American Poetry
On May 1, 2021, I joined Poetry Promise, Inc., a Zoom group of American poets. My Buddhist friend Sheila connected me to this group. When she asked if I wanted to be in a group of American poets, I said of course, but I knew it was unlikely to be a true poetry group. After all, I thought, in America, no one takes poetry seriously.
The first poem I read and heard was ‘How Some Of It Happened’, by Marie Howe. She wrote it in memory of her late brother, who died of AIDS. Subsequently, every week thereafter, I became acquainted with a strange poet and worldly person via Zoom. That was until this past Saturday when the group was live online.
We have a different picture of America on the other side of the world. We can count all kinds of its Air Force jets and bombers from the Stealth fighter to the F-14. We can say what type of weapon has been newly invented, which kind of Iron Man has been made, and how people are replaced by machines.
If I was in my home country and someone told me about the many poets in America, I would not believe it. America is technology sending people to Mars, Elon Musk, Steve Jobs, Bill Gates, its military, and millionaires and billionaires.
I knew of no other American poets than international legends Emily Dickenson and Sylvia Plath.
Let me tell you- there is no news of American poetry outside this country. It is as if the genre does not exist.
For this reason, I somewhat hesitantly accepted my friend's invitation. I have not left the group since.
In my mind, the group changed the definition of poetry and introduced me to America's magical, honest, and tangible world. It is a defining experience. In the beginning, I read poetry every session, but one day I finally said to myself, isn't it better to listen and learn?
As far as I know, poetry is not a sacred thing. It is tactile.
Through American poetry, we become familiar with its culture. Poets write about real American life and historical setting, both of which are perfectly tangible.
Poets write about problems, troubles, conflicts, and the love and tumult of the world. They are very sensitive even to the gifts they receive at birthday parties, and react to the ‘Slaughter of Angels” in the same manner as they do AIDS.
I hail from a country with first-rate classical poets.
Many questions come to my mind when comparing Iranian and American poetry, the latter which I am working on.
As far as I can say, our modern poetry is more political and full of sorrow, abstinence, unattainable loves, and regrets. Lost and looted things.
I will write in more detail later.
This past Saturday, I read my poetry to our group in real-time.
I am thankful to Bruce Isaacson, an American poet whose writing I thoroughly love. He always listens patiently and gives excellent comments to all of us.
.
I open my arms
to embrace the world
that you are breathing in.
When you put your head on my shoulder,
I hide my face in your hair
and smell you.
You! The gist of the being of this earth
that without you
turns in reverse,
and with you
becomes so dazzling
that I
get drunk on
the dancing of the stars and the moon
and the sun that is you
are you
are you
Safannah-translator --
Source: Substack