Poetry

 

               Poetry

 

 

Farda, called tomorrow in my new lingo, is

bright in the morning, dark towards the end

I gulp down a tall cup of warm & black while waiting

my guts puff up like doughnuts

       I take myself out into the streets of T.O.

down the west end, not the end of the ends, just

around Royal York at Bloor

it’s not the kind of Royal I wished to step on, but it has

that air of a Western Town, clean, sort of,

with cute cuts round the curbs

       it gets crowded close to Jane at Bloor

how dreamy I sip coffee on Bathurst & Bloor

where? Futures’ Bakery. when? try ‘em anytime

looking at those huge slices of cheesie cakes, listening

to the asthmatic hum of westernlooking crowd, I am sitting

sitting sitting idle

they don’t look at me I don’t look at them     

I want them to be in-love with Fellini, they don’t like the accent,

they want me to be in love, with what? Waaters?  thanks, only

coffee. I turn my chair to face my mug

I walk walk walk

       I turn left take me up the Young street up, up

not up the Richmond Hill, please

stop before York Mills

there’re bits of Dirooz, called “yesterday” now,   

stuck on the bastard-crème puffs of

the Little Tehran

       take me back down to the dirtysweet downtown

I crave wearing red again at the corner of Spadina &

Queen, over my black & bruised overalls 

 

up on the walls in the city of walls I am

right here

will slip down later on 

this is a slippery town up the walls

what with the jerk ups, pricking downs up here up up

       when it rains an’ rains bad

news-guy runs shooting raincoats on me

I tell him “ey baba, emrooz rooz’e aval’e Deymaah ast

I’m aware of the secret of the seasons

then I go up up

I’m a doughnut fried fresh yesternight

now

I go

to the currs

aha   

we’ll live happily afterever

aha

 

So We Are Disappointed

Saghi Ghahraman

 

 

 

 

 

*Farda: Tomorrow

*Dirooz: Yesterday

*Emrooz rooz’e aval’e Dey maah ast:  a line form Iranian poetess Foroogh Farokhzad long poem, beginning of the cold season , which means, roughly,  Today is the first day of December (implying that the old age, a cold season for a woman, stripped of youth’s privileges has just begun.) 

*The strip of Young, between Finch and Major McKenzie. is called Little Tehran for Iranian vendors, and businesses, offices have dominated the area

*Waaters: Pink Floyd’s Roger Waters

 

                Poetry