Forough Farrokhzad

A ravishing new translation of Iran's trailblazing, feminist poet in a comprehensive and indispensable collection

Selected Poems

Let Us Believe in the Beginning of the Cold Season

mia sønderskov

Ah... yes... this is me... but what's the use / Now she who was in me is no longer, is no longer / I roar madly under my breath / She who was in me, who was she, who was she?

At midnight, behind the veils of my grand palace / the hand of my roaring rage would turn the world upside down

Mute and tired my agitated gaze / turned back toward you again / I wanted it to speak to you / but facing you it was silent

I’ll be free of myself and stand apart from myself / Whatever is left will be ruin

In the cradles of my poetry / look / you rise and the sun comes out

In the dark horrified street / it felt as if someone had squashed their heart underfoot / like a rotten thing

The sun had died / The sun had died, and tomorrow / in the minds of children / had a vague lost meaning

My body no longer fit the cocoon of my loneliness

I couldn’t, I couldn't any longer / The sound of my footsteps arose from the road's refusal / and my despair expanded beyond the patience of my soul / and that spring, that green illusion / that passed by the shutters, said to my heart: “Look / you never moved forward / you sank."

And thus it is / that someone dies / and someone remains

when my life was nothing more / nothing more than the tick-tock of the wall clock / I realized I must, I must, I must / love madly

What does one who grants you the kindness of a living body / want from you in return but an understanding of what it means to feel alive?

Let Us Believe in the Beginning of the Cold Season Selected Poems

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