Poem by Mehdi Akhavan Sales translated by Ali Asadollahi

The Inscription

There laid the Stone, like a mountain it seemed
And we were here, sitting, an exhausted team
Women and men, the young and the elder
bound together but with leg-cuffs: the Chain
and if you wanted to go to where you loved you could only crawl		
up to where you were allowed: the length of the Chain
There was something we could hear
We didn’t know if it was an illusion of our fatigue and fears, or did that voice
come from somewhere? But where? We never asked
It whispered: A Stone there laid	and of the forerunners, a pandit’s written a secret on it
It was repeated, time and time, 	      then
like a wave running away from itself, snoozed again
And we were silent. For a long time, we were 	all silent
It was only in our eyes if we had any question, any doubt
And the rest was a flood of fatigue and blackout
Then there was only silence		even in our eyes
The Stone laid on the other side, the night that doom rained from the moonlight
And our feet swelled and itched
One of us whose chain was heavier, damned his ear and moaned: We must go
And we tiredly groaned: Damn our ears and eyes. We must go
And we went, we crawled to where the Stone was installed
One of us, whose chain was less tight, climbed up and read out:
That one who overturns me
He shall know the secret	of me
With joy, we kept that dusty script like a prayer on our lips
And the night was a glorious river, full of moonlight
Hey, one... two... three... 	Once more!
Hey, one... two... three... 	Once more!
We sweated, we mourned, we cursed and sometimes cried
Hey, one… two… three… 	This is how we tried
The Stone was heavy but sweet was, the victory
And with a more familiar emotion: both dog-tired and pleased, we were full of passion
One of us whose chain was lighter, saluted our effort and climbed higher
wiped the dirt from the mudded script and read
He licked his lips		The same, we did
and silent, he stayed. Read again and stared. It was like, his tongue was dead
At a far unknown, he looked and still, he stood.
We uproared: RECITE!		yet speechless, he was – RECITE! – looking at us, unless
with rattling chains, came down. He was about to fall. We held him up, we sat him down
He damned his hands 		and ours
What have you read?
He swallowed and murmured: The same!
That one who overturns me
He shall know the secret	of me
We sat down staring at moonlight and that bright night

And the night 
a sickly river it was

کـتـیـبـه

فتاده تخته‌سنگ آن‌سوی‌تر، انگار كوهی بود
و ما این‌سو، نشسته، خسته، انبوهی
زن و مرد و جوان و پیر
همه با یكدیگر پیوسته، لیك از پای
و با زنجیر
اگر دل می‌كشیدت سوی دلخواهی
به سویش می‌توانستی خزیدن، لیك تا آنجا كه رخصت بود: تا زنجیر
ندانستیم
ندایی بود در رویای خوف و خستگی‌هامان
و یا آوایی از جایی، كجا ؟ هرگز نپرسیدیم
چنین می گفت
فتاده تخته‌سنگ آنسوی، وز پیشینیان پیری
بر او رازی نوشته‌ست، هركس طاق، هر كس جفت
چنین می‌گفت چندین بار
صدا                  و آنگاه چون موجی كه بگریزد ز خود در خامشی می‌خفت
و ما چیزی نمی‌گفتیم
و ما تا مدتی چیزی نمی‌گفتیم
پس از آن نیز تنها در نگه‌مان بود اگر گاهی
گروهی شك و پرسش ایستاده بود                    و دیگر سیل خستگی بود و فراموشی
و حتی در نگه‌مان نیز خاموشی
و تخته‌سنگ آن‌سو اوفتاده بود
شبی كه لعنت از مهتاب می‌بارید
و پاهامان ورم می‌كرد و می‌خارید
یكی از ما كه زنجیرش كمی سنگین‌تر از ما بود، لعنت كرد گوشش را
و نالان گفت:‌ باید رفت
و ما با خستگی گفتیم
لعنت بیش بادا گوشمان را چشممان را نیز باید رفت
و رفتیم و خزان رفتیم تا جایی كه تخته‌سنگ آنجا بود
یكی از ما كه زنجیرش رهاتر بود، بالا رفت، آنگه خواند
 كسی راز مرا داند
 كه از این‌رو به آن‌رویم بگرداند
و ما با لذتی این راز غبارآلود را مثل دعایی زیر لب
تكرار می كردیم
 و شب شط جلیلی بود پر مهتاب
هلا، یك … دو … سه …. دیگر پار
هلا، یك … دو … سه …. دیگر پار
عرقریزان، عزا، دشنام، گاهی گریه هم كردیم
هلا، یك، دو، سه، زینسان بارها بسیار
 چه سنگین بود اما سخت شیرین بود پیروزی
 و ما با آشناتر لذتی،
هم خسته هم خوشحال
ز شوق و شور مالامال
یكی از ما كه زنجیرش سبكتر بود
 به جهد ما درودی گفت و بالا رفت
خط پوشیده را از خاك و گل بسترد و با خود خواند
 و ما بی تاب
لبش را با زبان تر كرد ما نیز آنچنان كردیم
و ساكت ماند
 نگاهی كرد سوی ما و ساكت ماند
دوباره خواند، خیره ماند، پنداری زبانش مرد
نگاهش را ربوده بود ناپیدای دوری، ما خروشیدیم
 بخوان!‌ او همچنان خاموش
برای ما بخوان! خیره به ما ساكت نگا می‌كرد
 پس از لختی
در اثنایی كه زنجیرش صدا می‌كرد
فرود آمد، گرفتیمش كه پنداری كه می‌افتاد
نشاندیمش
بدست ما و دست خویش لعنت كرد
 چه خواندی، هان؟
 مكید آب دهانش را و گفت آرام
نوشته بود
همان
كسی راز مرا داند
كه از اینرو به آرویم بگرداند
نشستیم
و به مهتاب و شب روشن نگه كردیم
و شب شط علیلی بود
 

About the poet:

Prominent Iranian poet and the author of thirteen poetry books, Mehdi Akhavan-Sales (1929, Mashhad, Iran – 1990, Tehran, Iran), was one of the founders of modern Persian poetry. His poems can be found in almost all Persian poetry anthologies of 20th century. He elaborately made use of epic themes along with various similes in his poetry. The Inscription (Katiba) is selected from his fourth book Az in Avestā (1965) and its main idea is derived from an old story that is now a proverb in many of Middle Eastern languages: “greedier than a rock-turner.”

About the Translator: 

Author of six Persian poetry books, Ali Asadollahi, lives in Iran. His poems and translations have appeared in Bellingham Review, Denver Quarterly, Epoch, Hayden’s Ferry Review, etc.

16 October 2024