All entries for December 2005

December 31, 2005

Happy New Year

Happy New Year All! Wishing you good health and success in the year to come…I hope all your wishes come true.

We have been reading Rumi fortunes at our gathering so I have snuck away from the celebrations to record mine before I forget it:

A swan beats its wings with joy; "Rain pour on! God has lifted my soul from the water"

I feel positive inside about what this year will bring. All I have to do is spread my wings and start flapping…

December 30, 2005

Sequence poem part V

Follow-up to Sequence poem part IV from Into the Flame

Hello all!

I'm back from the East and ready for a new term at Warwick…it's going to be hectic with The Lover, One World Week and Orpheus coming up, not to mention my degree! But I'm rearing to go…

Here's another part to my poem, it's rough (as always I'm a terribly lazy editor for my own work) and if I manage to write another part to the poem this will become part VI, the final part. Enjoy.


From an Iran Air Bowing 711

Tehran irritates the landscpae like a white rash, dry scales on
smooth coffee skin of the Alborz Mountains
which lie like sleeping bodies, tanned beneath the Eastern sun.

they've been lying, slumped over each other in a drunken stupour
for eons, and empires, kings and dynasties have passed them by like
flowing water, constantly renewing but essentially the same.

distant snow-capped ridges are women folk,
veiled in satin so that their peaks and curves are highlighted;
skiiers long to run their ski fingers

over the bellies of these gargantuous brides. we rise and the sun casts
shadows that shade the shrinking mountains like a frozen sea mid-
storm, waves tossing in a wind that blows against the determined sun;

the blade of our wing slices the clouds like soft cheese
as we score our route from East
to West.

December 28, 2005

Birds Without Wings

3 out of 5 stars

A historic novel which considers the fall of the Ottoman empire from various persepctives. It begins in the village of Iskibance and captures the rustic life of the rural peoples, their beliefs and traditions, and particularly the inter-religious relationship of the Christans and Muslims that lived along side each other before the forced mass rehabilitation that came at the beginning of the 20th century. The picturesque village life is pieced together by De Bernieres' 3rd person narrative and the first person voices of various characters looking back on the time that De Berniers writes about, recounting the events in a past tense, relying on their memory and emotional anecdotes to give life to the story. At the centre of the village's narrative it the story of Pilothei, the village beauty who, as hinted from the start, is in some way doomed.
De Bernieres then provides the military and political perspective of the Ottoman wars through the character of Mustafa Kemal, a determined revolutionary general who works his way into a position of crucial importance in the wars. De Bernieres uses Kemal's life story as a springboard for the statistics of horrendous genocides that occured and are forgotten today. Genocides that were as devistating to the muslims as the holocaust was to the jews, carried out on the basis of religious belief, but are barely acknowledged today.
The result is a novel which invites the reader to develop an emotional relationship with the inhabitants of Iskibance, accepting their religious harmony, a relationship which is then heartbroken by the devistation of war and the destruction of Iskibance as a result.
The novel gives a fairly comprehensive introduction to the later stages of the Ottoman Empire and how life changed with the wars and the reformation of the Middle East after the Empire's destruction. It is a great read, a bit slow to work through, but a beautiful work that would especially appeal to historic novel lovers, or anyone with an interest in the history of the Middle East.

This isn't a comprehensive review because what I really intended to do was post my favourite quotes from the book. De Bernieres writes with such eloquence and some of his politically charged paragraphs are wonderfully poetic. Here are some of my favourite bits which I remembered to make note of:

…history is finally nothing but a sorry edifice contructed from flesh in the name of great ideas

This next quote is in reference to the Russian Christian massacres of hunderds of thousands of Muslims in Eastern Europe. Could be the start of an interesting debate…feel free to comment:

Christians throughout history, took no notice of the key parable of Jesus Christ himself which taught that you should love your neighbour as yourself…This has never made any difference to Christians since the primary epiphenomena of any religious foundation are the production and flourishment of hypocrisy, megalomania and psycholpathy, and the first casulaty of a religious establishment are the intentions of its founder…
…they played abstractly at backgammon, that game which mirrors life by being composed half of calculation and half of luck…

December 26, 2005

Sequence poem part IV

Follow-up to Sequence poem part III from Into the Flame

Here's another rough draft for you, comments very welcome.


Jom'e Bazaar
(Friday Market)

cirlcing like beweildered magpie, unsure
in which direction to begin looking: shoppers are surrounded by
gold, silver, jade, emerald, royal red, quileted together

in the corridors of the jom'e bazaar; there are
reels of the finest fabric, fit for a sultan's bride,
and the glint of jewelery relfects in the pupils of many

stall owners and shoppers alike. everyone
has one eye on their hand-bag and the other on the next
potential bargain, each person weighing their neighbour

against the demand and haggle for every treasure:
piles of sequinned slippers, heaps of silver pendants, sprawling
veils that waver in the breeze and beckon,

they are impossible to ignore. the tired expressions
of merchants sat upon their laden sheets, go unnoticed as we
shove cheap notes into their chapped hands and move on.


Yesterday in Tehran there was a bus strike. The bus drivers here are tired of their long hours and extremely low wages so they resorted to protest. The interesting part for me was that they did not stop work; instead, they drove through the streets of Tehran refusing pick up the queues of people waiting for a ride in the pouring rain. The strike had not been sufficiently publicised and there were thousands who had no idea there were no bus services available. The buses would stop on busy street corners, displaying their empty seats through rain-blurred windows, and waiting bus users stood in the middle of main roads to block traffic and delay the rush hour. The bus drivers deliberately paraded their empty carriages in order to anger people so that they would create enough fuss for the people who need to be listening to hear. The people in chare don't care if there are no buses, they have their private cars and like the extra budget pocket money, but hopefully they'll start to care if/when people start smashing bus windows in frustration and block traffic to agrivate the horrendous traffic situation here…what will it take for them to listen?

December 24, 2005

Merry Christmas and more!


Hope everyone has a wonderful christmas full of merriment and good food!

Christmas is only celebrated by the Armenians (and any other Christians) in Iran and therefore it is not a national festival. However, there is another celebration here which has its similarities to Christmas: wednesday night (dec 21st) was shab-e yalda, the winter solstice, the longest night of the year, an occasion for family to gather around each other and celebrate. Shab means night and yalda means birth: this night is recognised as the birth of the sun god Mitra, a god of Zoroastrianism (an ancient religion of sun worshipers which still exists today), and is thus symbolic of the triumph of light over darkness as the days become longer and the nights become shorter. Here is a carving of Mitra (figure on the right) from a Persian temple:

And here is a very popular western relief of Mitra sacrificing a bull:

Similar celebrations to shab-e yalda exist in Egypt and Russia, amongst other countries, who all celebrate this triumph of light at the begining of the new solar year. On shab-e yalda, families gather together and light a candle as a representation of light, prepare a feast of good food, nuts and fruit, with watermelon and pomegranet being particularly significant because the red colour of these fruits symbolises the crimson hues of dawn and glow of life, invoking the splendour of Mitra. Another tradition is to read poems especially by the poet Hafiz. With Hafiz's poetry it is possible to read fortunes: you close your eyes, ask a question and open Hafiz's divan at a random page. The poem that you open to will give the answer to your question (and more often than not it answers correctly). Shab-e yalda, being the longest and darkest night of the year, has become a symbol in Persian poetry, a representation of prologued separation from a loved one, loneliness, anticipation and here are some examples from the poet Sa'adi:

'The sight of you each morning is a New Year
Any night of your departure is the eve of Yalda'
'With all my pains, there is still the hope of recovery
Like the eve of Yalda, there will finally be an end'

The similarities to Christmas so far are the gathering around each other. However, historically on shab-e yalda, which was a pre-Christian festival, families would put presents beneath a tree and then distribute them amongst the poor the next morning. Sound slightly familiar? Shab-e yalda is also the reason that Christ's birthday is celebated on the 25th dec instead of its original date of 6th jan:

Over the centuries Mithraism [Zorastrianism] spread to Greece and Ancient Rome via Asia Minor, gaining popularity within the ranks of the Roman army. In the 4th century AD as a result of errors made in calculating leap years and dates, the birthday of Mithra was transferred to 25 December. Until then Christ's birthday had been celebrated on 6 January by all branches of the Christian Church. But with the cult of Mithra still popular in Roman Europe, the Christian Church adopted many of the Mithraic rituals and proclaimed 25 December as the official birthday of Christ.

Interesting stuff. What did I do on shab-e yalda? Gathered around some friends, ate a lot, lit candles, read love fortunes, sang songs…I then then joined my cousins at a party, arriving just in time for a recital of Hafiz accompanied by a deep, juicy bowl of pomegranet seeds :) mmmmmm.

One of the highlights of this past week has been visiting the Museum of National Jewels (previously Royal Jewels). The museum is in a vault beneath the Melli (national) Bank of Iran. It houses some of the most exquisite rareties of the world including the 'Dariaye Nour' (The Sea of Light) which is the worlds largest pink diamond, the sister of which is the world's largest white diamond that lives in the Tower of London amongst the Crown Jewels. I have never been to a museum of royal treasures and thus this was the first time I had ever been exposed to so much shiny, expensive, beautiful things. I wandered around like a sedated magpie, staggering from one work of art to the other. We latched onto a tour group and got the lo-down on all of the monarchs which owned the jewels too. One of my favourite items in the museum was Nader Shah's throne:

This is a bad picture but I am sure you get the idea. It's a wonderfuly intricate piece of art with something like over 1000 (correct me if I'm wrong) precious jewels embedded in it, and the entire surface is decorated with mina-kari, a special style of Persian painting. The best thing about this throne was that, with all its majesty, it was not even a palace throne – it was Nader Shah's picnic chair!

My other favourite item was an ostritch egg which had been engraved with carvings of birds and flowers. I was blown away by the delecacy of the carvings and the fact that someone was skilled enough to be able to creat such a carving by hand without cracking the egg. Sadly there aren't any pictures of it to show you. I can't descibe it all, but other things that made me smile were the ornately expensive domestic items such as ghelioon (shisha), bowl covers, dishes and foot exfoliators which were adorned with gold, silver, mina-kari and some of the worlds most precious collections of emerals, diamons, rubies and turqouise stones.

Whist I was browsing the cases of rareties, I got talking to one of the guards and as soon as he found out I was from England the questions issued forth…the first being 'So, is it better here or back in England?' It is amazin how many people have asked me that. Everyone wants to know what you think of Iran as a Westerner, and why. Why is it good? or bad? Would I live here or there if I could choose? It is always hard to answer this question because the two environments are completely different. There is a phrase here that I use which is that Iran and England are as different as the sky is to the ground. I love being here in my holidays, having fun with my cousins and going out to nice places every day, but to live here is another thing altogether: to work, to study, to learn the language to a professional level, to earl a salary in rials but have to spend money at the rate of dollars, to learn my way around, to accept living under an Islamic Republic…etc etc. It is something that I would like to experience in my lifetime. Something that is important for me to understand, but I'd have to adjust to a completely new way of life.

People here often ask about how different things are in England from a cultural point of view, and I realised this trip that I have to answer from two persectives, from that of the student community that I belong to and that of England in general. This is because our student environment is a highly sociable one. When we started at Warwick, no one knew anyone and everyone was keen to make friends. Living together in halls and close by each other on campus created a wide network of people there to support each other, cook for each other, comfort each other, effectively act as each other's family. This is a social system that is not generally characteristic of English society because England is, generally speaking, an individualistic society, every person acts for him/herself, not as part of a network/community of people. This university community we have is more like the collectivist family and residential communities of Eastern cultures. University, especially Warwick, is a bubble of support, opportunity and culture that is not realistic of the 'real world' so I always have to think twice when answering the above question from the point of view of my current way of life.

But, in general, things are very different here. For me, spending money here is very cheap because of the rates, but for someone earning a salary of toumans/rials it is very expensive. Knowing this, it is hard for me to accept the tradition of 'tarof' here. What is tarof? I'm not sure that it has an equal term in English so I will try and explain. It is a term that encompasses many etiquets here and the best way to illustrate it is to give examples. Say my cousin takes me out for coffee, we will not pay for ourselves, one of us will pay the bill and treat the other person. The tarof is that we fight over who will pay and both refuse to let the other person pay. The etiquet is that if your a visitor, the person taking you out will never let you pay the bill, so I have paid for hardly anything here! Another tarof is if someone offers you something and you refuse politely, they will persist in offering until you take some of whatever they're offering, or refuse quite profusely. There are just two examples, there are many other instances of tarof but I hope you get the idea…tarof is an extremely important etiquet in Iranian culture, and other cultures too, but especially with the Iranians :)

One treat I accepted was that yesterday I went skiing at the Tochal ski slope with my cousin and her husband. Tochal is in the Alborz mountains just above Tehran. To reach the slope and the beautiful hotel there, you must take a 25 minute tele cabin ride up the mountains. It's by no means a hindrance because you see Tehran spread before you like an immense sea of lego that spreads past the eye's horizon, and then the buildings give way to the shoreline of mountains and the view of peaks rising and falling stretches for miles around. We got to enjoy the view of Tehran and some of the mountains, but our telecabin soon entered a light blizard and the fog grew so thick that at one point we couldn't even see the telecabin cable above our heads. It was as though the world had been erased from around us and it felt like we were somehow weightless and floating in an expase of nothingness.

We skiied for a while before the slope had to be closed due to the thick fog and heavy snow, but it was worth going for the experience.

One thing I have felt here is that people really have a passion of life. They are energetic and enthusiastic and brimming with kindness. I know this is a biased point of view because I am a visitor and for the two weeks that I am here people make an effort to show me a good time, but I also think that this enthusiasm for life is inherant in the spirit of the Iranian people. Maybe it is a result of being restricted under such an opressive political regime that the Iranian people make the most of what they do have to bring joy to their lives: the beautiful landscape, mountains, rivers, passion for a subject or band or place, good food, good music, good literature, and most of all good company…or maybe it is just in their blood. Whatever it is, as I've said before, with all of the downfalls and difficulties and inevitability of "bad" people existing in this country, there is still a strength of spirit and hospitality that I have not experienced anywhere else.

There is so much still to write stored away between my ears, but I think I'll save it for another time, a poem, a story or a later conversation, or maybe it'll remain locked in the chest of my mind forever. Who knows. For now, MERRY CHRISTMAS, enjoy your presents and I'll see you soon!

December 18, 2005

Out and about

The radio this morning issued the following warnings:
Due to the horrendous air pollution that Tehran has been subject to in the past few weeks children, the elderly and those with heart problems should remain indoors. People with high stress levels should refrain from driving at rush hour. And finally, if the pollution continues (and this is the poetic part) the city's birds will give up the city and fly away.

Given that life here has many difficulties, there is a poetic element to almost everything.

Today we went to a fruit bazaar to do the weeks shopping. It struck me that one remarkable thing about this city is that the chain supermarket has not yet established itself here to push small businesses into bankrupcy. Shoppers here still go to a bakery for their bread, a grocer for vegetables and a butcher for meat etc. It's such a novelty for me especially as I can't remember the last time I popped into the local bakery to buy bread straight from the oven. The city is still divided into sectors, to a certain extent. Depending on what you want to buy, there is a sector for jewelery, baby's clothes, shoes, antiques, leather goods etc etc. So, if you want to buy a watch you know exactly what part of town you're guaranteed to find an abundance of watches instead of trailing the high streets looking for jewelers. I suppose many cities work on this sceme but it is rare that it is still working in the same way in this day and age. Maybe I'm just easily pleased ;)

Yesterday I went book shopping and bought myself a few books of traditional and contemporary Persian poetry with english translations. Made me very excited. Book shopping in general is a joy and this was no exception. I did however, get frustrated after a while because the book covers were decorated so beautifully with traditional persian art and calligraphy, but it took me minutes (rather than seconds) to read the covers let alone what was contained within. So, aim is to improve reading and vocab in Persian in order to really appreciate the literature. It's a shame to let it slip between my fingers.

Whilst browsing I also came across the work of one of the most famous and talented Persian Minature artists, Mahmoud Farshchian. Here are some pictures of his that I particularly like:



To be honest its hard for me to say that these are favourites because I fell in love with almost every one of his paintings that I set eyes on. Do bear in mind that to see these pictures as weblinks is one thing, and to see them on the page, see each brushstroke, is another. There was one particular one that blew me away but I couldn't find it on the internet to shows you. It was done in the style of Despair but with white figures on a black background. I won't describe it because it's hard to do it justice.

Bestow is a classic Perisna Miniature painting. A friend told me today that the way Persian classical dance was created was by placing many Minature paintings of women next to each other and imitating the figures' positions in a sequence. A wonderful way to bring art to life.

I was struck by Despair because it made me think of a writer with some extreme writers block :) made me smile – I think many of you will relate to that kind of 'despair'... but on the whole the picture moved me to a great extent, I was quite overwhelmed by the artist's skill, and the stark black-on-white made the despair of the figure almost contagious.

Anyways, my mind is coming alive here in a different sort of way to home; I am using the Persian parts of my brain more and it's doing me a lot of good :) I have been reading from the Persian poet Forough Farokhzad and one stanza really stood out for me:

Those days are gone
Those days when from the slits of my eyes
My songs boiled out like air bubbles
Whatever my eye settled on
It drank up like fresh milk

Well, I hope those days have not passed for me…however bad my 'songs' are they're still bubbling out :) and there is still so much for me to see and lap up, bring it on!

December 16, 2005

Is it worrying that I have so much time on my hands?

I am on holiday. I shouldn't be finding so much time to blog stuff, and I'm not sure why I've suddenly felt the need to blog so much. Maybe because I have neglected my blog lately and maybe because I think it will help my writing. Maybe because I think I haven't done enough writing this term and am trying to compensate and keep my mind buzzing, or maybe because I have nothing better to do at night in my grandparents house…Whatever.

The point of this entry is that I was looking through my travel notebook and found some quotes that I had made a note of a while back. They may be of interest…

' delightful other people's emotions were! – much more delightful than their ideas…One's own soul, and the passions of one's friends – those were the fascinating things in life.'

'Beauty is a form of Genius…as it needs no explanation. It is one of the great facts of the world, like sunlight, or springtime, or the reflection in dark waters of that silver shell we call the moon.'

'It is said that passion makes one think in a circle.'

All taken from The Picture of Dorian Grey by Oscar Wilde

Sequence poem part III

Follow-up to Bleugh from Into the Flame

Here's the third part to my sequence poem.



it is always five-to-nine in this bed, always
five-to-nine as the other clocks chime and the air outside
travels between day and night, black to white.

it is always five to nine, when they bring me breakfast
always five-to-nine when they bring lunch
and always five-to-nine when i eat my dinner.

it was five-to-nine when his heart stopped, they say,
and it will be five-to-nine when i close my eyes
for the last time;

it will be as though we passed away in the same moment,
immortalised together in the atom of five-to-nine.
so let the other clocks chime and let the days pass,

and i will be content in this one minute world,
the three dimensions of these four walls
and the silent tick of my heart for company.

Things to keep in mind…

Writing about an entry you don't have permission to view

I'm going to make this link to Sarah's list of the poetry quotes on the wall in our seminar room, so I can track back whenever I need some guidance. They're good to keep in mind.

(Thanks Sarah!)

December 14, 2005


Well, I've been in Iran 5 days now and have hardly left the house. Throwing up all night is not fun, ever. Anyways, I saw a teddybear of a doctor today who gave me a nice bag-full of medicine so all should be well soon.

In my groggy state I have tried to write a few things and the latest is the VERY ROUGH first two sections of my POP sequence poem. Needs a lot of work but thought I'd blog it all the same.



slicked back hair and mascara-laden eyes,
navy blue uniform, orange-on-black striped
neck ties; manequins working shifts of simulated daylight,

gossiping behind clockfaces and weighing scales,
fingers souldered to keyboards that click high-speed
and create a percussive music: a pedal note

underlying the chatter of imaptient
snakes of human heads, bobbing forwards at
snail's pace towards conveyor belts giving birth

to bags and coats and mobile phones,
ejecting them into the florecent lights of duty free.
the last length of the labyrinth: we skim the road to

gate 29. the ground moves beneath our feet,
propelling us toward the neon doorway,
where gloved hands will usher us into our economy seats.



groggy, we emerge from our shared cacoon
and breathe in the stale exhaust fumes that hang
like parched drapes in the Teharn city air.

(a headscarf takes getting used to, adjusting it
to cover hair from roaming male eyes and to cover
mouth from the powdery residue of the fumes.)

rows of yawning faces obey the invisible barriers of passport inspection,
hanging like heavy beads upon the official's thread, willing
him to reel them in and bless their visitation.

sweat pours beneath heavy winter coats: we expected snow
and were greeted by springtime weather. everyone here
is praying

for rain to come and wash the air clean, wash
the streets clean, wash the country clean.
a bearded man behind a glass screen preys

upon our faces with his cold eyes, mumbles, stamps
my passport and dismisses us with a wave of his hand
as if he were a king or prince (soldier on a power trip).

December 2005

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