Six Poems from “Standing on Earth”

Abstract

1 No one remembers his birth No one has ever returned from the dead Words and death give meaning to everything Only meeting those surrounded by death do words become proportionate You’re standing there your back to the window A star flickers near your eyes. Maybe the distance between us is longer than the life of all words I come to bed with you in the prehistory of words That star died centuries ago That light is just the last breath traveling through the void between stars through the void between words I kiss you and I don’t know through what void what words what history the flavor of this kiss has passed 2 A woman uses makeup in her effort to be a goddess. No woman uses makeup trying to be human. She says: look at me pray to me. In the solitude of all the goddesses she gives birth to the children half mortal half immortal. I always fail to describe her artificial beauty in my poetry. As much as the poem does not need beauty she needs my kisses. cover feature writing beyond iran Six Poems from Standing on Earth” by Mohsen Emadi Visit the WLT website to listen to bilingual recordings of some of these poems. 42 WLT MARCH / APRIL 2015 above Taraneh Hemami, Silent Tears (2011), from the series Alphabet of Silence (2000–2011), mixed media on ceramic, dimension variable, collection of Victoria and Albert Museum, photo courtesy of the artist. “ WORLDLITERATURETODAY.ORG 43 3 No woman could make me naked could expose me or cover me up. The voice I hear is coming from an imaginary corner unseen hands open my shirt my skin trembles and the cities built on it collapse and my body disappears in a cloud of dust. I close the curtains I unplug the phone I lie down on the floor and people are fleeing in the dust cloud of my body in pajama bottoms, in underpants, naked. Cracks open in the ground of my skin antique jars come to the surface, the skeletons of women buried in me birthday presents, letters, photos. The voice I hear enters the cracks in my skin. But now the room’s walls are moist now the roof is leaking now the doorbell is wet I open the door and the stairs are flooded. Your shoes, your voice, are soaking. You open the windows You sweep up the fragments of words. Kiss by kiss, you stitch together the cracks in my body You wrap me up. I hear your voice rising from a dark corner. I do not shake in your embrace. It’s night. You’ve left the house. Stars are dust. Nakedness is dust. Every night my room goes dark, gets light. 7 You looked at me and a faraway window opened and closed. You stroked me and I got wet from the rain beyond that window. You are here beside me and with your every movement something moves in the distance which makes something move in me. I was born in the year of your exile. In your eyes a woman was making dolls. In the shape of all her dead she was making dolls and was setting them on the windowsill in front of my eyes. One had my hat on his head. Another was wearing my shoes. I was being created from her losses. You were looking at me and the rain was still raining on your suitcases and the shoes and the hats of the dead. I kiss you and we exchange losses. 9 Death is when the heart does not beat and the clock beats. Love is when the heart beats and the clock does not beat. Perhaps this simple comparison explains why you glanced at your watch. You knew that waiting is the dense endurance of eternity and love, the miracle of mortals, makes eternity ashamed, but death does not wait for anybody. The long summer afternoon was going down on coffins and clock towers the ruins knew and you did not know that war makes waiting invalid and saving life (continued) the whole Truth. Was she dead? Had she fled without you? Or...