permeating my world deep and deep

    In me the passion for poetry you inspire

    Over my lays you cast instant fire

    You kindled my passionate desire

    Thus setting my poems afire


    طــــروات زندگـــی در جریان یادگیری است
    ذهن های بسته بوی مـــــرگ میدهند...

    http://up.pnu-club.com/images/vce8ofsvkn51mo3s63t.jpg

  5. #5
    negar92 آواتار ها
    • 2,576

    عنوان کاربری
    باز نشسته بخش زبان و ادبیات انگلیسی
    تاریخ عضویت
    Jan 2012
    شغل , تخصص
    دانشجو مترجمی زبان انگلیسی
    رشته تحصیلی
    مترجمی زبان انگلیسی
    راه های ارتباطی

    پیش فرض

    Someone Who Is Not Like Anyone

    From the summer of 1964 through December 1966, Farrokhzad published five poems in various issues of Arash. One of them was "Someone Who Is Not Like Anyone" (1966). In it, she scrutinizes the new Pahlavi Tehran of modern, Westernized, mechanized ways and goods, indicts upper class Tehranis, and calls for social justice for lower class Tehranis. In this poem, Farrokhzad presents a dream of an egalitarian Iranian society. The poem reads:


    I've had a dream that someone is coming.

    I've dreamt of a red star,
    and my eyes lids keep twitching
    and my shoes keep snapping to attention
    and may I go blind
    if I'm lying.
    I've dreamt of that red star
    when I wasn't asleep.
    Someone is coming,
    someone is coming
    someone better,

    someone who is like no one,

    not like Father,
    not like Ensi,
    not like Yahya
    not like Mother,
    and is like the person who he ought to be.
    and his height is greater than the trees
    around the overseer's house,
    and his face is brighter
    than the face of the mahdi,
    and he's not even afraid
    Of Sayyed Javad's brother
    who has gone
    and put on a policeman's uniform.
    and he's not even afraid of Sayyed Javad himself
    who owns all the rooms of our house.
    and his name just like Mother
    says it at the beginning
    and at the end of prayers
    is either 'judge of judges'
    or 'need of needs'.
    And with his eyes closed
    he can recite
    all the hard words
    in the third grade book,
    and he can even take away a thousand
    from twenty million without coming up short.
    and he can buy on credit
    however much he needs
    from Sayyed Javad's store.
    And he can do something
    so that the neon Allah sign
    which was as green as dawn
    will shine again
    in the sky above the Meftahiyan Mosque.

    O.

    how good bright light is,
    how good bright light is,
    and I want so much
    for Yahya
    to have a cart
    and a small lantern,
    and I want so much
    to sit on Yahya's cart
    in the middle of the melons
    and ride around Mohammadiyeh Square.
    O.
    how great it is to ride around the square,
    how great it is to sleep on the roof,
    how great going to Melli Park is,
    how good going to test of Pepsi is
    how wonderful Fardin's movies are,
    and how I like all good things.
    and I want so much
    to pull Sayyed Javad's daughter's hair.

    why am I so small

    that I can get lost on the streets?
    why doesn't my father
    who isn't this small
    and who doesn't get lost on the streets
    do something so that the person
    who has appeared in my dreams
    will speed up his arrival?
    And the people in the slaughter-house
    neighborhood
    where even the earth in their gardens
    is bloody
    and even the water in their courtyard pools
    is bloody
    and even their shoe soles are bloody,
    why don't they do something?
    how lazy the winter sunshine is.

    I've swept the stairs to the roof

    and I've washed the windows too.
    How come Father has to the dream
    Only in his sleep?
    I've swept the stairs to the roof
    and I've washed the windows too.

    Someone is coming,

    someone is coming,
    someone who in his heart is with us,
    in his breathing is with us,
    in his voice is with us,

    someone whose coming

    can't be stopped
    and handcuffed and thrown in jail,
    someone who's been born
    under Yahya's old clothes,
    and day by day
    grows bigger and bigger,
    someone from the rain,
    from the sound of rain splashing,
    from among the whispering petunias.
    someone is coming from the sky
    at Tupkhaneh Square
    on the night of the fireworks
    to spread out the table cloth
    and divide up the bread
    and pass out the Pepsi
    and divide up Melli Park
    and pass out the whooping cough syrup
    and pass out the slips on registration day
    and give everybody hospital
    waiting room numbers
    and distribute the rubber boots
    and pass out Fardin movie tickets
    and give away Sayyed Javad's
    daughter's dresses
    and give away whatever doesn't sell
    and even give us our share.
    I've had a dream


    طــــروات زندگـــی در جریان یادگیری است
    ذهن های بسته بوی مـــــرگ میدهند...

    http://up.pnu-club.com/images/vce8ofsvkn51mo3s63t.jpg

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