تو اي وجود بي مكان
مرا به سوي خود بخوان
مرا ببر به شهر خود
به آن ديار بي زمان
مرا ببر به هيچ جا
تو در كنار من بمان
بگير دست عاشقت
مرا ببر ز خانه مان
به عشق تو رها كنم
عيال و شهر و خانمان
بگفتي اي اميد جان
"نديده اي جمالمان"
"چگونه لاف مي زني"
"كه بوده اي ز عاشقان؟"
نگو به من تو اين سخن
مرا ز درگهت مران
نديده ام جمال تو
اگر به چشم خود عيان
شنيده ام كه وصف تو
ز حرفهاي اين و آن
تو گفته اي كه "جان بده"
"ز عشق پاك خود نشان"
ز بس كه جان سپرده ام
تنم تهي شده ز جان
مگو "هنوز زنده اي"
منم يكي ز رفتگان
مرا به پيش خود ببر
به سرزمينِ بي مكان
سلام بر سعدی زمان
پاسخحذفخلوص و زلالی شما در این شعر کاملا هویدا است و آدمی از خواندن این شعر لذت و حظ ماورایی میبرد.
این قطعه به مانند مناجاتی روحانی و رویایی با خالق مهربان است که سادگی و روانی آن، شخص را به تحسین وا می دارد.
بسیار زیباست.
حق یار و نگهبانتان باد.
Dear Mr. Torbati, Salaam –
پاسخحذفBeing a poet of perception, your words have been helping me and us with perceiving what often proves itself as imperceptible. I read your words to the others and share the enjoyment with them.
The recent poems of yours bear technical devices, amongst them 'apostrophe' as the most dominant one. You are addressing what obliterates being addressed. Your last poems is a proof of selflessness in which speaking is opening new horizons, equipping a sharp reader with a weapon to make his own self disappear in order to unveil a real self, a true and pure being. In the free play of signifiers, you have assisted me in feeling the freedom, growing in wisdom, and seeming more and better.
The 'whatness' is not the matter, yet 'howness' resides. You are a ruler of the metaphor and show how connotation can override denotation. I daresay that your poems are the medium by means of which such impersonality can be achieved in language. The surface level you have chosen in the recent poems, mainly in the last one, is open and permeable to the reception of incoming materials.
In the poem "Wings of Imagination", you are taking me, involving me, in the stream of consciousness in which you are traveling from time to time, so a poetic meaning of time is redefined by you.
Actually, my profound poet friend, the use of the firs person singular in your recent masterpieces tell me that when the "I" becomes oblivious to itself in language it is fully present nevertheless; if it were not, language would become a consecrated abracadabra and succumb to reification, as it does in communicative discourse. So, you are giving soul to the soulless.
In all these attempts, I have utilized language and words to utter something, but, to show the failure, let me finish with words from Rainer Maria Rilke:
"Works of art are of an infinite solitude, and no means of approach is so useless as criticism. Only love can touch and hold them and be fair to them."
I wish you all the best, a good health and a productive time.
Best,
Vahid