Forough Farrokhzad
(1935–1967)

Forough Farrokhzad, The House Is Black, 1963, digital video transferred from 35 mm film, collection Ebrahim Golestan, installation view, EMST—National Museum of Contemporary Art, Athens, documenta 14, photo: Mathias Völzke

Forough Farrokhzad, The House Is Black, 1963, digital video transferred from 35 mm film, collection Ebrahim Golestan, installation view, EMST—National Museum of Contemporary Art, Athens, documenta 14, photo: Mathias Völzke

Forough Farrokhzad, The House Is Black, 1963, digital video transferred from 35 mm film, collection Ebrahim Golestan, installation view, EMST—National Museum of Contemporary Art, Athens, documenta 14, photo: Mathias Völzke

Forough Farrokhzad, The House Is Black, 1963, digital video transferred from 35 mm film, collection Ebrahim Golestan, installation view, EMST—National Museum of Contemporary Art, Athens, documenta 14, photo: Mathias Völzke

Forough Farrokhzad, The House Is Black, 1963, digital video transferred from 35 mm film, collection Ebrahim Golestan, installation view, EMST—National Museum of Contemporary Art, Athens, documenta 14, photo: Mathias Völzke

Gift

I speak out of the deep of night
out of the deep of darkness
and out of the deep of night I speak.

If you come to my house, friend
bring me a lamp and a window I can look through
at the crowd in the happy alley.

Forough Farrokhzad


Translated from the Farsi by Ahmad Karimi Hakkkak



The Wind Will Carry Us Away

In my small night, alas
the wind has a rendezvous with the leaves of trees
In my small night rests the fear of ruin

Listen…
Do you hear the blowing of the darkness?
I look at this good luck like a stranger
I am accustomed to my hopelessness
Listen…
Do you hear the blowing of the darkness?

In the night now something is happening:
the moon is red and disturbed
and above this roof, which at any moment might fall,
the clouds like the crowds of mourners
seem to await the moment of rain

A moment
and after that—nothing.
Behind this window the night is trembling,
and the earth
stands still in its course
Vague things lie behind this window,
you and I, uneasy

O you are green all over,
put your hands like a burning memory in my loving hands
and entrust your lips like a warm sense of life
to the caresses of loving lips
The wind will carry us away with it
The wind will carry us away.

Forough Farrokhzad


Translated by Anita Spertus

Posted in Public Exhibition
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