Sohrab Sepehri, Poet of Novel Forms
Sohrab Sepehri was born in Kashan on October 7, 1928; a very talented artist and a gifted poet, Sepehri came to prominence with the publication of The Water’s Footfall which was subsequently followed by The Traveler and The Green Volume.
Sepehri died of blood cancer in Tehran in 1980.
Sepehri is so popular with the Iranians that he is usually known by his first name ‘Sohrab.’ Sohrab traveled beyond the normal trajectory of everyday meanings. He translated speech into a language hitherto unknown to the Iranians. A pioneer poet, he utilized western forms and deconstructed the normal way of poetry. His use of new forms in poetry makes him complicated to understand. Yet, readers find themselves so attached to him and his poetry that there remains no room for boredom.
Readers are so immersed in his poetry that they sometimes forget the world of realities for an instant and experience a fresh recognition of man and the whole universe. Well-versed in Buddhism, mysticism and western traditions, he mingled the western concepts with eastern ones, thereby creating a kind of poetry unsurpassed in the history of Persian literature. To him, new forms are new means to express his thoughts and feelings. His poetry is, indeed, like a journey. Every time you read him you understand him differently. There is a bottomless ocean of meanings in his poetry.
Sohrab takes us into a journey of an unknown world where ugly things become beautiful and despised objects become a center of attention to the readers. In his worldview, beauty is not an abstract concept; it is created and strengthened by people. He follows Shakespeare in that there is nothing good or bad but thinking makes it so. Therefore, he invites us to wash our eyes and view the world differently. Morning glory Past the border of my dream The shadow of a morning glory Had darkened all these ruins What intrepid wind Transported the morning glory seed to the land of my Nod? Beyond glass gates of dream In the bottomless marsh of mirrors Wherever I had taken a piece of myself A morning glory had sprouted Forever pouring into the void of my soul And in the sound of its blossoming I was forever dying in myself The veranda roof caves in And the morning glory twines about all columns What intrepid wind Transports this morning glory seed to the land of my Nod? The morning glory germinates Its stem rising out of my transparent sleep I was in a dream Flood of wakefulness overflowed. To the view of my dream ruins I opened eyes: The morning glory had twined all about my life. I was flowing in its veins It rooted in me It was all of me What intrepid wind Transported this morning glory seed to the land of my Nod?