Literature of the Early Twentieth Century: From the Constitutional Period to Reza Shah: A History of Persian Literature 9780755610433, 9781845119126

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A History of Persian Literature Editorial Board Mohsen Ashtiany J. T. P. de Bruijn (Vice-­Chairman) Dick Davis William Hanaway, Jr. Ahmad Karimi-Hakkak Franklin Lewis Paul Losensky Heshmat Moayyad Ehsan Yarshater (Chairman) Late Member: Annemarie Schimmel

CONTRIBUTORS Dominic Parviz Brookshaw is Associate Professor of Persian Literature at the Oriental Institute, University of Oxford, and Senior Research Fellow in Persian at Wadham College, Oxford. Before coming to Oxford, he taught Persian literature and language at Stanford University (2011–2013), the University of Manchester (2007–2011), and McGill University (2005–2007). Since 2004, he has served as Assistant Editor (Literature and Culture) for Iranian Studies. He is a member of the Board of the International Society for Iranian Studies (ISIS), and he has served as a member of the Governing Council of the British Institute of Persian Studies (BIPS). He has published numerous journal articles on pre-modern, nineteenth-century, and contemporary Persian poetry, as well as Persian language textbooks and a vocabulary of Media Persian. His most recent publications include two edited volumes: Ruse and Wit: The Humorous in Arabic, Persian, and Turkish Narrative (Harvard University Press, 2012); and Forugh Farrokhzad, Poet of Modern Iran: Iconic Woman and Feminine Pioneer of New Persian Poetry (London: I. B. Tauris, 2010; co-edited with Nasrin Rahimieh). Zohreh Ghaeni is a lecturer and historian of Children’s literature. She is co-author of the 10-volume History of Children’s literature in Iran and several other publications including Illustration of Children’s Books for Universities, 2012. Ghaeni has worked with the Iranian branch of UNICEF and has translated several annual reports on the status of children in the world and texts on girls’ education for workshops in Iran. She served as the Jury of the Hans Christian Andersen Award in 2002 and 2004 and as the president of the International Jury for this award in 2008 and 2010. At the moment, she is the director of the Institute for Research on the History of Children’s Literature in Iran. Here she supervises xi

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several projects such as Childhood Studies in Iran, Childhood Virtual Museum (Iranak.org), virtual reading promotion centre (Ketabak.org) and “Read with Me” for children in crisis around Iran. Homa Katouzian is a social scientist, historian and literary critic. He is the Iran Heritage Research Fellow, St Antony’s College, and a Member of the Faculty of Oriental Studies, University of Oxford. He is also editor of Iranian Studies, the Journal of the International Society for Iranian Studies and co-editor of the ISIS / Routledge Iranian Studies book series. He has published widely both in English and Persian. His books in English include Iran: Politics, History and Literature (London: Routledge, 2013), Iran: A Beginners Guide (Oxford: Oneworld, 2013), The Persians, Ancient, Mediaeval and Modern Iran (New Haven: Yale University Press, 2010), Sadeq Hedayat: His Work and His Wondrous World (ed., London: Routledge, 2011), Iran in the 21st Century (co-ed, London: Routledge, 2008), Iranian History and Politics: The Dialectic of State and Society (London: Routledge, 2007), Sa’di, the Poet of Love, Life and Compassion (Oxford: Oneworld, 2006), State and Society in Iran: The Eclipse of the Qajars and the Emergence of the P ­ ahlavis (London: I. B. Tauris, 2006) Sâdeq Hedâyat: The Life and Legend of an Iranian Writer (London: I. B. Tauris, 2002) and Musaddiq and the Struggle for Power in Iran (London: I. B. Tauris, 1999). His research interests include Iranian history, comparative history, the sociology of history, and modern and classical Persian literature. Parvin Loloi, was educated at the University of Tehran and obtained her Ph. D. from the University of Swansea, Wales. She works as an independent scholar and writer, and has written extensively on English translations of Persian poetry and also on Persian cultural and literary influences on English literature. She has revised and edited twenty-five essays for the New English Dictionary of National Biography and acted as editorial consultant for the volume Contemporary World Writers, ed. Tracy Chevalier (Chicago/ London 1994). Among her publications are: A critical and annotated edition (in two volumes) of Two Seventeenth Century Plays: xii

Contributors

Vol. 1, Sir John Denham, The Sophy, Vol. 2, Robert Baron, Mirza, A Tragedy, (Salzburg University Press, 1998). Hafiz, Master of Persian Poetry, A Critical Bibliography of English Translations Since the Eighteenth Century (London, I. B. Tauris, 2004). Bahram Beyza’i, The Marionnettes (‘Arusakha) co-translated from Persian with Glyn Pursglove (Salzburg University Press, 2005). Poems from the Divan of Hafez translated in collaboration with the poet William Oxley (Brixham, South Devon, Acumen Publications, 2003). She is a regular contributor to the Encyclopædia Iranica. She is affiliated to Swansea University. Ali-Asghar Seyed-Gohrab is Associate Professor at Leiden Uni­ versity. His publications include Layli and Majnun: Love, Madness and Mystic Longing in Nizami’s Epic Romance, (Leiden/Boston: Brill, 2003), Mirror of Dew: The Poetry of Ālam-Tāj Zhāle Qā’emMaqāmi, (Boston: Harvard University Press, Ilex Series 14, 2014), Courtly Riddles: Enigmatic Embellishments in Early Persian Poetry, (Leiden: LUP, 2008, 2010); One Word—Yak kaleme: A 19th-Century Persian Treatise Introducing West­ern Codified Law (Leiden: LUP, 2008, 2010, together with S. McGlinn); Conflict and Development in Iranian Film, co-edited with K. Talattof, (Leiden: LUP, 2013). Metaphor and Imagery in Persian Poetry, edited volume, Leiden/Boston: Brill, 2012). He has translated several volumes of modern Persian poetry into Dutch, including the poetry of Sohrâb Sepehri, Forugh Farrokh­zâd, Mohammad-Rezâ Shafi’i Kadkani, and (together with J. T. P. de Bruijn) Ahmad Shâmlu, Nâder Nâderpur, and Hushang Ebtehâj. He heads the project Of Poetry and Politics: Classical Poetic Concepts in the New Politics of Twentieth Century Iran, financed by a five-year research grant from the Netherlands Organization for Scientific Research (NWO). He is the founding general editor of the Iranian Studies Series at Leiden University Press and the Modern Persian Poetry Series. Saeed Talajooy is Lecturer in Persian and Comparative Literature at the University of St Andrews. His research is focused on the changing patterns of Iranian identities as reflected in the Iranian theatre, cinema and literature. He has taught Persian and English xiii

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literature and drama in Iran and the UK, and prior to his current position he taught Persian at the University of Cambridge. His most recent publications include a number of articles on the use of history, myth and indigenous forms in Iranian theatre, an edited volume, Resistance in Contemporary Middle Eastern Cultures: Literature, Cinema and Music, which he co-edited with Dr Karima Laachir (Routledge, 2012), and The Special Issue of Iranian Studies on Bahram Beyzaie (September 2013). He is currently working on a monograph entitled Mythologizing the Transition: Bahram Beyzaie’s Cinema and Theatre and a collection of essays and play translations entitled Modernity and Iranian Drama: Plays and Playwrights.

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FOREWORD In the 1990s, I gradually became convinced that the time had come for a new, comprehensive, and detailed history of Persian literature, given its stature and significance as the single most important accomplishment of the Iranian peoples. Hermann Ethé’s pioneering survey of the subject, “Neupersische Litteratur” in Grundriss der iranischen Philologie II, was published in 1904, and E. G. Browne’s far more extensive A Literary History of Persia, with ample discussion of the political and cultural background of each period, appeared in four successive volumes between 1902 and 1924. The English translation of Jan Rypka’s History of Iranian Literature, written in collaboration with a number of other scholars, came out in 1968 under his own supervision. Iranian scholars have also made a number of significant contributions throughout the 20th century to different aspects of Persian literary history. These include B. Foruzânfar’s Sokhan va sokhan­ varân (On Poetry and Poets, 1929–33); M.-T. Bahâr’s Sabk-­shenâsi (Varieties of Style in Prose) in three volumes (1942); and a number of monographs on individual poets and writers. The truly monumental achievement of the century in this context was Dh. Safâ’s wide-ranging and meticulously researched Târikh-e a­ dabiyyât dar Irân (History of Literature in Iran) in five volumes and eight parts (1953–79). It studies Persian poetry and prose in the context of their political, social, religious, and cultural background, from the rise of Islam to almost the middle of the 18th century. Nevertheless, it cannot be said that Persian literature has received the attention it merits, bearing in mind that it has been the jewel in the crown of Persian culture in its widest sense and the standard bearer for aesthetic and cultural norms of the literature of the eastern regions of the Islamic world from about the 12th century; and that it has profoundly influenced the literatures of xv

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­ ttoman ­Turkey, Muslim India and Turkic Central Asia—a literO ary corpus that could inspire Goethe, Emerson, Matthew Arnold, and Jorge Luis Borges among others, and was praised by William Jones, Tagore, E. M. Forster, and many others. Persian literature remained a model for the literatures of the above regions until the 19th century, when the European influence began effectively to challenge the Persian literary and cultural influence, and succeeded in replacing it. Whereas Persian art and architecture, and more recently Persian films, have been written about extensively and at different levels, for a varied audience, Persian literature has largely remained the exclusive domain of specialists. It is only in the past few years that the poems of Rumi have drawn to themselves the kind of popular attention enjoyed by Omar Khayyam in the 19th century. A History of Persian Literature (HPL) was conceived as a comprehensive and richly documented work, with illustrative examples and a fresh critical approach, written by prominent scholars in the field. An Editorial Board was selected and a meeting of the Board arranged in September 1995 in Cambridge, UK, in conjunction with the gathering that year of the Societas Europaea Iranologica, where the broad outlines of the editorial policy were drawn up. Fourteen volumes were initially envisaged to cover the subject, including two Companion Volumes. Later, two additional volumes devoted to Persian prose from outside Iran (the Indian subcontinent, Anatolia, Central Asia) and historiography, respectively, were added. The titles of the volumes are listed in the beginning of this volume. Of the Companion Volumes, the first deals with preIslamic Iranian literatures, and the second with the literature of Iranian languages other than Persian, as well as Persian and Tajik oral folk literature. It is hoped that the multi-volume HPL will provide adequate space for the analysis and treatment of all aspects of Persian literature. The inclusion of a volume on Persian historiography is justified by the fact that Persian histories, like the biographical accounts of mystics or poets, often exploit the same stylistic and literary features and the same kinds of figures of speech that one encounters xvi

Foreword

in Persian poetry and belles-lettres, with skilful use of balanced cadences, rhyme, varieties of metaphor and hyperbole, and an abundance of embellishing devices. This was considered to impart a literary dimension to the prose, enhance its esthetic effect, and impress the reader with the literary prowess of the author. The study of Persian historiography should therefore be regarded as a component of any comprehensive study of Persian literary prose and the analysis of its changing styles and contours. Moreover, in pre-modern times, “literature” was defined more broadly than it is today and often included historiography. As is evident from the title of the volumes, A History of Persian Literature’s approach is neither uniformly chronological nor entirely thematic. Developments occur in time and to understand a literary genre requires tracing its course chronologically. On the other hand, images, themes, and motifs have lives of their own, and need to be studied not only diachronically but also synchronically, regardless of the time element. A combination of the two methods has therefore been employed to achieve a better overall treatment. Generous space has been given to modern poetry, fiction, and drama in order to place them in the wider context of Persian literary studies and criticism.

About the present volume The eleventh volume in this ground-breaking series pays special attention to politically engaged poetry, written during a turbulent period which saw the Constitutional Revolution in Iran as well as the rise to power of Reza Shah and his attempts to implement reform. Throughout this time, poets began to turn their attention towards the country’s ordinary people, rather than concentrate on its elites. As a result, new topics such as gender relations, nationalism and didactic themes began to become a focus of poetry. This volume also examines the prose fiction of the period, which saw the rise of the novel and the short story. Persian prose started to change in the second half of the nineteenth century, especially xvii

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in government contexts and in treatises on political philosophy and reform. Satirical literature also grew in prominence and popularity, as exemplified in the works of poets and novelists such as Iraj Mirza and Sadeq Hedayat. Exploring the growing contributions by female poets, as well as new experiments in drama and children’s literature, this wide-ranging volume is an invaluable guide for understanding the radical and manifold changes in the Persian literary scene at the turn of the twentieth century and beyond, in the context of the political and social history of the period. Ehsan Yarshater General Editor

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PREFACE Organization of the Book In a literary history, one would like to include all aspects of literature which are part of the culture, but this volume concentrates on politically engaged poetry in various forms, while paying due attention to the prose and fiction of the period. The engaged poetry examined here was the principal focus of the major poets at that time. As the Qajar court weakened and crumbled, poets turned their attention to the ordinary people. They transmitted European political philosophy, while also warning of the imperialistic intentions of powers such as Britain and Russia. Poetry and poetic conventions were also re-evaluated. Some intellectuals questioned the relevance of religious, mystical and even lyric poetry, and blamed the traditions of eulogizing people in power for Persia’s backwardness. They encouraged poets to write poetry that would benefit society by educating people about current trends and events. This book begins with a general introduction, in Chapter One, giving the political and social background to the literature of the period between 1900 and 1940. It contains eight further chapters, each elaborating on one important aspect of the poetry of the period. In Chapter Two, Seyed-Gohrab offers a thematic overview of themes and topics, showing how new topics such as gender relations, and a nationalistic love of the country, became a focus in poetry. The language of poetry also changed, as poets addressed a wider audience from all walks of life. Poets incorporated the themes and forms of folk poetry in political contexts, so that in a lullaby, for instance, the child might be the homeland and the caring mother, the patriot. The period between 1900 and 1940 witnessed the rise of novel and short stories. Persian prose started to change in the second half xix

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of the nineteenth century, especially in government contexts and in treatises on political philosophy and reform. Chapter Three gives an overview of modern Persian prose and fiction, showing how Persian authors drew on European models of fiction as a vehicle for promoting social change. Chapter Four also considers the pioneers of the Persian novel and short stories, focusing on figures such as Mohammad-Ali Jamâlzâde and Sâdeq Hedâyat. Here, Homa Katouzian gives a splendid analytical survey of Persian satire, a genre which became increasingly popular, especially with poets and novelists such as Iraj Mirzâ and Sâdeq Hedâyat. Beginning with examples of satire from classical Persian poetry, the author examines how poets in the first decades of the twentieth century used this genre to address social issues such as gender relations and the hypocrisy of the ruling class and clerics. The period 1900 to 1940 is significant for the increasing contribution of female poets, who contributed in various ways to the spread of a new political ideology advocating women’s emancipation and equal rights, the education of women, modernization of the dress code, etc. There were many female poets whose works have not been published or are lost. In Chapter Five, Dominic Parviz Brookshaw examines the work of seven prominent female poets, looking at their common themes, their fragile position in a male-dominated society, and their invaluable contribution to poetry. In addition to the aesthetic value of this poetry, it gives an invaluable insight into woman’s participation in society in the first decades of the twentieth century, and how this was experienced by the individuals most affected. In Chapter Six, Parvin Loloi analyzes the ways European literature entered into the Persian literary arena, how this literature was disseminated and how it was domesticated. One of the salient features of the poetry of this period is its transnational nature. A prodigious number of Western literary works, in prose and verse, were translated into Persian. A number of these translations are masterpieces of Persian poetry, to the extent that the Persian reader never suspects that it is an adaptation from a European language. Although drama is not alien to Persian culture, as it plays an important role in religious and national rituals, a Western form xx

Preface

of drama was introduced to Persia in the second half of the nineteenth century. In Chapter Seven, Saeed Talajooy gives an analytic survey of the introduction of this type of drama, which includes description of the construction of new theatres, and comment on how this drama was received. Following this chronological survey, the author examines some major plays and playwrights of the period individually, placing them in their social, political and literary contexts. Persian newspapers and journals flourished in the years between 1900 and 1940, to the extent that almost every significant poet had his own publication. They were vital in disseminating the poet’s message, not only to the intelligentsia but also to illiterate people, as they would be read aloud in public places. In Chapter Eight, Kamran Talattof examines the emergence of literary journals, including women’s journals, and their contribution to literary activities. The chief focus of this chapter is on the literary value of these journals, the literary debates on poetic forms that were conducted through the journals, and their role in domesticating various ideas about poetic and social modernity. Persia’s contact with the West affected all aspects of culture, not least children’s curricula and schools. In Chapter Nine, Zohreh Ghaeni offers a survey of the children’s literature used in education. Generally speaking, selected classical literary sources were used to educate children before 1900, but the introduction of Western-style schools and new curricula gave rise to a new type of children’s literature.

Acknowledgments I am grateful to Professor Ehsan Yarshater, who initiated the project A History of Persian Literature, and invited me to edit volume XI, entitled Literature of the Early Twentieth Century: From the Constitutional Period to Reza Shah. His invitation coincided with my receiving a five-year research grant from the Netherlands Organization for Scientific Research (NWO), to support my project ‘Of Poetry and xxi

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Politics: C ­ lassical Poetic Concepts in the New Politics of Twentieth Century Iran.’ The grant enabled myself and two PhD students to do research on how Persian poetic forms, themes and concepts have been utilized in modern times. Part of that project has found its way into this book. I was naturally very grateful to NWO, and seized the opportunity to also accept Professor Yarshater’s kind invitation. It was a happy coincidence, as the topics are very close. I am also most grateful to the Netherlands Institute for Advanced Study in the Humanities and Social Sciences (NIAS) for their generous support, enabling me to finish this project. I am very grateful to my teacher and friend J. T. P. de Bruijn, who has always been available to be consulted at various stages of my research, and has given me invaluable suggestions. My thanks go to the contributors to this volume. Despite their busy schedules, they have produced pioneering chapters, on topics that have rarely been addressed, requiring much time and in some cases archival work. I hope that this volume will open new vistas in our understanding of Persian literature in the first decades of the twentieth century, inspiring scholars to research many topics that have been touched upon in this book, but require further systematic investigation. I am also grateful to Amin Ghodratzadeh who generated the index. I also would like to thank my friend Sen McGlinn, and Helen Richardson-Hewitt who carefully read several chapters of this book. I am also grateful to the excellent support, patience, and splendid work of Claudius Naumann in formatting the volume. This book could not have come into being without the support of my beloved Miriam, Nora and Sam, who are my sources of inspiration. Ali-Asghar Seyed-Gohrab Editor

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CHAPTER ONE THE POLITICAL AND SOCIAL BACKGROUND OF THE LITERATURE OF THE PERIOD (1900–1940) Ali-Asghar Seyed-Gohrab

1. A Historical Sketch of the Period Persian literature between 1900 and 1940 has such a close relationship to social and political developments that a reader needs to know something of the relevant events and trends. As a number of immensely important events fall outside our period, this chapter begins in the nineteenth century, when Iran entered world politics. Political and intellectual developments between 1900 and 1940 are very much shaped by interactions with Russia and Great Britain, and other European powers, that became very important to Persia in the nineteenth century. Another factor was rivalry with the Ottoman Empire, which was itself modernizing. The Iranian elite, and then the masses, became aware of Persia’s vulnerable position. Its old-fashioned military system could not confront the modern military technologies that Europe, and the Russians, possessed. While Persia tried to maintain her centuries-old cultural and political domination in the Caucasus and Central Asia, she lost large territories to Russia in the first decades of the nineteenth century.1 The first war occurred in 1813. Persian forces were ­quickly 1

For various aspects of Russian-Iranian relations in this period Iranian-Russian Encounters: Empires and Revolutions Since 1800, ed. S. Cronin, (London, 2013); also see the special issue of the Journal of Iranian Studies (Vol. 46, No. 3, 2013), especially the essays by M. Behrooz, “Revisiting the Second Russo-Iranian War (1826–28): Causes and Perceptions,” E. A ­ brahamian,

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defeated by the modern Russian army, and Persia was forced to accept the Treaty of Golestân, conceding its territories in the Caucasus, and renouncing its right to have a navy in the Caspian Sea. The relationship between the two empires remained hostile, leading in 1826 to a second war, in which Persia was again defeated. This concluded with the treaty of Turkmenchay in 1828. Russian interest in Persian territories continued in the following decades. In 1849, Russia occupied formerly independent regions in Central Asia, reducing Persian political and cultural influence there. Russia took Tashkent in 1865 and Samarkand in 1868, coming close to Persia’s borders.2 In the second half of the 19 th century, Russian influence extended to Persia itself. The establishment in 1878 of Persia’s Cossack Brigade, in which Russian officers trained Iranian soldiers, was one marker of Russia’s growing influence.3 Great Britain showed increasing interest in Persia, as a geographically strategic country for the control of India, and because of the country’s resources. This made Russia and Britain rivals. Each tried to obtain concessions from the Persian government, which as it conceded first to one and then to the other, made Persia dependent and eventually bankrupt. Foreign interference and the concessions granted to European powers generated heavy protests from the people, who became disillusioned with the government.4 The “concession-hunting era,” in Mansoor Moadel’s words, started in 1872 when the first major concession was granted to the British Baron Julius de Reuter for 40,000 pounds and “sixty percent of profits on the customs, in return for the exclusive right to finance a state bank, farm out the entire customs system, exploit all minerals (with the exception of gold, silver, and precious stones), build railways and tramways for seventy years, and establish all future

2 3 4

A History of Modern Iran, (Cambridge, 2008), pp. 359–81; pp. 36–38; also see F. Kashani-Sabet, Frontier Fictions: Shaping the Iranian Nation, 1804– 1946, (London, 2000), pp. 21–23, 78–79. On Persian Russian’s relations in this period see H. Katouzian, The Persians: Ancient, Medieval and Modern Iran, (New Haven and London, 2009), pp. 143–46. M. Atkin in Encyclopædia Iranica, s. v. Cossack Brigade. H. Katouzian, The Persians, chapter 8, pp. 170–99.

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canals, irrigation works, roads, telegraph lines, and industrial factories.”5 This was a concession which the British Foreign Secretary Lord Curzon (1859–1925) said, “contained the most complete surrender of the entire resources of a kingdom into foreign hands that has ever been dreamed of, much less accomplished, in history.”6 Another concession was granted by Nâser-al-Din Shah to G. F. Talbot in March 1890 to cure and sell Persia’s entire tobacco production for 50 years.7 In the July of the same year, Iranian intellectuals protested against this concession and wrote critical articles which were published outside Persia in journals such as Qânun in London and Akhtar in Istanbul. These newspapers were popular among the Persian intelligentsia and were smuggled into Persia. As the news and new ideas were transmitted to all layers of society, the Iranian population started to protest against the tobacco concession. In the protests of February 1891, the clergy, who were very influential, played an important part. They characterized the government as sellers of Persia to European unbelievers. Their opinions were disseminated to the masses and had huge effects in major cities for several months. The government exiled several figures such as the preacher Sayyid Ali Akbar Shirâzi to Karbalâ. During these chaotic political and social uprisings, the grand Ayatollah Sayyed Mirzâ Hasan Shirâzi issued a fatwa from Sâmarrâ, in Iraq, declaring that the use of tobacco was against the Hidden Imam ­Mahdi.8 He asked the leading cleric of Tehran Hâjji Mirzâ Hasan 5 6 7

8

M. Moaddel, “The Shi’i Ulama and the State in Iran,” Theory and Society, Vol. 15, No. 4, (1986), pp. 528–29; also see M. Âjudâni, Mashrute-ye Irâni, p. 23. As cited by M. Moadel, “The Shi’i Ulama …,” p. 529. Among the sources discussing the role of the clergy in this movement are A. K. S. Lambton, “The Tobacco Regie: Prelude to Revolution I,” Studia Islamica, No. 22 (1965), pp. 119–57 and No. 23 (1965), pp. 71–90; M. Moaddel, “Shi’i Political Discourse and Class Mobilization in the Tobacco Movement of 1890–1892,” Sociological Forum, Vol. 7, No. 3, Sep. (1992), pp. 447–68; N. R. Keddie, Religion and Rebellion in Iran: The Tobacco Protest of 1891– 1892, (London, 1966); idem and Yann Richard, Roots of Revolution: An Interpretative History of Modern Iran, (New Haven and London, 1981) pp. 66–68. A. H. Hairi, Shiism and Constitutionalism in Iran: a Study of the Role Played by the Persian Residents of Iraq in Iranian Politics, (Leiden, 1977),

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Âshtiyâni to act on his behalf in the capital. Âshtiyâni responded positively to his request, helping to widely spread the fatwa issued by Shirâzi. When Nâser-al-Din Shah learned about Âshtiyâni’s full support, he sent him an angry letter, threatening him of expulsion from Tehran if he would not withdraw his support from the campaign. Resolved to support the campaign, Âshtiyâni made preparations to leave Tehran but when the news of his departure spread, people surrounded his house, preventing him from leaving the capital. Government troops acted, shooting several people in the clashes between government and the widespread supporters. It was after this event that Nâser-al-Din Shah realized that it was impossible to maintain the tobacco concession and he sent an emissary to negotiate with Âshtiyâni. But Âshtiyâni refused any conciliation, demanding the elimination of all concessions granted to foreign powers, including the tobacco concession. These oppositions led to the annulment of the monopoly in January 1892, with the state paying £ 500,000 to the concession holder as compensation. This protest brought the olamâ (Islamic scholars), the merchants and the intelligentsia together in opposition to the policies of the weak Qajar state. These and similar types of unrest were common from the 1870 s to the 1890 s. People were not satisfied with the government’s political course, economic conditions, and low social standards. Nâseral-Din Shah was assassinated by Mirzâ Rezâ of Kermân, a follower of Jamâl-al-Din al-Afghâni in the sanctuary of Shah Abd-al-Azim in Rayy on 1 May 1896.9 Despite the economic situation, his successor Mozaffar-al-Din Shah (r. 1896–1907) borrowed substantially from Russia to finance journeys to Europe.

9

pp. 111–12; also see N. R. Keddie, Religion and Rebellion in Iran, pp. 95– 96; H. Algar, Encyclopædia Iranica, s.v. štīānī, Ḥasan; idem, Religion and State in Iran, 1785–1906: The Role of the Ulama in the Qajar Period, (California, 1969), pp. 210–16, but for a broader context see chapter eleven, pp. 205–21. On Afghâni’s pan-Islamist thoughts see N. R. Keddie, “Religion and Irreligion in Early Iranian Nationalism,” Comparative Studies in Society and History, Vol. 4, No. 3 (1962), pp. 279–84.

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2. The Constitutional Revolution (1905–11) The idea of a constitutional form of government was in the air from the second half of the nineteenth century when Iranian intellectuals became acquainted with Western political philosophy, and through the reforms implemented by Mirzâ Taqi Khân Amir-Kabir (d. 1852).10 The events preceding the Constitutional Revolution (1905–11), such as the opposition to the concessions, inflations, tax reforms, revolts, assassinations, etc. precipitated this revolution, which had a broad spectrum of objectives. Abbas Amanat is right when he states that the “opposition to the Qajar monarchy and the clerical establishment survived within the amorphous body of Persian dissent,” after the crushing of the Babi movement (1844–52), playing an important role in the awakening of the people, especially as this movement coincided with the realization of Persia’s military weakness and the social and political reforms implemented by Amir-Kabir.11 It was in this context that intellectuals with diverse backgrounds, secular and religious, came to favor a constitutional form of government, among other changes in the social and political landscape of Persia. As Amanat observes, the Constitutional era was an “epoch-making episode in the modern history of Persia because of its political achievements and its enduring social and cultural consequences.”12 10

H. Algar, Religion and State in Iran, 1785–1906. chapter seven, pp. 122–36; N. R. Keddie, Roots of Revolution, pp. 52–54. 11 A. Amanat, in Encyclopædia Iranica, s. v. Constitutional Revolution, i. Intellectual background. On Babi and Bahâ’i see H. Algar, Religion and State in Iran, 1785–1906, pp. 137–51; also see N. R. Keddie, “Religion and Irreligion in Early Iranian Nationalism,” pp. 266–74. Keddie wrote three articles on the background of the Constitutional Revolution under the title of “Iranian Politics 1900–1905: Background to Revolution,” which were published in the journal of Middle Eastern Studies, Vol. 5, No. 1 (1969), pp. 3–31; Vol. 5, No. 2 (1969), pp. 151–67; Vol. 5, No. 3 (1969), pp. 234–50. 12 A. Amanat, in Encyclopædia Iranica, s. v. Constitutional Revolution, i. Intellectual background. See Amanat’s excellent chapter, “Legend, Legitimacy and Making a National Narrative in the Historiography of Qajar Iran (1785–1925),” Persian Historiography (Vol. X: A History of Persian Literature), ed. Charles Melville, (London / New York, 2012), pp. 292–366, especially pp. 344–46.

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LITERATURE OF THE EARLY TWENTIETH CENTURY

It introduced liberalism, replacing arbitrary monarchical power with codes of law, reducing tribal power and the influence of the religious class by establishing a representative central government which was intended to support social justice and economic independence and to protect Persia from imperialist influences. The Constitutional Revolution created a new identity, for ‘modern Persians,’ an identity which foregrounded individual liberty and dignity. Revolts such as the Tobacco Régie exhibited people’s dissatisfaction with the monarchical system, and the imperialist powers. Aside from the lives lost during bloody demonstrations, this episode cost the government dearly, adding to the country’s financial crisis. Inflation and the devaluation of the silver qerân compared to the pound sterling c­ reated a difficult financial problem, forcing the government to borrow three million pounds sterling from Russia, (2 million in 1900 and 1 million in 1902).13 In this grave financial situation, the merchants organized an o ­ pposition movement whose spokesman was the theologian Sayyed Abd-Allâh Behbahâni, who later cooperated with the influential mojtahed Sayyed Mohammad Tabâtabâ’i. When the governor of Tehran, Alâ-al-Dowle ordered the bastinado of two respected merchants on 12 December 1905 for having raised the price of sugar, the merchants’ resistance became open activism. The following day the bazaar went on strike, with the merchants marching to the Masjed-e Shah and demanding the removal of Alâ-al-Dowle. His resignation did follow, in 1906. Dissatisfaction increased at various political and social levels. With the advice and support of the clergy, bâzâris took refuge in the sanctuary of Shah Abd-al-Azim. Their sit-in ended when the Shah promised to set up an advisory council, the adâlat-khâne, (‘house of justice’) consisting of clerics, landowners, and merchants. Despite this promise, protests continued clandestinely through secret associations (anjomans), which disseminated anonymous pamphlets (shab-nâmes).14 The unrest reached a climax in June 1906 in ­Tehran, 13 14

V. Martin, in Encyclopædia Iranica, s. v. Constitutional Revolution, ii. Events. There are several studies on women’s societies (anjomans). See J. Afary, The Iranian Constitutional Revolution, 1906–1911: Grassroots Democracy, Social Democracy, and the Origins of Feminism, (New York, 1996), pp. 177– 208; N. R. Keddie, Roots of Revolution, p. 71.

6

THE POLITICAL AND SOCIAL BACKGROUND

when two sayyeds were killed. People, led by clerics, marched to Qom and the British embassy, demanding justice, and a constitutional form of government. The idea was revolutionary: Iran’s constitutional government would be the first in the Islamic world, predating the revolution of the Young Turks in 1908.15 On 5 August 1906, the Shah agreed to establish a constitution and a parliament. After an election and the preparation of a draft constitution, Mozaffar-al-Din Shah ratified the constitution on 1 st January 1907. Mozaffar-al-Din Shah died on 8 January 1907, to be succeeded by Mohammad-Ali Shah. One of the first acts of the parliament was to secure several of its demands from the new monarch: there would be no more loans from Great Britain or Russia; the court would operate within a budget; the Imperial Bank would become a national bank run by Persians; madâkhel or ‘irregular expenditure by government officials’ would be eliminated and Joseph Naus would no longer be the Minister of Customs.16 The period until 1911 was full of upheavals, revolts, assassinations, demonstrations, bombardments and so forth. Persia was divided into spheres of influence dominated by Britain and Russia, the Constitution was changed and a committee of clergy evaluated the Islamic validity of the Constitution. In this socio-political climate, with the position of the Qajar dynasty further weakening (an attempt was made to assassinate Mohammad-Ali Shah in February 1908), the king’s followers tried to push back the constitutionalists. They orchestrated a coup, with Russian aid, arresting and executing the leading figures of the Constitutional Revolution. The Cossack Brigade, under a Russian commander, attacked the parliament, forcing the newly formed parliament to suspend its work. In several major cities the Russians attacked the traditionalists (melliyun) who had resisted the Shah’s army for some nine months. In July 1909, constitutionalist forces from various cities took control of Tehran and the Shah fled to the Russian embassy. A national council dethroned the Shah, exiling him to Odessa. His son, the twelve 15 A. Amanat, in Encyclopædia Iranica, s. v. Constitutional Revolution, i. Intellectual background. 16 H. Katouzian, The Persians, p. 177.

7

LITERATURE OF THE EARLY TWENTIETH CENTURY

year old Ahmad took his place, with Azod-al-Molk, the head of the Qajar tribes, as Regent.17 In May 1911, parliament invited W. Morgan Shuster to Persia to oversee the Treasury. He became responsible for financial affairs, taxes and budgets. Shuster faced resistance from both Persians and Russian authorities. Mohammad-Ali Shah, supported by the Russians, returned to Persia in July 1911, but was defeated, and ­returned to Russia.18 Around the same time, Foreign Secretary Sir Edward Grey supported Russian interference. The British army entered the Persian Gulf area, in the city of Bushehr. Having lost British support, Shuster lost his position when Russia issued an ultimatum to the Iranian government. Although parliament and the Persian people were against this, hunger riots in Tehran complicated the issue. Poets such as Ashraf-al-Din Gilâni wrote poems on how the people suffered from insecurity, poverty and hunger. There are several poems depicting the situation in various cities in Persia.

‫امشب سه‌ شب است شام نخوردیم مامان جون‬ ‫از نان و لبو کام نبردیم مامان جون‬ ‫امشب سر ب ‌ی شام نهادیم به بستر‬ ‫ب ‌ی کرسی و بی‌ شام شده دیده ز خون تر‬ )…( ‫میسر‬ ّ ‫ما را نه‌ ذغالی نه‌ لحافی است‬ ‫سرتاسر تهران همه برف است و یخ امسال‬ ‫از شدّت سرما شده‌ام منقلب احوال‬ ‫ا ین منزل ما گویی امشب شده یخچال‬ ‫مانند یخ این خانه فسردیم مامان جون‬ ‫امشب سه‌ شب است شام نخوردیم مامان جون‬ Tonight is the third night that we have not eaten, mother dear. We have not softened our hunger with bread and beetroot, mother dear. 17

On Azod-al-Molk see H. Mahbubi Ardakani, in Encyclopædia Iranica, s. v. Ażod-Al-Molk, Alī Reżā Khan; also see E. G. Browne, The Persian Revolution of 1905–1909, (Cambridge, 1966), chapter XI, see pp. 326–27, where Browne describes how the poor child gave his first reception in Tehran and his government was officially recognized by Russia and Britain. 18 For Yephrem Khan’s role in the revolution see A. Arkun, in Encyclopædia Iranica, s. v. Ep’rem Khan.

8

THE POLITICAL AND SOCIAL BACKGROUND Tonight we laid our heads on pillows without eating. Our eyes weep blood for lack of food, for the cold korsi,19 we cannot afford either coals or a blanket. All of Tehran is covered by snow, it is full of ice this year Bitter cold has transformed my condition, as if our home has become an ice-house. We are frozen like ice of this house, mother dear Tonight is the third night that we have not eaten, mother dear.20

When the Russian army entered Tehran in December, parliament was dissolved and Shuster left Persia.21 The Russian army suppressed popular protests in January 1912.22 One month later, Russia and Great Britain sent a proposal to the Iranian government, allowing the government to acquire army officers from small European countries on condition that Iran would accept a 1907 convention, whereby Russia maintained its power over Cossack areas and the British occupation of the Southern part of Iran was extended. Between 1912 and 1914, the period of the second and third Majles, several administrative reforms were introduced but these were frustrated due to lack of money and the unwillingness of conservatives and clerics. Despite these frustrations, a renewal of the educational system was successful. In May 1914, Britain decided to use oil for the ships of the Royal Navy, and contracted the Anglo-Persian Oil Company (founded in 1909). Iran had offered concessions to William Knox D’Arcy (1849–1917), the founder of the oil industry in Persia and the Middle East, in 1901. The concession granted him the right: “to search for and obtain, exploit, develop, render suitable for trade, carry 19 This is a low square table upon which a large thick blanket is placed. People place a brazier with hot coals under the table, and sit on futons placed around the table with the blanket over their laps. 20 Ashraf-al-Din Gilâni, Divân, pp. 506–9; this extract pp. 506–7. 21 Shuster published a report explaining his policy in The Strangling of Persia. A Record of European Diplomacy and Oriental Intrigue, (London and Leipzig, 1912); see also Robert A. McDaniel, The Shuster Mission and the Persian Constitutional Revolution, (Minneapolis, 1974). 22 E. G. Browne, The Reign of Terror in Tabriz: England’s Responsibility, (London, 1912).

9

LITERATURE OF THE EARLY TWENTIETH CENTURY

away and sell natural gas, petroleum, asphalt and ozokerite (…) for a term of sixty years (…).”23 Britain started to extract oil in Masjed-­ Soleymân, and in 1913 the refinery at Âbâdân become operational. In July 1914, Ahmad Shah ascended the throne in his own right. Elections for the third Majles took place, resulting in a government under the leadership of Mostowfi-al-Mamâlek, a man with liberal ideas who enjoyed the supports of democrats.

3. Persia and the First World War When the First World War broke out, Iran declared itself neutral, but Turkey invaded Persia, attacking the pipelines running between Masjed-Soleymân and Âbâdân in November 1914.24 One month later, the Turks invaded Azerbaijan and in March 1915, Mostowfial-Mamâlek was forced to resign because of his policy of neutrality between the Turks and Russians. The Shah and the Majles also avoided having a pro-British or pro-Russian government, and German influence increased. The German Wilhelm Wassmuss (1880– 1931) was invited to Isfahan and other southern provinces.25 His arrival, and the political situation in Isfahan, is depicted in several poems written by Vahid Dastgerdi, in which he shows his pro-German sympathies and his antipathy for Russia and Great Britain. In many of his poems he praises Germany and German politicians. One of them is Monsieur Zeiler, who was a German consul in Isfahan. In the introduction to the refrain poem (tarkib-band) Namakdân (‘Saltshaker’), it is stated that Zeiler “uprooted the oppression and policy of the 40 to 50 years of Britain and Russia in five or six 23 F. Rouhani, in Encyclopædia Iranica, s. v. D’Arcy, William Knox. 24 M. Sepehr, Irân dar Jang-e bozurg 1914–1918, (Tehran, 1957), pp. 39 ff; for an analytic chronological survey of the period between 1911 and 192 see H. Katouzian, State and Society in Iran: The Eclipse of the Qajars and the Emergence of the Pahlavis, (London and New York, 2000), pp. 55–88. 25 On Wilhelm Wassmuss see M. Sepehr, Irân dar Jang-e bozurg, pp. 73–88. On Persian German relations in the constitutional period see Bradford G. Martin, German-Persian Diplomatic Relations 1873–1912, (’S-Gravenhage, 1959).

10

THE POLITICAL AND SOCIAL BACKGROUND

months in such a way that all treacherous princes who were proud of being in servile service of these powers, repented, some donned the cloth of patriotism and some fled away and become invisible.”26

‫در صفاهان چون صفا تا رحل قدرت برگشاد‬ ‫پیک هندنبرک زایلر قونسل ژرمن نژاد‬ ‫خاطر دشمن غمین گردید و قلب دوست شاد �آتش اندر خرمن بیداد زد از برق داد‬ ‫این یک ‌ی را نای بشکست �آن دگر را دست بست‬ ‫اقتدار انگلیس و روس را در هم شکست‬ ‫روح شادی جان قدرت دوست را بر تن رسید‬ ‫تا بشهر اصفهان از خطٔه برلن رسید‬ ‫دشمنانرا روزگار مویه و شیون رسید �آصف ثانی‌ بلای جان اهریمن رسید‬ ‫روز فیروز و فرح اندوز و محنت سوز شد‬ ‫شام تاری زافتاب روشن وی روز شد‬ ‫رخ نهفت ازغرب چون خورشید و طالع شد بشر ق از پروس �آمد بمرز پارس چون توفنده برق‬ ‫کشتی‌ �آزادی ما را رهاند از بیم غرق‬ ‫تیغ فرق دشمنان شد دوستان را تاج فرق‬ ‫شهبازی های پیشین را قلم بر سر کشید‬ ‫بال زد شهباز عزت صعؤه ذلت رمید‬ Since the German consul Zeiler, the envoy of Hindenburg, Settled down in Isfahan powerfully like Purity (…) Foes’ minds became sorrowful and the friends’ hearts cheerful He set fire to the harvest of oppression with the lightning of justice He broke the power of Britain and Russia: He broke the neck of the one, and bound the hand of the other. When he reached Isfahan from the region of Berlin He brought a cheerful and powerful soul to the bodies of the friends. For the enemy he brought a time of lamentation and mourning. The second Âsef became the affliction to Ahriman’s soul.27 His sun turned dark night into bright day The day became triumphant, joyful, burning all cares away. Like the sun, he hid his face from the West and rose in the East He came from Prussia to the borders of Pars like mighty lightning, He became a blade on the heads of enemies, a crown on the heads of friends. He freed the boat of our freedom from the fear of foundering. 26 See Rah-âvard-e Vahid, zamime-ye sâl-e nohom-e majalle-ye Armaghân, (Tehran, 1928), p. 41. 27 According to legends, Âsef was the minister and advisor of King Solomon. For more information see A. J. Wensinck, in The Encyclopaedia of Islam, s. v. Āṣaf Barkhiyā.

11

LITERATURE OF THE EARLY TWENTIETH CENTURY The kingly falcon of grandeur opened its wings, making the sparrows of baseness flee. Putting all previous royal falcons in the shade.28

In 1915, the Russian army advanced to Karaj, just outside Tehran, and even threatened to move to Tehran. Persian politicians started an exodus (mohâjarat) to the holy city of Qom together with the German Envoy. A ‘national Government’ was formed in ­Kermânshâh which was willing to collaborate with the Germans and Turks. In April 1916, the Turks invaded Persia, occupying Kermân­shâh and Hamadân. Sepahdâr al-A’zam granted permission to the Allies to recruit Iranians. The South Persian Rifles was formed under Sir Percy Sykes. In February 1917, the Russian Revolution raised hopes that Russian imperialist policies in Persia would end, but Kerenski’s government continued the Tsar’s policies in Persia. However Russian troops withdrew from Persia after the Bolshevik Revolution in October 1917. A few months later, in January 1918, Trotsky, the Commissar for Foreign Affairs, annulled the Tsar’s policies in Iran, cancelling all agreements and concessions that would impinge on Persia’s sovereignty. During this period, British forces advanced to the north of Persia, to block Russian influence in the north and in Afghanistan. The Dunsterforce, under Major General Lionel Charles Dunsterville (1865–1946), went from Baghdad to Azerbaijan and Gilan to prevent the Germans seizing the oil-fields of Baku.29 Britain offered financial support to Iran in exchange for neutrality, asking permission to keep the South Persian Rifles, a locally recruited army led by British officers, but Iran’s response was negative.30 In June 1919, Lord Curzon launched a plan for a ‘partnership’ between Britain and Iran, guaranteeing Iranian independence. Britain would help Iran by sending advisors, officers and equipment for the Iranian army, and by building railways and other connections to increase economic development within Iran. This partnership 28 Rah-âvard-e Vahid, pp. 41–42. 29 L. C. Dunsterville, Adventures of Dunsterforce, (London, 1920); also see P. Dailami in Encyclopædia Iranica, s. v. Jangali Movement. 30 F. Safiri, in Encyclopædia Iranica, s. v. South Persia Rifles.

12

THE POLITICAL AND SOCIAL BACKGROUND

would be financed by a large loan with the customs revenues as collateral. Mirzâ Hasan Khân Vosuq-al-Dowle (1865–1951) and his Minister of Foreign Affairs Nosrat-al-Dowle Firuz accepted this partnership, but Iranian intellectuals such as the poet Mirzâde Eshqi, Farrokhi Yazdi and the leading spiritual leader Sayyed Hasan Modarres were against it, fearing foreign domination, and unwilling to link Iranian trade to Britain.31 Farrokhi voiced his criticism in poetry, for which he was imprisoned. One of several poems he composed in prison laments:

‫با دشمنی به خون دل �آخر نگار داد‬ ‫�آن‌ دست دوست ‌ی که در ا ّول نگار داد‬ !‫بر باد �آشیانٔه چندین هزار داد‬ ‫دیدی که باغبان جفاپیشه عاقبت‬ ‫میخواست خون ز کشور دارا رود چو جوی دستی‌ که تیغ کید به ‘جانوسیار’ داد‬ ‫ای داد از کسی‌ که به او اختیار داد‬ ‫با اختیار تام کند طرد و قتل و حبس‬ The hand of friendship which the beloved first gave us, Was given with evil intent. Didn’t you see how the cruel gardener, at last, Destroyed the nests of thousands of nightingales! The hand that gave Jânusiyâr the sword of deceit32 Wanted that blood would flow like a river in the land of Darius. Having absolute power, he wants to imprison, murder, and exile, Woe to the one who gave him his power.33

31 On the role of the olamâ in Reza Khan’s introduction of constitutionalism see Vanessa Martin, “Mudarris, Republicanism and the Rise to Power of Riza Khan, Sardar-i Sipah,” British Journal of Middle Eastern Studies, Vol. 21, No. 2, (1994), pp. 199–210; also see Abd-al-Rahim Dhâker-Hoseyn, Adabiyyât-e siyâsi-ye irân, Vol. 2, pp. 179. 32 One of the two treacherous counsellors of the hapless Dara, who stabbed him to death, foolishly hoping for a reward from the conquering Alexander. For an analysis of this event see A. A. Farzin, “Jânusiyâr dar Shâh-nâmeye Ferdowsi,” Dâneshkade-ye adabiyyât va olum-e ensâni-ye dâneshgâh-e Tehrân, No. 186, (2008), pp. 97–112. 33 Based on Gheissari’s translation. See p. 37. For the Persian text see Farrokhi Yazdi, Divân, ed. M. A. Sepânlu and M. Okhovvat, (Tehran, 2009), p. 20; also ed. Hoseyn Makki, (Tehran, 1979).

13

LITERATURE OF THE EARLY TWENTIETH CENTURY

4. The Ascension of Reza Khan In May 1920, Britain retreated from eastern Iran while Russian troops entered Northern Persia. Mirzâ Kuchek Khân, leader of the Jangali movement (1915–20) proclaimed a ‘Soviet Republic,’ confiscating landlords’ estates and distributing them among peasants.34 In June 1920, Vosuq-al-Dowle resigned as anger and resistance to the partnership between Persia and Britain intensified.35 The new premier, Moshir-al-Dowle, started negotiations with the Soviets, annulling the partnership treaty with Britain. On 21 February 1921, the Cossacks staged a coup in Tehran, under the leadership of Colonel Reza Khan (1878–1944) and Sayyed Ziyâ-al-Din Tabâtabâ’i. A new cabinet was born which became known as the ‘black cabinet.’ Several intellectuals were not happy with this development, but opposition was suppressed and several people such as Farrokhi Yazdi were arrested. After his release, Farrokhi started a politically motivated newspaper, Tufân or The Tempest, in which he voiced socialist views, attacking Reza Khan’s autocracy.36 Reza Khan assumed the post of Commander of the armed forces, while Sayyed Ziyâ-al-Din became Premier.37 In May 1921, Reza Khan came into 34 P. Dailami, in Encyclopædia Iranica, s. v. Jangali Movement. F. Kashani-Sabet, Frontier Fictions: Shaping the Iranian Nation, 1804–1946, (London, 2000), pp. 154–55. 35 For a detailed account of Vosuq-al-Dowle’s performance see H. Katouzian’s chapter six, “The Fall of Vosuq,” in State and Society in Iran, pp. 164– 87, but also see the index s. v. Vosuq al-Dawleh; Oliver Bast, “Putting the Record Straight: Vosuq al-Dowleh’s Foreign Policy in 1918/19,” Men of Order: Authoritarian Modernization under Atatürk and Reza Shah, eds. T. Atabaki and E. J. Zürcher, (London and New York, 2004), pp. 260–81; on Vosuq-al-Dowle’s poetic works see Divân, ed. I. Afshâr, (Tehran, 1984). 36 See A. Gheissari, “The Poetry and Politics of Farrokhi Yazdi,” Iranian Studies, Vol. 26, No. 1/2, (1993), p. 37–38; also see S. S. Soroudi, “Poet and Revolution: The Impact of Iran’s Constitutional Revolution on the Social and Literary Outlook of the Poets of the Time,” Persian Literature and Judeo-Persian Culture: Collected Writings of Sorour S. Soroudi, ed. H. E. Chehabi, (Boston, 2010), pp. 89–93; A. Karimi-Hakkak, in Encyclopædia Iranica, s. v. Farroḵī Yazdī. 37 J. M. Balfour, Recent happenings in Persia, (London, 1922); on Sayyed Ziyâ see N. R. Keddie, Roots of Revolution, pp. 86–88.

14

THE POLITICAL AND SOCIAL BACKGROUND

conflict with the premier, which resulted in his exile to Iraq and later to Palestine. He returned to Iran in 1941 when Reza Shah abdicated.38 A new government was formed under the leadership of Qavâm-al-Saltane. In June 1921, the fourth Majles was opened. In January 1922, after an uprising in Tabriz, the poet Lâhuti, an officer in the gendarmerie, fled to the Soviet Union, where he grew to be the national poet of the Soviet Republic of Tajikistan. In the ensuing months, Iranians voiced their protest against the powers given to Reza Khan, but he continued his policies, building a strong army and repressing uprisings. On 28 October 1923 Reza Khan became prime minister but this new position and especially his message of bringing law and order to society in an autocratic style was criticized. Farrokhi wrote the following poem:

‫با نفی بلد ناجی امنیت کیست‬ ‫با ناله ز من شنو که امنیت نیست‬

‫با مشت و لگد معنی امنیت چیست‬ ‫با زور مرا مگو که امنیت هست‬

What is the meaning of law and order, If it is accompanied by the club and the whip? While banishment is the order of the day, Who could be called the savior of public security? Instead of pushing law and order down my throat, Listen to my lament for the absence of security.39

Reza Khan’s political agenda concentrated on national recovery and limiting foreign influences. He repressed several uprisings as part of his national recovery policy. The uprising in Lurestan was pinned down by using airplanes. An uprising in Khuzestan, led by the Arab Bani Ka’ab tribe under the leadership of Sheykh Khaz’al (1861–1936), was also suppressed.40 Khaz’al was brought to Tehran in November 1925, and place names in this province were changed 38 On the rise of Reza Shah and the period of his rule see E. Abrahamian, A History of Modern Iran, chapter three, pp. 63–96; N. R. Keddie, Roots of Revolution, pp. 79–112. 39 A. Gheissari, “The Poetry and Politics …,” p. 38; Farrokhi Yazdi, Divân, ed. M. A. Sepânlu and M. Okhovvat, Tehran, 2009, p. 180. Translation is by Gheissari. 40 Sh. Shahnavaz in Encyclopædia Iranica, s. v. Khaz’al Khān; E. A ­ brahamian, Iran Between two Revolutions, (Princeton, 1983), pp. 107–8, 174–75.

15

LITERATURE OF THE EARLY TWENTIETH CENTURY

from Arabic to Persian. By establishing a bond with regional army commanders, Reza Khan was able to obtain control over the provinces, and in the parliamentary elections he campaigned openly against the Qajar dynasty. The fifth Majles was inaugurated in January 1924, and Reza Khan started propaganda to establish a republic modelled on Turkey, an idea which received no support from the clergy, who were strongly against the abolition of the monarchy. This opposition was so strong that Reza Khan felt he had to visit Qom and publicly reject the idea of republicanism, expressing his loyalty to Islam. In April 1924, Reza Khan created a crisis by suddenly resigning from his office and leaving Tehran for the holy Shiite cities in Iraq. The parliament invited him to return and form a government from the traditional leading circles. Several intellectuals, including poets, denounced Reza Khan’s craving for power and support of republicanism. One of them was Mohammad-Rezâ Mirzâde Eshqi, who strongly criticized Reza Khan in several of his poems published in the journal Qarn-e ­bistom. He believed that Reza Khan had plotted against the Constitution. He was assassinated by two gunmen in 1923.41 Eshqi’s poem was a huge insult to Reza Khan and his supporters, depicting them as untrustworthy beasts who intended to destroy the country. The poet puts the following sarcastic words in the mouth of Reza Khan, “I am the manifestation of republicanism, I want nothing to do with purity and sincerity, I am strong, full of strength, …” In another stanza, a dog, representing the editor of Setâre newspaper and a supporter of Reza Khan says:

‫ اخوی عف عف‬، ‫ عف عف‬، ‫من توله تفلیسم‬ ‫ اخوی عف عف‬، ‫ عف عف‬، ‫انبانه ی سفلیسم‬ ‫ اخوی عف عف‬، ‫ عف عف‬، ‫هم مکتب ابلیسم‬ ‫ اخوی عف عف‬، ‫ عف عف‬، ‫من مظهر تدلیسم‬ ‫صد قݩا‬ ‫ �آمنا و‬، ‫من منتظر نانم‬ H. Katou­zian, The Persians, p. 206; H. Katouzian, State and Society in Iran, pp. 290–93; F. Kashani-Sabet, Frontier Fictions, pp. 160–67. 41 A. Karimi-Hakkak, in Encyclopædia Iranica, s. v. Ešqī, Mohammad-Reżā Mīrzāda; idem, Recasting, pp. 210–31; E. Abrahamian, A History of Modern Iran, p. 74.

16

THE POLITICAL AND SOCIAL BACKGROUND I am the pup of Tbilisi, arooo (howling), arooo, arooo, the store of syphilis, arooo, arooo, arooo, class-mate of Satan, arooo, arooo, arooo, I am the manifestation of deceit, arooo, arooo, arooo, I am waiting for bread, amen.42

5. The Rise of Pahlavi Dynasty and Reza Shah’s Reforms In February 1925, Reza Khan demanded that parliament should legalize his position as the head of the armed forces. Shortly after, he started his modernization program, abolishing titles, introducing the Persian solar calendar, standardizing weights and measures, registering documents, introducing conscription, building railways and so forth. He highlighted Persia’s pre-Islamic glory and splendor, and himself assumed the title Pahlavi, referring to pre-Islamic times. He officially became the first king of the Pahlavi dynasty on 12 December 1925. The occasion for declaring Reza Khan the king was the apparent possibility of the return. To cope with this matter, the parliament arranged a meeting on 31 October 1925, in which it was decided to end the reign to the Qajar dynasty, giving the Persian crown to Reza Khan. The coronation took place in the Golestân Palace in Tehran, using the regalia of the Safavids (1501–1722) and those of Nâder Shah (1736–47). After the coronation, Reza Shah introduced a comprehensive reform program. Reza Shah’s reform program also included circumscribing the activities of foreign powers in Persia.43 The government monitored their activities, sometimes discovering espionage operations, as in October 1929, when Russian espionage activities were discovered. 42 Kolliyyât-e mosavver Mirzâde Eshqi, ed. Sayyed-Hâdi Hâ’eri, (Tehran, 1996), p. 558. For the complete poem see pages 556–61. In the same period, an assassination attempt was planned to kill Mohammad-Taqi Bahâr but a journalist called Vâ’ez-e Qazvini was murdered by mistake. See Bahâr, Divân, pp. 383–85, qaside 209 (yek shab-e shum, ‘an ominous night’). 43 E. Abrahamian, Iran Between two Revolutions, pp. 143–44. H. Katouzian, The Persians, pp. 223–28.

17

LITERATURE OF THE EARLY TWENTIETH CENTURY

Foreigners living in Iran faced restrictions, for example on land ownership. Oil played a big role in the relationship between Persia and foreign powers. In 1932, an oil crisis arose when Reza Shah unilaterally revoked the D’Arcy concession because the Anglo-Persian Oil Company refused to increase royalties for Iran.44 Britain submitted the dispute to the League of Nations. After several negotiations in Tehran conducted by Sayyed Hasan Taqizâde (1874–1970) on behalf of Iranians, the Shah finally accepted a limited increase in the royalties in 1933. The year 1934 marked the foundation of the University of Tehran and the Farhangestân-e Irân (‘Cultural Academy of Iran’), which had the task of removing foreign words from Persian, and creating Persian neologisms.45 Reza Shah also ordered the Ministry of War to create a committee to contrive Persian equivalents for military terms. In the same year Reza Shah changed the country’s name to Iran, arguing that “ ‘Persia’ was associated with Fars and Qajar decadence,” while “ ‘Iran’ invoked the glories and birthplace of the ancient Aryans.”46 After several neologisms had been produced in rushed decisions, the Minister of Education, Ali-Asghar Hekmat (1893–1980), and Mohammad-Ali Forughi, Zokâ-al-Molk (1877–1942) the Prime Minister, contacted each other, and on Forughi’s suggestion a committee of experts was formed to address the issue. Later, Forughi asked Isâ Sadiq to draft a constitution for 44 F. Kazemi in Encyclopædia Iranica, s. v. Anglo-Persian Oil Company; H. Katouzian, The Persians, pp. 241–44; for a review of Persia’s relation with Great Britain during this period see S. Cronin in Encyclopædia Iranica, s. v. Great Britain v. British influence during the Reżā Shah period, 1921–41. 45 M. A. Jazayeri, in Encyclopædia Iranica, s. v. Farhangestān; idem, “Western Influence in Contemporary Persian: A General View,” Bulletin of the School of Oriental and African Studies, University of London, Vol. 29, no. 1, )1966(, pp. 79–96. For a discussion on language and national identity see Mehrdad Kia, “Persian Nationalism and the Campaign for Language Purification,” Middle Eastern Studies, Vol. 34, No. 2, (1998), pp. 9–36; A. K ­ arimi-Hakkak, “Language Reform Movement and its Language: the Case of Persian,” The Politics of Language Purism, ed. B. H. Jernudd and J. M. Hapiro, (Berlin, 1989), pp. 81–104. 46 E. Abrahamian, A History of Modern Iran, p. 86.

18

THE POLITICAL AND SOCIAL BACKGROUND

the Academy. The final draft, which was approved by the Cabinet in May 1935, consisted of sixteen articles. Aside from the organizational elements, the Farhangestân’s tasks were “selecting words and terms for use in every domain of life, giving preference to terms of Persian extraction whenever possible; (…) purging the Persian language from inappropriate foreign words; (… and) studying the reform of the Persian writing system.”47 Other tasks included “collecting folksongs and stories; encouraging poets, writers, and scholars to achieve higher standards; and supporting the publication of ancient texts.”48 In the midst of these developments, which were meant to increase literacy, it is remarkable to note that the Bahâ’i schools were shut down in 1934. The Prime Minister Mohammad-Ali Forughi issued an order to Acting Minister of Education Ali-Asghar Hekmat to close Bahâ’i schools. The official reason for shutting down the schools was that the Bahâ’is had closed their schools on a holiday not declared by the state on 6 December 1934, which was against the Book of Regulations.49 December 6 th 1934 was the commemoration day of Bab’s martyrdom and one of the official Bahâ’i annual holidays. This reason was so meager that the Bahâ’i community still wondered why Reza Shah, who vigorously advocated literacy, had closed so many schools, which also allowed nonBahâ’i children to attend. It was even more remarkable why the schools remained closed and one year later in 1935, a theological faculty (dâneshkade-ye elâhiyât) was established at the University in Tehran. F. Vahman believes that the reason for Reza Shah’s decision was the abolition of the veil for women, which offered him a possibility to meet the clergy to some degree. Vahman states that 47 M. A. Jazayeri, in Encyclopædia Iranica, s. v. Farhangestān. 48 Ibid.; also see L. Ridgeon, Sufi Castigator, p. 140. 49 S. Shahvar, The Forgotten Schools: The Baha’is and Modern Education in Iran, 1899–1934, (London, 2009), chapter five, pp. 107–38; also see M. Momen, “Baha’i Schools in Iran,” pp. 112–17. Also see E. Abrahamian, Iran between two Revolutions, p. 163, where he indicates how Reza Shah’s “drive for national unification created further resentment among the religious and linguistic minorities” including Jewish, Armenian and Zoroastrian communities.

19

LITERATURE OF THE EARLY TWENTIETH CENTURY

even after two years of shutting the schools and the abolition of the veil, Reza Shah did nothing to stop the torment and suffering inflicted by Mullahs and government officials as he wanted to win the hearts of the clergy.50 We do not know the real reason for this, but the shutting down of schools damaged literacy in Persia. At the outbreak of the Second World War in September 1939, Iran declared neutrality although several Iranian officers showed sympathy for Germany. As we will see, pro-German sympathies were also reflected in literature, to the extent that one can speak of a genre. Neighboring countries were also affected by pro-German sympathies. The pro-German coup of Rashid-Ali in Iraq is one example. After the coup, the Jordanian army under British command occupied Iraq, and several Iraqi politicians fled to Iran in May 1941. In June of the same year Germany invaded the Soviet Union, progressing towards the Caucasus. The allies decided to remove Germans living in Iran. Britain and Russia invaded Iran on 25 August 1941. The Iranian army surrendered on 27 August and a new government under the pro-British Mohammad-Ali Forughi was formed. Reza Shah was removed from office on 16 September 1941. The British Navy took him to Mauritius and afterwards to Johannesburg, where he died on 26 July 1944. The Crown Prince, Mohammad-Rezâ, succeeded his father, promising to respect democracy in Iran.

6. The Clergy’s Role in the Political Events The role of the clergy (olamâ, Islamic scholars) in this period is remarkable. They played an important role before, during and after the Constitutional Revolution. Sayyid-Mohammad-Tabâtabâ’i and Abd-Allâh Behbahâni (1840–1910) were two influential Mojtaheds who were instrumental in the granting of the constitution and the 50 F. Vahman, Sad-o shast sâl mobârezeh bâ â’in-e bahâ’i: gushe’i az târikh-e ejtemâ’i-dini-ye irân dar dowrân-e ma’ âser, (Sweden, 2009), third print, 2010, pp. 111–21.

20

THE POLITICAL AND SOCIAL BACKGROUND

activities of the first Majles.51 Before the Revolution, clerics such as Sayyed Mirzâ Hasan Shirâzi played a central role in opposition to the tobacco concession. The clerical leaders during the revolution were Sayyed Mohammad Tabâtabâ’i and Sayyed Abd-Allâh Behbahâni. Both had liberal inclinations, showing sympathies with modernist intellectuals. During the tobacco concession, Behbahâni did not endorse the fatwa against the use of tobacco but later the clergy desired more political and judicial power, to limit the power of the state. In their call for change, the olamâ were successful because they could use their influence among the masses, supported by their religious charisma. The olamâ were confronted with people, including their own students, who argued that the Qajar dynasty was unable to defend Islam against the Christian Western powers. Their ideas of implementing a code of law contradicted the program of secularist intellectuals, who looked for codified law based on European constitutions. The olamâ understood the ‘rule of law’ as the implementation of the Shari’a.52 The contributions of Behbahâni and Tabâtabâ’i lay in their participation in political reform, their defense of Islam, and an element of patriotism. Although mojtaheds such as Tabâtabâ’i sent letters to Prime Minister Eyn-al-Dowle in 1905 endorsing a national assembly, there was rivalry between mojtaheds. The pro-constitutionalist mojtaheds became isolated, especially since they could not convince their constituencies, especially the merchants, their main constituency.53 51 On the role of the clergy during the constitutional period see Abdol Karim Lahidji, “Constitutionalism and Clerical Authority,” in Authority and political Culture in Shi’ism, ed. S. A. Arjomand, Albany, 1988, pp. 133–58; on Behbahâni see H. Algar, in Encyclopædia Iranica, s. v. Abdallāh Behbahānī; also see A. H. Hairi, Shiism and constitutionalism in Iran, pp. 81–7; also see A. H. Zarrinkub, “Irân beyn-e now-ju’i va sonnat-garâ’i,” Naqd-e adabi, Vol. II, (Tehran, 1975), pp. 617–63, in which he examines the powerful role of the clergy in this period. Also compare E. Abrahamian, A History of Modern Iran, pp. 15–17. 52 A. Amanat, in Encyclopædia Iranica, s. v. Constitutional Revolution, i. Intellectual background. 53 Amanat cites a famous letter Tabâtabâ’i wrote to Eyn-al-Dowle, stating “The Shi’ite state is confined to Persia, and their [i. e., the Shi’ites’] prestige and prosperity depended upon it. Why have you permitted the ruin of Persia and the utter humiliation of the Shi’ite state? … You may reply that

21

LITERATURE OF THE EARLY TWENTIETH CENTURY

When the constitution was declared on 5 August 1906, both the newly-crowned Mohammad-Shah Qajar and the clergy protested, arguing that the constitution was not according to the Islamic law. One widely-recognized cleric opposing the constitution was Sheykh Fazl-Allâh Nuri (1842, executed on Saturday 31 July 1909), who initially sided with Tabâtâbâ’i and Behbahâni in support of the constitution but, when the supplementary fundamental law was introduced in the first parliament in 1907, began to oppose the ­constitutionalists.54 Believing in an ‘Islamicized ­constitution’ (mashrute-ye mashru’e), he rejected the constitution. Among Nuri’s critical comments on the constitution were the equal legal rights given to Jews, Muslims and Zoroastrians, freedom of the press, and the “validity of any legislation passed by a body of ordinary people such as drapers and grocers.”55 These are among the issues that Mostashâr-al-Dowle had included in his influential book, One Word, which argued that without the implementation of a Western-model code of law, Persia could not restore her position.56 Nuri’s opposithe mullahs did not allow [Persia to be saved]. This is not credible… I can foresee that my country (watan), my stature and prestige, my service to Islam are about to fall into the hands of enemies and all my stature gone. As long as I breathe, therefore, I will strive for the preservation of this country, be it at the cost of my life.” See A. Amanat in Encyclopædia Iranica, s. v. Constitutional Revolution, i. Intellectual background. 54 A. H. Hairi, “Shaykh Faz̤l Allāh Nūrī’s Refutation of the Idea of Constitutionalism,” Middle Eastern Studies, Vol. 13, No. 3, (1977), pp. 327–39; idem, Shiism and constitutionalism in Iran, pp. 114–15; E. G. Browne, The Persian Revolution, pp. 329–30, 444; also see J. Afary, The Iranian Constitutional Revolution, 1906–1911, (New York, 1996), pp. 109–13, on Nuri’s view on different aspects of society such as education see index under Nuri, Sheikh Fazlullah; also see E. Abrahamian, A History of Modern Iran, pp. 50–53. 55 A. H. Hairi, “Shaykh Faz̤l Allāh Nūrī’s Refutation …,” p. 329. Also see the ensuing pages in which Hairi gives a translation of Nuri’s treatise. Also see the section Mashruta and Mashru’a in A. Amanat’s article in Encyclopædia Iranica, s. v. Constitutional Revolution, i. Intellectual background; J. Afary, The Iranian Constitutional, pp. 77–78; also see V. A. Martin, “The Anti-Constitutionalist Arguments of Shaikh Fazlallah Nuri,” Middle Eastern Studies, Vol. 22, No. 2 (1986), pp. 181–96. 56 Mirzâ Yusof Khân Mostashâr-al-Dowle, One word—Yak kaleme: 19 th-century Persian Treatise Introducing Western Codified Law, with an introduction and annotated translation by A. Seyed-Gohrab and S. McGlinn,

22

THE POLITICAL AND SOCIAL BACKGROUND

tion caused disagreement within the clerical class and strengthened the position of the monarchy, while weakening the constitutionalists. However a leading pro-constitutionalist Mojtahed, Mohammad-Hoseyn Nâ’ini, argued in his treatise Tanbih al-omma wa tanzih al-mella that, in the absence of the Twelfth Shiite Imam, it was impossible to establish absolute justice. In his view there were two options; despotism of the monarchy or constitutionalism. The latter would rule through consultation, and was therefore closer to the ideal of Islam.57 From the end of the 19 th century, the ideological breach between the olamâ and the state widened, partly because of the tyranny and despotic rule of the Qajars and partly because of a series of liberal reforms inimical to the position and privileges of the clerical class, including a secular administration and educational curriculum and legal reforms which lessened the judicial power of the olamâ. There was also popular and Bâzâri (merchant class) opposition to Western cultural influences and the use of foreign goods. The range of reforms and their intensity only increased with the advent of the Pahlavi dynasty. Part of Reza Khan’s reform program was the implementation of Western-based codes of law, incorporating elements of Islamic law (shari’a), but administered by the state.58 This prompted opposition in parliament, especially from the clergy. In February 1927 a new cabinet under Mostowfi was established, which started implementing reforms. Dâvar became the Minister (Leiden, 2010). For a discussion on the reception of this treatise by Âkhund­ zâde and Malkam Khân see M. Âjudâni, Mashrute-ye Irâni, (Tehran, 2008), pp. 43–53, 347–48, on Mostashâr-al-Dowle see pp. 251–58. 57 A. Amanat’s article in Encyclopædia Iranica, s. v. Constitutional Revolution, i. Intellectual background. Also see A. H. Hairi, Shiism and constitution­al­ ism in Iran, pp. 189–97. 58 Such reforms were comprehensive including the introduction of family names and abolition of titles which were common during the Qajar era. For an excellent overview of this particular reform see H. E. Chehabi, “The Reform of Iranian Nomenclature and Titulature in the Fifth majles,” Converging Zones: Persian Literary Tradition and the Writing of History, Studies in Honor of Amin Banani, ed. A. Ahmadi, (Costa Mesa, California, 2012), pp. 84–116; also see E. Abrahamian, A History of Modern Iran, pp. 83–84.

23

LITERATURE OF THE EARLY TWENTIETH CENTURY

of Justice, restructuring this Ministry and limiting the religious components in the juridical system. During Reza Shah’s reign, the clergy criticized the reforms. They wanted to be part of the government to exert influence, and they were able to prevent several reforms. For example, they opposed the introduction of conscription, and acted against it. The government made a concession by including four olamâ in the commission that prepared the civil code of law. One of the incidents that created a rift between the government and the clergy occurred in March 1928, when the government acted against a low-ranking cleric, Hâjj Sheykh Mohammad Bâfqi, who protested against the king’s wife for removing her veil in the sanctuary of Qom.59 Bâfqi was beaten up, imprisoned for six months, and then exiled to Shah Abd-al-Azim shrine near Tehran. In March 1929, the government set a series of requirements for education in Islamic jurisprudence. Several months later (in May 1929), Moharram ceremonies were banned. Another reform that limited the role of the clergy was the change in the status of the so-called Shar’i courts, which became ‘special courts,’ issuing verdicts only with the consent of government legal authorities. The clergy’s role was further reduced in 1934, when the government implemented a law on religious endowment foundations (owqâf). Such reforms reduced the role of religion and the clergy in society. Another reform in 1936 meant that only jurists who had completed modern training at the Faculty of Law were qualified to act in court. This law required graduates from religious schools to take a separate exam to prove their competence. Reforms also affected the social structure and the traditional relationships between social classes. Dress codes prescribed a uniform European dress, with short jackets and trousers and a Pahlavi-hat (equivalent to the French kepi), as early as December 1928.60 59 For more information on this incident see M. H. Faghfoory, “The Impact of Modernization on the Ulama in Iran, 1925–1941,” Iranian Studies, Vol. 26, No.3/4, (1993), p. 296. 60 See H. Katouzian, The Persians, p. 218; also see J. Afary, Sexual Politics in Modern Iran, (Cambridge, 2009), pp. 157–58; H. E. Chehabi, “Staging the Emperor’s New Clothes: Dress Codes and Nation-Building under Reza Shah,” Iranian Studies, Vol. 26, No. 3/4, (1993), pp. 209–22 see also Cheha-

24

THE POLITICAL AND SOCIAL BACKGROUND

Only preachers and the olamâ were exempted from this code. Several years later, in 1936, women were banned from wearing the veil in public spaces, and the ‘international hat’ (a hat with a brim) was introduced. These dress codes created much resistance. The olamâ called them ‘heretical reforms.’ People demonstrated in the holy city of Mashhad, but the protests were violently suppressed. As Katouzian rightly observes, these codes were in part consciously designed to secularize, centralize and develop a nation based on European models, but were also in part due to the psychological impact of foreign contacts. When Reza Shah returned from his visit from Turkey, he introduced a chapeau hat for men so that they would look more like Europeans. Katouzian cites Reza Shah telling Mokhber-al-Saltane (Mehdi-Qoli Hedâyat), “All I am trying to do is for us to look like [the Europeans] so they do not ridicule us.”61 Dress codes, especially the women’s veil became a recurrent topic in the poetry of the period, which is treated in chapters two and five of this volume. Although several high-ranking clerics supported the Con­ stitutional Revolution, some intellectuals were criticizing them for encouraging superstitious beliefs, insincerity and abuse of their position. The poets’ role in openly depicting the clergy contributed significantly to the decline in their social status. This, along with the reduction of their role in the legal system, created a breach between the clerical class and secular intellectuals. One of the poets who criticized the mullahs was Jalâl-alMamâlek Iraj Mirzâ (1874–1926).62 In his famous Âref-nâme, he blames God for having created clerics and mullahs, asking himself why Muslims, compared to Christians in Europe, should receive a larger portion of trouble. At the end the poet implores God to free the people from mullahs: bi’s article on the effects of banning the traditional veil, see H. E. Chehabi, “The Banning of the Veil and its Consequences,” The Making of Modern Iran: State and Society under Riza Shah, 1921–1941, ed. S. Cronin, (London, 2003), pp. 193–210. 61 H. Katouzian, The Persians, p. 218. 62 On Iraj Mirzâ see Behrooz Mahmoodi-Bakhtiari, in Encyclopædia Iranica, s. v. Iraj Mirzā, Jalāl-al-Mamālek.

25

LITERATURE OF THE EARLY TWENTIETH CENTURY

‫تو توی چرت ما مردم دویدی‬ !‫که خلق مار در بستان نمودی‬ ‫برای ما مسلمانان گزیدی‬ ‫که او در ساحل و این در دجله غرقست‬ ‫زمان رفتن این خار و خس نیست؟‬ ‫ز زیر بار خــر ملا رها کن‬

‫(…) تو این �آخوند و ملا �آفریدی‬ ‫خداوندا مگر بیکار بودی‬ ‫چرا هرجا که د�أبی زشت دیدی‬ ‫میان مسیو و �آقا چه فرقست‬ ‫به شرع احمدی پیرایه بس نیست؟‬ ‫بیا از گردن ما زنگ وا کن‬

(…) You created these clerics and mullahs You disturbed us poor people’s nap. O God, had you nothing better to do, that you created serpents in the garden? Why whenever you saw an ugly manner did you designate it for us, the Muslims? What’s the difference between a Monsieur and an Âqâ (sir)? One’s on the shore, while the other’s drowned in the river. Is Mohammad’s holy law not attractive enough? Is it not time to remove all these thorns and thistles? Come, untie this bell from our collar free the donkey from the burden of the mullah.63

In the following poem, the poet shows the clergy’s insincerity when it comes to matters of hejâb and women.64

‫نعوذ بالله اگر جلوه بی‌ نقاب‌ کند‬ ‫چرا که هرچه کند حیله در حجاب کند‬ ‫رود به باطن و تفسیر ناصواب کند‬ ‫به‌هر دلیل که شد ب ّره را مجاب کند‬ ‫هر�آنکه ح ّل کند �آنرا به من ثواب کند‬ ‫که جفت خودرا نادیده انتخاب کند؟‬ ‫که مر دوار زرخ پرده را جواب کند‬ ‫کجاست دست حقیقت که فتح باب کند‬ ‫به نصف مردم ما مالک ال ّرقاب کند‬

‫ب دارد و د ‌ل را به جلوه �آب کند‬ ‌ ‫نقا‬ ‫فقیه شهر به رفع حجاب مایل نیس‬ ‫ت‬ ‫چو نیست ظاهر قر�آن به وفق خواهش او‬ ‫ازاو دلیل نباید سٔوال کرد که گرگ‬ ‫کس این مع ّما پرسید و من ندانستم‬ ‫به غیر ملت ایران کدام جانورست‬ ‫کجاست ه ّمت یک هی�أتی زپرد گیان‬ ‫ب برزخ زن س ّد باب معرفتست‬ ‌ ‫نقا‬ ‫ب بود کاین گروه مفتی را‬ ‌ ‫بلی نقا‬

63 Iraj Mirzâ, Divân, ed. Mohammad-Ja’far Mahjub, (Tehran, 1963, reprint, America 1986), p. 83; also edited by Sayyed Hâdi Hâ’eri, (Tehran, second edition, 1987). 64 In a famous poem, which he wrote for the poet Âref, Iraj states that the mullahs have little knowledge and abuse their knowledge for their own benefit. See Iraj Mirzâ, Divân, p. 11, qaside 10.

26

THE POLITICAL AND SOCIAL BACKGROUND

‫به زهد گربه شبیه است زهد حضرت شیخ نه بلکه گربه تش ّبه به �آن جناب کند‬ ‫چو شیخ شهر ز �آلایش اجتناب کند‬ ‫اگر ز �آب کم ‌ی دست گربه تر گردد‬ ‫بس ‌ی تکاند و بر خشکیش شتاب کند‬ ‫به احتیاط ز خود دست تر بگیرد دور‬ ‫که �آب پنجٔه هر گربه را عذاب کند‬ ‫کس ‌ی که غافل ازین جنس بود پندار‬ ‫ولی‌ چو چشم حریصش فتد به ماهی‌ حوض ز سینه تا دم خود را درون �آب کند‬ ‫ازاو بترس که همشیره‌ات خطاب کند‬ ‫زمن مترس که خانم ترا خطاب کنم‬ ‫فقیه شهر که بیدار را به خواب کند‬ ‫به حیرتم ز که اسرار هیپنوتیسم �آموخ‬ ‫ت‬ ‫بگو بتازد و �آن خانه را خراب کند‬ ‫ب می‌گردند‬ ‌ ‫زنان م ّکه همه ب ‌ی نقا‬ ‫به دست کس نرسد قرص ماه در د ‌ل آ�ب اگر چه طالب �آن جهد بی‌ حساب کند‬ She wears a full veil, yet her beauty seduces the heart, God forbid, that she should show her beauty unveiled! The religious jurist in the city does not approve of unveiling, For all that he does is legal tricks behind the veil. If the outward meaning of the Koran does not meet his desires He goes to the inner meanings and gives an improper reading. Do not expect a reasoned answer from him, The wolf takes the lamb, with or without a reason. Someone posed me a riddle, and I could not guess it: if someone can solve it, they will do me a favor. What animal, apart from the Iranian people, Chooses a mate without having seen her? Where is the veiled woman, whose aspirations are such, That she’s man enough to take the veil from her face? A face veil is a barrier at the gate of knowledge, Where is the hand of reality, to open the gate? Truly, it’s this veil on the face that has made A bunch of divines the masters of half the nation! The holiness of His Excellency, the Sheykh, is like that of the cat. Rather it is the cat who ventures to imitate His Excellency. If the cat’s paw gets a little wet Like the jurist in the city, he pulls back from the impurity. The cat holds that paw with care far from its body and shakes it many times quickly, to make it dry. Someone unfamiliar with this beast would think That water was a torment for the paw of a cat. But when his greedy eye fall on a fish in the pond, It will plunge into the water from chest to tail! Do not fear me, if I address you as ‘My lady’:

27

LITERATURE OF THE EARLY TWENTIETH CENTURY Fear the one who addresses you as ‘sister.’ [i. e., in religious discourse] I’m puzzled to know who taught the secret of hypnotism, To the jurist in the city, who sends those who are awake, to sleep. The women of Mecca go around with faces unveiled, Tell him to hurry, to destroy the House [i. e., the Ka’ba]. No hand can touch the full moon reflected in the midst of a pool of water, Even if the seeker exerts himself without limit.65

Through the metaphor of the cat and the water, the poet represents a widespread belief that clerical piety on sexual matters was maintained only until an opportunity presented itself. In this context, Iraj’s couplet, “Do not fear me, if I address you as ‘My lady’: Fear the one who addresses you as ‘sister,’” has achieved a proverbial status in the Persian language. Iraj also criticizes the Persian way of choosing a wife, and blames the clergy for upholding traditional codes of dress, barring women from choosing a husband or going to school and contributing to society. The poem is very effective as Iraj employs traditional imagery and metaphors that all Persians know. For example, in Obeyd‑e Zâkâni’s (d. 1370) poem about The Mice and the Cat (Manzume-ye mush-o gorbe), a ruler’s despotism and hypocrisy is associated with a cat while his subjects are mice.66 Iraj however has connected the cat with mullahs.

7. Conclusions This brief survey of important political events shows how Persia’s international relations, the Constitutional Revolution, the gradual but far-reaching crumbling of the Qajar dynasty and the advent of the Pahlavi dynasty dramatically changed Persian society. The 65 Divân, p. 11. 66 This poem has been translated to various languages. Two recent English translations are available: Bo Utas, The Mice and the Cat: Ascribed to ‘Ubayd Zâkâni, Facsimile of the Original Manuscript from the National Library of Tunis, (Uppsala, 2011); Dick Davis, Faces of Love, Hafez and the Poets of Shiraz, (Washington, 2012), pp. 217–23.

28

THE POLITICAL AND SOCIAL BACKGROUND

period between 1900 and 1940 is certainly one of the most eventful eras in Persian history. The role of poetry, and literature in general, was crucial, not only to communicate new ideas to the masses, but also to cement a new identity in a time of crisis and political change. As intellectuals in a changing society, poets initiated political and social activities in various forms, establishing literary societies, founding journals and newspapers, and actively participating in socio-political events. A salient feature of the poetry of this period is that each poet commented on the day to day social, political and economic changes in such a way that their poetry can be used today as a witness of the political events. This poetry shows how poets with different political views interpreted the idea of modernism and Westernization. In the following chapters of this book, we will see how poetry and politics were closely interwoven. Poetry, as a national icon of Persian identity, played an essential role in providing the vocabulary to explain the changes, to accept or denounce new and challenging ideas, and express a new and modern Iranian identity.

29

CHAPTER TWO POETRY AS AWAKENING: SINGING MODERNITY Ali-Asghar Seyed-Gohrab

1. Introduction Extensive social and political changes in the nineteenth century brought profound changes in all aspects of Persian culture, and particularly in Persian poetry and the positions of poets in Persian society. Poetry, which has long been the pre-eminent form of cultural expression in Iran, became an effective medium to introduce social and political ideas imported from Europe, to inform people about social and political events, and for motivating activism. Poetry was especially important during and after the Constitutional Revolution (1905–1911). It was used to communicate with the masses through various channels, ranging from the newspapers in which the intelligentsia published poems to recitations in public places such as coffee-houses.1 A plethora of new ideas and institutions had been introduced to Persia in the nineteenth century, sometimes at the cost of traditional culture. Printing and publishing houses became increasingly visible, publishing various types of books, journals and newspapers and communicating ideas imported from Europe, initially to Iranian intellectuals. Printing facilitated new curricula in new kinds of schools, challenging the traditional education system. An early example was 1

On the change of audience and types of poetry composed during this period see Z. Ekhtiyâri and M. A. Vâ’ezi, “Naqsh‑e mokhâtab dar tahavvol‑e she’r‑e mashrute,” Majalle-ye dâneshkade-ye adabiyyât va olum‑e ensâni-ye Mashhad, (1999), No. 160, pp. 25–48.

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the Dâr-al-fonun (‘Polytechnic Institute’) in Tehran, founded in 1851, where Persians and Europeans taught curricula based on Western educational systems, with an emphasis on military subjects.2

2. Farewell to Classical Themes In the nineteenth century, Persian students went to Europe to study. They became familiar with Western literature and poetry and returned with new ideas about literature, and about poetry and how poetry should work in society. Translations of scientific and creative works in European sources, made at the Dâr-al-fonun, also played an important role. Persian intellectuals started to evaluate their own culture and literature against European standards. From the end of the nineteenth century, some Persian poets realized that they had a new task and that they had to compose new poetry with a clear and defined goal, communicating reformist ideas to the masses and benefitting society.3 Poets bid farewell to old themes, questioned the use of classical themes and the value of literature in society. In a long panegyric, on the occasion of the 2 3

See Yahyâ Âryanpur, Az Sabâ tâ Nimâ, (Tehran, 1978), Vol. I, pp. 252–59; Ch. Balaÿ and M. Cuypers, Aux sources de la nouvelle persane, pp. 16–19; H. A. Asil, in Dâneshnâme-ye zabân va adab‑e Fârsi, s. v. Dâr-al-fonun. On various aspects of Persian literature at the beginning of the twentieth century see A. Karimi-Hakkak, Recasting Persian Poetry: Scenarios of Poetic Modernity in Iran, (Salt Lake City, 1995); also see Věra Kubíčková, “Persian Literature of the 20 th Century,” History of Iranian Literature, ed. J. Rypka, (Dordrecht, 1968), pp. 353–96; Hamid Zarrinkub, Chashmandâz‑e she’r‑e now‑e fârsi: moqaddame bar she’r‑e now masâ’el va chehreh-ha-ye ân, (Tehran, 1979), chapter one, pp. 7–45; H. Dabashi, The World of Persian Literary Humanism, (Cambridge, 2012), chapter eight (pp. 263– 300) in which the author discusses a new role of literature from 1906. On Japan as a model for Iranian intellectuals see H. Rajabzâde, “Irâniyân, nehzat‑e mashrutekhâhi va nemune-ye Jâpon‑e pishrow,” Târikh‑e ma’ âser‑e irân, No. 10, 1999, pp. 99–132; Michael Penn, “Japan and the Iranian Constitutional Revolution,” Iran’s Constitutional Revolution: Popular Politics, Cultural Transformations and Transnational Connections, eds. H. E. Chehabi and V. Martin, (London and New York, 2010), pp. 381 ff.

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war between Russia and Japan, with an emphasis on Japan’s victory, Adib-al-Mamâlek Farâhani (1860–1917) underlines the importance of acquiring modern knowledge and being familiar with sciences, and then wonders how long Persians wished to slumber:4

‫بپای خیز تو �آخر چه موقع افعاست‬ ‫چقدر خسبی �آخر گذشت �آب از سر‬ ‫که هرکه را نبود علم اسفل و ادناست‬ ‌‫تمام این همه بدبختی است و بی‌ علمی‬ ‫ مولاناست‬،‫بقول عنصری �آنکو بشعر‬ ‫به تیغ شاه نگر قصه گذشته مخوان‬ ‫مرا از این سخن عنصری غرض این است که خود گذشته گذشتست حرف از حالاست‬ ‫که قصه گوئی از شغل و پیشه سفهاست‬ ‫بس است دیگر افسانه خواندن و گفتن‬ ‫ت مرا چه فائده از حسن و خوبی لیلاست‬ ‫ز عشق سرکش مجنون مرا چه عائده اس‬ How long do you want to sleep, water has risen above our heads. Stand on your feet, how can this be the time for sitting? All this calamity is due to lack of knowledge, For anyone who has no knowledge is low and mean. “Behold the blade of the king, refrain from reading past accounts.” To quote Onsori, he who is a master in poetry. The reason for citing Onsori is this: “The past has passed, say things about the present. There’s been enough of writing myths and reading stories. Enough of story telling and reading, For story telling is the stock and trade of the ignorant. What do I gain from Majnun’s unyielding love? What do I gain from Leyli’s loveliness and beauty?”5

Or in another poem:

‫م ‌ی کن ‌ی وصف دلبران طراز‬ ‫که منم شاعر سخن پرداز‬ ‫مدح مذموم گه کنی‌ از �آز‬ )…( ‫وز حقیقت سخن کنی‌ و مجاز‬ ‫نخرند از تواش به سیر و پیاز‬ ‫حرف محمود و سرگذشت ایاز‬

‫تا ک ‌ی ای شاعر سخن پرداز‬ ‫دفتری پر کنی‌ ز موهومات‬ ‫ذم ممدوح گه کنی‌ ز غرض‬ ‫می‌ زن ‌ی لاف گاهی از عرفان‬ ‫این سخن را اگر بری بازار‬ ‫غصٔه قیس و قصٔه لیلی‬

4

On Farâhâni see C. V. Pedersen, in The Encyclopaedia of Islam (third edition), s. v. Farâhâni, Adib al-Mamâlek; also compare Majd-al-Din Keyvâni, Adib al-Mamâlek‑e Farâhâni, (Tehran, 2010). 5 Farâhâni, Divân, Vol. I, p. 195. This is qaside 29, pp. 191–96. See Onsori’s Divân, p. 61, qaside 19, l. 2.

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‫کن حدیث نوی ز سر �آغاز‬ ‫دیگر از این سخن فسانه مساز‬ ‫از وطن بعد از این سخن گو باز‬ ‫با وطن هم قمار عشق بباز‬

‫کهنه شد این فسا نها یکسر‬ ‫بگذر از این فسون و این نیرنگ‬ ‫گرم هوای سخن بود به سرت‬ ‫هوس عشق بازی را داری‬

O eloquent poet! How long will you extoll ideal beloveds, Filling your books with fancies, claiming you are an eloquent poet? Censuring the (miserly) patron intentionally Praising scoundrels out of greed. Sometimes you boast of mysticism, Expounding on truth and illusion. (…) If you took your poems to the bazaar They would not accept them for onions or garlic. The sorrows of Qeys (i. e., Majnun), and the tale of Leyli The narrative of Mahmud and Ayâz6 All are worn out stories Start a new story anew Leave these fairy tales and incantations Do not concoct stories from such things. If the love of the language is in your head From now on, speak of our motherland. If you have a passion to practice love You can gamble at love with our motherland.

Poets were seen as intellectuals who had the responsibility of transmitting the new European ideas to all layers of society, awakening people from a centuries-old slumber. Taking over European scholars’ characterization of Persia (and other countries) as backward, these poets wanted to make people wary in taking over new ideas, with an awareness of their own identity. Poets often referred to Persia’s pre-Islamic glory, sometimes blaming Islam for Persia’s backwardness. A number of historical poems were composed, celebrating pre-Islamic times. This was not entirely new; throughout the middle ages we find in each century at least a few great 6

Ayâz was favorite Turkish slave of the Ghaznavid Sultan Mahmud. Anecdotes about Mahmud’s love for Ayâz is a recurring theme in Persian literature.

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epic poets emulating Ferdowsi’s monumental poem Shahname or Nezâmi’s romantic epics. A new development at the beginning of the twentieth century was the establishment of several societies in Persia, to promote a varied range of interests, from women’s position in society and the implementation of European political thinking to new ideas about literature. One of these was the literary society, founded in 1916, headed by the poet and eminent scholar Mohammad-Taqi Bahâr (1886–1951), who later became the Minister of Education.7 In 1917, the society’s name became Anjoman‑e Adabi-ye Dâneshkade (‘The Literary Faculty Society’). Its aim was to promote “the principles of eloquence and the limits of the literary revolution, the need to respect the works of the ancient eloquent writers and poets, and the necessity of adopting positive aspects of European prose.” 8 The society welcomed changes in prose styles, but guarded “the poetic sanctuary against any violations.”9 A conservative group wished to imitate the form and style of poetry written in the first classical period of Persian literary history, from the tenth to the thirteenth century, but introducing contemporary subjects. Other groups, usually called modernists (motajaddedin) wanted to break completely with the classical tradition, introducing forms and styles that were new to Persian poetry.10 In 1918, there was an open debate about the idolization of classical poets such as Sa’di. Mirzâ Ali  7 On Bahâr see H. Katouzian, “Poet-Laureate Bahar in the Constitutional Era,” Iran: Politics, History and Literature, (London and New York, 2013), pp. 202–19; also see A. Sami’i-Gilâni, in Dâneshnâme-ye zabân va adab‑e Fârsi, s. v. Bahâr, Mohammad-Taqi; M. B. Loraine, “A Memoir on the Life and Poetical Works of Maliku’l-Shu’araa Bahar,” International Journal of Middle East Studies, Vol. 3, no. 2, (1972), pp. 140–68; Amr Taher Ahmed, La ‘Révolution Littéraire’: Étude de l’influence de la poésie française sur la modernization des forms poétiques persanes au début du XXe siècle, (Vienna, 2012), pp. 88–91; Věra Kubíčková, “Persian Literature of the 20 th Century,” History of Iranian Literature, pp. 353–96; also see Abd-al-Rahim Dhâker-Hoseyn, Adabiyyât‑e siyâsi-ye irân, Vol. 2, pp. 91–178, which is mainly quotations from Bahâr’s prison poems.   8 As cited by S. S. Soroudi, Persian Literature, p. 24.   9 S. S. Soroudi, Persian Literature, p. 24. 10 Věra Kubíčková, “Literary Lives in the Years 1921–1941,” History of Iranian Literature, pp. 379–80.

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Asghar Tâleqâni wrote an article, ‘The School of Sa’di,’ questioning the national and social values of Sa’di’s Bustân and Golestân, which had been ingrained in Persian minds. Tâleqâni argued that a ‘dervish spirit’ propagated in such works was the cause of Persia’s weakness and backwardness.11 Taqi Raf’at (d. 1920) concentrated his criticism on literary and poetic values, concluding that classical literature did not answer the needs of contemporary Persian society.12 He wrote: When we want to excite the national zeal and ancient heroism, we will read the story of Rostam; when we are in a philosophical mood and need spiritual enjoyment, we will read Sa’di’s Golestân and Bustân. But when we want to satisfy our present feelings and our new needs … we are bewildered … we do not have any refuge in this regard. Our contemporary poets are but a handful of imperfect Sa’dis, frigid Ferdowsis, or insipid Hâfezes. They do not conquer our starving souls as [did] Sa’di’s prose and poetry, neither do they soothe our souls’ wounds with their sincere consultations … When we want to find a leader for our bewildered thoughts, or a cure for the complicated problems of our time, we are at a loss … that is why we rebel.13

As Soroudi emphasizes, Raf’at regarded this literary rebellion as complementing the political revolution taking place in Persia, expecting the younger generation to “attack the fortress of literary despotism and reaction.” He wanted to wash out Sa’di’s works in the water of criticism.14 Another figure who rebelled against the classical tradition was Ahmad Kasravi (1890–1946) who criticized most classical Persian poetry, especially mystical poetry, but excepted Ferdowsi’s Shahname (1010), which had restored Persian language and culture

11 See L. Ridgeon, Sufi Castigator: Ahmad Kasravi and the Iranian Mystical Tradition, (London and New York, 2006), p. 124. 12 K. Talattof, The Politics of Writing, p. 20; On debates on Sa’di see A. Karimi-Hakkak, Recasting Persian Poetry, pp. 122–31, on a varied range of discussion on Raf’at, among which Bahâr and Raf’at see the index. 13 As cited by S. S. Soroudi, Persian Literature, pp. 25–26. 14 S. S. Soroudi, Persian Literature, p. 26.

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from the effects of Arab-Islamic rule.15 In addition to being a social reformer, rejecting the role of religion and rites such as the pilgrimage to Mecca, Kasravi wrote a series of articles attacking the value of, for instance, Hâfez’s poetry. He said that the elements in a ghazal were artificially put together without any didactic message, or benefit for society. Kasravi criticized Hâfez’s use of qalandari motifs and themes, such as wine, frequenting the wine-house, praising the beloved, and the life of the idle dervish. Ideas about poetic reform remained a burning topic in the first half of the twentieth century, during which the poet Ali Esfandiyâri, later to be known as Nimâ Yushij (1897–1960), developed his own philosophy of modern poetry, a poetry that would meet the needs of the poet and the society in which he lived. Yushij analyzed the developments in poetry in the early decades of the twentieth century, together with Western literature. He found that a new poetry should be the product of the poet’s pure feelings. He did not slavishly follow European poetry but proved able to include the rich classical Persian poetic tradition in a new system of poetry that answered the needs of his time. While he used an adapted system of meter, he allowed himself to deviate considerably from the rigid prosodic system. His first experiment in this new style was the poem Afsâne (1922), which adopted a new mode of expression, revealing the poet’s own impressions and experiences. He broke with the equality of metric feet, allowing “the form to evolve organically according to the needs of the specific poem.”16 This offered the Persian poet new opportunities and freedom to express his feelings and speak about the surrounding world. Afsâne ushered in a new period for Persian poetry. Although the poem faced critics, and what Jalâl Âl-e-Ahmad called a ‘conspiracy of silence,’ meaning that poets and scholars ignored Nimâ and his poetry, his innovative ideas on poetry were taken up by poets such as Shâmlu 15 16

Lloyd Ridgeon, in Encyclopædia Iranica, s. v. Kasravi, Ahmad, vi. On Mysticism And Persian Sufi Poetry. S. S. Soroudi, Persian Literature, pp. 27–28; on various aspects of Nimâ’s life and poetry see studies presented in Essays on Nima Yushij: Animating Modernism in Persian Poetry, ed. A. Karimi-Hakkak and K. Talattof, (Leiden, 2004).

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in the 1940 s and 1950.17 It was almost twenty years before Nimâ published more poetry of this type, in 1939. It should be mentioned that a number of poets did not engage in politics. They continued writing poetry with mystical, epic and lyrical contents in the classical forms, and so extended the classical Persian tradition. One difference that modernity made, was that their works were in many cases published, in bulky divans, whereas in previous ages, the process of hand copying and memorization had selected a poet’s most worthy production.

3. The Language of Poetry The constitutional poetry speaks to people of all walks of life, unlike earlier Persian poetry, which traditionally depended on court patronage and spoke to a courtly audience. There was a similar development in prose, initiated by Mirzâ Abu’l-Qâsem Qâ’em-Maqâm, who simplified Persian official writing from a pompous and Arabicized style to an elegant and comprehensible prose.18 As the Qajar court weakened and later crumbled, poets assumed a new, socially engaged role, and spoke of it:

‫همه تعظیم وزیر �آید و تکریم امیر‬ ‫بند‌ها بگسلد از پیکر این قوم اسیر‬

‫شاعر �آ ‌ن نیست که دیوان وی ار بگشاین د‬ ‫شاعر �آنست که حق گوید و در بند هلاک‬

He is no poet, whose collected poetry is full of bowing to viziers and eulogies to nobles. He is a poet, who speaks the truth and even in the bonds of perdition will release the bonds from the body of his enslaved people.19 17 See ibid, and also Hamid Zarrinkub, Chashm-andâz‑e she’r‑e now‑e fârsi, chapter two and three, pp. 47–122. 18 On language reform movement see A. Karimi-Hakkak, “Language Reform Movement and Its Language: The Case of Persian,” The Politics of Language Purism, ed., B. H. Jernudd and M. J. Shapiro, (Berlin /New York, 1989), pp. 81–104, especially 95–103; Amr Taher Ahmed, La ‘Révolution Littéraire,’ chapter two. 19 As cited by Abd-al-Rahim Dhâker-Hoseyn, Adabiyyât‑e siyâsi-ye irân, Vol. 3, p. 517.

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Poets communicated with the Iranian people, who were often illiterate.20 Their works were published in newspapers, and were recited in public places such as coffee-houses, bath-houses, etc. These people were eager to discuss current events. Poets were aware of the illiteracy and consciously composed poems that could be understood by the masses. Using plain and clear language, the language of the masses, was considered a sign of modernity.21 Writers such as Âkhundzâde, Mirzâ Âqâ khân Kermâni (1853–96), Abd-alRahim Tâlebof (1834–1911) and Zeyn-al-Âbedin Marâghe’i voiced their ideas on the simplification of the language and how this could lead to the awakening of the people. With the advent of the Constitutional Revolution and the publication of dozens of newspapers, new ideas about literature in general and poetry in particular were widely diffused. All poets of the period were engaged in one way or other with the introduction of a new style, which could communicate socio-political issues to large audiences, answering the needs of society.22 Mohammad-Taqi Bahâr states in the introduction to his Divân that he initially intended to imitate the style of Beyhaqi’s History, but his political inclination (meyl‑e siyâsi) and the people’s need (ehtiyâj‑e mardom) led him to write in a new style. Poets debated the merits of poetic style, as in the famous debate, in poetry, between Sâdeq Sarmad (d. 1973) and Bahâr. Sâdeq Sarmad wrote a poem in a new style to Bahâr in 1931, asking his opinion of this style. Bahâr couched his answer in mostazâd form, reviewing the style of various Persian poets from Ferdowsi (934– 1021) to his own time. Bahâr gives the examples of Sa’di (d. 1292) and Hâfez (c. 1320–1390), both of whom use tatabbo‘ (‘creative imitation’), pictured as piercing old pearls. Bahâr also states that a poet, in his own time and place, is a student of the time. Persian has been represented differently in different times and places. He gives 20 Věra Kubíčková, “Persian Literature of the 20 th Century,” p. 363. 21 Yâ marg yâ tajaddod, p. 147. 22 Âjudâni, Yâ marg yâ tajaddod, pp. 150–51; also see idem, “She’r‑e mashrute, zedd‑e estebdâd, zedd‑e este’mâr,” Nashr‑e Dânesh, (1990), No 30, pp. 16– 29; Amr Taher Ahmed, La ‘Révolution Littéraire,’ pp. 258–62. B. Sadri-Niyâ, in Dânesh-nâme-ye zabân va adab‑e Fârsi, s. v. Adabiyyât‑e mashrute.

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Rumi (1207–1273) as an example, showing that what he wrote was in accordance with the requirements of his time. Bahâr was very critical of the Indian style, characterizing it as weak and without structure (sost-o bi-shirâze). Although more than a million verses had been written in this style, he said, no more than ten thousand eloquent and heart-caressing verses were used. This was why the Indian style had declined and neo-classicism became a vogue in Persia. Bahâr then refers to the changes the Constitutional Revolution had brought to Persia, in terms of both new thoughts and philosophies, and new literary styles:

‫ازپس مشروطه نو شد فکرها‬ ‫سبک‌هایی تازه �آوردیم ما‬ ‫شد جراید پر صدا‬ ‫بدعت افکندند چند زاهل هوش‬ ‫سبک‌هایی‌تازه با جوش وخروش‬ ‫لیک زشت �آمد به گوش‬ ‫سربسر تصنیف عارف نیک بود‬ ‫سبک عشقی هم بدان نزدیک بود‬ ‫شعر ایرج شیک بود‬ ‫لیک بودند این سه تن از اتفاق‬ ‫در فن خود هرسه قا�آنی مذاق‬ ‫ گاه چاق‬،‫گاه لاغر‬ ‫بود ایرج پیرو قائم‌مقام‬ ‫ وام‬،‫کرده از او سبک و لفظ و فکر‬ ‫عارف و عشقی عوام‬ ‫ی “سیداشرف‌”‌خوب‌ بود‬ ‌ ‫احمدا‬ ‫احمدا گفتن ازو مطلوب بود‬ ‫شیوه‌اش مرغوب بود‬ ‫سبک اشرف تازه بود و بی‌بدل‬ ‫لیک “‌هپ‌هپ‌نامه” بودش در بغل‬ ‫بود شعرش منتحل‬ 39

LITERATURE OF THE EARLY TWENTIETH CENTURY Since the Constitution, thoughts have been renewed. We have introduced fresh styles, the newspapers are full of sounds Some men of insight have created novelties, fresh styles full of zest and commotion, but they were ugly to the ear. Âref’s ballads were good, from start to finish Eshqi’s style came near to that, And Iraj wrote stylish poems. Yet these three men happened to have the flavor of Qâ’âni in their technique Sometimes faint and sometimes strong. Iraj followed the example of Qâ’em Maqâm, Borrowing erudition and thought from his style; Âref and Eshqi were for the common people. Ditties23 by Sayyed Ashraf are good He composed nice poems in this genre His style was superior. Ashraf’s style was fresh and unmatched But he had the Hop-hop-nâme under his arm His poetry was borrowed from others.24

Bahâr was referring to how major poets of the period experimented with new styles in their poetry. While some might sound ugly to the air, others had poetic delights, but all could convey a message to the large and diverse audience of that time. In several lines Bahâr refers 23 The word Bahâr is using is Ahmadâ and according to the editor, in Bahâr’s time it referred to the light verse of the market place and commoners. On this genre see M. A. Panâhi-Semnâni, “Ahmadâ, she’r‑e âmiyâne-pasand.” Irân-shenâkht, (2002), No. 20–21, pp. 72–113. 24 The word muntahel used here is defined by F. Steingass as, “one who falsely assumes to himself the merit of another’s verses or sayings.” See Steingass, A Comprehensive Persian English Dictionary, (London, 1982), p. 1321. It refers to a category of plagiarism, practiced from the classical periods by several poets. Ashraf borrowed from Sâber who wrote poems in Azeri and published them in Mollâ Nasr al-Din. For an analysis of Ashraf’s reworking of Sâber’s poems in Persian see Yahyâ Âryanpur, Az Sabâ tâ Nimâ, Vol. II, pp. 61–77. Divân‑e Bahâr, ed. Ch. A. Bahâr, (Tehran, 2001), Vol. ii, p. 255.

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to new ways the poets used, such as ballads, new forms or colloquial language. These individual attempts to create a new poetic style were diverse. Ashraf-al-Din Gilâni employed colloquial language, using ordinary proverbs, idiomatic expressions and the forms of folk poetry, such as the lullaby and ditty, to communicate as eloquently as possible to the masses.25 He is perhaps the best example of a ‘folk’ poet of the period, using a language which is in many cases bereft of lofty imagination, but close to his audience, but Eshqi, Âref, Farrokhi Yazdi and Lâhuti could also be mentioned in this connection. Other poets such as Bahâr, Amiri and Iraj Mirzâ wrote poetry in ‘high’ classical style. Each of these poets displayed an individual style in the way they contrived expressions, imagery, metaphor and in the poetic forms they preferred. Yet all address the socio-political developments of this important period in Persian history, a true spirit of constitutional poetry. Although there is, for instance, a big difference between Bahâr and Eshqi, the chief purpose of both was to tell the news and to be as close to the people as possible. These poets concentrated on illuminating topical issues for the masses, rather than on the poetic embellishments used to outshine other poets. Bahâr himself experimented with new poetic forms in a number of his poems such as sorud‑e kabutar (‘A Song to Pigeons’).26 Poets introduced many European words to the poetic idiom, such as faculte, decolette, pârlemân (Fr. parlement), code, kâbine (cabinet), komite (comité), komisiyun (commission), pârti (parti), porogrâm. The literary impact of the West was also visible in verse translations from European literature. This is treated in the chapter by Parvin Loloi in this volume.27 25 Abd-al-Rahim Dhâker-Hoseyn, Adabiyyât‑e siyâsi-ye irân, Vol. 2, pp. 61– 69; also see Y. Âzhand, Tajaddod‑e adabi dar dowre-ye mashrute, Tehran, 2006, pp. 244–49. 26 See Divân‑e Bahâr, Vol. I, pp. 365–66; for a French translation see Franciszek Machalski, La littérature de l’Iran contemporain, II. La poésie de l’époque de Redā Šāh Pahlavi (1921–1941), (Wroclaw, 1967), pp. 40–42. 27 F. Vahidâ, “Râhyâbi-ye vâzhe-hâ-ye khâreji (farangi) be zabân va she’r‑e Fârsi dar asr‑e enqelâb‑e mashrute,” Pazhuheshnâme-ye zabân va adabiyyât‑e Fârsi, (2009), No. 3, pp. 1–20; for a general article on the influence of European words on Persian see Mohammad-Ali Jazayery, “Western Influence in Contemporary Persian: A General,” Bulletin of the School of

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4. Themes and Topics of the Revolutionary Poetry A distinctive feature of the poetry of this period is the focus on topical political and social events, in works by poets such as Adib-alMamâlek Farâhâni, (1860–1917) whose nom-de-plume was Amiri, since he was both a Sayyed and from the family of Qâ’em-­Maqâm Farâhâni, Mohammad-Taqi Bahâr, Mirzâde Eshqi and Abu’lQâsem Lâhuti.28 Poets wrote on all possible topical events in such a way that it is possible to follow the history of modern Iran in the poetry of individual poets. Political and social changes inspired them while they also exercised their influences on the current events. Adib-al-Mamâlek was one of the first poets to break with the classical tradition in his themes, voicing patriotic sentiments. Using classical forms, he commented on topical events such as the “inauguration of the National Assembly in 1906, the signing of the Anglo-Russian Convention of 1907,29 the bombardment of the National Assembly in 1908, and the restoration of the constitution the next year.”30 Adib-al-Mamâlek also commented on the relationship between Muslim countries and Europe, in sympathy with the pan-Islamic sentiments of intellectuals in other Islamic countries. In the following example, he refers to the injustice done by the Dutch to the colonized Indonesians: Oriental and African Studies, University of London, Vol. 29, no. 1, (1966), pp. 79–96; on translations of European stories see Amr Taher Ahmed, La ‘Révolution Littéraire,’ pp. 123–73. 28 See Munibur Rahman, in Encyclopædia Iranica, s. v. Adib-al-Mamālek Farāhāni. Also see idem, Post-Revolution Persian Verse, (Aligarh, 1955), pp. 128–34, and 143. Adib al-Mamâlek journeyed to various cities. In 1897 he moved to Tabriz, becoming a court poet to Hasan Ali Khan Garrusi Amir Nezâm, who was the governor of Azerbaijan at that time. It was here that he received the honorific title of Amir al-Sho’arâ, which was later shortened to Amiri; Kubíčková, “Vizhegi-ye nowzâ’i-ye adabi,” Adabiyyât‑e novin‑e Iran, pp. 42–43. 29 F. Kazemzadeh in Encyclopædia Iranica, s. v. Anglo-Russian Convention of 1907. 30 See Munibur Rahman, in Encyclopædia Iranica, s. v. Adib-al-Mamālek Farāhāni; idem., “Social and Political Themes in Modern Persian Poetry 1900–1950,” Critical perspectives on Modern Persian Literature, ed. T. M. Ricks, (Washington, 1984), pp. 167–208, see esp. pp. 168, 171–74.

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poetry as awakening: singing modernity

‫ز جاوه پرس که خون گرید از جفای هلند‬

‫هلند مرکز عدلست در اروپا لیک‬

Holland is the center of justice in Europe but let Java speak who cries tears of blood due to Dutch tyranny.31

Themes used in the poetry of the period can be classified into different groups. The first group praises the advantages of modern European political philosophy, including democracy, codes of law, personal security, human rights, hygiene, and openness to modernization. The second group consists of themes criticizing the deteriorated social, political and economic situation as a result of a corrupt ruling class. For the first time, we see poets writing parodies on individuals in the ruling class, and on the street thugs and other figures that were destabilizing the country.32 The third group comprises themes that either defend Islam and clerics or criticize them as causes of Persia’s backwardness and apathy. Religion was criticized on at least two counts: first, intellectuals such as Âkhundzâde blamed the Arabs and Islam as the main reason for Persia’s backwardness, and candidly insulted the Arabs as a people. Second, criticism and parody of influential anti-constitutional clerics, such as Sheykh Fazl-Allâh Nuri, who had clung to traditional Islam and censured Western political ideas.33 Xenophobia, mainly directed against the Arabs, Russia and Great Britain, provides a fourth set of themes. It is sometimes ­accompanied by praise for Germany and the Aryan race.34 Although there are examples of xenophobic themes against Arabs and Turks in classical literature, the poetry of the constitutional period treats these peoples and the Russians and British from a politically motivated perspective. While the censure of the Arabs and 31 Farâhâni, Divân, Vol. I, p. 201, qaside 34, l. 6. 32 For the use of satire in this period see the chapter three by Homa Katouzian. 33 See, for instance, Iraj Mirzâ’s satire on Sheykh Fazl-Allâh Nuri, Divân, p. 10, qaside 9. 34 See Âryanpur, Az Sabâ tâ Nimâ, Vol. II, 317–32; to my knowledge, the corpus of pro-German poetry in Persian has not been systematically examined. There are a number of studies on the effects of Aryan racial theory but these studies are not without bias. See, for instance, A. Asgharzadeh, Iran and the Challenge of Diversity: Islamic Fundamentalism, Aryanist Racism, and Democratic Struggles, (New York, 2007).

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LITERATURE OF THE EARLY TWENTIETH CENTURY

Turks is limited to a number of intellectuals such as Âkhundzâde and Kermâni, criticism of Russia and Great Britain is a topic in the poetry of several poets, referring to events which caused Persia’s instability, exploitation, and dependence. A poem by Bahâr refers to the occupation of Iran by Russia and Great Britain and how they divided Persia into spheres of influence, in 1907:

‫ نه افراسیاب کرد‬،‫ظلمی که انگلیس در این خاک و �آب کرد نه بی َوراسب کرد و‬ ‫ظلمی که انگلیس در این خاک و �آب کرد‬ ‫از جور و ظلم تازی و تاتار درگذشت‬ The oppression that Britain inflicted on this land Neither Bivar-Asp nor Afrâsiyâb have perpetrated. Oppression and tyranny worse than the Arabs and Tatars, This oppression that England inflicted on this soil and this water …35

In another poem, Bahâr pronounces a long satirical curse on Great Britain which refers to the extent of its Empire:

‫ پا شوی‬،‫ز �آسیا �آواره گردی وز اروپا‬ ‫ دل برکنده و در وا شوی‬،‫وز بویر و کاپ‬ )…( ‫ سوی امریکا شوی‬،‌‫ دست خالی‬،‌‫کفش پاره‬ )…( ‌‫قطره‌زن در موج غم گه زیر و گه بالا شوی‬ ‫جامه‌دان را بسته و یکسر به کانادا شوی‬ )…( ‫برده و �آواره از دنیا و مافیها شوی‬ ‫زود باشد کز کران تایمز ناپیدا شوی‬

‫در جهان بیچاره و رسوا شوی‬ ‫چشم‌پوشی با دل صد پاره از سودان و مصر‬ ‫باکلاه بام خورده با لباس مندرس‬ ‫چون کنی یاد از عراق و ساحل اروندرود‬ ‫و �آخر از بیم هجوم و انتقال اهل هند‬ ‫عشق بلع نفت خوزستان و موصل را به گو ر‬ ‫ای که گفتی هست مرز ما کنار رود رن‬

O England, be wretched and disgraced in the world, A runaway driven from Asia and Europe. With a heart torn in a thousand pieces, may you forgo Sudan and Egypt, may you lose interest in Boer and the Cape, and run away. Your hat battered, your clothes tattered, your shoes in shreds, your hands empty: take the road to America. … When you remember Iraq and the Arvand Rud,36 may the waves of sorrow sweep you away, head over foot, … For fear of the revenge and attack of India’s people, 35 Mohammad-Taqi Bahâr, Divân, Vol. I, p. 642. 36 Arvand-rud refers to the river which is formed by the confluence of the Tigris and Euphrates, and forms the border between Iraq and Iran.

44

poetry as awakening: singing modernity May you pack your bags in the end, and go straight to Canada. May you take your love for gulping the oil of Khuzestan and Mosul to the grave, May you be homeless in this world and the world to come. … O you who claimed that the Rhine is your boundary May you quickly vanish from the banks of the Thames. …

Like some other poets of the period, when Bahâr has the bit between his teeth, he is inclined to go on at length, adding perhaps to the pleasure of listeners, but not adding really to his message. Another theme, which deserves to be mentioned here, is the personal aspect in the poetry. Imitating classical masters such as Mas’ud Sa’d Salmân (d. 1121), Bahâr composed several prison poems (habsiyyât), commenting on current political events in relation to his conditions in prison. Poetry was also used to describe a person’s private emotions, as in the case of Âlam-Tâj Qâ’em-Maqâmi, known as Zhâle (1883–1946), who used poetry about her undesired marriage and pregnancy, and soliloquies to soulless objects such a mirror, a samovar and a sewing machine, in a therapeutic way which also raised social issues relevant to women. Many poems reveal the personal experiences of the poet. One interesting example is Mirzâ-Mahmud Ghanizâde’s Hadhiyân, or Feverish Ramblings, a personal but philosophical reflection on his own life. It is written in rhyming couplets. Âryanpur states that this poem will make Ghanizâde’s name eternal in modern Persian literature. Ghanizâde lived in Berlin and witnessed food shortages as a result of war, and how the Germans limited their food consumption so that soldiers could be fed. In an essay, Ghanizâde wrote about his poem, he describes how he and several other foreigners lived like Indian ascetics. In this situation, he fell ill and produced this poem:37

)…( ‫غالبا خواست کند مسئله حل‬ ‫سرنوشت من �آواره نوشت‬ ‫فرق از دغدغٔه درد و الم‬

‫دست بیمایٔه قدرت به ازل‬ ‫دودٔه دود جهنم بسرشت‬ ‫می‌غنودم به خفاگاه عدم‬

37 See Âryanpur, Az Sabâ tâ Nimâ, Vol. II, pp. 328–32; also compare B. ­Sadri-Niyâ, in Dânesh-nâme-ye zabân va adab‑e Fârsi, s. v. Ghanizâde-ye Salmâsi, Mahmud.

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LITERATURE OF THE EARLY TWENTIETH CENTURY

‫سرم �آزاده ز سودای جنون دلم �آسوده ز غوغای شئون‬ ‫نه‌ مکدر دلم از بود و نبود ن‌ه لبالب تنم از زهر وجود‬ )…( ‫نه مرا دیده که عالم دیدی و این همه منظرٔه غم دیدی‬ ‫ناگهان تاخت قضا بر سر م ن شد بهانه پدر و مادر من‬ ‫مرا سخت بر مخمصه انداخت مرا‬ ‫صورت بوالعجبی ساخت‬ ‫بود من گر زجهان کم بودی چه کم از جملٔه عالم بودی؟‬ ‫ز ازل تا ابد از ملک وجود چه هم ‌ی کاست گراین ذره نبود؟‬ The insubstantial hand of power in pre-eternity Wanted by nature to solve the problem, (…) He kneaded the essence of hell’s smoke Fixing a destiny for me, the homeless. I was sleeping in the hidden place of Non-existence Free from matters of pain and suffering. My head was free of the madness of love My heart was at rest, far from the tumult of dignities. My heart was not darkened by to be or not to be,’ my body was not filled by the poison of existence. I had no eyes to see the world To witness so many tragic theaters (…) Suddenly, destiny galloped into my existence. My father and mother were a pretext. I was formed in a wondrous shape, And cast in a wretched condition. If my being had not been created in this world, What would the world miss? In the empire of existence, from eternity to eternity What would be missed if this particle did not exist?38

A wide range of themes and topics connected to social issues were treated in the poetry of the period. One which might be surprising is hygiene.39 As Firoozeh Kashani-Sabet has indicated, in this 38 As cited by Âryanpur, Az Sabâ tâ Nimâ, Vol. II, p. 331. 39 On hygiene in the 19 th and the 20 th centuries see Firoozeh Kashani-Sabet, “Hallmarks of Humanism: Hygiene and Love of Homeland in Qajar Iran,” The American Historical Review, Vol. 105, no. 4 (Oct., 2000), pp. 1171–1203; idem, “The Politics of Reproduction: Maternalism and Women’s Hygiene in Iran, 1896–1941,” International Journal of Middle East Studies, Vol. 38, no. 1 (Feb., 2006), pp. 1–29; also see J. Afary, Sexual Politics, pp. 147–50.

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poetry as awakening: singing modernity

period humanism became a central theme in Iran, and it was related to patriotism (hobb‑e vatan) and hygiene (hefz-al-sehhat).40 Kashani-Sabet writes that these concepts may seem unrelated, but patriotism “involved respect for the national soil, or homeland, [and] it also included an interest in human beings and the maintenance of a clean and healthy society. Nationhood—the quintessential symbol of modernity—could not be wholly achieved without other accoutrements of civilization such as humanism and hygiene.”41 Persia’s backwardness and its social problems were pictured in medical metaphors: Persia had become ill (bimâr), was suffering from ‘incurable pain’ (dard‑e bi-darmân) due to diseases, the result of an unhygienic society. Diseases such as cholera, diphtheria, and s­ mallpox were a threat to human life. As Kashani-Sabet observes, “patriots even organized a gathering on hygiene (majles‑e hafiz al-sihhat) to diagnose the ills of the motherland.”42 Persia was portrayed in literature and in visual arts as a sick mother in need of a diagnosis. In several cases, poets urged people to rise and fetch a doctor for their ill mother.43 In addition to works of literature, public medical literacy was raised by publishing medical essays in newspapers and journals. Mirzâ Hoseyn Khân Zokâ-al-Molk, for example, printed essays on diseases.44 Persia was also depicted as a body without a soul. Intellectuals hoped that knowledge about the keys to European progress would bring a soul to the body.45 Poets raised public awareness of hygiene in different ways. Bahâr, for instance, shows his concern about the condition of bathhouses in 1919.46 In this period, Persia still had traditional bath-houses in which hundreds of people would wash their bodies in a pool, called 40 These concepts appear in poetry, and are treated in various contexts. See, for instance, Farâhâni, Divân, Vol. I, p. 111, l. 2. 41 Firoozeh Kashani-Sabet, “Hallmarks of Humanism …,” p. 1176. 42 Ibid., p. 1192. 43 Farâhâni, Divân, Vol. I, p. 285. 44 Firoozeh Kashani-Sabet, “Hallmarks of Humanism …,” p. 1184. 45 See for instance, Ashraf, Divân, p. 403. 46 For more information on Persian bathhouses see W. Floor, in Encyclopædia Iranica, s. v. Bathhouses; W. Kleiss, in Encyclopædia Iranica, s. v. Bathhouses, ii. The layout of rural bath structures.

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LITERATURE OF THE EARLY TWENTIETH CENTURY

the khazine. The water did not circulate, and would become full of microbes and filth. Bahâr describes such a bath-house:47

‫ترکید کدوی سرم از بوی خزینه‬ ‫ رهم سوی خزینه‬،‌‫افتاد به حمام‬ ‫مبهوت‌ شوم‌ چون نگرم‌ سوی‌ خزینه‬ ‫من توی خزینه نروم هیچ و ز بیرون‬ ‫پر �آدم و کم‌�آب بود توی خزینه‬ ‫چون کاسٔه “‌بزقرمٔه” پرقرمٔه کم‌�آب‬ ‫گه �آبی و گه سبز شود چون پرطاوس �آن موج لطیفی که بود روی خزینه‬ ‫پرپشم شود پیکرش از موی خزینه‬ ‫گر کودک بی‌مو ز خزینه بدر �آید‬ ‫موی بدن و چرک و حنا و کف صابون �آبیست که جاری بود از جوی خزینه‬ ‫چون جمجمٔه مردٔه سی روزه دهد بوی �آن خوی که چکد از خم ابروی خزینه‬ ‫عطار سپس دکه به پهلوی خزینه‬ ‫ گر بگشاید‬،‫سرگین گرو از عطر برد‬ ‫گرم و تر و چسبنده بود خوی خزینه‬ ‫با جبهٔه پرچین و لب عربده‌جویش‬ ‫چون رنگ طبیعی پرد از روی خزینه‬ ‫از لای کش احوال دل خستٔه او پرس‬ ‫هرکس که برون رفت ز کندوی خزینه‬ ‫پیکر شودش زرد به رنگ مگس نحل‬ The pool at the bathhouse One day I happened to go to a bathhouse, to the common pool. My skull cracked from the disgusting odor of the water in the pool. I would never step in that pool. Standing beside it, I was astonished at the sight. Like a bowl of stew with little liquid, but full of meat, The pool was crowded with people with little water. The gentle waves on the surface of the pool Were sometimes blue, sometimes green, like a peacock’s plumes. When a boy with no hair on his body comes out of the pool, Hairs from the pool covers his entire body. The water that flows from the pool is all Body hair, grime, henna, and soap. The sweat that trickles from the curved eyebrows (i. e. dome) of the pool, stinks like the skull of one dead for a month. The dung (used for the fire) would outweigh the scent of attar even if the perfume stall stood beside the pool. With frowning brow and roaring mouth, The pool’s perspiration is hot, wet and sticky. Ask from the bath worker about the health of its bleeding heart, 47

Mohammad-Taqi Bahâr, Divân, ed. Chihrzâd Bahâr, (Tehran, 2001), Vol. I, poem 186, p. 336.

48

poetry as awakening: singing modernity for the natural color of the pool has gone. The pool’s like a hive: whoever comes out Finds his body as yellow as the color of a bee.

5. New Gender Relations, and Reactions As Iran went through rapid political, economic and social changes in the late nineteenth and early twentieth century, Persian intellectuals asked why Persia had remained ‘backward’ in comparison to European ‘progress.’ How had Europe achieved prosperity, equality and technological advancement; what aspects of Persian culture and social organization held it back? One explanation they found was the situation of women, their participation in society, their education, and veiling (hejâb). These and similar issues were addressed expressively in poetry. Veiling and unveiling were central to the discussion, often connected to concepts such as chastity, the ideal wife and polygamy. Poets in particular sought to define new social identities for men and women, husbands and wives, publishing their thoughts in several journals and in newspapers. The delineation of an ideal husband or wife, with his or her virtues and duties, became a recognizable genre. Changes, or the discussion of changes, in gender relations appeared first among upper-class women in Tehran, who were attracted to progressive ideas such as gender equality, women’s participation in society and education, and the rule of law. These women began to assert themselves, participating in Associations (anjomans),48 establishing schools for girls, and resisting polygamy. In reaction to such activities and to changes in women’s behavior at home, an anonymous pamphlet was published in Tehran in 1886–87 under the title Ta’dib-al-Nesvân. Javadi and Floor have translated the title The Education of Women. The title does not only refer as how girls should be educated, but what is appropriate and refined 48 The term anjoman, which became highly used in this period, connotes the ability of like-minded people to organize themselves without a mandate from church or state.

49

LITERATURE OF THE EARLY TWENTIETH CENTURY

behavior for a women. Javadi and Floor observe that many men felt threatened by the progressive ideas, although these had not been fully implemented in society, and by changes in their wives’ and daughters’ behavior within the home.49 The anonymous author of The Education of Women based himself on Islam and traditions, relegating “a woman’s role to a mere extension of her husband’s pleasure in all respects. Only then was she a “good” woman; only then might she attain paradise.”50 The basic recommendations in The Education of Women, as paraphrased by Javadi and Floor, are:  1. A wife should not question anything, and whatever her husband says, she should do it, for obeying her husband is her duty.  2. A wife should show forbearance and not utter a word that might create discord.  3. A wife should never complain about her husband, even though she may have a hundred reasons to do so.  4. A wife should never sulk, however much hardship she has to endure, for she has to see the positive side and be patient.  5. A wife should not walk fast, should hold her head high, and should not bend her back, and her gait should be graceful.  6. A wife should sit at the table (sofreh) on her two knees, while smiling, and should not chatter.  7. Nothing is more unattractive in a woman than to make use of animal fat for her head, face, and hands.  8. A woman should always wear clean clothes, and she should not show herself to her husband in dirty, greasy, and old clothes.  9. There is no room for prudishness and shame in bed. 10. In the morning, a wife should leave her husband alone; she should make herself beautiful for him and then come to him with a smiling face like a flaunting pheasant and a shining moon.51 49 The Education of Women and The Vices of Men: Two Qajar Tracts, trans. by Hasan Javadi and Willem Floor, (Syracuse, 2010), p. ix; also see review article by N. Towhidi, “Bâznegari dar qalamrow‑e jensiyyat,” Irân-Nâme, No. 35, 1991, pp. 427–40. 50 The Education of Women, p. x. 51 The Education of Women, pp. x–xi.

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Such blinkered and patronizing opinions about women generated reactions from several Persian women, one of whom, Bibi Khânom Astarâbâdi, wrote a compelling answer. Her Vices of Men (1894–95), listed the shortcomings of men and the despicable way they treated women. This book also gives us a picture of Bibi Khânom’s women friends discussing The Education of Women in their circles. The book is divided into four parts. Part three is devoted to the vices of men, giving soundly based responses to the ten recommendations of The Education of Women. Bibi Khânom gives several examples of men pursuing their own pleasures without paying attention to their wives’ needs. Men are depicted as gamblers, drug addicts, and alcoholics, who prefer sex with boys to intercourse with women.52 Zhâle Qâ’em-Maqâmi is one of the poets of this period who addressed these questions. She had an unhappy marriage herself, and dwells on the proper behavior for a husband in several places. In An Appropriate Husband, she pictures an ideal husband and companion:

‫ مرد �آن بود که جوهر مردانگی دروست‬،‫ اگر نه هوسباز و یاوه پوست‬،‫در چشم زن‬ ‫ دوست‬،‫ مرد کامل و در اجتماع‬،‫در خانه‬ ‫همت بلند و عقل بسامان و تن درست‬ ‫گل رنگ و زرد موی و تنک صوت و نرم پوست‬ ‫دیدار مرگ خوش ترم �آید که شوهری‬ ‫ نه زشتخو ست‬،‫ نه ستمگر‬،‫مرد �آن بود که بر زن و فرزند حاکم است اما نه تندگو‬ ‫مردی به لطف جامه و طرف کلاه نیست �آن را به مرد خوان که شرف خواه و نامجو ست‬ ‫ خنده روست‬،‫ در خانه‬،‫در کوچه واگذاشته‬ ‫مرد �آن بود که یکسره غم های روز را‬ In women’s eyes, unless she happens to be hopelessly lascivious and vain, he is a man who displays manliness. is the essence of chivalry. With noble aspirations, sound in mind and body, a Perfect Man at home, a friend in society. The face of death is more pleasing to me than a husband with a reddish complexion, yellow hair, a strained voice, and a soft skin. A fitting husband is a man who rules over his wife and children but without bellowing, unfairness, or ugly behavior. 52 In their commentary, Javadi and Floor cite a story recounted by Bibi Khânom, of a man who has a beautiful wife but is interested in a boy. See The Education of Women, pp. 76–77; also see J. Afary, Sexual Politics, chapter four pp. 111–41 and also pp. 160–67; also see A. Najmabadi, Women’s Autobiographies in Contemporary Iran, (Cambridge, 1990), pp. 20–21.

51

LITERATURE OF THE EARLY TWENTIETH CENTURY Manliness does not depend on fine clothes or the dignity of a hat.53 He can be called a man who strives for nobility and a good name. He is a man who leaves the day’s cares in the street, and has a smile on his face at home.

Zhâle is emphasizing moral virtues and good treatment, still assuming that the cares of the world are the husband’s problem. A good husband is a fine companion at home and a friend in society. She also refers to specific behavior such as not talking loudly. He should be gentle, dignified and fair to his wife and children. He should leave the cares of the world at the door when he comes home, so that he can give his attention to his wife and children. As D. Brookshaw has said in his chapter in this volume, Zhâle had a problematic relationship with her husband, and some of the traits she particularly highlights may be those she felt her husband lacked. Other poets such as Ashraf-al-Din Gilâni portrayed the ideal husband and the necessary traits of a husband. Questions and Answers is a poem in three sections, of which section two and three detail the necessary traits of a husband and of a wife. Although we have no proof, it is likely that Ashraf was influenced by the ideas in The Education of Women, as a number of his recommendations are identical to those in this pamphlet. But Ashraf delivers not only admonitions for women, but also recommendations for a proper husband, in this and other poems. He starts with the ten qualities of a good husband, presented as duties which both religion and culture require from Persian men. These qualities are loving one’s wife, being gentle, avoiding quarrels, showing respect, not reproaching one’s wife, sharing possessions with one’s wife, providing the means for women to acquire knowledge and learning, tolerance, sharing pleasure and joy with one’s wife and not leaving one’s wife at home alone, taking pleasure with one’s wife and being delighted to see her face and converse with her. Ashraf concludes that if a husband treats his wife in this way, she will be so happy that, as soon as she hears him approach, she will answer “My soul.” The word ‘soul’ is jân in Persian and it is used in response to some53 The word hat or head-gear (kolâh) was a metonym for class and position in medieval Persia, and often means a crown.

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one calling, to show affection. For brevity’s sake I will cite only this part of the poem:

‫حفظ کن‌ رسم دین و ایمان را‬ ِ ‫قساوت شده است عشرت سلب‬ ‌‫کز‬ ‫بر زنان عرصه را مفرما تنگ‬ ‫با مح ّبت تمام کن‌ زن را‬ ‫چون که مرغوب نیست‌ای مٔومن‬ ‫ک ‌ن برای عیال �آماده‬ ‫گاه سنگک گهی لواش بگیر‬ ‫زن به شوهر ز علم تسلیم است‬ ‫با مدارا تو جای خود واکن‬ ‫عیش و عشرت کن ‌ی تو در صحرا‬ ‫هم پلو روز می‌خوری هم شب‬ ‫با زنت عیش کن به �آزادی‬ ‫می کنی حظ ز گفتگوی زنت‬ ‫خورش قیمه با فسنجان است‬

‫اولا ً دوست دار نسوان ر ا‬ ِ ‫قساوت قلب‬ ‫ثانیاً بگذر از‬ ‫رابعاً خوب نیست با زن جنگ‬ ‫خامساً احترام کن‌ زن را‬ ‫سرزنش خوب نیست‌ای مٔومن‬ ‫سادساً نعمتی که حق داده‬ ‫هرچه زن خواست از براش بگیر‬ ‫هفتمین رسم علم و تعلیم است‬ ‌‫هشتمین رفق کن‌ مدارا کن‬ ‫نهمین ک ‌ی رواست زن تنها‬ ‫زن که شد باکمال و علم و ادب‬ ‫دهمین با سرور و با شادی‬ ‫شادمان می شوی ز روی زنت‬ ‫در جواب صدای تو جان است‬

The love of women comes first, observing the good customs of religion and faith. Secondly, be not hard of heart, for such hardness spoils delight. Fourth,54 it’s not good to fight women, Don’t narrow their scope of action. Fifth, respect women, Let all your doings be done with love, Reproaches are not good, O you who believe, For they are not laudable, for those who believe. Sixth, whatever bounty God has granted you, Should be at your wife’s disposal. Whatever your wife may wish, get it for her, Be it stone-baked bread or paper-thin bread. Seventh, is the way of knowledge and learning, A wife depends on her husband for knowledge. Eighth, be kind, be tolerant, Through tolerance you make a space for yourself. Ninth, how can it be right for a woman to be alone, 54 Ashraf has left out the third quality, or the text is defective.

53

LITERATURE OF THE EARLY TWENTIETH CENTURY While you have your joys and pleasures outdoors. If your wife is cultured, learned and faultless You’ll eat good rice by day and by night. Tenth, take pleasure with your wife, freely With happiness and joy. Be cheered at the sight of her face, Take delight from conversation with her. When she hears your voice, she will say, “My soul!” You’ll eat stew with brazed meat and walnuts.55

Ashraf also offers a list of traits for an ideal wife and how she should treat her husband. Several of these are identical to those of a good husband, but others are specifically associated with a wife: respect, frugality (qanâ’at), obedience, not having an eye for other men, preparing food and the bed, raising the children, keeping the husband’s secrets, and being a soul-mate for the husband in happy and sad times:

‫واجب است احترام شوهرها‬ ‫هم قناعت کنند با ترتیب‬ ‫این قناعت مثال گنج شده‬ ‫شوهر خوب اگر وصول کنند‬ ‫دیده بر هر قبیح نگمارند‬ ‫بوی خوش می‌‌نماید استشمام‬ ‫موقع خوب می‌‌شود اظهار‬ ‫موقع خواب رخت خواب طلب‬ ‫مال شوهر به قدر یک خشخاش‬ ‫که به مادر همیشه دل بند است‬ ‫نشود فاش پیش یار قرین‬ ‫چه به شادی چه رنج و درد بود‬ ‫گ‌ر غمین شد ملول و غمناک است‬

‫بهر زنهای تاج بر سرها‬ ‫هرچه روزی شود ز غیب نصیب‬ ‫از قناعت چو رفع رنج شده‬ ‫ثاًنیا حرف را قبول کنند‬ ‫ثالثاً چشم را نگهدارند‬ ‫رابعاً زن همیشه موقع شام‬ ‫خامساً از برای شام و نهار‬ ‫سادساً وقت خواب در هر شب‬ ‫هفتمین حفظ کن برای معاش‬ ‫هشتمین کار حفظ فرزند است‬ ‫نهم اسرا ِر شوه ِر مسکین‬ ‫دهمین زن مطیع مرد بود‬ ‫شوهرش شاد شد فرحناک است‬

Women, who are as crowns, are obliged to respect their husbands.56 Whatever providence may grant you, by way of sustenance, Be frugal with it, be orderly. Since frugality keeps anguish away, 55 Divân‑e Ashraf, pp. 585–86. 56 The line can also be read, “even for the wives of crown heads, (i.e. the elite) it is obligatory to show respect to their husbands.”

54

poetry as awakening: singing modernity Frugality’s a treasure itself. Secondly, accept what is said, If it comes from a good husband. Third, discipline your eyes, Don’t bestow your glances in an unseemly way. Fourth, at dinner time, a wife Should always smell delightful. Fifth, at the right moment, she announces That dinner, or lunch, is ready. Sixth, every night, when it’s time to sleep, She goes to prepare the bed. Seventh, to ensure the necessities of life She protects her husband’s possessions, be it even a poppy seed. Eighth, is the protection of children, Whose hearts are always bound to their mother. Ninth, never to share her poor husband’s secrets, Even to an intimate friend. … Tenth, the wife should obey her husband, In times of joy, of anguish or pain. If her husband is happy, she will be happy too If he is downcast, she will be sad and downcast.57

Ashraf does not buttress the qualities he attributes to a husband and wife with prevailing arguments or examples. Most of his justifications are of a personal nature, based on the stereotypes of traditional Persian culture. Such ditties, written in street Persian and using slang words, were extremely popular among the masses, inspiring people to think about the centuries-old fixed gender relations of a patriarchal society. These poems helped to create a new social identity for both wives and husbands. In one of his other poems, Ashraf shares the complaints of a wife whose husband is apparently an ‘enlightened thinker’ (­rowshan-​ fekr), referring to one of the intelligentsia, a new social role that emerged as Iran grappled with modernity.58 The wife ­portrayed in 57 Divân‑e Ashraf, pp. 586–87. 58 On the concept of rowshan-fekr see Negin Nabavi, “The Changing Concept of the ‘Intellectual’ in Iran of the 1960 s,” Iranian Studies, Vol. 32, No. 3 (1999), pp. 333–50; also compare H. Katouzian, “Khalil Maleki: The Odd Intellectual Out,” Iran: Politics, History and Literature, pp. 77–78.

55

LITERATURE OF THE EARLY TWENTIETH CENTURY

this poem is apparently newly-wed and complains to her mother about her husband’s lack of attention to her, as his sole focus is on acquiring knowledge and learning:

‫روز و شب هست سرش گرم کتاب‬ ‫همس ِر شاعر سرسخت شدم‬ ‫نزند حرف به من یک کلمه‬ ِ ‫خطوط میر است‬ ‫گاه در فکر‬ ‫گاه از فکر شود محو و خراب‬ ‫سرشب تا به سحر در کار است‬ ‫گر‌ کند خواب به چشمش تأثیر‬ ‫می‌رود با عجله سوی چراغ‬ ‫باز مشغول به تحریر شود‬ ‫خانباجی شوهر من شوهر نیست‬ ‫همه در فکر کتاب و رقم است‬

‫همچو شاعر بود این خانه خراب‬ ‫ننه جون زود سیابخت شدم‬ ‫روزوشب شوهر من چون ظلمه‬ ِ ‫گاه فکر‬ ‫کتب تفسیر است‬ ‫گاه بیهوش شود روی کتاب‬ ‫همه خوابیده و او بیدار است‬ ‫دفعتا می‌‌جهد از خواب چو تیر‬ ‫می‌نهد صورت خودروی چراغ‬ ‫بلکه خطش چو خط میر شود‬ ‫هیچ در فکر زن و دختر نیست‬ ‫صبح تاشام به دستش قلم است‬

Day and night, his head is in his books, this wretched man is like a poet. I’ve become the wife of an inveterate poet Dear mother! My fate has darkened so quickly! He doesn’t talk to me, not even a word, My husband is like a cruel shade, day and night At times he is thinking of Mir Emâd’s calligraphy59 sometimes he studies the meanings of scripture. Sometimes he’s completely exhausted sometimes he collapses on his books. From dusk to dawn he works everyone sleeps, but he is awake. When sleep overcomes his eyes, he jumps straight from sleep like an arrow He runs in haste to the lamp Thrusting his face to the light, Taking up his pen again, hoping to equal Mir Emâd’s fine hand. O sister! My husband is no husband he never thinks of his wife and bride 59 This is an allusion to the famous calligrapher Mir Emâd. See Kambiz Eslami, Encyclopædia Iranica, s. v. ʿEmād Hasanī, Mīr, ʿEmād-al-molk.

56

poetry as awakening: singing modernity He thinks of nothing but books and writing, there’s a pen in his hand, from dawn to dusk.

Such discussions on gender roles were conducted publicly for the first time, leading Persians of all walks of life to reflect and evaluate the social norms and personal qualities as a husband or wife. In this changing society, intellectuals looked for ways to renew Persian culture so that the country could return to its former glories, which were modeled especially on pre-Islamic Persia. Intellectuals such as Abu’l-Qâsem Lâhuti, Âkhundzâde and Mirzâde Eshqi thought that the veil was an impediment to women’s participation in society.60 Poetry became a forum for debating the positive and negative aspects of veiling and unveiling. Some poets were in favor of veiling and considered unveiling an imported Western idea, causing a breach in traditional Persian culture, while other poets fervently believed that veiling held Persia back. In classical Persian poetry, the veil is a symbol of a woman’s chastity, and of spiritual chivalry, but it also stands for incarceration. This symbolism of the veil remained intact in the twentieth century with an increasing emphasis on the veil as a barricade, hindering women’s progress. As the veil was seen as an impediment to progress, poets, mainly men, advised women to remove the veil and go to school. The resistance to unveiling was partly in response to the ideas of some Western intellectuals who identified Islam as a religion oppressing women and the veil as a sign of this oppression.61 Several poets felt called to warn people about the imperialistic plans of the West, or about the need to modernize. Although modernization paradoxically meant to follow the West in cultural philosophy, technology and to some extent the organization of the society, an anti-Western sentiment remained visible in the poetry, especially when it came to the role of women and the veil. Poets 60 For a solid study on the ideas of Âkhundzâde on Islam and women see M. Kia, “Women, Islam and Modernity in Akhundzade’s Plays and Unpublished Writings,” Middle Eastern Studies, Vol. 34, No. 3 (Jul., 1998), pp. 1–33. 61 As Ahmad writes the “veil and segregation epitomized” this oppression. See Leila Ahmed, Women and Gender in Islam: Historical roots of a Modern Debate, (New Haven and London, 1992), p. 152.

57

LITERATURE OF THE EARLY TWENTIETH CENTURY

such as Ashraf rejected unveiling and accused the West of seeking to destroy Persia. Ashraf was a very popular poet and journalist, although few studies of his life, views and work are available. According to Âryanpur, “Ashraf was the most popular and famous national poet during the Constitutional Revolution. In all respects, he supported the working class and distanced himself from the upper class.”62 Ashraf was a prominent satirist who addressed the theme of veiling extensively in his newspaper Nasim‑e Shomâl (“Breeze of the North”).63 He prepared the material for the journal himself. The newspaper consisted of two to four small pages, which he published in Rasht, and later in Tehran in a small Jewish printing-house.64 The subjects he treated were partly taken from Sâber’s Hop-hop-nâme and Mollâ Nasr-al-Din (founded by Jalil-Mohammad Qolizâde), which he translated from Azeri into Persian.65 In Ashraf’s poetry, the West is usually portrayed as Persia’s enemies, unbelievers who want to destroy Persian culture by removing the veil from women. In the poem entitled Nemitarsam (“I do not fear”), he depicts the situation during the Constitutional Revolution (1905–1911), treating the subject of unveiling as an act of thieves who want to steal Iran. In the following stanza, the poet portrays the West as pagan thieves, whose women do not wear any veil and who are going to devour the possessions of the poor. In the last line, he states that the complaints of the poor to God would have an effect and that the poor’s weeping would retaliate against the West: 62 Âryanpur, Az Sabâ tâ Nimâ, Vol. II, p. 62. Part of my discussion on veil in the following pages is an adaptation of the material published as “The Symbolism of Veiling and the Poetics of Unveiling in Early Modern Persian Poetry,” Khil’a: Journal of Dress and Textiles in the Islamic World, No. 1, (2005), pp. 107–21. 63 N. Parvin, in Encyclopædia Iranica, s. v. Nasim‑e Šemāl; idem, “Sargod­ hasht‑e Nasim‑e Shomâl,” Irân-Shenâsi, 54, (2002), pp. 379–92. 64 The first issue of the newspaper appeared in 1325/1907–8. Browne says, “This was one of the best literary papers, and in particular contained many notable poems, both serious and satirical.” See E. G. Browne, Press and Poetry of modern Persia, p. 148. 65 For information on the famous Azeri journal Mollâ Nasr-al-Din (1869– 1932) see Âryanpur, Az Sabâ tâ Nimâ, Vol. II, pp. 40–46; for information on Sâber see ibid. pp. 46–60; for Ashraf’s use of Mollâ Nasr-al-Din see pp. 64–72.

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poetry as awakening: singing modernity

ِ ‫خاک‬ ِ ‫خدا لعنت کند دزدان‬ ‫پاک ایران را‬ ‫گروه بی‌حیا و بی‌حجاب و نا‌مسلمان را‬ ‫خدانشناس و بی‌رحم �آن سگ بی‌دین و ایمان را‬ ‫که بلعیده است مثل اژدها مال فقیران را‬ ‫سحرگاهان من از �آن ناله‌های زار می‌ترسم‬ May God curse the thieves of the pure soil of Persia A bunch of shameless unbelievers who wear no veils, Some cruel pagan dogs without any religion or faith, Have devoured the possession of the poor like a dragon. I fear the weeping complaints [of the poor] at dawn.66

Ashraf championed a type of modernism in which traditional norms and values would be respected. He was of the opinion that women should go to school but with hejâb and he criticized in several of his poems patriarchal ideas about women.67 On this, Ashraf differed from the mainstream contemporary poets. Sirus Mir argues: even when we take into consideration that Ashraf’s readers were largely ordinary people at the beginning of the twentieth century, his justification of hejâb is contrary to his other views about gathering knowledge and the new civilization. (…) He turns out to be an orthodox Muslim (mosalmân‑e moteshare).68

Surely, Ashraf was an orthodox Muslim but he wanted to combine women’s participation in society and acquisition of knowledge with the preservation of religious and traditional cultural values. Wearing a veil and learning are not mutually exclusive. Ashraf certainly differed from poets who encouraged the idea of unveiling by presenting the example of European women’s progress. Ashraf emphasizes that the veil is not merely a piece of cloth: it is a symbol of woman’s chastity and honor. He sees unveiling as against Islamic tenets and the traditional culture of his readers. His ‘readers’ (many of the illiterate) were mainly from the lower social classes, 66 Divân‑e Nasim‑e Shomâl, p. 423. 67 See S. Mir, “Nasim‑e Shemâl va mas’ale-ye zan dar nehzat‑e mashrute,” Irân-Nâme, 11, no. 3, 1993, p. 436. 68 Ibid., p. 440.

59

LITERATURE OF THE EARLY TWENTIETH CENTURY

and his poetry was usually recited in public places such as coffee houses. The majority of these people were deeply religious, if also concerned about the country’s weakness. In Fasl‑e bahâr (“Season of Spring”), Ashraf urges women to attend a school instead of sitting at home, but to cover themselves:

‫یک چادری از عفّت و ناموس به سر کن‬ )…( ‫وانگاه برو مدرسه تحصیل هنر کن‬ ‫چون دختر بی علم نزد همه خوار است‬ (My girl …), wear a veil out of chastity and honor And then go to school to gather skills. (…) because people disdain a girl without knowledge.69

For many people, including Ashraf, the unveiling of women in public had apocalyptic overtones. In Alâmât‑e zohur (“Signs of the Return”),70 he lists signs of the Return of the Twelfth Shiite Imâm (believed to have gone into occultation in 940), and includes several characteristics of women: women unveiling, being ‘ready-witted’ (hâzer-javâb), and being preoccupied with outward appearance. One of his poems which argues for veiling is entitled Tu-ye kuche ru nemigiri cherâ (“Why don’t you cover yourself in the alley”). The title is also the poem’s refrain. The poem includes a reference to itself as a “breeze that advocates women,” an allusion to the name of his newspaper, “Breeze of the North.”71 The veil is not only a shield protecting women from corruption, it creates mystery and excites the interest of men:

‫هست ایمن دختران با حجاب‬ ‫در حضو ِر مادران باحجاب‬ ‫دل ربوده دلبران باحجاب‬ ‫جان به قربان زنان باحجاب‬ ‫توی کوچه رو نمی‌گیری چرا‬ 69 Divân‑e Nasim‑e Shomâl, p. 217. 70 The word zohur means literary ‘appearance’ but in this context, it means ‘Return.’ 71 Ibid., p. 591.

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poetry as awakening: singing modernity The girls are safe, who wear a covering In the presence of mothers who wear a covering. Girls who cover themselves, steal [men’s] hearts. May my life be a sacrifice for women who cover themselves! Why don’t you cover yourself in the alley?72

He compares veiled women to the Paradisiacal virgins promised to (male) believers.73 Ashraf believes that, when a woman wears a veil, she drives her lovers mad. For Ashraf, the veil is also a symbol of chastity (effat) and purity (esmat). In Khâharân Bekhânand (“Sing, Sisters”), he says that “covering the face (ru gereftan) is one of the requirements of our faith and tradition,”74 and that moral purity (esmat) is one of the requirements of Islam:

‫رو گرفتن از شروط مذهب و �آیین ما‬ ‫ما مسلمانیم عصمت از شروط دین ما‬ ‫معنی اسلام شد چون میؤه شیرین ما‬ ‫عصمت و عفّت شعاع جامٔه رنگین ما‬ ‫دختران را در میان خلق عصمت لازم است‬ Covering the face is one of the requirements of our religion and way of life. We are Muslims and esmat is one of the requirements of our religion. The meaning of Islam (i. e. surrender) is like sweet fruit for us purity (esmat) and chastity (effat) are rays gleaming from the colored cloth [of our Faith]. esmat is necessary for girls among the people.75

In Ashraf’s view, women who do not observe the outward forms of esmat are unchaste. Ashraf believes that chastity is based on covering oneself from strangers’ eyes: without a veil, a woman loses her 72 Divân‑e Nasim‑e Shomâl, p. 589–90. 73 For more information on these virgins see Seyed-Gohrab, “Magic in Classical Persian Amatory Literature.” Iranian Studies, Vol. 32, No. 1, (Winter 1999), pp. 71–97; also see J. E. Bertel’s “Huriyân‑e beheshti” in Tasavvuf va adabiyyât‑e tasavvuf, Trans. S. Izadi, (Tehran, 1978), pp. 111–35. 74 Ibid., p. 587. 75 Ibid., p. 587.

61

LITERATURE OF THE EARLY TWENTIETH CENTURY

virtue and moral excellence. In a long poem entitled Dar tahriz‑e dokhtarân‑e mah-tal’at be effat va esmat (“Urging the MoonFaced Girls to Chastity and Purity”), Ashraf explains how these two concepts are connected to a woman’s honor and her position in society:

‌‫دختری دیدم که از عفّت به رخ بسته نقاب‬ ‫در میان چادری پنهان شده چون �آفتاب‬ ‫چون بدیدم �آن حیا و �آن عفاف و �آن حجاب‬ ‫گفتمش احسنت و خواندم این دو شعر مستطاب‬ ‫دختران را یا ِر جانی عصمت است و عفّت است‬ ‫لالٔه با ِغ جوانی عصمت است و عفّت است‬ I saw a girl, who had covered her face with a veil (neqâb) out of chastity (effat). Like the Sun, she had covered herself in a veil (châdor). When I saw her bashfulness, chastity and veiling I said to her: “Bravo,” and composed this excellent refrain: A girl’s soul-mates are purity and chastity The fruits of the garden of youth are purity and chastity.81

While Ashraf’s thinking is in some respects in line with tradition and Shiite religious tenets, he also offers some new insights regarding relationships between men and women. In one of his poems, he argues that a man should meet his future bride before he marries her. One of the reasons for polygamy is that men do not have this opportunity, and on finding that they dislike the woman, they marry another, repeating this until he has found the right partner. Ashraf suggests a more open relationship in which a man and woman can meet, talk and associate before marriage, but he continued to emphasize the virtues of hejâb, which separates man and woman. In ‘One should not marry more than one woman’, he states:76

‫نظر کن عارض زیبای زن را‬ ‫ز یک زن بیشتر بردن خلافست‬

76

‫ببین ا ّول قد رعنای زن ر ا‬ ‫بپرس از محرمان اعضای زن را‬

Ibid., pp. 389–90.

62

poetry as awakening: singing modernity You should first see the woman’s lovely stature Look at her beautiful cheeks. Ask about the parts of her body from those who are permitted to see her. it is wrong to take more than one wife.77

Ashraf also criticizes other traditional practices in his poems. He condemns marriages between young girls and old men, and is against polygamy. In one of his satires, Fakhriyye-ye yek piremard‑e dowlatmand (‘The Pride of a Fortunate Old Man’), we see a bent-backed man of ninety, with his four wives and ten mistresses.78 Like his contemporaries, Ashraf encourages women to attend school and to gather knowledge.79 Despite his emphasis on wearing the veil, he treats men and women as equals. He does not consider the fact that the veil limits women’s movements and her space in society, and entails other limitations. Also, like his contemporaries, he does not leave the choice to women themselves. In Ahvâl‑e zanân‑e Arab (‘The Conditions of Arab Women’) he defends women, advising men to treat them fairly, by contrasting stereotyped Persian ideas of women’s position in pre-Islamic Arabia, to the Prophet’s teachings.80 In the following passage, written from the Prophet’s point of view, he censures the practice of burying infant girls alive:

‫صدمه‌ای وارد نیارید از جفا‬ ‫خانٔه خود را بهشت �آباد کرد‬ ‫دختران هستند دارای حقوق‬ ِ ‫عطر و تسبیح و‬ )…( ‫زنان با تمیز‬ ‫هرکه نیکویی نماید با عیال‬

‫دختران را دوست دارید از وف ا‬ ‫هرکه از خود دختری را شاد کرد‬ ‫هر زن ‌ی دارد تقاضای حقوق‬ ‫من ز دنیا دوست می‌دارم سه‌ چیز‬ ِ ‫دارد اندر نز ِد حق‬ ‫رزق حلا‌ل‬

77 Ibid., pp. 195–96. 78 Divân‑e Nasim‑e Shomâl, pp. 188–89. See also Shekâyat (“Complaint”), in which a woman complains that her aged husband still desires another wife (pp. 278–79). 79 See, for instance, Nasihat‑e yek khânom be dokhtarash (“A lady’s advice to her daughter”), at pp. 386–87. 80 See N. Tomiche, in The Encyclopaedia of Islam (2 nd edition), s. v. al-Mar’a; and chapter three (pp. 41–63), “Women and the Rise of Islam,” in Leila Ahmed, Women and Gender in Islam.

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LITERATURE OF THE EARLY TWENTIETH CENTURY Love [your] daughters with fidelity, Do not harm them by your oppression. Whoever makes a girl happy, Makes his own home in Paradise thrive. Every woman can demand her rights. Girls have their own rights. I love three things in this world, perfume, the rosary and discerning women. (…) Whoever treats his wife fairly, God will give him lawful sustenance.81

While Ashraf urged Persian girls to go to school wearing a veil, other poets were against wearing the veil, seeing it not as a sign of chastity but as a reason for Iran’s backwardness. Mirzâde Eshqi called the veil a ‘black shroud’ (kafan‑e siyâh) in an eponymous play.82 The play is a nationalistic outburst, in which the ruins of the Sassanid capital serve as a symbol of Persia’s former glory. It is also one of the earliest pieces in which he developed a new poetic form, consisting of stanzas. The motto following the title reads, “The story of an ancient woman (daughter of the Persian king) and the destiny of Iranian women.” From the beginning, we see the gloomy tone. The sun, the symbol of the Zoroastrian faith, is dead, and the world therefore wears a black robe. Eshqi describes his play as “tears trickling from the eyes of Eshqi on seeing once more the ruins of Ctesiphon.” The plot is simple. Not long after the collapse of the Sassanid Empire (ad 226–652), a caravan arrives at night81 Divân‑e Nasim‑e Shomâl, p. 369. 82 For more information on Eshqi see A. Karimi-Hakkak in Encyclopædia Iranica, s. v. Ešqi; idem, Recasting Persian Poetry, pp. 18–19, on his Three Tableaux pp. 210–31; on depiction of woman see Sh. Meskub, “Maryam‑e nâkâm‑e Eshqi va eshq‑e kâmravâ-ye Nezâmi va Khâju,” Dâstân‑e adabiyyât va sargodhasht‑e ejtemâ (sâlhâ-ye 1300–1315), (Tehran, 1994), pp. 83–120; Y. Âryanpur, Az Sabâ tâ Nimâ, Vol. II, pp. 361–81; B. SadriNiyâ, in Dânesh-nâme-ye zabân va adab‑e Fârsi, s. v. Eshqi, Sayyed Mohammad-Rezâ; also see Abdol-Karim Dhâker-Hoseyn, Adabiyyât‑e siyâsiye Irân dar asr‑e mashrutiyyat: az esteqrâr‑e mashrutiyyat tâ khal‑e Qâjâr (1285–1304), (Tehran, 1998), Vol. I, pp. 672–77; Gh. H. Yusofi, Chashme-ye rowshan: didâri bâ shâ’erân, (Tehran, fourth print 1992), pp. 370–81; Amr Taher Ahmed, La ‘Révolution Littéraire,’ pp. 100–103; M. Qâ’ed, Mirzâde Eshqi, (Tehran, 1998).

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fall in the vicinity of Ctesiphon (Madâ’en), once a mighty Persian capital. The narrator finds lodging in the house of an old woman. Seeing the ruins, the narrator is reminded of Persia’s glory and how Arabs destroyed the Empire. The narrator roams about the town and arrives at a graveyard, where he meets a black-shrouded girl. She turns out to be the daughter of the Sassanid king, Khosrow Parviz II. She is lamenting Persia’s ruined condition, especially the declining conditions of women.83 Eshqi foregrounds Persian women by juxtaposing this girl with the fate of Persia. Her emancipation means the liberation of Iran. In his opinion, half of the Iranian nation is dead, as long as they are covered in a black shroud. The metaphor of the veil as a black shroud may have been inspired by the general assumption that Arabs before the rise of Islam buried their new-born baby girls alive, something that was abhorred by Persian intellectuals in this period and was censured in a number of poems. Aside from its anti-Islamic and anti-Arab sentiments, the association of the veil with the grave enables the poet to address a societal problem, showing that women could only be part of the nation if they removed the veil. The metaphor is very strong as it calls to mind the image of walking dead:

‫ بنده و زن یک بنده‬،‫شرم چه؟ مرد یکی‬ ‫زن چه کردست که از او مرد شود شرمنده؟‬ ‫چیست این چادر و روبنده ی نازیبنده؟‬ ‫گر کفن نیست بگو چیست پس این رو بنده؟‬ ‫ زنده به گور افکنده‬،‫مرده باد �آنکه زنان‬ ‫بجز از مذهب هر کس باشد‬ ‫ دگر بس باشد‬،‫سخن اینجای‬ 83 Mirzâde Eshqi, Collected Works, (Middle Eastern Se­ries, No. 8, 1985), pp. 201–19; on using the past as a literary topos for the contemporary political context see B. S. Amoretti, “The Political Realm’s Literary Convention: The Example of ‘Ishqi and Iqbal,” The Necklace of the Pleiades: 24 Essays on Persian Literature, Culture and Religion, ed. F. D. Lewis and S. Sharma, (Leiden, 2010), pp. 281–93.

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‫ هم �آواز شود‬،‫با من اریک دو سه گوینده‬ ‫ در جامع �آغاز شود‬،‫کم کم این زمزمه‬ ‫ روی زنان باز شود‬،‫با همین زمزمه ها‬ ‫زن کند جامه شرم �آر و سرافراز شود‬ ‫لذت زندگی از جامعه احراز شود‬ ‫ور نه تا زن بکفن سر برده‬ ‫نیمی از ملت ایران مرده‬ What is shame? The man is a servant, and woman too. What has woman done to make a man ashamed of her? What is this unsightly veil, the chador and the face veil? If it is not a shroud, what is this face veil? May he who buries women alive in graves, die. Except religion, whoever it might be A mention is enough here. If one or two poets sing together with me This murmur will gradually begin in society. This murmur blows the veil from women’s faces Women will put away the shaming cloth, and be proud The joy of social life will be established. Otherwise, so long as women are wrapped in shrouds, half of the Iranian nation is dead.

Abu‘l-Qâsem Lâhuti, one of the major communist poets of Persia, called the veil ‘the mask of disgrace’ (neqâb‑e nang), and implored women to burn their veils.84 Lâhuti’s motivation is that he feels uncomfortable when Westerners mock the appearance of a Persian woman wrapped in a black veil. He is embarrassed before the West. 84 For more information on the poet’s life and specimens of his poetry see Y. Âryanpur, Az Sabâ tâ Nimâ, Vol. II, pp. 168–72, 381–83; see also S. Nafisi, “Abolghassem Lahuti [1887–1957]: the Occasion of the Publication of his Selected Works,” Critical perspectives on Modern Persian Literature, ed. T. M. Ricks, (Washington, 1984), pp. 378–80; M. Rahman in The Encyclopaedia of Islam, s. v. Lāhūtī. Abu’l-Qâsem Lâhuti, Collected Poetical Works, ed. A. Bashiri, (Jahan Books, Vol. I, 1985), p. 67. See also, Gh. H. Yusofi, Chashme-ye rowshan, pp. 468–75; K. Ābedi, Encyclopædia Iranica, s. v. Lahuti, Abu’l-Qasem.

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In his poems, he assumes a sympathetic fatherly tone, admonishing the daughters of Iran to remove the veil:

‫تا روی تو زیاد کند �آبروی من‬ ‫خندد رقیب و گریه بگیرد گلوی من‬ ‫جز این بجان تو نبود �آرزوی من‬

‫بردار پرده ای صنم ماه روی م ن‬ ‫هر جا که گفتگو ز نقاب تو میشود‬ ‫خواهم میان جامعه �آزاد بینمت‬

O idol, my moon-faced beloved, remove your veil So that your face may enhance my honor and dignity. Wherever people talk of your veil,85 My rival laughs while tears come to [my] eyes. I like to see you free in society; [I swear] by your soul, I have no other wish.86

Sometimes Lâhuti advises Persian girls to follow the example of the girls from Uzbekistan, who had put aside veils and taken up books instead. In his direct admonishments to women, the poet does not spare their husbands, blaming them for forcing their wives to wear veils. As in the case of Eshqi who introduced a new poetic style in his play Black Shroud, Lâhuti combines new thoughts with a new style, by parodying conventional Persian poetic imagery when he addresses ‘The Daughters of Iran’:

‫زانکه با حسن تو کارم نبود دیگر بار‬ ‫تا کی از مژه تو تیر زنم بر دل زار؟‬

‫بعد از این از خط و خالت نهراسد دل من‬ ‫تا کی از زلف تو زنجیر نهم بر گردن؟‬

From now on, my heart will not be afraid of your beauty spot and the down on your cheek because I have nothing to do with your beauty any more. For how long should I make a chain of your locks, hanging them on my neck? For how long should arrows from your eyelashes shoot my weeping heart?87

85 The word neqâb literally means ‘mask,’ or ‘face-veil.’ 86 Abu’l-Qâsem Lâhuti, Collected Poetical Works, Vol. I, pp. 67–68. 87 Ibid., p. 273.

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After mocking a series of codified images such as the beloved’s long black tresses (compared traditionally to chains and serpents) and her eyelashes (compared to arrows), the poet turns to Persian women, advising them to remove the veil and to adorn their beautiful faces with knowledge:

‫دلبری چون تو از �آرایش دانش به کنار‬ ‫شرم باشد که تو در خواب و جهانی بیدار‬ ‫عيب نبود شجری چون تو تهی دست از بار‬ ‫شاخه جهل ندارد ثمری جز ادبار‬ ‫وین نقاب سیه از چهره روشن بردار‬ ‫بوی اگر نیست تفاوت چه کند گل ازخار‬ ‫جد و جهدی بنما چون دگران مادروار‬ ‫هر کسی از تو سخن می شنود اول بار‬ ‫که نترسند ز کوشش نگریزند از کار‬ ‫تا که فرزند تو با این سخنان �آید بار‬ ‫تا بدانند بود مفتخوری ذلت و عار‬ ‫مس اقبال وطن از تو شود زر عیار‬

‫اندرین دور تمدن صنما لایق نیس‬ ‫ت‬ ‫ننگ باشد که تو در پرده و خلقی �آزاد‬ ‫حيف نبود قمری مثل تو محروم از نـور‬ ‫ترک چادر کن و مکتب برو و درس بخوان‬ ‫دانش �آموز و ز اوضاع جهان �آگه شو‬ ‫علم اگرنیست زحیوان چه بود فرق بشر‬ ‫خرد �آموز و پی تربیت ملت خویش‬ ‫تو گذاری به دهان همه کس اول حرف‬ ‫پس از اول تو بگوش همه این نکته بگو‬ ‫سخن از دانش و �آزادی و زحمت میگوی‬ ‫پسر و دختر خود را شرف کار �آموز‬ ‫به یقین گر تو چنین مادر خوبی باشی‬

O idol, in this age of civilization, it does not suit A heart-ravisher like you to be devoid of the adornment of knowledge. It is a disgrace that you are in veil while [the rest of] the world is free. It is a shame that you are asleep while the world is fully awake. Is it not a pity that a moon like you is without light? Is it not a flaw that a tree like you is without fruit?88 Leave your veil, go to school and gather knowledge; The branch of ignorance bears no other fruit except declining fortune. Gather knowledge and be aware of the conditions of the world And remove this black niqab from your radiant face. Without knowledge, what is then the difference between man and beasts? Without scent, what is the difference between the rose and the thorn? Acquire knowledge and in order to educate your nation, 88 Conventionally, the beloved’s stature is compared to a cypress tree. On beloved in Persian see J. T. P. de Bruijn, in Encyclopædia Iranica, s. v. Beloved; For classical Persian poetic imagery see R. Zipoli, “Poetic Imagery,” General Introduction to Persian Literature, ed. J. T. P. de Bruijn, (London, 2009), pp. 172–232.

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poetry as awakening: singing modernity Strive hard like others, as a mother. For it is you who put on the mouth of every one the first letter Everyone hears the word from your mouth for the first time Therefore, say from the beginning, the following point That s/he should not be afraid of efforts, should not be afraid of work Speak of the endeavor to acquire science and freedom So that your children grow up with these words. Teach your sons and daughters, the nobility of work So that they would know that idleness is abjectness and dismal Without doubt, if you will be such a good mother The copper of the homeland’s fortune will turn into pure gold through you.89

Poets such as Iraj Mirzâ addressed the issue by ridiculing the connection between the veil and chastity. His Âref-nâme (‘Book of Âref’), which he composed for the poet Âref of Qazvin (1882–1934), addresses questions of sexuality, homoerotic relationships, pederasty, and the ethics of veiling.90 The narrator meets a woman and seduces her, but she keeps her face covered, unwilling to reveal her identity.91 The description of the coitus and of her genitals is graphic and rather lengthy, making the point that there is nothing chaste about having one’s face covered. After the sexual act, she runs away still holding her veil in place: 89 Abu’l-Qâsem Lâhuti, Collected Poetical Works, Vol. I, p. 274. For an excellent analysis of this poem see A. Karimi-Hakkak, Recasting Persian Poetry, pp. 188–202. Ahmad Karimi-Hakkak states that this poem “attempts to reintegrate Iranian women into the social sphere and demonstrates the conservatism of traditional poetic practice, increasingly understood as incongruous with modern age. In the process, the very being and identity of the object of love is transformed, turned from a source of the lover’s pain and pleasure to a national resource capable of miraculously changing the fortune of a whole country.” 90 For a short biography of the poet see M. J. Mahjub’s introduction in Iraj Mirzâ’s Divân, (Tehran, 1963), pp. 3–51. Iraj devoted other poems to the theme of hejâb, see pp. 11–12. Also see p. 172, in which the poet describes how the picture of a woman without a veil is painted on the door of an inn; this specific poem is translated by F. Milani in Veils and Words, pp. 30–31; see also Gh. H. Yusofi, Chashme-ye rowshan, pp. 357–69. For information on Âref see J. Matini in Encyclopædia Iranica, s. v. Âref Qazvini. 91 Tahqiq dar ahvâl, pp. 77–82. For a translation and an analysis of this poem see Paul Sprachman, “The Poetics of Hijâb in the satire of Iraj Mirzâ,” Iran and Iranian Studies: Essays in Honor of Iraj Afshar, ed. K. Eslami, (Princeton, 1998), pp. 341–57.

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‫از اول تا به �آخر چهره نگشود‬ ‫که چیزی ناید از مستوریش کم‬ ‫حرامت باد گفت و زد به کوچه‬

‫ولی چون عصمت اندر چهره اش بود‬ ‫دو دستی پیچه بر رخ داشت محکم‬ ‫چو خوردم سیر از �آن شیرین کلوچه‬

But since her chastity lay in her face, She didn’t show her face from beginning to end. She held the veil firmly with both hands so that nothing would be lacking in her modesty. When I’d eaten my full of that sweet cookie, she said: “May it be forbidden to you!” and went down the alley.

In fact before they have sex, the long black veil is part of the illicit attraction that the woman exerts. The narrator becomes ecstatic when she shows only a little of her face. He compares her face to the shining moon, her veil to a black cloud covering the brilliance:

‫کم ‌ی از چانه قدری از لبش را‬ ‫کند یک قطعه از مه عرض اندام‬

‫ز زیر پیچه دیدم غبغبش ر ا‬ ‫چنان کز گوشٔه ابر سیه فام‬

Under the veil on her face, I spotted her double chin, A tiny bit of her lower jaw, and a portion of her lips As if part of the moon were to display itself, from the corner of a black cloud.92

The veil makes it easier to see a woman as the object of sexual desire, and as an object. The poet mockingly compares veiled women to the round forms of vegetables:

‫که توی بقچه و چادر نمازی‬ ‫چرا مانند شلغم در جوالی‬ ‫تو خانمجان نه بادمجان مایی‬

‫به قربانت مگر سیری پیازی‬ ‫تو مر�آت جمال ذوالجلالی‬ ‫سروته بسته چون در کوچه �آیی‬

Dearest one! Are you by chance an onion or a garlic? That you are wrapped in a knapsack and a prayer-veil? You are the mirror of God’s Beauty; Why are you like a turnip in sack? When you enter the street covered from head to foot, You are not a ‘dear-Lady’ (khânom-jân) but an aubergine (bâdemjân).98 92 Iraj Mirzâ, Divân, p. 77, ll. 106–07.

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The veil is no more a protection of a woman’s honor, but something dehumanising, rousing man’s sexual desire and erasing individuality. The poet concludes that a veiled woman resembles anything but a human being.93 For Iraj, wearing a veil has nothing to do with chastity, because women wear it out of habit. By devoting several couplets to the actual sex act, with the woman holding her veil in place all the while, he redefines the veil as a sign of false morality. In Iraj’s opinion, the only protection for women’s chastity is education, for an educated woman cannot be deceived:

‫رواق جان به نور بینش افروخت‬ ‫به دریا گر بیفتد تر نگردد‬ ‫ولی‌ خود از تع ّرض دور ماند‬ ‫گر �آید به پیش تو دکولته‬ ‌‫توهم در وی به چشم شرم بینی‬

‫چو زن تعلیم دید و دانش �آموخت‬ ‫به هیچ افسون ز عصمت بر نگرد د‬ ‫چو خور بر عالمی پرتو فشاند‬ ‫زن رفته کلژ دیده فاکولته‬ ‌‫چو در وی عفّت و �آرزم بینی‬

When a woman goes to school and gathers knowledge, She purifies her soul in the fire of understanding, No spell will make her turn her face from chastity. If she falls into an ocean, she won’t become wet. Like the sun, she will shine on the world. While she herself will be far from oppression. If a college trained and faculty educated woman, Visits you, dressed in a décolleté dress, When you see that she possesses chastity and modesty, You will look at her with eyes of modesty.94

Among the responses to this provocative poem was one from Amiral-Sho’arâ Nâderi, who wrote one to counter it. First he takes sides with Iraj in condemning homosexual activities in Persia, but then he starts an unrelenting attack on Iraj, asking him to take the veil from the face of his own wife if he is truly against veiling:

‫زن خودرا چرا داری تو مستور‬ ‫زروی دختر خود پرده بگشای‬

‫ اینست دستور‬،‫اگر شهزاده جان‬ ‫تو اول اندرین راه روی بنمای‬

93 Ibid., p. 81, ll. 202–04. 94 Ibid., p. 81, ll. 192–96.

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… ‫به پیش �آتاکه مارا بین ‌ی از پس‬ ‫فروزد خاطر جمعی شب و روز‬

‫دراین ر‌ه تا توباشی اولین کس‬ ‫زنت‌را گوی چون شمع شب‌افروز‬

Dear prince [addressing Iraj], if you say we should remove the veil why do you cover your own wife? You should first show your face in this regard, lifting the veil from your daughter. If you will be the first man to unveil his wife, come forward, because then, you will see how we follow you. Tell your wife that like a night illuminating candle, she should enlighten the though of many by day and night.95

Afterwards, Nâderi provokes Iraj by identifying the woman in question with Iraj’s own sister. He suggests that her reason for hiding her identity was this close kinship:

‫اگر خواهی‌ شناسی‌ خواهرت بود‬ ‫ خواهر بر تو نگشاد‬،‫از �آنرو روی‬

‫زن با پیچه‌یی کاندر برت بو د‬ ‫برادر چونکه خواهر را چنین گاد‬

That woman in a veil who was wrapped in your embrace, if you really want to know, was your very own sister Since a brother screws his own sister in this way she does not desire to remove the veil from her face.96

At the end, Nâderi states that hejâb is an old tradition based on the Koran, which should be protected.97 95 Ibid., explanatory notes, p. 263. 96 Ibid., pp. 263–64. 97 Despite Iraj’s opinion that unveiling will improve women’s positions in the society, there are several passages about women in his Divân which are traditional. For instance, when he writes about hejâb, he praises unveiled women and looks down on veiled women, yet in an ode in praise of Nâseral-Din Shah, Iraj attributes a higher position to men. Although the following is a poetic device, using a proverb to convince the king to embark on a journey, it reveals Iraj’s sexist views: “(…) it is woman’s habit to stay in one place / If a man does not pass through the alleys and streets / How can man excel woman? / Are you sitting like a woman at home / hoping that your sustenance may come through an opening?” See Tahqiq dar ahvâl, p. 42, ll. 787–88. It should also be said that Iraj wrote several exquisite poems praising the position of a mother, in which he delineates the active role of a woman in society.

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Veiling and unveiling continued to be a major theme in the poetry produced in the first half of the twentieth century. In that period several female poets voiced their ideas about women’s position in society, veiling, the ideal wife, and husband, and other subjects relating to the relationship between men and women. The secondary literature on this subject often begins with reference to Tâhere Qorrat-al-Ayn, a prominent Babi who wrote poetry, and cast off the veil in 1848. Tâhere would appear and speak in men’s gathering, giving lectures on religious topics and the tenets of the Babi religion. She was executed in 1852. Others, such as Shams Kasmâ’i, followed her example by casting off their veils. While Tâhere wrote exquisite poetry, these poems lack a strong female voice, such as we see in the poetry of Forugh Farrokhzâd (1935–1967). In fact the poetry of the first half of the twentieth century lacks a female voice, except for the poetry of Qâ’em-Maqâmi, known as Zhâle. Since this has been treated in this volume by Dominic Brookshaw, I will refer only briefly to her views on the veil. Zhâle’s poetry is distinct from that of Persian poets before her, in that she did not write for a broad public.98 Her poetry was chiefly a personal document, a therapeutic medium to register events in her life. In several of her poems, she pours her heart to a mirror, to a samovar, to a comb and even to modern objects such as a wooden curler and a sewing machine. Such dialogues with a soulless object allow her to open her heart about personal, matrimonial and social problems, as we see in one poem in which she talks to a sewing machine. For Zhâle, the sewing machine has a soul, showing the magic of European progress:

‫ ای چرخ زینگر! جادویی ها می کنی خود نداری جان و اعجاز مسیحا می کنی‬،‫راستی‬ )…( ‫در تو می بینم که هر ساعت هویدا می کنی‬ ‫سر نمی بینم تو را و اندیشه مغزی فکور‬ ‫ بار دوش دیبا می کنی‬،‫ پای سنگین پویه را با هزاران ناز‬،‫چون به دست افشانی اُفتی‬ ‫ حیلتی در پرده هست �آنچه را در دیده ما �آشکارا می کنی‬،‫حقه ای در کار باشد‬ ‫لیک سر در زیر دارد �آن چه بالا می کنی‬ ‫اَفکنی هردم هزاران بخیه را بر روی کار‬ ‫هر زمان لعبی دگر از پرده پیدا می کنی‬ !‫حقه بازا ! درزیا ! جادوگرا ! معجز ورا‬ 98 On Zhâle’s life and poetry see A. Seyed-Gohrab, Mirror of Dew: The Poetry of Âlam-Tâj Zhâle Qâ’em-Maqâmi, (Boston, 2014).

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LITERATURE OF THE EARLY TWENTIETH CENTURY O Singer, you do much magic You have no soul but you work miracles like Jesus.99 You have no head, but I see the thought of a brain at work you show it moment by moment. (…) When you start to dance, with waving hands, you put your heavy foot On the silk’s shoulders, with a thousand flirting moves. There’s trickery at work, there’s deceit behind the veil, In whatever you show to us. Every second you make a thousand stitches in the piece But your head’s underneath while you’re at work above. You fraud! Sewer! Magician! Miracle-worker! You’re continually pulling a new toy from behind the veil.100

Zhâle is using the classical Persian literary repertoire in a new context, admiring progress and how technological advancement can enrich human culture. During Zhâle’s time, an ‘ideal’ wife was supposed to be skilled in sewing, embroidery, gastronomy and house-keeping. These were supposed to be women’s contribution to society. In this poem, modernized needlework, through the Singer, has entered a millennium-old Persian literary tradition. If we leave aside poems of this type, most of Zhâle’s other poems address issues concerning women and women’s emancipation. At the end Payâm be zanân‑e âyande (“Message to Future Women”), she begs women to protest against inequality:

‫ کوششی‬،‫ قیامی‬،‫ شوری‬،‫ همتی‬،‫دست و پایی‬ ‫ جان من! جز عرصه ناورد نیست‬،‫شهر هستی‬ ‫�آخر ای زن! جنبشی کن تا ببیند عالمی‬ ‫ هم زان بیشتر در مرد نیست‬،‫کانچه ما را هست‬

  99 Charkh-e Singer refers to the Singer sewing machine which was very popular in Iran during this period. The old swing machines had a wheel and foot-pedal. It might be possible that the poet is referring to Jesus and the needle which was found on him in the fourth heaven, preventing him from ascending to the seventh. It is well known in Persian poetry and commentaries on the Koran. See, for instance, Abu Bakr Atiq Neyshâburi, Qesas-e Qur’ ân-e majid, ed. Y. Mahdavi, (Tehran, 1975), p. 47. 100 Divân‑e Zhâle, pp. 103–6, “Conversation with a sewing machine.”

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poetry as awakening: singing modernity My dear! Some effort, aspiration, commotion, rebellion and endeavor! The city of existence is nothing but a battlefield. O women! Mobilize, so that a world can see what we have is not less than what men possess.

We do not know whether she wore a veil, but in her poetry she is against it, censuring the veil in various ways. In Châhsâr‑e haram (“The Pit of the Harem”), the veil is pictured as a black wall suffocating a woman inside the caged space of the harem. The harem is compared to a graveyard with tall walls, barring her from seeing any other space. Zhâle laments that her only crime is her gender: (…) My crime is being a woman, being in the dustbin of humanity, I am no one. In the cemetery of the harem, wrapped by a tar-colored shroud. Like a straw, they threw me in the sewer of existence.101

The comparison of the black veil to tar is strong, since tar is not only black, it sticks to the body and is hard to remove it. This suffocating image is reinforced by being juxtaposed to the grave. The imagery calls to mind a woman buried alive, wrapped in her veil, i. e. a black shroud. We do not know whether Zhâle knew of ­Eshqi’s Black Shroud, but her imagery is very eloquent, suggesting, like Eshqi’s poem, that as long as women are wrapped in the veil, half of the Iranian nation is dead. Zhâle states that women are treated this way because of tradition and the rulings of Islamic law. Patriarchal society defines women as the ‘slave of lust’ (bande-ye havas), ‘yielding oneself to carnal desire’ (sar-seporde-ye nafs), ‘the rebel of carnal desire’ ( fetne-ye havas), etc. She states in a number of places that women are not even called by their names, but are referred to as ‘the house,’ removing their identities.

‫�آن که زن را بچه ها یا خانه ما داده نام‬ ‫چون تواند دید کان عورت به مردی �آشناست؟‬ ‫خاص مردان است این حق های از مذهب جدا‬ ‫مذهب ما گر چه اکنون در کف زور�آزماست‬ !‫ �آخر شرم دار‬،‫ وین تو‬،‫این کتاب �آسمانی‬ ‫ �آن چه می گویی کجاست‬،‫ این �آیین اسلام‬،‫این تو‬ 101 Divân‑e Zhâle, pp. 93–94.

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‫کی خدا پروانه بیداد را توشیح کرد؟‬ ‫کی پیمبر جنس زن را این چنین بیچاره خواست؟‬ ‫ جنّت را به زیر پای زن‬،‫گر محمد بود‬ ‫ مقداری ز جنس مرد کاست‬،‫هشت و با این گفته‬ ‫ زن را هم طراز مرد گفت‬،‫گر پیمبر بود‬ ‫وی َبسا حق ها که او را داد و اکنون زیر پاست‬ ‫ اما �آن طلاق‬،‫خود طلاق ما به دست توست‬ ‫ مردود ذات کبریاست‬،‫ داری خبر‬،‫گر زدین‬ ‫�آیت «مثنی ثلاث» اَر هست و«ان ِخف ُتم» ز پِی‬ ‫�آیت «لَن تستطیعوا» نیز فرمان خداست‬ ‫چون تواند مرد عادل زیست با زن های خویش؟‬ ‫ �آن یک جوان و دلرباست‬،‫کاین یکی زشت است وپیر‬ ‫�آیت «مثنی ثلاث» اَر جزئی از حق های توست‬ ‫�آیت «لَن تستطیعوا» نیز از حق های ماست‬ ‫ تا بدانی کان جواز‬،‫رو بدین فرمان نظر کن‬ .‫تابع اَمری محال است اَر تو را عقل و دهاست‬ How could a man who calls his wife “our children” or “our house,” Bear it, if his wife was acquainted with another man? These rights, which are distinct from religion, are only for men, Yet our religion is now in the hands of powerful controlling men. This is the Heavenly Book while this is what you claim: be ashamed of yourself! Here: these are the Islamic traditions: where can I find what you are saying? When did God ever sign the license of injustice? When did the Prophet ever want the race of women to be so wretched? During the Prophet’s life, he put paradise under the feet of women; By this, he took something away from the race of men. So long as the Prophet lived, he considered men and women as equals Ah! Many rights that he gave to women are now trampled upon. Even our divorce is in your hands, but if you know something of religion, You know, such as divorce is annulled by the Essence of God. While there is the verse about “two, or three,” it’s followed by “if you fear.”

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poetry as awakening: singing modernity The verse “you can never treat [them] fairly” is also God’s decree.102 How can a husband be fair to his wives When one is ugly and old, and one is young and heart-ravishing! If the verse “two, or three” is part of your rights The verse, “you can never treat [them] fairly” is our right. Go, cast your eyes on this decree, so you will know, if you have sense and reason That this permission is conditioned on obeying an impossible command.

In another poem, Zhâle concludes that, because of humiliation and inequality, women have no place, and have even become a ‘disgrace to the world,’ and therefore they hide, by wrapping themselves in the veil:

‫کَش نام و نشان طعن و تسخری ست‬ ‫ نه داوری ست‬،‫زن را نه پناهی‬ ‫ نام در خوری ست‬،‫بر مرد و به زن‬ ‫پیچیده به قیرینه چادری ست‬

‫ ضعیفه ای‬،‫من کیستم؟ �آوخ‬ ‫دردا که درین بو ِم ظلمناک‬ ‫گر نام وجود و َعدم نهند‬ ِ ‫زن‬ ‫ننگ وجود ست از�آن سبب‬

Who am I? Oh! A weak creature Whose name and being are mockery and scorn. Alas! Alack! In this country that oppression rules, A woman has no refuge, nor any arbiter. If people were to use the names ‘existence’ and ‘non-existence’ For man and woman, these names would suit them. Woman is a disgrace to the world because She is wrapped in a black veil.103

Zhâle even rebels against Islamic law. In the following poem, she encourages women to unveil themselves, even if this is contrary to the orthodox tenets of Islam: 102 Koran, 4:3, “… If you fear that you will not act justly towards the orphans, marry such women as seem good to you, two three, four; but if you fear you will not be equitable, then only one, or what your right hands own.” Another reference appears in the same Surah, verse 129: You will not be able to be equitable between your wives …” See The Quran Interpreted by A. J. Arberry. 103 Divân‑e Zhâle, p. 91.

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‫ �آنک چامه غ ّرای من‬،‫هان و هان ای دختران! خیزید و همدستان شوی د رهنما گر باید‬ ،‫از سیه چادر بر �آمد نعره و غوغای من‬ ‫تا نپنداری که چادر س ّد راه تو ست از �آنک‬ ‫گو مرا کافر شناسد شیخ از ین فتوای من‬ ‫ به چادر در فک ن‬،‫ور تو را دامان گرفت �آتش‬ O, O girls! Rise and be united! If you need a guide, here is my eloquent poem. That you might not consider the veil a hindrance on your way, the roar and tumult is coming from this black veil. If you’re taken by fire, throw your veil in it: Even if the Sheikh does brand me a heretic for issuing this fatwa.104

To wrap up the discussion thus far, we can conclude that the veil and unveiling is one of the favorite topics of the poetry of the first decades of the twentieth century, enabling intellectuals to address various aspects of women’s emancipation. Figures such as Eshqi, Lâhuti, Iraj Mirzâ and Zhâle were in favor of unveiling, considering the veil as a barricade to progress, associating it with traditionalism and Islam as sources of resistance to modernism. However other poets, such as Ashraf considered the veil as a protection for women, as a moral and physical ornament, and as a symbol of Persian cultural integrity in the face of Western domination.

6. Nationalistic Tendencies in Poetry The poetry of the period deals with subjects that were addressed in politics and society. One of these subjects was nationalism and related topics such as anti-traditionalism, anti-imperialism, and opinions both in favor and against Islam.105 In what follows, I will

104 Pishgu’i dar bâre-ye âzâdi-ye zanân (‘Predicting Women’s Freedom’), p. 174. 105 For a discussion on nationalism see Homa Katouzian, “Persian Literature from Romantic Nationalism to Social Criticism 1914–1950,” Modern Literature in the Near and Middle East, 1850–1970, ed. Robin Ostle, (London and New York, 1991); also compare Sh. Meskub, “Melli-garâ’i, tamarkoz va farhang dar ghorub‑e Qâjâriyye va tolu‑e Pahlavi,” Dâstân‑e adabiyyât va sargodhasht‑e ejtemâ (sâlhâ-ye 1300–1315), (Tehran, 1994), pp. 5–38.

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first address how poets praised Persia’s pre-Islamic splendor, emphasizing the importance of the Persian language as a unifying element among peoples living in the Indian subcontinent, Afghani­ stan, Tajikistan and Iran. In this nationalistic context, poets wrote the history of Persia from the dawn of creation to the present, with an emphasis on what they called the unique character of the Persians. Such poems ranged from just a few lines to some 600 couplets of Bahâr’s poem, Âyne-ye ebrat. Generally speaking, these poems concentrate on the antiquity of Persian civilization, starting their histories with the first human being according to Persian creation myth, Kiyumars, followed by the mythical kings and historical dynasties of the Persian world. Their exploits and heroic deeds are extolled, while the poet laments Persia’s present deplorable condition. Almost every poet of the period wrote at least one poem citing the ancient Persian heroes, their power and exploits, in contrast to the weakness of Persia’s present rulers who seemed paralyzed in dealing with Western interference in Persia. In these poems, this ancient and rich history is used as an ebrat, an exemplary lesson, on how to administer a state, how to treat people, how to deal with enemies, and so forth. The poem is based on Afzal-al-Din Ibrâhim Khâqâni’s (c. 1126–1199) famous Qaside on the ruins of the Sassanid Ctesiphon. In his Âyne-ye ebrat, composed after Mozaffar-al-Din Shah’s death and the coronation of Mohammad-Ali Shah, Bahâr a­ dmonishing the young king to draw lessons from the kings in Persian history. Bahâr published the poem in his newspaper Now-bahâr in 1285/1906, hoping that the new Shah would not follow the despotic policies of Mozaffar-al-Din Shah.106 106 Bahâr, Divân, pp. 118–49; For Bahâr’s imitations of Khâqâni see M. B. Loraine, “A Memoir on the Life and Poetical Works of Maliku’l-Shu’ara’ Bahar,” International Journal of Middle East Studies, Vol. 3, No. 2, 1972, p. 149. There were also poets who responded to the very positive picture of the pre-Islamic Persian kings, arguing that several of these pre-Islamic kings and the viziers were not better than the present rulers of Iran. See Gh. Zâre and N. Niku-Bakht, “Angize-hâ-ye tavajjoh be Irân‑e bâstân dar she’r‑e asr‑e mashrute,” Fasl-nâme-ye pazhuhesh-hâye adabi, No. 15, (2007), pp. 139–53.

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!‌‫ هان‬،‫‌از خواب‌ سر بردار‬،‫پاسبانا تا به چند این مستی و خواب گران پاسبان‌را نیست‌ خواب‬ ‫یک‌طرف گرگ دمان و یک‌طرف شیر ژیان‬ ‫گلٔه خود را نگر بی‌پاسبان و بی‌شبان‬ ‫ این از چنگ �آن هریک �آلوده به خون این گله چنگ و دهان‬،‌‫�آن ز چنگ این رباید طعمه‬ ‫پاسبان مست و گله مشغول و دشمن هوشیار‬ ‫کار با یزدان بود کز کف برون رفته است کار‬ ‫نیکی از زشتان مجوی و یاری از همسایگان‬ ‫پند بپذیرای ملک زین پاک گوهر رایگان‬ ‫پایداری چند خواهی جست ازین بی‌پایگان‬ ‫وانگه از سر دورکن گفتار این بی‌مایگان‬ ‫ گنجی شایگا ن ترسم این گنج ازکفت شاها بر�آید رایگان‬،‌‫کشور تو خسروا گنجی است‬ ‫طرفه گنجی درکف �آوردی کنون بی‌هبچ رنج‬ ‫ شاها کی شناسی قدرگنج‬،‌‫چون نبردی رنج‬ ‫گنجی �آمد درکفت بیش از سپهرش فر و جا ه صیت قدر و حشمتش بگذشته از ماهی و ماه‬ ‫خسروان کرده در او از دیدٔه حسرت نگاه حدش از �آنسوی دجله تا بدین سوی هراه‬ ‫وندر او زین دیرگه بیگانگان نابرده راه‬ ‫دست اندر دست مانده تاکنون از دیرگاه‬ ‫خسروان در برکشیده این بت دلبند را‬ ‫راست چون مادرکه اندر برکشد فرزند را‬ O watchman! How long will you remain drunk and in deep sleep? A watcher should not sleep, awake, leave sleep aside! Look at your flock how they are without a watch and a shepherd, While on one side there is a voracious wolf, on the other side a mighty lion. They snatch the prey from each other’s claws, Both their claws and mouths are besmeared with the blood of the beasts in the flock. The watcher is drunk, the cattle is grazing while the enemy is wakeful. It is a matter for the Almighty, since affairs are beyond our control. O king! Accept advice from my pure soul free of charge. Do not seek good from the ugly-spirited, or assistance from neighbors. Then banish from your head the words of those shallow-minded people. How long will you seek support from these people without foundations? O king! Your kingdom is a treasure, a precious treasure. I fear that this treasure will easily be taken from your hands.

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poetry as awakening: singing modernity Without any exertion, you have found such a wondrous treasure in your hands. Since you have not toiled to gain it, O King! How can you know the value of this treasure! A treasure has come into your hands, whose glory and exaltation are greater than heaven’s. The fame of its value and splendor passes beyond the moon or the Fish.107 Kings look at it with eyes full of longing. Its borders stretch from the far bank of the Tigris to beyond Herat. From ancient times till now, it has remained in our hands. Since long ago, no enemy has found his way to it. Kings have taken this ravisher of the hearts in their embrace, Like a mother who takes her child in her arms.

As can be seen, the poet advises the king not to trust either Persia’s neighbors nor any other foreign power as they are preying on Persia, devouring it from each side. Persia is a precious treasure, having been in the hands of mighty monarchs from the dawn of history. In this long didactic poem, Bahâr writes a Persian history, highlighting political events, reminding the young king of what he has inherited. Poets such as Bahâr emphasize Persia’s ancient culture and how the Persian language enabled this ancient culture to survive calamities, often in connection with Ferdowsi and his epic Shahname (11 th century), which I will discuss below. The works of Mirzâ Ebrâhim Khân Purdâvud (1886–1968) and Mohammad-Rezâ Eshqi (1893–1924) and several other intellectuals are good examples of this national revival and the foregrounding of ancient Persian culture to downplay its Islamic and Arab counterparts. Anti-Arab sentiments were expressed in many ways, including a reappraisal of history, literature and the Persian language. Purdâvud even tried writing in pure Persian (pârsi-ye sare) without any loan words, 107 The phrase from the moon to the fish stands for the entire universe. In ancient Persian mythology, a “fish is the foothold for the bull supporting the earth between its horns.” See R. Zipoli, “Poetic Imagery.” General Introduction to Persian Literature, p. 183.

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which in Persian come largely from Arabic. Other authors such as Adib-al-Mamâlek, and even earlier, the poet Mirzâ Abu ‘l-Hasan Yaghmâ also did this.108 Several intellectuals sought to replace the Arabic alphabet with Roman characters for writing Persian. This idea was introduced in 1857 by Âkhundzâde and later by Mirzâ Malkam Khân (1833– 1908), who corresponded extensively on this subject, fine-tuning their new alphabetical system over several years, and seeking acceptance by the Persian and Turkish ministries of education. They were both very disappointed that their project aroused little interest.109 The resurgence of nationalism in Persian poetry came in response to aggressive foreign interventions, based on imperialistic and colonialist policies that did not respect Persia’s sovereignty, and also in response to the despotism and ineptness of the Qajar dynasty. Poets directed their criticisms at the ruling class as well as at Russia and Great Britain. Fervent emotional poems like the example below, reflecting a cultural and historical awareness and a sense of weakness in relation to Persia’s rulers and foreign powers, abound in the Divâns of the poets in this period. The following verses were written in prison at Trebizonde by Mirzâ Âqâ Khân Kermâni in 1896, just before he was executed. E. G. Browne quoted it as a motto to the Preface of his Persian Revolution of 1905–1909 (1910):

‫که کشور به بیگانگان اوفتد‬ ‫بیفتد بزیر جوانان روس‬ ‫شود همسر لردی از انگلیس‬

‫به ایران مباد �آنچنان روز بد‬ ‫نخواهم زمانی که این نو عرو‬ ‫س‬ ‫به گیتی مباد �آنکه این حور دیس‬

108 See Amiri, Divân, panegyric 47, pp. 227–28. 109 On alphabet reform see Iraj Parsinejad, A History of Literary Criticism in Iran (1866–1951), pp. 101–6; Âjudâni, Yâ marg yâ tajaddod, pp. 65–70 in which the author discusses nationalism within the context of language purism; Mehrdad Kia, “Persian Nationalism and the Campaign for Language Purification,” Middle Eastern Studies, Vol. 34, No. 2 (1998), pp. 9–36; M. Âjudâni, Mashrute-ye Irâni, pp. 224–25, 230; F. Âdamiyyat, A ­ ndishehâ-​ ye Mirzâ Fath-Ali Âkhundzâde, (Tehran, 1970), pp. 69–107; also see H. Rajab­zâde, “Andish-ye eslâh va vasvase-ye taghir‑e khatt dar Irân va Jâpon‑e ma’âser,” Nâme-ye Farhangestân, (2007), No. 33, pp. 9–27.

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poetry as awakening: singing modernity Ne’er may that evil-omened day befall When Írán shall become the stranger’s thrall! Ne’er may I see that virgin fair and pure Fall victim to some Russian gallant’s lure! And ne’er may Fate this angel-bride award As serving-maiden to some English lord!110

The import of the imagery is self-evident, but for the Persian reader the poem’s familiar rhythm also conveys a message: it derives from Ferdowsi’s Shahname, and points to Persia’s ancient glory. From the middle of the fifteenth century, this monumental poem, full of wisdom and moral and practical precepts for young and old, developed into a national epic, and was increasingly used in a political context. It was claimed that it had saved the Persian language from inundation by the Arabic cultural tradition and rescued Persians from being overcome by the Arabs. It was written when regional Persian local rulers were seeking to legitimate their rule in Central Asia, using patronage of learning and the arts and the revival of Persian culture, as one tool. Ferdowsi’s Shahname played a central role in this movement, known as the Persian renaissance, and it has been central to Persia’s cultural and literary heritage ever since. However it has been read in many different ways. For centuries it functioned as a mirror for princes. A wide range of Persian poets imitated it in a creative way, documenting the heroism and exploits of the kings they served. By the mid-nineteenth century, Persian intellectuals were reading it as a unique and eloquent treatment of national identity and solidarity.111 When Mirzâ Taqi Khân Amir-Kabir (d. 1852) heard that Nâser-al-Din Shah read Sir Johan Malcolm’s History of Persia instead of Ferdowsi’s Shahname, he asked him: “Why do not you read the Shahname ­… you should know that for all Iranians, from the highest to the lowest, the Shahname is the best of all books.” Mirzâ Âqâ Khân 110 As cited and translated by E. G. Browne, Persian Revolution of 1905–1909, (Cambridge, 1910), p. xi. 111 A. Marashi, “The Nation’s Poet: Ferdowsi and the Iranian National Imagination,” Iran in the 20 th Century Historiography and Political Culture, ed. T. Atabaki, (London and New York, 2009), pp. 93–111.

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Kermâni (1855–1898) describes the historical centrality of the Shahname as follows: If it were not for the Shâh-nâma of Ferdowsi, the language and the race of the Iranian people would have been at once transformed into Arabic after the domination by the Arab tribes in Iran. Like the peoples of Syria, Egypt, Morocco, Tunisia, and Algeria, the Persian speakers would have changed their race and nationality.112

In the twentieth century, Ferdowsi was used by intellectuals to bolster their collective self-image and sense of being distinct, non-Arab and non-Islamic, because Ferdowsi wrote in Persian, and emphasized the Iranian race and Zoroastrian faith. Just as Ferdowsi had revived and revalorized his past, secular intellectuals were shaping a collective self-image for Iranians. Ferdowsi appeared in nationalist clothes, as the protector of Iranian identity during a hazardous period when Muslim Arabs were seeking to erase many indigenous languages and cultures. Persian scholars and intellectuals increasingly praised Ferdowsi, while censuring the panegyric poets such as Farrokhi, Onsuri and Manuchehri. Influenced by romanticism and European literary values and political philosophy, and imbued with anti-Arab and anti-Islamic sentiments, Persian intellectuals re-evaluated classical literature in utilitarian terms, seeking what would serve the interests of a modern nation. Ferdowsi suited their purpose well. In his life and work they recognized modern European values, and this allowed them to see this new political philosophy as something deeply rooted in the ‘own’ cultural history. In their interpretation of Ferdowsi, European ideas were not from the ‘other’ but from the ‘self’—and the consequence was that the real ‘others’ could be defined as the ‘Muslims’ or ‘Arabs,’ who were responsible for Persia’s backwardness. In their view Ferdowsi supported neither Islam nor Arabic culture. The influences were reciprocal. Some of the principles of 112 This citation comes from Âyene-ye Eskandari as quoted by Mohamad Tavakoli-Targhi, “Refashioning Iran: Language and Culture during the Constitutional Revolution,” Iranian Studies, Vol. 23, No. 1/4, (1990), p. 81; also see M. Âjudâni, Mashrute-ye Irâni, p. 190.

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nineteenth century European theories of race were rooted in classical Persian literature. The Ferdowsi of Iranian intellectuals of this period was an Iranian who championed the codes of chivalry (pahlavâni), using the Persian language as a literary and cultural medium. Ferdowsi makes a sharp distinction between Iran and non-Iran (irân-o anirân). His ‘others’ include mythic figures, and Turkish and Greek peoples, but later in the epic, when he depicts the victory of Muslim Arabs over Sassanid Persia, Ferdowsi includes the Arabs as others. However his focus is not on Islam but rather on the uncivilized nomadic ways of the conquerors, who are presented as conceited barbarians who eat lizards and drink camel-milk. This re-evaluation of Persian poetry was also influenced by the enormous interest of European scholars in Persian poetry, especially in the Shahname, which was translated into various European languages. Ferdowsi (934–1021), along with a few other Persian authors, become household names in educated Europe.113 This, and the patriotic sentiment awakened through the Constitutional revolution, made the Shahname the national epic that the intellectuals needed, the ‘resurrector of Iranian identity.’114 The positive European reception of the Shahname was publicized in Persia by influential literary and political figures such as Sayyed Hasan Taqizâde, Mohammad-Taqi Bahâr and Mohammad-Ali Forughi. Bahâr wrote several poems on Ferdowsi and his Shahname. In 1922, he urged Reza Khan to prove his patriotism by “celebrating Ferdowsi and building a worthy mausoleum for the “resurrector of Iranian national identity and people” (zende konande-ye melliyat‑o nezhâd‑e Irân).”115 The poet Habib-Allâh Nowbakhti composed 113 Sh. Shahbazi, Ferdowsi: A Critical Biography, (Costa Mesa, California, 1991), pp. 10–13; also see John D. Yohannan, Persian Poetry in England and America: a 200-Year History, (New York, 1977), see index Firdawsi; for translations in various European languages see Encyclopædia Iranica, s. v. Šāh-nāma translations, written by different authors. 114 See Sh. Shahbazi, in Encyclopædia Iranica, s. v. Ferdowsi, Abu’l-Qāsem iv. Millenary Celebration. 115 Ibid.; Sh. Shahbazi, Ferdowsi: A Critical Biography, pp. 15–18; also see John D. Yohannan, Persian Poetry in England and America, pp. 233–34.

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his Pahlavi-nâme yâ Shahname, consisting of 100.000 couplets, to celebrate Reza Shah’s political success.116 It was over ten years before the official celebration of Ferdowsi’s millenary took place, due in part to protests by anti-Ferdowsi groups, but when it did take place, in 1934, it was a month-long celebration held in many cities. Foreign scholars and officials were invited to participate. As Shahbazi has pointed out, “The gathering of some one hundred distinguished scholars as well as many dignitaries of various nationalities in Tehran and Mašhad was a most beneficial event for Iranian studies in general and for research on Ferdowsi and the Šāh-nāma in particular.”117 An enormous number of books and articles were written on various aspects of Ferdowsi and his Shahname. Poets wrote eulogies on Ferdowsi and published them in various journals and newspapers. One of these was Bravo Ferdowsi¸ by Bahâr, which reads in part:

‫�آنچه کورش کرد و دارا و �آنچه زردشت مهین‬ ‫زنده گشت از همت فردوسی سحر�آفرین‬ ‫تازه گشت از طبع حکمتزای فردوسی به دهر‬ ‫�آنچه کردند �آن بزرگان در جهان از داد و دین‬ ‫باستانی نامه کافشاندندش اندر خاک وگل‬ ‫تازیان در سیصد و پنجاه سال از جهل وکین‬ ‫�آفتاب طبع فردوسی به سی و پنج سال‬ ‫تازه ازگل برکشیدش چون شکفته یاسمین‬ ‫ تا تازی و ترک‬،‫نام ایران رفته بود از یاد‬ ‫ترکتازی را برون راندند لاشه ازکمین‬ ‫شد د‌رفش کاویانی باز برپا تاکشید‬ ‫این سوار پارسی رخش فصاحت زیر زین‬ ‫جز بدو هرگزکجا در‌طابران پیدا شدی‬ )…( ‫فره‌ای کز خسروان در‌خاوران بودی دفین‬ ‫نامه ی شاهان به دست موبدان �آماده گشت‬ ‫وز بزرگان خراسان یافت پیوندی چنین‬ 116 E. Safâ’i, “Shahname va Shahname-sorâyân,” Honar va mardom, (1975), No. 153–54, pp. 129–33; Franciszek Machalski, La littérature de l’Iran contemporain, pp. 27–29. 117 See Sh. Shahbazi, in Encyclopædia Iranica, s. v. Ferdowsi.

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‫بود دهقان‌ زاده‌ای دانشوری‌ خوانده کتاب‬ ‫وز «‌شعوبی‌» مردمش درگوش درهای ثمین‬ ‫زاده و پرورده در عهدی که بهر نام و ننگ‬ ‫بود اقلیم خراسان‌‪ ،‬رزمگاه �آن و این (…)‬ ‫بویٔه نام‌�آوری را هرطرف �آزاده‌ای‬ ‫زنده کرده نام کیکاوس و نام گی‌پشین‬ ‫کز میان شیرمردان نعره زد دهقان طوس‬ ‫ت هان یکسو که �آمد از عرین شیر عرین‬ ‫گف ‌‬ ‫پس بیاهنجید شکرزای کلک عسکری‬ ‫شکرستانی روان کرد ازکلام شکرین‬ ‫خود به کا ‌م خویش و گن ‌ج خویش کرد این شاهکار‬ ‫نه کسش فرمود هان ونه کسش فرمود هین‬ ‫ناگهان برخاست گردی درخراسان از نفاق‬ ‫وز میان گرد بیرون شد سر یغمای چین‬ ‫دولت سامانی و سامان خوارزم و زرنگ‬ ‫با زمین هموار شد زین گردباد �آتشین‬ ‫نیمه‌ای بخش «‌قدرخان‌» گشت‌ تا �آ ‌ن روی �آب‬ ‫بخش دیگر گشت مر محمود را زبر نگین‬ ‫صدمت‌ �آشوب و جنگ وخشکسالی و تگرگ‬ ‫ویژه برکرد از دیار طوس افغان و حنین‬ ‫کار بر فرزانه تنگ �آمد ازیرا گم شدند‬ ‫همرهان غمگسار و دوستان نازنین‬ ‫گرچه درویشی و پیری سست کرد استاد را‬ ‫لیکنش برکست‌ اگر شد سست عزم �آهنین‬ ‫بیست ساله شعرهای گفتٔه شهنامه گشت‬ ‫ناگزیر اندر جهان با مدح محمودی قرین‬ ‫وین گزیر ناگزیران مرد را سودی نکرد‬ ‫دستواره نال‌تر بود و نگشت او را معین‬ ‫سربه‌سر عرقوبی �آمد وعده ی سالار و میر‬ ‫ت مسکین طمع جوز افروش‌ه از نال جوین‬ ‫داش ‌‬ ‫پانزده سال دگر در طوس دستان‌ساز شد‬ ‫کش به جز حرمان نزاد از �آن شهور و �آن سنین‬ ‫سال‌ فردوسی ب‌ه هفتاد یک انجامید و ساخت‬ ‫هفت باغ دلگشا چون هشت خلد دلنشین‬ ‫‪87‬‬

LITERATURE OF THE EARLY TWENTIETH CENTURY

‫زان سپس ده یازده سال دگر نومید زیست‬ ‫هم به نومیدی روان شد جانب خلد برین‬ ‫مرگ برهاندش ز محنت وین هنر دارد جهان‬ ‫ رنج و غم و �آه و انین‬،‌‫کاندرو پاینده نی‬ ‫گرچه‌ خورد از گن ‌ج خویش و برنخورد از رنج‌خویش‬ ‫لیک‌ماند ازخویش گنجی بی‌عدیل و بی‌قرین‬ ‫بی گمان دانسته‌بود از پیش کایرانی گروه‬ ‫دارد از پی سرنوشت غز وتاتار لعین‬ ‫وین مصائب از پس مرگش پدید �آمد درست‬ ‫زانکه بود او را دل‌اندر قبضه ی روح‌الامین‬ ‫دور تورانی رسید و دور ایرانی گذشت‬ ‫وز سیه بختی شکار بوم شد باز خشین‬ ‫بی‌نسب مردم به قر�آن و به دین �آویختند‬ ‫ مکین‬،‫تا شدند از فر دین جای ملوک اندر‬ ‫خاندان‌های ملوک �آریانی را ز بن‬ ‌)…( ‫برفکند �آسیب‌�آنان چون دمنده بومهی ‌ن‬ The deeds of Cyrus and Darius, and the great Zoroaster Were revived by the efforts of Ferdowsi, creator of magic. All that these great men did in the world, in both just rule and piety, all has been revived through Ferdowsi’s wisdom-granting talent. The ancient history, which the Arabs had left in dust and mud for 350 years, because of their envy and ignorance, was drawn from the mud by the sun of Ferdowsi’s nature, in 35 years like a blossoming jasmine. So long as the Arabs and Turks were in frontal attack, the name of Iran was lost from memory. The Persian banner was hoisted again when this Persian hero mounted the steed of eloquence. Who but he could make the glory of kingship reappear from Tabarân, though it was buried in Khâvarân? (…) The book of kings was handed down by Zoroastrian priests, From Khorâsâni nobles it received its texture. A man born from the gentry, an erudite man, his family had filled his ears with the precious pearls of the Sho’ubi.118 118 The term Sho’ubi refers to a movement during the ninth century in which non-Arabs, mainly ethnic Iranians demanded equality. At the beginning of

88

poetry as awakening: singing modernity He was born and brought up at a time when, for the sake of name and repute, the province of Khorâsân had become a battlefield for all rulers vying for power. (…) Thanks to their desire for name and fame, from all corners and sides free men revived the names of Key kâvus and Key Pushin.119 From amidst the lion-hearted men, a nobleman from Tus roared, saying: “Stand aside! For here comes from the thicket the hunting lion.” Then he let the sweet pen made in Askar drink, letting a current of sugar flow from his sweet words. This masterpiece was completed for his own satisfaction, from his own treasure, No-one ordered him to do this or that. Suddenly the dust of enmity rose from Khorâsân And in the midst of the dust, the head of war against China appeared. The Samanid dynasty, and the empire of Khwârazm and the Abbasids Razed to dust by this fiery whirlwind. Part of the land, as far as the water, was taken by Qadar Khân The other part become under the rule of Mahmud Damage caused by rebellion, war, famine and rainstorm Brought sorrow and pain especially to the town of Tus. It was hard for men of knowledge to work, So true friends and companions in sorrow were few. Although poverty and old age made the master weak God forbid, his resolve never slacked. Poems in the Shahnama, composed over twenty years, Were forced to stand beside the praise of Mahmud. The help of the heroes who never flee did not bring him any gain, What he received as reward was much less, and did not help. the twentieth century, Persian intellectuals interpreted this movement as one of the first Persian revolts against Arab domination. There are several books and articles on this topic. See R. P. Mottahedeh, “The Shu’ubiyya Controversy and the Social History of Early Islamic Iran,” International Journal of Middle East Studies, 7, (1976), pp. 161–82; also see L. RichterBernburg, “Linguistic Shuʿūbīya and Early Neo-Persian Prose,” Journal of the American Oriental Society, Vol. 94, No. 1, (1974), pp. 55–64. 119 The name of the third of the four sons of Key Qobâd.

89

LITERATURE OF THE EARLY TWENTIETH CENTURY All that the notable Emir had promised, was breached The poor man dreamed of the taste of sweetmeat, while eating barley bread. He worked in Tus on his poem for another fifteen years And those months and years bore nothing but despair and disappointment. He reached the age of seventy one, and made Seven heart-ravishing gardens like the eight heart-caressing gardens of Paradise. He lived some ten or eleven years more, in despair And in despair, he departed to lofty Paradise. Death released him from pain, for the world has this virtue: Pain, sorrow, anguish and distress do not last forever in the world. Although he had his own treasure for reward, he could not remove his pain, Yet he left to us a matchless treasure, unsurpassed. Without a doubt he knew that the Persian race Has one destiny with the cursed Turks and Tatars. These calamities certainly appeared after his death When his heart was held in the hands of Gabriel. The time of the Turkish people has come, the time of the Persians has passed, Due to a dark fate, the black-backed falcon is hunted by the owl. People without lineage hang on the Koran and Islam To gain positions for themselves, through the aura of religion. The harm they did, a terrible earthquake, Shook the Aryan dynasties from their foundations, to dust. (…)120

7. Pro-German and Anti-British and Anti-Russian Sentiments A characteristic of the poetry of the Constitutional Revolution is description and evaluation of the role of Western powers such as Great Britain, Russia, Germany and other European countries in the Islamic world, especially Persia. In this poetry, Russia and Great Britain are usually depicted as imperialist powers who seek to exploit Persia 120 Bahâr, Divân, Vol. I, pp. 575–77, qaside 307.

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in all possible ways. During this period, stereotypical characterizations of Russia and Great Britain increasingly became part of the daily language of Iranians. Conspiracy theories about these and other countries developed. Events in the 19 th and the first half of the 20 th centuries led people to believe that the British controlled the course of world history, including affairs in Iran up to the 1979 Islamic Revolution. Ahmad Ashraf has listed events such as the support of Great Britain for the Constitutional Revolution (in opposition to the Russians); the Anglo-Russian Convention of 1907 dividing Persia into Russian and British zones of influence; the occupations of Persian territory in the First World War; the 1919 Anglo-Persian agreement, making Persia a semi-protectorate of the British; the British-backed coup d’état of 1921, bringing Reza Khan to power, and several other events which seemed to indicate a British hand at decisive moments.121 For these reasons the British are depicted “as cold-blooded, foxy, and cunning (rūbâh‑e makkâr), able to “cut off the heads of their enemies even with cotton”—that is, possessing nearly miraculous powers (sīâsat‑e Engelīs) to achieve their ends.”122 Among the European powers, Germany became popular, for various reasons: it had no imperialist ambitions in Persian cultural areas, and it made a significant contribution to scientific developments and the discovery of the Indo-European family of languages—a discovery which later contributed to ‘scientific’ racial t­ heories that made India and Persia popular among Europeans. While Europeans regarded Persia and India as lost parts of Europe’s heritage, seeking to rediscover it through travel and philological and archeological research, this had also enormous effects on the way Persian saw themselves. An emphasis on Persians’ racial difference from the Arabs inspired some Persian intellectuals to focus on pre-Islamic Persia. During the First World War several prominent Persian intellectuals resided in Berlin, and Persian students had been active in intellectual and political circles in Germany before the 121 A. Ashraf, in Encyclopædia Iranica, s. v. Conspiracy Theories. 122 A. Ashraf, in Encyclopædia Iranica, s. v. Conspiracy Theories. Sīāsat‑e Engelīs means ‘British diplomacy.’ Also see F. Vahman, Sad-o shast sâl mobârezeh bâ â’in‑e bahâ’i: gushe’i az târikh‑e ejtemâ’i- dini-ye irân dar dowrân‑e ma’ âser, (Sweden, 2009, third print 2010), pp. 134–37.

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LITERATURE OF THE EARLY TWENTIETH CENTURY

war and made propaganda for the German cause. This support was welcomed by the Germans, who wished to be allied with Iran to counter Russian and British influences in Eastern Europe. Although the term Aryanism was not used as such, it became an important element in Iranian national consciousness, especially with the advent of the Pahlavi dynasty (1925–1979), which created a new Persian identity based on pre-Islamic Persia, on Persia’s differences from its Arab and Turkish neighbors, and on Western social and political models. The role of Islam was deliberately minimized. Through the intervention of Iranians in Berlin, Reza Shah changed the name of Persia to Iran, and his son Mohammad Rezâ assumed the title of Âryâmehr (lit. ‘the sun of the Aryans’).123 Persia’s anti-Russian and anti-British attitude coincided with German competition with these two powers in Europe.124 The fact that the British were fighting in Eastern Afghanistan and India led people in the Persian-speaking world and the sub-continent to sympathize with their opponents, the Germans. The poet Adib Pishâvari (1844–1930) praised Germany and Wilhelm II, and the ‘spiritual father of Pakistan,’ Mohammad Iqbal, composed poetry in condemnation of British imperialism. The pro-German attitude was simulated by the intellectual Sayyed Hasan Taqizâde, who later held various political posts.125 During the First World War, a Persian national committee was established in Berlin on the initiative of, and with financial aid from, the German Foreign Office. Its goal was to spread anti-British and anti-Russian propaganda. The same committee initiated and published the bi-weekly Kâve, which had a pro-German stance in its first two years, but from January 1920 onwards, when a New Series of the newspaper appeared, it renounced politics, concentrating on literature and culture.126 123 F. Kashani-Sabet, Frontier Fictions, pp. 316–221; John D. Yohannan Persian Poetry in England and America, p. 234. 124 On pro-German poetry see Âryanpur, Az Sabâ tâ Nimâ, Vol. II, pp. 317–32, 424. 125 A. Schirazi in Encyclopædia Iranica, s. v. Germany x. The Persian community in Germany. 126 See E. G. Browne, A Literary History of Persia, Vol. iv, pp. 483–88, which offers a survey of the main subjects treated, especially in the New Series of the newspaper. T. Epkenhans, Die iranische Moderne im Exil: Bibliographie

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In addition to this seductive idea of being of a single Aryan race, the saying ‘the enemy of my enemy is my friend’ was applicable in this period, as Iran was in the claws of the British in the south and Russia in the north, and Germany promised to liberate Iran from both. The popularity of Germany has remained intact in Iran to the present day, but in recent times it has been based not only on cultural ties but also on economic and technological relations. The Aryan race theory is still popular for Iranians and Afghans, which shocks Germans today.127 As E. G. Browne states, having borders with Russia and bad experiences with its northern borders, Persia hated Russia, while Germany was far from Persia’s borders and conducted active propaganda. Pro-German sentiments appear in the poetry of several poets and were widely disseminated in newspapers and journals. This type of poetry can be characterized as a new genre in Persian poetry, found in the works of leading poets such as Mohammad-Taqi Bahâr, Vahid Dastgerdi, and Sayyed Ahmad Adib Pishâvari. Bahâr composed several poems praising Germany. One of these is a panegyric entitled Fath‑e Varsho or ‘The Conquest of Warsaw,’ which criticizes Russia. This poem of 35 couplets was composed in 1293/1914, praising the Kaiser and his success in the war. The poem was published in the newspaper Now-Bahâr.128 A few lines will give an impression of how poets such as Bahâr depicted such events:

‫کرمار و کفچه و کل برسو را‬ ‫وز پیش راند دشمن کجرو را‬ ‫چون اخگری که لطمه زد قو را‬ ‫داده نوید راجی و مرجو را‬ ‫پهلو دریده دشمن پهلو را‬

‫قیصر فسون نمود چو مارافسا‬ ‫ی‬ ‫وانگه ز غرب تاخت به شرق اندر‬ ‫زد در پروس شرق ‌ی بر دشمن‬ ‫بشکست خصم را و به ورشو تاخت‬ ‫یکسو مکنزن ان که سر تیغش‬

der Zeitscrift Kāve, Berlin 1916–1922, (Berlin, 2000), especially the background, pp. 12–47. 127 See Ch. Catanzaro in Encyclopædia Iranica, s. v. Germany viii. German cultural influence in Persia; also see E. G. Browne, A Literary History of Persia, Vol. iv, pp. 483–88; also see F. Azimi, “Historiography in the P ­ ahlavi Era.” Persian Historiography, pp. 367–435, especially pp. 370–77 on Moshir-alDowle (Hasan Pirniyā 1873–1935). 128 Divân, Vol. I, pp. 294–96, qaside 154.

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LITERATURE OF THE EARLY TWENTIETH CENTURY The Kaiser worked magic, like hypnotizing snakes and venomous creatures of all sorts Then he galloped from the West to the East Making the crooked enemy before him run In Eastern Prussia he blew at the enemy Like fire falling in firewood He broke the foe, and galloped to Warsaw, Bringing glad tidings for those who had asked and what they had hoped for. On one side rode August von Mackensen129, the tip of whose blade, would tear the enemy’s side.

Another poet famous for his pro-Germany poetry was Vahid Dastgerdi, a scholar and literary critic, who also composed topical poems. In some of these he praised Germany and showed his hatred for Russia and Britain. One of his poems is a mosammat (a poem with a refrain) entitled Nârenjak or ‘Grenade,’ dedicated to Wilhelm II. It condemns Russia and Great Britain and extols German military progress in Poland, Russia and France. Dastgerdi also composed powerful revolutionary poems, inducing the dervishes in the streets of Isfahan to sing them to the people. The medium itself is interesting: it was the custom for dervishes to recite mystical poetry in public places, but in this period when everything was politics, these poems had a clear political message. One of these poems is called The Attacking Dervish, which includes several clear mystic elements and phraseology but connects them neatly to pro-German politics.130 The short introduction to the poem says that during the Russian occupation of Isfahan, the dervish persona in the poem was arrested, imprisoned and later exiled. It has the refrain: hu haqq mowlâ madad, nâbud kon div-o dad or “God, True One, Our Master, help us to eradicate demons and wild beasts,” which in mystic poetry would normally refer to achieving control of the ego and carnal desire. 129 August von Mackensen (1849–1945) was one of the prominent generals of the German army during the First World War. 130 For the roles of wandering dervishes in this period see Âryanpur, Az Sabâ tâ Nimâ, Vol. II, pp. 29–32, who gives a sample of their poetry sung on streets.

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‫نبود کن دیو و دد‬ ‫فشرد چون حلق روس نای بریطانیا‬ ‫از کی‌ و ساسانیا‬ ‫ایران‌ای یادگار‬ ‫چو باب در فتح باب بکوش با جدجد‬ ‫نبود کن دیو و دد‬

‫هو حق مولا مدد‬ ‫دولت �آلمانیا‬ ‫بپنجٔه �آهنین‬ ‫کلٔه اسلاو کوفت گرزٔه ژرمانیا‬ ‫خیز و بمیدان جنگ نشان‌ه باش از نیا‬ ‫هو حق مولا مدد‬

‫پیلتن و شیرزاد‬ ‫بپهنه بازو گشاد‬ ‫خیز و بر افراز قد‬

‫متحد اندر نژاد‬ ‫پهنٔه جنگ داد‬ ‫از نسب گیقباد‬ ‫هو حق مولا مدد‬

‫هردو بمیدان جنگ‬ ‫کمر بناو رد بست‬ ‫چند فتاده ز پای‬ ‫نبود کن دیو و دد‬

‫ایران با ژرمن است‬ ‫ژرمن داد یلی‬  ‫ای بجهان سربلند‬

Now the iron fist of the German government Presses the throats of Russia and Britain The ax of Germany has hammered the head of the Slavs. O Iranians! O children of the Achaemenid and Sassanid dynasties, Rise and be a sign of your ancestors in the battlefield. Make vigorous efforts, like your fathers, to open the gates God, True One, Our Master, help us to eradicate demons and wild beasts. Iranians are of one race with the Germans, On the battlefield, they are both elephant-bodied and lion-like. Germans show valiance in every aspect of warfare, Girding themselves to fight, making a fist to fight. O you who have been elevated in the world, since you are Key Qobâd’s sons, How long will you remain in collapse? Rise and draw yourself up, stand tall! God, True One, Our Master, help us to eradicate demons and wild beasts.131

In this poem, consisting of twenty-five stanzas, the poet uses classical imagery, metaphors and allusions while depicting a contemporary event. Allusions to Persian mythical kings such as Kiyumars and Jamshid are intended to encourage Persians to fight the British who, having abused Persian neutrality, have poured salt in 131 See Rah-âvard‑e Vahid, zamime-ye sâl‑e nohom‑e majalle-ye Armaghân 1307, (Tehran 1928). For this poems see pages 5 to 10; here I have translated stanzas 7 and 8.

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LITERATURE OF THE EARLY TWENTIETH CENTURY

the torn hearts of the Persians and pepper in their tearful eyes. Using the classical metaphor of the ball and the stick, the poet wishes to make a ball from the head of Persia’s enemy and to make the sword a polo stick, beheading the enemy for the sake of religion and the homeland. The poet depicts Germany as a superior power that has come to help Persia against her enemies, and he exhorts Persians, the children of mighty pre-Islamic kings, to fight side by side with Germany. The poet repeatedly reminds the reader that Persians and Germans are from the same stock. Perhaps the most famous poet of this genre is Sayyed Ahmad Shehâb-al-Din Razavi, known as Adib Pishâvari, who was born in 1844 on the border of India and Pakistan and died in 1930.132 This was the period (1848–1852) in which the Afghans were fighting the British, and his father and several other members of his family were killed in the fighting. Pishâvari wrote many ghazals and qasides, amounting to some 4000 couplets, some of which treat topical issues. In this example he praises Germany, heaping invective on the British:133

‫توپ فلک کوب ز کوره کروپ‬ ‫قیصر خورشید کلاه اروپ‬ ‫زهر هزیمت عوض جام سوپ‬ ‫بست بر انورس وز هوای توپ‬ ‫خصم بنوشد و بدش این سزای‬ O Kaiser of the sun, O crown of Europe, You hammer the spheres with canons made by Krupp. They fired at Antwerp with a mighty canon roar. The enemy drank the poison of flight instead of a beaker of soup: Truly this was his punishment.

Pishâvari’s name is usually associated with a long heroic poem entitled Qeysar-nâme (‘the Epic of the Kaiser’), which he composed 132 See Munibur Rahman in Encyclopædia Iranica, s. v. Adib Pishavari; also see Âryanpur, Az Sabâ tâ Nimâ, Vol. I, pp. 317–22; also see the introduction in his Divân: Divân‑e qasâ’ed va ghazaliyyât‑e fârsi va Arabi-ye Adib Pishâvari, ed. A. Abd-al-Rasuli, (Tehran, 1933), pp. 2–17. 133 See Adib Pishâvari, Divân‑e qasâ’ed va ghazaliyyât‑e fârsi va Arabi-ye Adib Pishâvari, ed. A. Abd-al-Rasuli, (Tehran, 1933), p. 179; for more info about his life and work see Monibur Rahman, in Encyclopædia Iranica, s. v. Adib Pishāvari.

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in 1914, just as the First World War was beginning. It magnifies the heroic deeds of Emperor Wilhelm II and his commanders and the determination of the German people. It is modeled on the Shahname. It runs to some 14.000 couplets (roughly 700 printed pages). Pishâvari encourages Persian-speaking peoples to fight the British, reminding them of their past glory and splendor, igniting a sense of national solidarity, and planting the seed of freedom from the British ‘yoke.’

8. Poetic Forms The literary movement in the Constitutional Revolution is usually connected to an 18 th century literary movement known as the ‘literary return’ or ‘neo-classicism’ (bâzgasht‑e adabi). The poets of this movement felt that the baroque Indian style predominant from the sixteenth century had fallen into a decline and a new style was needed.134 They turned to the inimitably simple style of the early classical masters such as Rudaki (d. c. 940), Farrokhi (c. 995–1037) and Manuchehri, in both contents and form. This was not a blind imitation but rather a creative emulation. The literary return lasted till the beginning of the 20 th century. This poetry was mainly a courtly tradition and poets of this period earned their living by praising rulers and notables at the court. Generally speaking, poetry was not in contact with society. With the weakening and later crumbling of the Qajar dynasty, poets lost their positions, claiming a new position for themselves in society. Poets such as Shaybâni and Sahâb Esfahâni criticized the creative imitations of the old masters, convincing their fellow poets to treat

134 J. T.P. de Bruijn in The Encyclopaedia of Islam, s. v. Iran; also Ehsan Yarshater, “The Indian or Safavid Style: Progress or Decline?” in Persian Literature, ed. Ehsan Yarshater, Bibliotheca Persica, (Albany, New York, 1988), pp. 249–88; W. Heinz, Der indische Stil in der persischen Literatur, (Wiesbaden, 1973).

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contemporary social issues.135 They became the new enlightened intelligentsia, ushering Persia into a new period, communicating the ideas of European political philosophy, such as democracy and the advancement of women, to people of all walks of life. As we will shortly see, classical forms of poetry were used in a new topical context. The millennium-old poetic form of the qaside, or panegyric, used mainly to praise kings and the court, was used during the constitutional period to depict social changes and issues. Poets still addressed kings in their panegyrics but their tone reveals an awareness of socio-political developments. Sometimes the poet assumes the role of an advisor and admonisher. We also see open criticism of political figures in the panegyrics and in several cases, especially in the panegyrics of Iraj Mirzâ, a strong satiric tone. The use of panegyrics to praise the court had become taboo in enlightened circles. Mirzâ Âqâ Khân Kermâni candidly stated that poets’ praise and hypocrisy led kings and viziers to undertake abnormal and insane actions. In addition to day-to-day socio-political events, this period sees an increase in panegyrics devoted to the glories of pre-Islamic Persian history, which are meant to foster Persian national sentiments and to draw lessons from the past. A good example is Bahâr’s refrain poem (tarkib-band) entitled Âyne-ye ebrat (‘Mirror of Edification’), written for Mohammad Ali Shah. Bahâr uses examples of Persian kings from the dawn of history to the present to admonish the king.136 The mathnavi or rhyming couplet remained popular because its form and simple language is flexible, allowing the poet to treat any subject. Because Ferdowsi’s Shahname, a key document of Persian identity, is couched in rhyming couplets, people associated the form with nationalistic poetry. Another classical poetic form which became very popular was monâzere or ‘debate poetry,’ particularly in the works of Parvin 135 Shaybâni in Âryanpur, Az Sabâ tâ Nimâ, Vol. I, pp. 141–44; Sahâb Esfahâni in Âryanpur, Az Sabâ tâ Nimâ, Vol. I, p. 36. 136 M. B. Loraine, “A Memoir on the Life and Poetical Works of Maliku’l-Shu’Ara’ Bahar” in International Journal of Middle East Studies, Vol. 3, no. 2, (1972), pp. 140–68; see also M. C. Smith, “Bahār’s Sabkshenāsi and the Bāzgasht‑e Adabi,” Journal of Persianate Studies, 2, (2009), pp. 194–209.

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E’etesâmi.137 One reason for its popularity was that poets were addressing the ruling class. The debate genre presents two adversaries, and portrays their virtues and vices. It enables the poet to involve his audience with the topics and draw them to identify with one or other persona. The topics include debates between justice and injustice, a rich and poor man, an idle person and a diligent one, a man and a woman, an old husband and a young wife. The quatrain was given a fresh treatment. It has always been one of the most favored literary forms in Persian. In this period it was used in occasional poetry, and in lyrical, satirical, didactic, mystic, and philosophical genres. Its compact form and terse formulation easily captivated audiences. Farrokhi Yazdi printed a quatrain in each issue of his newspaper Tufân (‘The Tempest’) to announce the topic he was going to address in the leading article. Ali Gheissari gives the following example of the political use of the quatrain in newspapers: In issue no. 43, in which the second part of the article “The Importance of Socialism” appeared, and which also coincided with the anniversary of Constitutionalism and the annual reception in the Majles, to which Farrokhi was not invited, the following robâ’i was printed: In a country where class struggle has not taken place, Freedom is never sufficiently secure. If this parliament is not just made for the rich, Why is the worker barred from its festivities.138

137 On E’tesâmi’s debates and dialogue poems see Heshmat Moayyad, “Parvīn’s poems. A Cry in the Wilderness,” Islamwissenschaftliche Abhandlungen, ed. R. Gramlich, (Wiesbaden, 1974), pp. 164–90, 173–80; also see A. Karimi-Hakkak, “The Unconventional Parvin: An Analysis of Parvin E‘tesami’s ‘Jula-ye Khoda’ (God’s Weaver),” Once a Dewdrop: Essays on the Poetry of Parvin E‘tesami, ed. H. Moayyad, (Costa Mesa, California, 1994), pp. 120–40. N. Purjavâdi’s Zabân‑e hâl dar irfân va adabiyyât‑e Pârsi, (Tehran, 2006); also see F. Abdullaeva “The Origins of the Genre of Munāzara in New Persian Literature,” Metaphor and Imagery in Persian Poetry, ed. A. A. Seyed-Gohrab, (Leiden, 2012). 138 See A. Gheissari, “Farrokhi Yazdi …,” pp. 46–50.

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9. The Ghazal as a Political Device Centuries-old love poems (ghazals), connected to the genres of erotic poetry, which were famous for ambiguity between profane and spiritual love, remained popular amongst all people.139 These ghazals received a new interpretative layer in this period. Love was not only physical or spiritual love, but also love of one’s country. The beloved became the homeland (vatan) or nation (mellat), and the lover was the patriotic Persian who would offer his life for his homeland.140 The poet tried to persuade people about the virtues of democracy and human rights, the corruption of the ruling classes, and other social and political issues. Farrokhi Yazdi is one of those who made the ghazal a powerful medium for propaganda. Majority of his ghazals are entirely devoted to homeland, patriotism, freedom, etc. as in his very first ghazal:

‫که روح بخش جهان است نام �آزادی‬ ‫که داشت از دل و جان احترام �آزادی‬ ‫ شام �آزادی‬،‫برای دستٔه پابسته‬ ‫کنند رنجبران چون قیام �آزادی‬

‫قسم به عزت و قدر و مقام �آزاد‬ ‫ی‬ ‫به پیش اهل جهان محترم ب َود �آن کس‬ ‫هزار بار ب َود به ز صبح �آزادی‬ ‫ قیامت به‌پا شود �آن روز‬،‫به روزگار‬

139 J. T.P. de Bruijn, in Encyclopeadia Iranica, s. v. Ḡazal, i. History. 140 F. Kashani-Sabet, Frontier Fictions: Shaping the Iranian Nation, 1804–1946, (London, 2000), pp. 49–52, 174–76, 203–4; Mohamad Tavakoli-Targhi, “From Patriotism to Matriotism: A Tropological Study of Iranian Nationalism, 1870–1909,” International Journal of Middle East Studies, Vol. 34, No. 2, (2002), pp. 217–238; Afsaneh Najmabadi, “The Erotic Vatan [Homeland] as Beloved and Mother: To Love, to Possess, and To Protect,” Comparative Studies in Society and History, Vol. 39, No. 3 (1997), pp. 442–67; for a comprehensive study of the term vatan in Persian poetic tradition see M. R. Shafi’i Kadkani, “Vatan va jelve-gari-hâ-ye ân dar she’r‑e fârsi,” Faslnâme-ye yâd, No. 63–66, (2002), pp. 161–72, 176–90. Terms related to codes of law appear prodigiously in the poetry of the period, explaining specific measnings of terms such as haqq, mellat or qânun. See Abbâs Manuchehri and M. Rustâ’i, “Haqq va qânun dar she’r‑e mashrute,” Pazhuhesh-hâye olum‑e târikhi, No. 3, (2011), pp. 111–46; also compare M. Âjudâni, Mashrute-ye Irâni, pp. 189–207 which examines the notions of mellat and dowlat; M. Sham’i and M. Bitarafiyân, “Tahlil‑e mafhum‑e ‘vatan’ dar ash’âr‑e Malek al-Sho’arâ Bahâr,” Fasl-nâme-ye motâle’ ât‑e melli, No. 52, (2012), pp. 107–30.

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‫کشم ز مرتجعین انتقام �آزادی‬ ‫چو فرخی نشوی گر غلام �آزادی؟‬

‫ک روز‬ ‌ ‫ ی‬،‫اگر خدای به من فرصتی دهد‬ ‫ز بند بندگی خواجه ک ‌ی شود �آزاد‬

I swear by the dignity, worth and value of freedom, For the very name “Freedom” is life-enhancing. The truly revered person, in the eyes of the world, is he who with his heart and soul revered freedom. For the oppressed, the eve of freedom is a thousand times superior to its dawn. A resurrection will appear in the world on the day When laborers stand up for freedom. If God gives me an opportunity, one day I will take revenge for freedom on the reactionaries. You will never free yourself from your master’s bondage, Unless like Farrokhi you become a slave of freedom.141

This poems eulogizes freedom and condemns tyranny, using only a few motifs and themes from classical ghazals. The most notable is the pair of master and slave, in the last couplet. In classical poetry this usually appears in the context of love. The most salient aspect of the use of ghazals was that they became politically engaged. Their emotional impact was maintained, as they were redirected to awakening nationalistic feelings. The following poem illustrates Âref’s mastery of the ghazal form, weaving modern politics to his poem:

‫بنای هست ‌ی عمرم به خاک یکسان کرد‬ ‫سپاه عشق تو ملک وجود ویران کرد‬ ‫ خواهی‌ اردان ی بدان که �آنچه ناید به گفتگو �آن کرد‬،‫چه گویمت که چه کرده است‬ ‫به من که دورٔه شوم قجر به ایران کرد‬ ‫ �آن کر د‬،‫چه کرد عشق تو؟ عاجز ز گفتنم‬ ‫کس ‌ی که مملکت و ملّتی پریشان کرد‬ ‫خدا چو ط ّرٔه زلفت کند پریشانش‬ ‫هر �آن کس ‌ی که خیانت به ملک ساسان کرد‬ ‫الهی �آن که به ننگ ابد دچار شود‬ ‫که خصم ملک تو را جزو انگلستان کرد‬ ‫به اردشیر غیور دراز دست بگو‬ ‫به اصفهان نتوان گفت ظل سلطان کرد‬ ‫خرابی‌ �آنچه به دل کرد والی حسنش‬ ‫نشست عارف و لعنت به گور خاقان کرد‬ ‫چو جغد بر سر ویرانه‌های شاه عباس‬

141 Farrokhi Yazdi, Divân, ed. M. A. Sepânlu and M. Okhovvat, (Tehran, 2009), p. 15.

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LITERATURE OF THE EARLY TWENTIETH CENTURY Your love’s army has destroyed the empire of existence, Has leveled the edifice of my life to dust. How can I describe to you what it has done? If you must know, It has done what cannot be spoken of. What has your love done? It has done to me what I have no words for, It has done what those accursed Qajars did to Iran. If anyone twists the land and people into disorder, May God twist him, like the coils of your curls. O God, may he who betrayed the Sassanid empire Fall to eternal disgrace. Tell Ardeshir the bold, he of the long arms, That an enemy has made your empire part of England. The ruin the Governor of Loveliness brought on the heart, Can’t be compared to what Zell-al-Soltân has done to Isfahan. Âref perched, like an owl, on the ruins where Shah Abbas had built, And he cursed the grave of the king.142

As in the previous ghazal, the poet employs classical themes, motifs and imagery, and hyperbole, in the opening couplets, complaining that the beloved’s love has destroyed the edifice of his existence. The persona is the helpless lover, who has given up hope as love and the beloved are so powerful. In the classical ghazal, at the point at which the lover acquiesces to the power of love, the poem becomes open to a transcendental reading, but here the poet introduces the Qajar dynasty. The dynasty is introduced as accursed, in the double sense of being doomed itself, and bring a curse on others. Surprisingly, it is compared to the destructive aspect of love. What love has done to the lover, the Qajars have done to the country. This statement is followed by a curse in the fourth couplet, in which the classical imagery of the curly locks of the beloved is used to depict both the situation in Persia (i. e. twisting the land and people in disorder) and God’s punishment for the person responsible. In the next couplet, the poet uses a historical allusion, of the betrayal of the country during Sassanid times, and he curses the betrayer. The allusion is probably to the Governor of Marv, who betrayed Yazdgerd III, precipitating his murder in a water mill in Merv. In 142 Âref‑e Qazvini, Divân, ed. M. A. Sepânlu, M. Okhovvat, (Tehran, 2008), p. 125.

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couplet six, the Qajars are portrayed as an enemy who has surrendered the motherland to Britain. In couplet seven, the poet returns to the classical theme of the destructive aspect of love, to focus his critique on the Governor or Isfahan. The poet’s heart is equated to Isfahan, and Zell-al-Soltan to Love’s destructive quality. In the concluding couplet, we see another historical allusion, this time to Shah Abbas, the Safavid king famous for his cultural and artistic initiatives. Hooting like an owl, which in Persian culture is to be found in ruins, the poet laments on the ruins of the ­dazzling palaces built by by-gone kings. The last couplet also contains an allusion to Nezâmi from Ganja’s (d. 1209) story of the King Anushirvân and his wise vizier Buzarjomehr who pass by a ruined building where they see two families of owls. The king asks the vizier to explain what one owl is saying to another, and the vizier replies that one owl has come to ask for the hand of the daughter of the other. The father of the bride is saying that as long as an oppressive king rules over this land, there will be plenty of ruined buildings and enough space for owls to live.

10. Singing Freedom, the Persian Ballad (Tasnif) One effective way of transmitting knowledge to people was through song and music. Persian ghazals were originally written to be performed at convivial courtly gatherings and at musical sessions organized by Sufis. During the constitutional period, these ghazals were transformed into ballades (tasnifs) which were sung either by the poet or by a singer. Âryanpur traces the genre of the tasnif back to the sixteenth century, basing his work on Dowlatshâh.143 He tells how Abd-al-Qâder Udi made a tasnif based on a 143 H. Chehabi, “From Revolutionary Tasnif to Patriotic Surud: Music and Nation-Building in Pre-World War II Iran,” Iran 37, (1999), pp. 143–54; on Tasnifs see Y. Âryanpur, Az Sabâ tâ Nimâ, Vol. II. pp. 151–68; On Âref see Věra Kubíčková, “Persian Literature of the 20 th Century,” History of Iranian Literature, pp. 372–73; Abd-al-Rahim Dhâker-Hoseyn, Adabiyyât‑e siyâsi-ye irân, Vol. 2, pp. 47–61; M. Ja’fari, Seyr‑e romantism dar Irân: az

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mostazâd poem by Ibn-Hesâm Haravi. Âryanpur rightly indicates that tasnifs composed during the Safavid period are not collected in divâns and anthologies, as they were not considered to be valuable literary production. Yet he cites a number of short tasnifs from Tazkere-ye Nasrâbâdi and Golestân‑e honar by Qâzi Ahmad-ibnMir-Monshi. The following is an example:

‫تو هم چون من گرفتاری نداری‬ ‫که بر دل داغ دلداری نداری‬ ‫که جز �آزار من کاری نداری‬

‫مرا گفتی چو من یاری نداری‬ ‫چه دانی حال زار بیدلان را‬ ‫نباشد غیر �آزار منت کار‬

You said that you have no beloved like me That no lover has been captivated by you as I have. What would you know of the sad condition of those who have lost their hearts? You, whose heart has not been branded by any whom you loved! You keep yourself busy by teasing me, You’ve got nothing better to do than teasing me.144

As can be seen from this example, tasnifs often treated subjects that were also common in ghazals, such as love, descriptions of the beloved, wine and descriptions of nature. It also happened that tasnifs praised or censured a person’s quality in a serious, or sometimes ironic, tone. The tasnif became popular when it was adopted by lay people. Many of the popular tasnifs, whose authors are anonymous, deal with social issues and were sung by people in the streets. The poet Mirzâ Ali-Akbar Sheydâ, a dervish, whose tasnifs did not deal specifically with topical political issues, brought a literary flair to this genre. Âref of Qazvin, whose own name is also attached to this genre, says of Sheydâ’s role in transforming the genre: Until my time, tasnifs in Persia were written for whores at the court, or for Babri Khân, the cat of the martyred king (Nâser-al-Din), or were sung by one sinner to another sinner. From twenty years ago, mashrute tâ Nimâ, (Tehran, 2007), pp. 166–74; Sh. Âqâ’ipur, “Âref, hanjare-ye enqelâb‑e mashrute,” Ganjine-ye Asnâd, No.62, 2006, pp. 246–52; also see Â. Yusofzâde, “Negâhi be vaz’e musiqi dar dowre-ye Qâjâr,” IrânNâme, No. 67, 1999, pp. 461–63. 144 Y. Âryanpur, Az Sabâ tâ Nimâ, Vol. II. p. 152.

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poetry as awakening: singing modernity the late Mirzâ Ali-Akbar Sheydâ brought changes in the tasnifs and most of his melodies fall pleasantly on the heart.145

The following tasnif may serve as an example of Sheydâ’s “melodies”:

،‫ به شیدای خود جفا کم نما که سلطان ز لطف ترحم کند به حال گدا‬،‫ ز راه وفا‬،‫الاساقیا‬ ‫ترحم کند به حال گدا‬ ‫که شد‬ ،‫که شد جلوه‌ات چمن را طراز‬ ‫ به بوستان‬،‫چو اردیبهشت جهان گشت باز‬ ‫جلوه‌ات چمن را طراز‬ ‫خرام تو‌ای دلنواز‬ O cup-bearer, by way of fidelity, inflict less cruelty on Sheydâ [‘crazed by love’] for a sultan has compassion on a beggar’s condition through his grace; he has compassion on the beggar’s condition. Come back as Spring comes back to the world, walk tall in the garden, O heart-caressing one for your beauty has turned the meadow to Tarâz; for your beauty has turned the meadow to Tarâz (…).146

Âref of Qazvin linked his name to this genre by using it to express political and patriotic messages, educating people to love the homeland. A talented poet and a singer with a pleasing voice, Âref knew how to reach the people. His subjects included love of the homeland, the nation, democracy and the position of women. He also composed several tasnifs marking historical events during the constitutional period. I cite the following, which has been performed by different artists throughout the 20 th century, so that today, every Persian knows at least some lines by heart:

… ‫از خون جوانان وطن‬ ‫هنگام م ‌ی و فصل گل و گشت چمن شد‬ ‫دربار بهاری تهی از زاغ و زغن شد‬ ‫از ابر کرم خطّٔه ری رشک ختن شد‬ ‫دلتنگ چو من مرغ قفس بهر وطن شد‬ ‫ چه بدکرداری ای چرخ‬،‫چه کج رفتاری ای چرخ‬ 145 As cited by Y. Âryanpur, Az Sabâ tâ Nimâ, Vol. II. p. 159. 146 Ibid., p. 160.

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‫سر کین داری ای چرخ‬ ‫نه دین داری‪ ،‬نه �آئین داری (نه �آئین داری) ای چرخ‬ ‫‪۲‬‬ ‫از خون جوانان وطن لاله دمیده‬ ‫از مات ِم سر ِو قدشان سرو خمیده‬ ‫در سایٔه گل بلبل ازین غصه خزیده‬ ‫گل نیز چو من در غمشان جامه دریده‬ ‫چه کج رفتاری ای چرخ‪ ،‬چه بدکرداری ای چرخ‬ ‫سر کین داری ای چرخ‬ ‫نه دین داری‪ ،‬نه �آئین داری (نه �آئین داری) ای چرخ‬ ‫‪۳‬‬ ‫خوابند وکیلان و خرابند وزیران‬ ‫بردند به سرقت همه سیم و زر ایران‬ ‫ما را نگذارند به یک خانٔه ویران‬ ‫یارب بستان داد فقیران ز امیران‬ ‫چه کج رفتاری ای چرخ‪ ،‬چه بدکرداری ای چرخ‬ ‫سر کین داری ای چرخ‬ ‫نه دین داری‪ ،‬نه �آئین داری (نه �آئین داری) ای چرخ‬ ‫‪۴‬‬ ‫از اشک همه روی زمین زیر و زبر کن‬ ‫مشتی گرت از خاک وطن هست به سر کن‬ ‫غیرت کن و اندیشٔه ایّام بتر کن‬ ‫اندر جلو تیر عدو سینه سپر کن‬ ‫چه کج رفتاری ای چرخ‪ ،‬چه بدکرداری ای چرخ‬ ‫سر کین داری ای چرخ‬ ‫نه دین داری‪ ،‬نه �آئین داری (نه �آئین داری) ای چرخ‬ ‫‪۵‬‬ ‫از دست عدو نالٔه من از سر درد است‬ ‫اندیشه هر�آن کس کند از مرگ‪ ،‬نه مرد است‬ ‫جانبازی عشاق نه چون بازی نرد است‬ ‫مردی اگرت هست‪ ،‬کنون وقت نبرد است‬ ‫چه کج رفتاری ای چرخ‪ ،‬چه بدکرداری ای چرخ‬ ‫‪106‬‬

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‫سر کین داری ای چرخ‬ ‫ نه �آئین داری (نه �آئین داری) ای چرخ‬،‫نه دین داری‬ ۶ ‫عارف ز ازل تکیه بر ایام نداده ست‬ ‫جز جام به کس دست چو خیام نداده ست‬ ‫دل جز به سر زلف دلارام نداده ست‬ ‫صد زندگ ‌ی ننگ به یک نام نداده ست‬ ‫ چه بدکرداری ای چرخ‬،‫چه کج رفتاری ای چرخ‬ ‫سر کین داری ای چرخ‬ ‫ نه �آئین داری (نه �آئین داری) ای چرخ‬،‫نه دین داری‬ From the blood of the homeland’s youth … It is the time for wine, the season of roses and wandering on the meadow The court of the Spring has been emptied of crows and rooks. Thanks to a generous cloud, Khotan is jealous of the region of Rey. Like me, the caged bird sorrows for the homeland’s destiny. How crooked you are, O Wheel! How mischievous you are, O Wheel! You are intent on revenge, O Wheel! You have neither religion, nor rules, O Wheel! 2 From the blood of the homeland youth, tulips have sprouted The cypress’s tall form is bent in sorrow for cypress-tall youths In the shadow of the rose, the nightingale writhes in sorrow The rose, like me, has torn her robe. How crooked you are, O Wheel! How mischievous you are, O Wheel! You are intent on revenge, O Wheel! You have neither religion, nor rules, O Wheel! 3 The ministers being asleep, the viziers being drunk, All of Persia’s gold and silver has been stolen. They even deprive us of a ruined hovel. O Lord, demand the right of the poor from the leaders. How crooked you are, O Wheel! How mischievous you are, O Wheel! You are intent on revenge, O Wheel! You have neither religion, nor rules, O Wheel!

107

LITERATURE OF THE EARLY TWENTIETH CENTURY 4 Make the earth quake with your tears, Throw on your head the homeland’s soil, if you have a handful of that soil. Be zealous and change the times, Make your chest a shield against enemy arrows. How crooked you are, O Wheel! How mischievous you are, O Wheel! You are intent on revenge, O Wheel! You have neither religion, nor rules, O Wheel! 5 Because of the enemy I cry out in pain. He who fears death is no man. When lovers’ gamble their souls, it’s not a game of backgammon. If you are a man, now is the time for battle. How crooked you are, O Wheel! How mischievous you are, O Wheel! You are intent on revenge, O Wheel! You have neither religion, nor rules, O Wheel! 6 From the beginning, Âref has not trusted destiny. Like Khayyâm, he has not offered anything to anyone, except the wine cup. He has not entrusted his heart to anyone, except the hair of the beloved He has not exchanged one [good] name for a hundred shameful lives. How crooked you are, O Wheel! How mischievous you are, O Wheel! You are intent on revenge, O Wheel! You have neither religion, nor rules, O Wheel!147

In addition to the musical component in this tasnif, an essential element of tasnifs in general, the poetic structure and the use of conventional classical imagery in a new political context make this poem a masterpiece among Persian tasnifs. The forceful title From the Blood of the Homeland’s Youths … gives a gloomy foretaste of the theme: the country’s mournful condition. The first stanza refers to the time and setting: it is the period of Spring when meadows and gardens are in full bloom. Spring is a court, empty of rooks 147 Âref‑e Qazvini, Divân, pp. 316–18.

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and crows—who are perhaps to be found walking on the meadows of the previous line. The spring rains have dressed the city of Rayy in such splendor that it has become the envy of Khotan, a town in Central Asia which in classical Persian poetry is a byword for beauty. In contrast to the relaxations and beauties of the Spring holiday, in the next line the poet refers metonymically to the situation of the country and himself as a bird in cage. The refrain in which the poet complains against the Wheel emphasizes the country’s forlorn condition. The Wheel refers to fate and destiny, and also to the inexorable Will of God, so the refrain can be read as a complaint against God, and an expression of powerlessness. The Wheel is crooked and rancorous, not bound by ethical principles or religion. In the second stanza, the poet repeats the title, adding the two omitted words, i. e. “tulips grow.” Tulips, flowers of spring and new life, grow unexpectedly because of death, as the blood of youths has been poured on the soil. Red tulips represent life, passion and youth, but are here subverted. The cypress trees in the second line are known for being evergreen, free from the fluctuations of life, and because of their stature represent a noble character. Now they are bent in mourning for the youths. The rose and nightingale are another familiar, even cliché, metaphor for lovers, transformed in this poem to an image of bereavement. The faithful nightingale— the poet—does not show itself: it crouches in distress under the shadow of the rose. In the next line, the poet compares himself to the rose, which has torn its robe, as a sign of mourning. The cause of the homeland’s affliction appears in the third stanza: Persia’s riches are being stolen while the viziers are drunk and the ministers who represent the people are asleep. It is as if they intend the people to be left with nothing but ruins. The poet implores God to seize what is due to the people from the nation’s leaders. From the fourth stanza, the poet shifts from despair to spurring his audience to make efforts and sacrifices for the homeland. Even tears flowing because of awareness of the country’s condition can bring change. The poet’s pain, and the arrows of the third stanza, come from an unnamed ‘enemy.’ To fight this enemy, one must not fear death. The token of true love is to offer one’s life. There is no 109

LITERATURE OF THE EARLY TWENTIETH CENTURY

need to ask whether this enemy is domestic or foreign, since rival political and social forces in modern Iran have habitually labeled one another as agents of foreign powers. Âref shares this predilection for othering as a substitute for analysis, and so calls his readers to battle against a vague enemy for an equally vague cause. Having introduced the enemy as the cause of the nation’s distress, the refrain becomes even more forceful: the people will have to fight not only the enemy but also the Wheel, an inexorable force which has no religion or principle. In this setting, it has the connotation of the European powers, who are depicted as infidels. As in a classical ghazal, in which the poet signs his poem by incorporating his nom-de-plume towards the end, Âref starts the last stanza with his own name, addressing himself in the third person. The forceful message of the poem is underscored here as the poet states that he has never relied upon destiny. In saying this, he is arguing against fatalism: effort and sacrifice are needed, not divine intervention. The complaint against the Wheel becomes a repudiation of passive acceptance of the way things are. Although Omar Khayyâm often represents a carpe diem philosophy, in this case he stands for personal integrity. The poet and the people he addresses are not willing to exchange their good name for a hundred lives.

11. New Poetic Forms The constitutional poetry stands between the classical and modern Persian poetry, forming a transition between millennium-old Persian poetry with its standardized form and contents and the free and novel forms of ‘new poetry.’ The poet’s political beliefs and poetical convictions were not necessarily congruent, as the examples of Mohammad-Taqi Bahâr and Farrokhi Yazdi show. Both were politically very much engaged, but in contrast to Eshqi and Ashraf-al-Din Gilâni (and even Lâhuti), remained largely faithful to classical forms.148 148 Bahâr composed several poems in a new form but the main forms he used were classical.

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In addition to classical poetic forms, poets also used new forms usually inspired by Western poetry.149 A good example is Mirzâde Eshqi, who used new forms in several of his poems. In his Kafan‑e siyâh (‘Black Shroud’), a poem commenting on the position of Persian women (see below), he experiments with a new stanza form, consisting of seven lines. Here I cite only three stanzas which describe the arrival of the poem’s narrator in a village near the ruins of the ancient city of Ctesiphon. What strikes the reader is not only the new poetic form but also that many images employed in these stanzas are fresh:

‫هنگام ورود به مه �آباد‬ ‫در تکاپوی غروب است ز گردون خورشید‬ ‫دهر مبهوت شد و رنگ رخ دشت پرید‬ ‫دل خونین سپهر از افق غرب دمید‬ ‫چرخ از رحلت خورشید سیه می پوشید‬ ‫که سر قافله با زمزمه ی زنگ رسید‬ ‫در حوالی مداین بدهی‬ ‫ده تاریخی افسانه گهی‬ ‫ده بدامان یکی تپه پناه �آورده‬ ‫گرد تاریک و شی بر تن خود گسترده‬ ‫چون سیه پوش یکی مادر دختر مرده‬ ‫کلبه هایش همه فرتوت و همه خم خورده‬ ‫ از هر جهتی افسرده‬،‫الغرض هئیتی‬ ‫کاروان چونکه بده داخل شد‬ ‫هر کسی درصدد منزل شد‬ ‫طرف ده مختصر �آبی و در �آن مرغابی‬ ‫سقف سپهر �آبی‬، ‫منعکس گشته در �آن‬ ‫عنابی‬،‫وندر �آن حاشیه ی سرخ شفق‬ ‫ از اثر عکس کواکب یابی‬،‫سطح �آب‬ ‫ همه جا �آینه ی مهتابی‬،‫دانه دانه‬ ‫ چراغانی بود‬،‫در دل �آب‬ ‫�آب یک پرده ی الوانی بود‬ 149 B. Sadri-Niyâ in Dânesh-nâme-ye zabân va adab‑e Fârsi, s. v. Tajaddod‑e adabi; Amr Taher Ahmed, La ‘Révolution Littéraire,’ pp. 61–84.

111

LITERATURE OF THE EARLY TWENTIETH CENTURY On entering Mahâbâd It is the last commotions of the sun before going down. The world is stunned, the face of the desert turns white. The bloody heart of heaven can be seen in the West. The Wheel was putting on black for the passing of the sun When the vanguard of the caravan arrived with the soft jingle of bells in the suburb of Ctesiphon, in a village, a village with history and legends. The village has taken refuge in the skirt of a hill, Throwing dark-colored dust over her body, as a mother whose daughter has died, puts on black. All the mud houses are shabby, their backs are bent. In short, it’s a thoroughly miserable sight. When the caravan has entered the village everyone goes looking for a place to stay. On the outskirts of the village there’s a pond with ducks, the vault of the blue sky’s reflected there. On the edges of the pond, you can see stars on the surface, in the sky’s crimson and scarlet. Everywhere, there are freckles of moonlight like festive lighting in the water’s heart: the water has become a curtain of color.

Eshqi’s main contribution to Persian poetry is his innovative poetic forms. He wrote the first opera in Persian. His poetic idiom is not very strong, but the ideas he expresses were influential. Eshqi saw the role of poetry in society in a new light, which required the poem’s message to be expressed in a striking way. The new form complemented and enhanced the new message: both were new and striking. In the preface to his Se Tâblow (‘Three Tableaus’), Eshqi emphasizes that the reason for using new meters is that the poem would become the best example of the poetic revolution poetry of this age.”150 Karimi-Hakkak rightly characterizes Eshqi’s vision of poetry as focusing on the immediate and unadorned, as opposed to conventional and stylized, sensory perceptions. This imparts a 150 A. Karimi-Hakkak, Recasting Persian Poetry, p. 217; also see the analysis of M. Ja’fari, Seyr‑e romantism, pp. 108–43, on Se tâblow see 127–38.

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sense of verisimilitude to his poems which may have struck his original readers as prosaic, but it was later taken up by Nimâ Yushij and developed into an essential principle of modernist Persian poetry in Persia.151 Eshqi’s unique contribution to the process of modernity in Persian poetry lies in his attempt to liberate Persian poetry from the systemic constraints of the classical system of poetic signification. In such works as Nowruzi-nâme, Rastâkhiz‑e shahriyârân, and above all in Se tâblow, the first traces of a systemic change in Persian poetry become visible. His Ide’âl (the Ideal, or the tableaux of Eshqi) was intended to be a completely new literary creation that would present not only a new form but also a new way of thinking. Eshqi’s The Ideal was composed at almost the same time as Yushij’s Afsâne (‘The Myth’). Although both are couched in the mosammat form, which was popular with the poets of the period, the subject matter differs considerably. Eshqi’s poem attacks social and political injustice, while Yushij’s poem dwells on the notions of love and poetry. Both invite the reader to re-evaluate the form and contents of poetry. Both see that poetry offered a means to diffuse new ideas. Poets also started to integrate folk poetry into their work. Folk tales and everyday idiom were combined with topical subjects to communicate a message to the people. Poets such as Ashraf-al-Din Gilâni and Ali-Akbar Dehkhodâ decided to rely solely on folk idiom and forms in their poetry, using genres such as the lullaby, to awaken people to the country’s wretched condition. These lullabies usually turn into an elegy lamenting the distressing situation of Persia.152 Folk poetry also inspired the poets’ choice of form. Soroudi says that the “strophic forms, unequal hemistiches in each strophe, and many rhythmic and rhyme variations,” which we can see in the poetry of Eshqi might be rooted in folk poetry.153 151 A. Karimi-Hakkak, in Encyclopædia Iranica, s. v. ʿEšqī, Moḥammad-Reżā Mīrzāda; Âjudâni, Yâ marg yâ tajaddod, pp. 130–41. 152 Âryanpur, Az Sabâ tâ Nimâ, Vol. II, pp. 171–72; also see S. S. Soroudi, “Folk poetry and Society in Nineteenth-Century Iran,” Persian Literature and Judeo-Persian Culture: Collected Writings of Sorour S. Soroudi, ed. H. E. Chehabi, (Boston, 2010), pp. 278–86. 153 S. S. Soroudi, “Review Article on Yahyâ Âryanpur, Az Sabâ tâ Nimâ,” Persian Literature, p. 39.

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12. Folk Poetry in a Constitutional Setting For centuries, ‘Persian literature’ meant mainly the poetry of Classical Persian masters, but one of the characteristics of the literary movement of the Constitutional Revolution (1906–1911) was the integration of colloquial and folk elements in literature. From the end of the nineteenth century, poets had started in differing degrees to integrate folk poetry into the polite literature, for a number of reasons. The introduction of printing affected the publication, distribution and readership of literature.154 Another factor was nationalism. Bahâr, for example, emphasized the indigenous pre-Islamic origin of certain Arabic poetic meters (aruz) by referring to Persian quatrains (robâ’i) and fahlaviyyât, or quatrains in a Persian dialect.155 Bahâr did not go so far as, for instance, Zia Gokalp, in Turkey, who preferred syllabic Turkish folk poetry to Ottoman court poetry. Bahâr preferred the use of the Persian term do-beyti or tarâne to the Arabic robâ’i (although beyt remains an Arabic word). Moreover, Bahâr referred to the infrequent use of Arabic words and phrases in this genre, expressing pure emotions, lacking the “ornamentation, artificiality, and excess of form” in Arabic. For him “ ‘authentic’ (asl) quatrains as those that are said beneath a clear sky, or under a tent, or at the foot of a mountain, [and] possess a particularly Iranian mode of thought and meaning [tarz‑e tafakkor va ta’bir‑e khâss‑e irâni] that unfortunately urban poetry and Persian literature have failed to benefit from; on the contrary, [urban poetry] has been polluted with … Arab and A ­ rabic-imitating modes of thought such that if someone were to become familiar with these quatrains [do-bey154 For a collection of folk literature during the Qajar period see U. Marzolph, “Persian Popular Literature in the Qajar Period,” Asian Folklore Studies, Vol. 60, (2001), pp. 215–36, who offers a list of titles collected by European scholars. 155 For an analysis of the formative period of Persian folklore studies see F. Vej­dani, “Approaching the Masses: Folklore Studies, Ethnography, and Interwar Iranian Nationalism,” International Journal of Middle East Studies, No. 44, (2012), pp. 507–26. On Fahlaviyyât see A. Tafażżoli, in Encyclopædia Iranica, s. v. Fahlaviyyât.

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tihâ], he would immediately sense how artificial urban poetry is in comparison.”156 For Bahâr, authentic poetry belongs to the countryside, unspoiled by urban culture and beyond the influence of courtly literary culture. Although Bahâr was mild in his preference for this sort of poetry, other nationalist intellectuals revolted against Classical Persian poetry as artificial, baroque and of little practical use for the masses. Folk poetry was direct and simple and it could be understood by all people. In this period, Persian intellectuals such as Hoseyn Kuhi-Kermâni started to collect literature produced by the masses as a national literature. As Farzin Vejdani has pointed out, the collection of the folk literature and other ethnological objects from different parts of the country, and preserving the cultural products of the tribes in newly founded museums, began when Reza Shah had suppressed a number of tribal uprisings. And while the government sometimes invited persons such as Kuhi-Kermâni to collect material, no permission was given to publish them. AliAsghar Hekmat, the Minister of Education asked Kuhi-Kermâni to collect material for publication, but when Kuhi-Kermâni submitted his work, the material was rejected by the state censor, and Kuhi-Kermâni was arrested and imprisoned. Vejdani cites one story, The Hunter’s Son (Pesar‑e Sayyâd), which is the story of a hunter who is mistreated by a monarch and his chief minister. The censors considered it an affront to the king. Kuhi-Kermani was later freed. He was ordered to “change all of the kings and ministers in the tales to chief merchants and rulers.”157 The new awareness of folk literature also came in reaction to the dominance of courtly poetry, which had largely shaped literary taste and the literary canon. Freed from a courtly patron, and having their focus on the masses, poets wanted to integrate folk literature into the literary canon, mixing the millennium-long classical tradition with the themes, motifs and forms of the folk. When the Language Academy was established in 1935 to preserve Persian language, purifying it from foreign words, it took it upon 156 F. Vejdani, “Approaching the Masses …,” p. 510. 157 F. Vejdani, “Approaching the Masses …,” p. 512.

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itself to collect folklore from various regions in Persian-speaking countries. The wide scope of the search, beyond Persia’s political borders, arose both from the historic fact that the Persian cultural area had been very extensive, in the classical period, and from the concept of an Aryan ‘nation,’ which was influential at that time. Vejdani refers to Muhtadi-Subhi’s mapping of variants of the story Boz‑e Zangule be Pâ (The Hawk-bell Footed Billy Goat) from other “Aryan” regions such as Tajikistan, Afghanistan, India, Armenia, and “ignoring similarities with ‘non-Aryan’ tales found in Turkey and neighboring Arab countries such as Iraq.” In the poetry of the constitutional movement, poets are inspired in various ways by folk poetry, sometimes using the form of a folk poem, as in for instance several poems by Ashraf-al-Din Gilâni, which I will cite presently. Sometimes the poet used everyday vocabulary in the poem to reach his audience. Such an integration of folk and everyday language also became part of Persian prose, an exponent of which is Ali-Akbar Dehkhodâ, whose Charand-parand became extremely popular. By employing colloquial language, the poet could place himself in the positions of the poor masses who would complain of inequity and injustice in the society, sometimes complaining of hunger. The following excerpt is an example of how Ashraf depicts a poor girl, dying of cold, and criticizes the rich:

‫اغنیا مرغ و مسما می خورند‬ ‫با غذا کنیاک و شامپا می خورند‬ ‫منزل ما جمله سرما می خورند‬ ‫خانه ی ما بد ترست از گردنه‬ ‫�آخ عجب سرماست امشب ای ننه‬ The rich eat chicken and stew, drinking cognac and champagne with their meal. People in our house eat cold.158 Our house is worse than a mountain ridge. Oh how bitterly cold it feels tonight?159 158 The phrase sarmâ khordan means ‘to catch cold’ but literally it means to ‘eat cold.’ Here the poet is using irony applying both senses. 159 Ashraf, Divân, pp. 110–11.

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The poet uses words such as morgh-o mosammâ (‘chicken and stew’), and cognac and champagne, which were previously seldom used in Persian poetry. The poet has also chosen the word nane, a low register word for mother. Not only is he placing himself lexically next to the poor masses, but also his message is a criticism against the rich on a cold winter night. One of the favorite genres of folk poetry used during and after the constitutional movement was the lullaby. Lullabies were used to send a political message to the people. Lullabies are a striking example of the way poets tried to give meaning to even trivial examples of folk literature. Some traditional lullabies, for example from Khorasan, had treated social themes, but in the Constitutional period the addition of folk elements to politically engaged literature became in vogue. The traditional lullabies have a fixed form, rhythm and structure in almost all the countries where Persian language is cultivated. The term lâlâ’ī, ‘lullaby,’ may come from these songs being sung by servants and wet-nurses, called lale. The phrase lâ lâ lâ lâ usually repeated at the beginning of these songs has no particular meaning today: it is the melodious sound that counts and sings the baby to sleep. Even a certain metrical pattern (aruz) can be detected in some of these songs.160 In the Constitutional period the notions of ‘sleeping’ and ‘awakening’ were extremely popular. ‘Awakening’ and its synonyms are used frequently as names for this period. Suffice to name books such as Khâb‑e khalse, Royâ-ye sâdeqeh, Târikh‑e bidâri-ye irâniyân, etc. Many metaphors and allegories of the period are also connected with sleep, dream and awakening. The awakening the writers envision would involve people of all walks of life participating in a new politics. So it is understandable that the lullaby was one of folk genres that modernist poets adopted. In several of the aforementioned books, the idea of modernity, political philosophy and the introduction of codified law are framed in a dream allegory, in which a voice from the unseen tells the author what

160 For meter of Persian lullabies see G. Tsuge in Encyclopædia Iranica, s. v. Āvāz.

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he must write to improve the political situation. In One Word by Mostashâr-al-Dowle, a messenger from the unseen appears to the author in a dream-like state: One day (…) I could not sleep. I thought I saw a messenger from the unseen, standing between heaven and earth, who appeared from the West and faced the lands of Islam. He cried aloud: “O travellers in the path of the Shari’a, the ruler of mankind, and O you zealous leaders of the people of Islam! Where is your victory and authority and where is your wealth and knowledge. Why in this age do you sit, negligent and useless, and why do you pay no attention to the progress made by other peoples? Your neighbours have brought the wilds of the mountains into the circle of civilisation161 while you are still denying the progress of Europe. (…)162

The messenger inspires the author to write the influential treatise. This preoccupation with sleeping, dream and awakening is part of the discourse of the constitutional period, using various strategies in prose and poetry to inform people about the progress of the West and Iran’s backwardness. The common people in particular needed to be informed about this. The appearance of lullabies in divâns in this period could be seen in this context. Almost all the poets of the period used one or more lullabies. In the lullabies, the poet usually speaks in the person of the mother, while the baby represents the nation or country. Several modern poets such as Tâherzâde Sâber, Gilâni, Dehkhodâ, Lâhuti and others have tried their hand at composing lullabies.163 Sâber was probably the first to write political lullabies in Azeri Turkish. Ashrafal-Din Gilâni, adapted this genre into Persian, producing two lullabies, which he translated from Azeri. They depict the situation of Persia after the Constitutional Revolution.164 In the first, “Cra161 Mehrdad Kia (“Constitutionalism …,” pp. 752, 758) suggests that the reference is to the Russian subjugation of Daghestan, completed in 1859. 162 One word—Yak kaleme: 19 th-century Persian Treatise Introducing Western Codified Law, with an introduction and annotated translation by A. A. Seyed-Gohrab and S. McGlinn, (Leiden, 2010), p. 7. 163 Y. Âryanpur, Az Sabâ tâ Nimâ, Vol. II, p. 93. 164 Kolleyyât‑e Sayyed Ashraf Gilâni, ‘Nasim‑e Shomâl’, ed. Ahamd Edârechi-Gilâni, (Tehran, 1996), pp. 97–98.

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‫‪dle Lullabies,” the poet knits together several elements that also‬‬ ‫‪occur in traditional lullabies in which a mother pours out her heart‬‬ ‫‪to her baby, usually referring to her own wishes and conditions.‬‬ ‫‪Ashraf-al-Din Gilâni wrote two lullabies commenting on so‬‬‫‪cio-political issues, one short lullaby and one long. Before analyz‬‬‫‪ing the first poem, I will present it in translation:‬‬

‫بخواب‌ای دخت ِر زیبا ‬ ‫میان محم ِل دیبا ‬

‫بالام لای لای‪ ،‬لالام لای لای‬ ‫بالام لای لای‪ ،‬لالام لای لای‬

‫دو چشمانت ببند امشب ‬ ‫که می‌بین ‌ی گزند امشب ‬

‫برو برمن مخند امشب‬ ‫بالام لای لای‪ ،‬لالام لای لای‬

‫بخواب‌ای دخت ِر نالا ن‬ ‫فقط خر ماند با پالان ‬

‫تمام خانه شد ویران‬ ‫بالام لای لای‪ ،‬لالام لای لای‬

‫دیانت از میان رفت ه‬ ‫ز غیرت هم نشان رفته ‬

‫سلامت از جهان رفته‬ ‫بالام لای لای‪ ،‬لالام لای لای‬

‫بخواب‌ای دخت ِر دلریش ‬ ‫مکن گریه میو پیش پیش ‬

‫گ ‌ل نازم جونم کیش کیش‬ ‫بالام لای لای‪ ،‬لالام لای لای‬

‫مساجد گشته ویران ه‬ ‫وطن ُپر شد ز بیگانه ‬

‫معابد گشته میخانه‬ ‫بالام لای لای‪ ،‬لالام لای لای‬

‫بخواب‌ای دخت ِر شیرین ‬ ‫میاور یاد از قزوین ‬

‫فدایت مادر مسکین‬ ‫بالام لای لای‪ ،‬لالام لای لای‬

‫ذلی ِل دشمنان گشتی م‬ ‫که رسوای جهان گشتیم ‬

‫اسی ِر ناکسان گشتیم‬ ‫بالام لای لای‪ ،‬لالام لای لای‬

‫بخواب‌ای طفل بیچار ه‬ ‫که می‌گردی به صد پاره ‬

‫مکن جنبش ز گهواره‬ ‫بالام لای لای‪ ،‬لالام لای لای‬

‫سلاطین مٔوتلف گشت ه‬ ‫چونون قد الف گشته ‬

‫عقاید مختلف گشته‬ ‫بالام لای لای‪ ،‬لالام لای لای‬

‫نه یاد از رشت و گیلان کن ‬ ‫نه از شیراز عنوان کن ‬

‫نه صحبت از صفاهان کن‬ ‫بالام لای لای‪ ،‬لالام لای لای‬ ‫ِ‬ ‫نهال فصل پاییزم‬ ‫بالام لای لای‪ ،‬لالام لای لای‬

‫بخواب‌ای طفل نوخیزم ‬ ‫ز چشمم خون همی‌ ریزم ‬

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‫مرا خشکیده‌ بین پستان‬ ‫ لالام لای لای‬،‫بالام لای لای‬

‫ز ب ‌ی چیزی در این تهرا ن‬ ‫تو بی‌ شیری و من بی‌نان‬

‫بخواب‌ای ماه تابانم‬ ‫ لالام لای لای‬،‫بالام لای لای‬

‫بخواب‌ای شیرٔه جان م‬ ‫که من فکر خراسانم‬

‫ مامان تف تف‬، ‫ممه اخ اخ‬ ‫ لالام لای لای‬،‫بالام لای لای‬

‫ ننه پف پف‬،‫لولو خورخور‬ ‫زاده �آمد اف‬ ‫بخواب‌ای‬

Sleep, O beautiful girl bâlâm lây lây, lâlâm lây lây In the midst of the silken cradle bâlâm lây lây, lâlâm lây lây Close your eyes tonight Go and do not laugh at me Otherwise you may be hurt tonight bâlâm lây lây, lâlâm lây lây Sleep, my moaning daughter The whole house is ruined Only the ass and his saddle pack remain bâlâm lây lây, lâlâm lây lây Piety is gone from the world safety is gone from the world the tokens of dignity are also gone bâlâm lây lây, lâlâm lây lây Sleep, my broken-hearted girl My charming rose, Do not weep, little kitten: sleep, O sleep bâlâm lây lây, lâlâm lây lây The mosques have become ruined places The temples have turned into wine-houses The homeland is crowded with strangers bâlâm lây lây, lâlâm lây lây Sleep, sweet girl May your poor mother be your sacrifice Do not think of Qazvin bâlâm lây lây, lâlâm lây lây

120

poetry as awakening: singing modernity We have been humiliated by enemies We are the slaves of unmanly people We have no name in the world bâlâm lây lây, lâlâm lây lây Sleep, O helpless baby Do not move in your cradle For you may be torn in a hundred pieces bâlâm lây lây, lâlâm lây lây Rulers have colluded, opinions are divided, The upright letter alif is now as bent as the nun165 bâlâm lây lây, lâlâm lây lây Do not think of Rasht or Gilan Do not talk about Isfahan Do not start about Shiraz bâlâm lây lây, lâlâm lây lây Sleep, my new-born babe Twig of my autumn I am shedding [tears of] blood from my eyes bâlâm lây lây, lâlâm lây lây Because of the shortages in Tehran See how my breasts have dried up (i. e. no milk) You have no milk and I no bread bâlâm lây lây, lâlâm lây lây Sleep, nectar of my soul Sleep, my gleaming moon For I am thinking of Khurasan bâlâm lây lây, lâlâm lây lây The monster says khur khur; grandma snores and snores Breasts are useless, useless; mama is taf taf Sleep, your ‘van’ has turned to ‘von’ bâlâm lây lây, lâlâm lây lây

165 The poet is referring to the shapes of Persian letters alif and nun. While alif is upright the letter nun has the shape of a half-circumference.

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LITERATURE OF THE EARLY TWENTIETH CENTURY

The baby is a beautiful girl who is sung to sleep. The poem’s form and the refrain bâlâm lây lây, lâlâm lây lây which breaks every fourth line allows the poet to introduce a new topic. One of the possible reasons is that a four-lines stanza resembles the quatrain, which was commonly used in everyday communication because of its terse formulation and pithy sayings. Another reason for choosing this form was that the poet can treat one subject in each stanza. The lulling refrain is both a demarcation of the subject-matter and forms the unity in the entire poem. Moreover, the refrain reminds the reader that the poem is a lullaby, a pouring-out of the heart, a personal comment of the narrator about the most basic aspects of life. The refrain gives the reader, or listener, an opportunity to reflect on what has been said. In addition to its lulling effect, it resembles the sound of wailing. It is this stanzaic form and the refrain that allows the poem to have multiple functions. The setting is in bed at night. The child is wrapped in silken cloth and the parent is asking her to close her eyes because otherwise she will be wounded. Using the internal rhyme nâlân, virân and pâlân, the poet links the baby’s condition to the country’s and people’s situation. The word nâlân refers to the baby’s moaning, virân to the ruined condition of the country and the proverb khar mând bâ palân (the ass and the pack saddle remain) may mean that foreigners have robbed Iran and Iran is left with nothing. In the next section, the poet refers to three concepts, diyânat (‘piety’ or ‘religiosity’), salâmat (‘well-being and safety’) and gheyrat (‘zeal,’ ‘striving,’ ‘manly honor’), all of which have disappeared. After one stanza in which the poet sings the baby to sleep, he comes again to the same subject, saying that mosques have turned into ruins, temples have turned into taverns and the homeland is full of foreigners. In the next stanzas, the poet asks the baby to sleep because Persians have become slaves and thralls of foreign powers. The narrator advises her baby girl not to move in the cradle because she will be torn apart. The next topic treated in the lullaby is that rulers (presumably foreign rulers) have colluded while the opinions–about what to do– are divided. What was straight has become crooked. In the rest of the poem, the poet refers to the mother—the baby’s protector—who is in the Autumn of her life. Places such as Rasht, Gilan, Isfahan and 122

poetry as awakening: singing modernity

Shiraz are suffering because of this grave situation. The narrator sheds tears of blood while saying to her child that she has no milk to give, for lack of food. The poem ends with the following stanza in which the poet uses onomatopoeia for rhetorical effects, referring to lûlû khur khur nana puf puf mama ukh ukh mâmân tuf tuf bikhab ay zâda âmad ov bâlâm lây lây, lâlâm lây lây

In the third line, the poet refers to the Russians as the monsters, approaching as ogres the baby’s cradle. The daughter appears to be a symbol for Persia, suffering and at risk of being torn apart, the mother is the caring poet who has the responsibility to protect her. Although the theme of sleeping is chosen and the baby is lulled to sleep, the contrary effect is intended: to awaken the Persian masses to the socio-political situation. The poem starts like a traditional lullaby, referring to the baby’s innocence and vulnerability, but gradually it becomes an elegy for Iran. Gilâni’s other lullaby is long. The poem is organized in 28 stanzas of four lines each, the fourth line being the same lullaby refrain: bâlâm lây lây, lâlâm lây lây. Little or no political themes occur in the first five stanzas, but from the fifth the poet starts referring to the economic situation, complaining that all his possessions are gone, the market is slack and the country’s ministers are immersed in covetousness. The tenor of the rest of the poem is the contrast between the poor masses and the wealth of the responsible ministers. The country is ruined, it is winter and the people do not know what to do. Seekers of knowledge (tollâb) are bewildered in their school, distressed for lack of bread. Shopkeepers have nothing to do but curse their fate. Meanwhile, the rich man thinks of drinking wine with his roasted meat. Gilâni refers to a variety of social classes. After students, shopkeepers and the rich, he refers to the Lutis (hired thugs) who are depicted as murderers, drinking cognac and other strong alcoholic drinks, not thinking of the poor.166 The poet describes the soulless 166 More on Lutis see Willem Floor, “The Lutis-A Social Phenomenon in Qajar Persia,” Die Welt des Islams 13, (1971), pp. 103–21; idem, in Encyclopædia Iranica, s. v. Luti.

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faces of the poor, who are starving and dying of cold. Husbands are depicted as drug addicts and gamblers who spend money outside the house while their wives and children are starving to death. The picture of women in this poem is the same as in several other poems by Gilâni, in which he regrets that women show themselves in public without a proper veil. From stanza 21 to 25, the language of the poem changes to Azeri, but the tone and the subject remain the same. Here we read the poet’s lament on Iran’s situation. As in the previous lullaby, the poem starts referring to the baby’s innocence and liability but again becomes an elegy lamenting the situation of the country. Another poet of the period who composed two political lullabies is Abu ‘l-Qâsem Lâhuti is. According to Yahyâ Âryanpur, one of the strongest poems composed by Lâhuti and published in 1328/1910 in the newspaper Irân‑e Now is the lullaby sometimes entitled lâlâ’i-ye mâdar or bâlâm lây.167

‫بالام لای‬ ‫ بالام لای‬،‫�آمد سحر و موسم کار است‬ ‫بالام لای‬ ،‫ دگر باعث عار است‬،‫خواب تو‬ ‫لای لای بالا لای لای‬ ‫لای لای بالا لای لای‬ ‫ننگ است که مردم همه در کار و تو در خواب‬ ‫بالام لای‬ ،‫اقبال وطن بسته به کار است‬ ‫برخیز و سوی مدرسه بشتاب‬ ‫ با خون شهیدان‬،‫خاک تن �آب‌ا تو‬ ‫بالام لای‬ ،‫ حصار است‬،‫ زان خاک‬،‫برگرد تو‬ ‫ مادر ایران‬،‫گر دیده غمین‬ ‫ وطن توست‬،‫تو کودک ایران ‌ی و ایران‬ ‫بالام لای‬ ،‫جان را تن ب ‌ی عیب به کار است‬ ‫ چو تن توست‬،‫تو جانی و ایران‬ ‫ تو در حفظ وطن کوش‬،‫برخیز سلحشور‬ ‫بالام لای‬ ،‫ ایران ز چه خوار است‬،‌‫ای تازه گل‬ 167 Âryanpur, Az Sabâ tâ Nimâ, Vol. II, p. 171.

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.‫پس جامٔه عزت به بدن پوش‬ ،‫ تو زین است‬،‫ جای‬،‫ نه گهواره بود‬،‫جای تو‬ ‫بالام لای‬ ،‫ وقت شکار است‬،‫ای شیرپسر‬ .‫ که دشمن به کمین است‬،‫برخیز‬ ‫نگذار وطن قسمت اغیار بگردد‬ ‫بالام لای‬ ،‫ یار است‬،‫با �آنکه وطن را چو تو‬ … !‫ خوار بگردد‬،‫ناموس وطن‬ Bâlâm lây Dawn has come and it is time to work, bâlâm lây Your sleep is a cause of shame, bâlâm lây Bâlâ lây lây lây lây Bâlâ lây lây lây lây It is a shame that you sleep while all are at work The motherland’s fortune depends on work, bâlâm lây Arise and hasten to school The dust of your fathers, mixed with the martyrs’ blood Forms a fortress around you, bâlâm lây. Mother Iran is sorrowful You’re a Persian child, Iran is your homeland The soul needs a body with no fault, bâlâm lây. You are the soul and Persia’s your body O Fighter arise! Strive to protect the homeland O fresh rose, why is Persia humiliated, bâlâm lây, Put on the garments of honor. Your place is not in a cradle, your place is in the saddle, O lion lad, it’s time to hunt, bâlâm lây, Arise, for the enemy lies in ambush Do not let the homeland fall into the hands of foreigners, And in spite of the fact that the homeland has such a valiant ­defender like you, That it should suffer dishonor and disgrace.

The importance of this poem for Lâhuti studies is that the certain themes such as stirring the audience to work, which later became part and parcel of his Communist ideological poetry, are already visible. The poem was composed before Lâhuti fled to Russia, where he became the first Persian poet outside Persia singing the cause of laborers. 125

LITERATURE OF THE EARLY TWENTIETH CENTURY

This is an anti-lullaby, in the sense that it does not want to sing a baby to sleep but rather to awaken the addressee. It is striking that the parent is not identified, as mother, father or nurse, and it is not addressed to a baby but to a young man ready to work and fight. The form of the lullaby is chosen as a patriotic vehicle to call on Persian people to react to the contemporary political situation. Unlike the lullaby by Gilâni, in which the time is at night, the opening line in this case refers to the dawn. While singing a baby to sleep, in Gilâni’s poem, there was a strategy to reveal the vulnerability of the baby; here sleep is regarded as a cause of shame. By putting this message in the opening couplet, the poet announces that this is not a lullaby but an anti-lullaby, a condemnation of the sleepers. Night and sleeping are interpreted as metonyms for apathy and inactivity. As in several other poems by Lâhuti, he asks his audience to work and go to school. To motivate his audience, the poet refers to Iran’s glorious past and the cult of martyrdom, constituents of a stronghold. The poet does not indicate what type of martyrdom and which historical event he is referring to, but it is clear that this stronghold made of ancestral blood and clay has protected the Iranian people. Afterwards, the poet elaborates on nationalistic merits, emphasizing that the addressee is a Persian and should make efforts to protect the homeland. The homeland is compared to a body while the people are the soul. It is the soul that helps the body to move and to take action. Having said this, the poet summons the addressee to rise and fight, protecting the country because the country is in danger of humiliation. There is a strong contrast between the adjectives used for the addressee as a fighter and as a fresh rose. The contrast is further expanded by an antithetical use of the cradle and saddle: the addressee’s place is not in a cradle to slumber and sleep but rather in a saddle to move and fight. In contrast to this lullaby, in which the poet stirs the addressee to wake up, work and fight for Iran’s honor, his other lullaby, composed in 1951 in Moscow, uses a completely different tone. Only in the sixth stanza, the last, do we read that the parent wishes the child to grow so that he or she can become a hero for the homeland. 126

poetry as awakening: singing modernity She says, grow faster, Be a hero for the homeland! Now, go to sleep with a smile, Sleep peacefully! Sleep, sleep, my soul, sleep, sleep!168

Ali-Akbar Dehkhodâ used the lullaby in one of his famous poems in which he hides a dramatic irony. In this poem the baby and the mother symbolize the ruler and the homeland respectively. Ministers and other people responsible for Persia’s political situation are symbolized as an ignorant mother, and the Iranian nation as a weak and sick baby dying in its mother’s arms.

‫بخواب ننه یکسر دو گوش �آمده‬ ‫ُگربه م ‌ی �آد ُبز ُبزی ُر می‌ بره‬

‫خاک به سرم ب ّچه به هوش �آمد ه‬ ‫ می‌ خوره‬،‫گریه نکن لولو می‌ �آد‬

May dust be on my head, the baby has awoken; Little baby, sleep, the monster ‘One head and two ears’ has come. Do not cry because the monster will come and devour you; The cat will come and take away the goat.

By using a lullaby to describe the socio-political situation, the poet equates love of one’s homeland with a parent’s love for a baby. The country is depicted as an innocent and defenseless entity which cries for help and protection. This gives the poet an opportunity to criticize directly or indirectly the responsible ministers, who have allowed the country to be torn apart and the people to starve. The poet claims a certain position for himself as a protector, no longer serving as a panegyrist praising courtly patrons. The poet establishes his role as an engaged poet, reducing the distance between himself and the often illiterate masses. The poet is not a member of the elite, an observer at the court, but a parent caring for an innocent baby, a compatriot calling on the masses to protect the country. So even an innocent lullaby becomes a powerful vehicle for patriotism and nationalism.

168 Bargozide va sharh‑e âthâr‑e Dehkhodâ, ed. Vali-Allâh Dorudiyân, (Tehran, 1995), p. 21.

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13. Poetry and Newspapers Newspapers and journals offered poets another means of disseminating ideas to the masses. Many poets had their own newspapers or journals, which would publish poetry or prose on all types of topical issues. The poetic careers of many poets were closely tied to their journalistic and political activities. They could use poetry and journals to transmit their message to a broad public. A prodigious number of journals, periodicals, and newspapers were published between 1906 and 1911, twenty of these being newspapers circulating in Persia.169 Considering that printing was only introduced to Persia in the early nineteenth century, this is a considerable number. The printed media had a large effect on society. Some of these newspapers were banned because of the political views of the poet-editor. The editor would start again using a new name. This happened, for instance, to Mohammad-Taqi Bahâr who ran the newspaper Bahâr, which was banned, and Bahâr was imprisoned. After his release he issued Now-Bahâr or ‘New Spring.’ The way poetry was placed in these publications was not at all standardized, but it was used to express the poet’s views on events. The Divâns of the poet’s work would usually indicate the occasion for which the poet composed each poem and in which journal or newspaper it was published. The newspapers are mirrors of both literary activities and socio-political developments. As Christophe Balaÿ observes, journals and newspapers such as Nasim‑e Shomâl, Te’ âtr and Sur‑e Esrâfil were chains connecting literature and journalism. The first of these emphasized poetry, the second theater and the third prose.170 169 Christophe Balaÿ, La genèse du roman persan moderne, (Tehran, 1988), chapter one, especially pages 20–33; See Věra Kubíčková, “Persian Literature of the 20 th Century,” History of Iranian Literature, pp. 365–68; E. G. Browne, Press and Poetry of Modern Persia, (Cambridge, 1914), pp. 27–153 where he gives the names and a short description of 371 newspapers; also see the excellent review by Ali-Akbar Sa’idi Sirjâni, in Encyclopædia Iranica, s. v. Constitutional Revolution vi. The press; Y. Âzhand, Tajaddod‑e adabi, pp. 297–324. 170 Christophe Balaÿ, La genèse du roman persan moderne, pp. 22–23, 29–30.

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Among the early newspapers were Talqin-nâme-ye irân, the illustrated satiric paper Shab-nâme, Gheyrat and Lesân al-gheyb. Poets and journalists started newspapers abroad which were clandestinely brought to Persia.171 Mirzâ Âqâ Khân Kermâni and Sheykh Ahmad Ruhi contributed to Akhtar, which was published in Istanbul by Âqâ Mohammad-Tâher Qarâjadâqi from 13 J­ anuary 1876.172 Mirzâ Ali-Mohammad Khân Kâshâni published the newspaper Sorayâ in Cairo (1898) and in Calcutta Habl al-matin (1893). Qânun (1890) which was published in London by Mirzâ Malkam Khân Nâzem-al-Dowle, was influential in transmitting European political philosophy.173 The position of women in society was an essential part of the new political ideas addressed by poets. Poets published their ideas about the veil and women’s education and participation in society in journals and newspapers, but there were also women who were active in promoting the advancement of women. A number of women also established newspapers. One of these journals was Dânesh which was published in Tehran in 1910. All these newspapers had an enormous effect in the awakening of Persia. The weekly Sur‑e Esrâfil (1907), which was published in Tehran, was popular with readers, especially for Ali-Akbar Dehkhodâ’s column in which he introduced a new style of literary satire.174 It 171 For a discussion on Persian journals abroad see Christophe Balaÿ, La genèse du roman persan moderne, 24–29. 172 L. P. Elwell-Sutton in Encyclopædia Iranica, s. v. Aḵtar Newspaper. 173 On Malkam Khân see M. Âjudâni’s excellent chapter in Mashrute-ye Irâni, pp. 281–362; H. Algar, Mīrzā Malkum Khān: A Study in the History of Iranian Modernism, (Berkeley and Los Angeles, 1973); E. G. Browne, Press and Poetry, p. 125; F. Kashani-Sabet, Frontier Fictions, pp. 75–77. 174 On Satire see Katouzian’s contribution on chapter four of this volume; also compare Ali Gheissari, “Despots of the World Unite! Satire in the Iranian Constitutional Press: The Majalleh-ye Estebdad, 1907–1908.” Comparative Studies of South Asia, Africa and the Middle East, Vol. 25, No. 2, 2005, pp. 360–76; also see Paul Sprachman, “Persian Satire, Parody and Burlesque,” Persian Literature, ed. E. Yarshater, (New York, 1988), pp. 226–48; also see K. Föllmer, Satire in Iran von 1990 bis 2000: Eine Analyse exemplarischer Texte, (Wiesbaden, 2008), pp. 45–71 in which the author offers a theory of Persian satire; also see J. T. P. de Bruijn, Encyclopædia Iranica, s. v. Hajw.

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was censured by the enemies of the Constitutional movement, leading to the execution of its publisher, Mirzâ Jahângir Khân Shirâzi and Ali-Akbar Dehkhodâ’s flight abroad.175 Another popular paper, especially due to its poetry, was Sayyed Ashraf-al-Din’s Nasim‑e Shomâl (1907), which came out in Rasht. Another publication in Rasht was Afsah-al-Motakalemin’s Kheyr al-kalâm (1907), which was popular for its biting satire.176 Several publications were initiated in Tabriz, a center for the Constitutional movement. HâjjiMirzâ-Âqâ Boluri published the satirical newspaper Hasharât alarz, which contained colored caricatures in 1908. Another newspaper was Sohbat (1909), which appeared in Azeri and was attacked for articles which promoted women’s unveiling and emancipation. In Mashhad, Mohammad-Taqi Bahâr published Bahâr (1910), which was critical of Russian imperialist policy in Persia and was therefore banned. Later Bahâr published another journal under a different name without changing his tone or political ideas. This banning of newspapers was not exceptional. Sayyed Ziyâ-al-Din Tabâtabâ’i’s Sharq (1909) published the poetry of Lâhuti and became popular because of the novel political ideas it communicated. It was banned and reappeared under the name Ra’d (‘Thunder’).177 The contents of these journals depended on social and political events and on the political views of the editor. To give an example, Hasan Taqizâde established the newspaper Kâve in 1916 in Berlin, in reaction to the Russian and British occupation of Persia. It published pro-German articles. From 1920, Taqizâde refocused the journal, concentrating on science and literature. This change itself reflects a cultural development inspired by Europe. The appearance of literary journals in which various aspects of literature, including the role of poetry in society, the poetic forms and the role of the poet as an engaged social and political commentator were discussed, introduced a new dimension to Persian culture. One influ175 For an analysis of the role of Sur‑e Esrâfil see Soroudi, S. S., “Sur‑e Esrâfil, 1907–08: Social and Political Ideology,” Persian Literature and Judeo-Persian Culture: Collected Writings of Sorour S. Soroudi, ed. H. E. Chehabi, (Boston, 2010), pp. 255–77. 176 See Věra Kubíčková, “Persian Literature of the 20 th Century,” p. 367. 177 See Nasreddin Parvin in Encyclopædia Iranica, s. v. Ra’d.

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poetry as awakening: singing modernity

ential literary journal, which ran for more than ten years (1910–21), was Bahâr, published in Tehran by Mirzâ Yusof Khan E’tesâm-alMolk. This was very Francophile and published bilingual articles.178

14. Conclusions In this chapter, I have shown how poetry was used during a turbulent period of modern Iranian history, from 1900 to 1940, as a convincing means to communicate change at various levels of society. With the weakening of the Qajar dynasty, poets like the intelligentsia in general, found a new public and sought effective means to disseminate Western political philosophy to the masses, literate and illiterate. Poetry was in the air, and people could hear and read new ideas everywhere, in journals, newspapers, and popular songs. Many social issues, ranging from nationalism and constitutionalism, to woman’s emancipation, were addressed in poetry. While these poets bade farewell to classical poetic subjects, they found classical forms such as the ghazal and qaside were flexible enough to absorb new ideas and imagery, and an appropriate medium to communicate with people of all walks of life. While most of these poets used classical forms, some, such as Eshqi, and later Nimâ Yushij, composed poetry in new forms, which came to be called ‘new poetry’ (she’r‑e now). ‘New poetry’ came to maturity in the work of Yushij, and was carried forward by Forugh Farrokhzâd, Ahmad Shâmlu, Nâder Nâderpur, and many others. Poets did not shy away from writing folk poetry where it would answer the needs of their public. The close interaction between poetry and political and social events is conspicuous: we have at least one poem on every such event. Relying on the rich classical poetic tradition, poets could link the idea of modern nationalism to Ferdowsi’s Shahname, reading this and other texts from a modern nationalistic perspective. Such modern readings also resulted, in several cases, in disapproval 178 Christophe Balaÿ, La genèse du roman persan moderne, p. 71.

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of other poets. Ahmad Kasravi’s drastic condemnation of Sufi poetry resulted in a purist trend, foreign to the millennium-old poetic tradition. Yet this and other approaches to poetry are part of the spirit of the period, during which Persian intellectuals gauged their own culture, evaluating literary standards, cultural, and political values against new criteria coming from the West.

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CHAPTER THREE MODERN PERSIAN PROSE AND FICTION BETWEEN 1900 AND 1940 Ali-Asghar Seyed-Gohrab

1. Introduction The short period between 1900 and 1940 witnessed many changes in almost all aspects of Persian society. The major events of the period were the Constitutional Revolution (1905–11); the First World War, in which neutral Persia was a battleground for fighting between Russians and the British on one side, and Ottomans and Germans on the other; the October 1917 Revolution in Russia, which reduced Russia’s political influence in Persia; the crumbling of the Qajar dynasty; the coup d’état of Reza Khan (1921) and the beginning of the Pahlavi dynasty under Reza Shah (1925), who implemented far-reaching reforms in various sectors of public life and culture. Persian literature was affected by these events and associated developments, such as censorship, the social effects of the consolidation of a central state, and contact with foreign literatures. A modern Persian literature developed, in poetry and prose. Literature played a large role in the social and political sphere, as a primary means for communicating the message of modernity to the masses. This literature addressed the relationship between tradition and modernity, and the various political ideas entailed by modernity, such as changes in the position of women in society.1 1

Many scholars have examined the Persian prose fiction of this period, as will be evident from the sources cited here. This chapter is in the nature of a survey, drawing largely on their work.

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While medieval Persian writers did consciously contrive stories in verse and prose, which can be considered as heroic, romantic or mystical fiction,2 modern Persian fiction begins in the nineteenth century when Persian authors drew on European models of fiction as a vehicle for promoting social reform. Modern fiction did not blossom as an autonomous genre until after the Constitutional Revolution (1905–1911), although a number of social, political and historical developments in the nineteenth century prepared the way. The most important of these were the introduction of the printing press, and especially lithography, the multiplication of newspapers, the increasing number of Persian students sent to study abroad, the foundation of the Dâr-al-fonun polytechnic college (1851), where European and Persian teachers taught various disciplines based on a modern European curriculum, and translated European fiction and non-fiction into Persian.3 Journals and newspapers played an indispensable role in the rise and spread of fiction, as they created new readers, and writers, and introduced new literary forms and topical content.4

2. Persian Political Treatises and Travelogues Another crucial element was a change in the way individuals looked at themselves, their culture, and the world around them. In the nineteenth and early twentieth centuries, Persians became increasingly engaged with the position of Persia in the world. The loss 2 3

4

See J. T. P. de Bruijn, in Encyclopædia Iranica, s. v. Fiction I. Traditional Forms. See Willem Floor in Encyclopædia Iranica, s. v. Čāp; for sending students abroad see Afshin Matin-Asgari in Encyclopædia Iranica, s. v. Education xxi. Education Abroad; on Persian newspapers see Ali-Akbar Saʿīdī Sīrjānī in Encyclopædia Iranica, s. v. Constitutional Revolution vi. The Press; also see John Gurney and Negin Nabavi in Encyclopædia Iranica, s. v. Dār al-fonun. On the literary role of journals and newspapers see Kamran Talattof’s chapter in this volume. Worth noting here that it also occurred that some students wanted to flee the despotic rule of the Qajar, an example of this is Âzâd Tabrizi (1854–1936), the son of the famous Mostashâr-al-Dowle, the author of One Word. For an account of his life and his literary influence on French and Dutch poets See J. T. P. de Bruijn in Encyclopædia Iranica, s. v. Āzād Tabrīzī.

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of extensive Persian territories to Russia because of Persia’s military weakness, the award of far-reaching concessions to European powers such as Great Britain, and a sense of being ‘backward’ in comparison to Europe’s technological progress, made Persian intellectuals extremely concerned with diagnosing the country’s ailments, and understanding the global framework of the new world order created by technology and colonialism. This awakening is voiced in nineteenth century narratives, in political treatises such as Resâle-ye Majdiyye, by Mirzâ Mohammad Khân Sinaki, known as Majd-al-Dowle, Abdu’l-Bahâ’s Resâle-ye madaniyya and Resâleye Siyâsiyye, Sayyed Jamâl-al-Din Wâ’ez Esfahâni’s Ro’yâ-ye sâdeqe, Mostashâr-al-Dowle’s (d. 1895) One Word, and Mirzâ Malkam Khân’s political treatises. Behbahâni refers to “the growth of an introspective authorial voice in the narrative on the one hand, and realistic down-to-earth detailed description of everyday life on the other.”5 Travelogues and personal diaries are a feature of Persian 19 th century prose, and a strong authorial voice and realistic descriptions of everyday life are a feature of these genres. Several of these 19 th-century travelogues (Safar-nâmes) compare the situation of Persia to Europe. The authors elaborate on new phenomena they have seen in Europe, such as public libraries, churches, factories, printing houses, museums, zoos, medical, naval and military schools, on transportation systems, relationships between men and women, personal liberty and the whole social and political structure.6 One such travel narrative is by Mirzâ Mohammad-Ali Mahallâti (c. 1836–1925), known as Hâjj Sayyâh, who traveled to Europe, the United States and Japan.7 Hâjj Sayyâh ob5 6

7

Sīmīn Behbahānī and EIr in Encyclopædia Iranica, s. v. Fiction. II. a. Historical Background of Modern Fiction; on Amin-al-Dowle see Âryanpur, Az Sabâ tâ Nimâ, Vol. I, pp. 272–80. Several travelogues were written during the Qajar period. For travel literature as a source for Persian history see Bert Fragner, Persische Memoirenliteratur als Quelle zur neueren Geschichte Irans, (Wiesbaden, 1979), and N. Sohrabi, Taken for Wonder: Nineteenth-Century Travel Accounts from Iran to Europe, (New York, 2012). Ali Ferdowsi in Encyclopædia Iranica, s. v. Ḥājj Sayyāḥ. For his travel account see Hâjj Mohammad-Ali Sayyâh, khâterât‑e Hâjj Sayyâh, ya dawra-ye khawf-o wahshat, ed. Hamid Sayyâh, rev. S. Golkâr, (Tehran, 1967);

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serves certain things that were lacking in his homeland at the end of the nineteenth century and the beginning of the twentieth century. He describes theaters, and sometimes the subject of a play, admires the gas lighting in European cities, that they were clean, and that people read newspapers. Another recurring observation is that a variety of newspapers could be found in public places such as libraries, restaurants and cafes. The progress in European countries and the education of their populations greatly surprises him, and he frequently asks himself: “… why my people are so much lacking in education and manners.”8 While visiting a monastery in Adelsberg, he describes how nuns and government physicians were treating the sick, and feels “pity for the poor sick peasants,” but then says: “but I was filled with sorrow when I thought of my own countrymen back home, not only the peasants but also people in all positions.”9 Fully aware of the shortcomings of his country, he is sometimes confronted with the painful judgments made by Europeans. For example, when visiting a zoo, Hâjj Sayyâh sympathetically remarks to a Frenchman that the animals should be freed, but the man answers: Tell me without prejudice if these animals have more freedom or the people in your country. You think they are imprisoned while they live in comfort and nobody bothers them. But in your country, supposedly with liberty, you do not have any right and control over your life, your wealth, or your family.

Hâjj Sayyâh remains quiet and writes: “I saw that he was well aware of the conditions in Iran.”10 He sometimes reveals his homefor an English translation see An Iranian in 19 th Century Europe: The Diaries of Haj Sayyah, 1859–1877, by Mehrbanoo Nasser Deyhim, foreword by Peter Avery, (Bethesda, MD, 1998). In addition to Hâjj Sayyâh, mention should be made of Hâjji Pirzâde’s (d. 1904) travel narrative. See Safar-nâme, ed. H. Farmân-Farmâ’iyân, 2 vols., I. Az Tehrân tâ Landan, II. Az Landan tâ Esfahân, (Tehran, 1963–64). Also see Anna Vanzan in Encyclopædia Iranica, s. v. Ḥāji Pirzāda; K. Rastegar, Literary Modernity between the Middle East and Europe: Textual Transactions in Nineteenth-century Arabic, English, and Persian Literatures, (London and New York, 2007), pp. 84–88.   8 An Iranian in 19 th Century Europe, p. 83.   9 Ibid., p. 84. 10 Ibid., p. 138.

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sickness, and the reader understands how overjoyed he is on unexpectedly seeing the large metal statue of Jean Althen (1709–1744), an Armenian from Iran, in Avignon.11 Perhaps the most famous travelogues of this period is by Zeynal-Âbedin Marâgha’i (1837–1910) who wrote a fictional travel narrative entitled Siyâhat-nâme-ye Ebrâhim Beg yâ balâ-ye taʿassob‑e u (‘The Travel Diaries of Ebrâhim Beg, or the shipwreck of his chauvinism’) published in Cairo in l895. Couched in the form of a travel narrative, it is the first attempt to write a Persian novel based on European models. The book is about the son of a merchant from Tabriz, born and brought up in Egypt. His father instills in him a burning love for the ancient civilization of Persia, an ideal and paradise-like country. When Ebrâhim Beg goes to Persia with his tutor, he founds the ‘paradise’ changed into desolation, misery and tyranny. This shock leads him, as a passionate compatriot, to meticulously record and vividly depict the absence of justice, law and order, criticizing the Shah’s arbitrary power, the corruption of courtiers, the shameful health system and wretched educational system. The author elaborates on opium addiction, corruption and dire economic conditions and the hypocrisy of religious leaders and clergy, and draws comparisons with Persia’s past glories. As Kamshad observes, the author is an ardent lover of Persia who singles out her numerous ailments, but on occasions his patriotism turns to an unreasoning chauvinism. For example, he states that speaking Azeri in Azerbaijan “is artificial, and that Persian speakers who communicate with Azerbaijanis in Turkish are committing treason.” Kamshad rightly writes, “although he has a fairly clear mind about the sickness, he is at a complete loss for the cure.”12 The book was published in three parts. When the first part, containing vigorous criticism of the tyranny of Persia’s ruling system, the dreadful conditions of its people and its backwardness in comparison to its neighbors, was published anonymously, it caused such an uproar that its distribution was banned and people were 11 Ibid., p. 115. 12 Kamshad, Modern Persian Prose Literature, p. 20; Christophe Balaÿ, La genèse du roman persan moderne, pp. 247–77.

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arrested on suspicion of having the book.13 The second part of Ebrâhim Beg’s book concentrates on himself and his illness, caused by what he has seen and experienced in Persia. The third part is a combination of wise sayings and maxims for just kingship, reports from Persian newspapers and a chapter on Japan, which often appears in texts of the period as a new Asian power. Given the difference in subject-matter and style between the first volume and the second and third, some have suggested that the first volume might have been written by Mirzâ Mahdi Khân Tabrizi, who wrote in the newspaper Akhtar.14 What strikes the reader in Marâgha’i’s books is the depiction of the narrator’s subjectivity, his responses to Persia’s condition in comparison to other countries and its own glorious past. His response is a model to motivate readers to action.

3. Translations from European Languages Travel narratives and diaries were complemented by the appearance of translations of fiction from European languages.15 Persian readers’ first acquaintance with European prose fiction had lasting effects on the style, contents and reception of Persian prose fiction. James Justinian Morier’s The Adventures of Hajji Baba of Isfahan is undoubtedly the most important of these translations.16 Its authorship has been questioned in Persia from the moment of its appearance. On the one hand, the exaggerated portrayal of Hâjji 13 Kamshad states that the publication of this book in Persia was out of the question, “The first [part] is undated and appeared in Cairo; the second, written in 1325/1905, was published in Calcutta in 1907, and the third in Istanbul in 1327/1909.” See p. 17. Also see M. R. Ghanoonparvar, Prophets of Doom: Literature as a Socio-Political Phenomenon in Modern Iran, (New York, 1984), pp. 2–3. 14 Kamshad, Modern Persian Prose Literature, pp. 19, 29; L. P. Elwell-Sutton in Encyclopædia Iranica, s. v. Aḵtar Newspaper. 15 For translations from European languages see M. Gholâm, “Naqsh‑e tarjome dar peydâyesh‑e roman‑e târikhi dar Irân,” Fasl-nâme-ye zabân va adabiyyât‑e Fârsi, No. 32, (2001), pp. 147–70. 16 Christophe Balaÿ, La genèse du roman persan moderne, pp. 110–33 ; K. Raste­ gar, Literary Modernity between the Middle East and Europe, pp. 126–44.

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Bâbâ, as a supposedly typical Persian man, is misleading. On the other hand, the author shows a startling knowledge of the private lives and customs of Persians, which are hard to credit to a foreigner. Kamshad wonders whether Hâjji Bâbâ represents Mirzâ Abual-Hasan, the Persian envoy extraordinary to Great Britain, who accompanied Morier on his journey to England and back to Persia. A similar uncertainty surrounds the translation. It was at first assumed that Hâjji Sheykh Ahmad Ruhi of Kerman translated the book, but he wrote to E. G. Browne in 1892, stating unequivocally that Mirzâ Habib of Isfahan (1835–93) translated it, from the French edition.17 Mirzâ Habib was a man of letters, a poet, editor, grammarian and translator, who spent much of his life in exile in Turkey. Among his translations is Molière’s Le Misanthrope, which he published in 1869 under the title of Mardom-goriz.18 Kamshad refers to Habib as a “resolute advocate of democracy,” criticizing tyranny, and opposing the religious establishment and its hypocrisy. He died in 1893 and was buried in Bursa.19 Habib’s Persian translation is loose: Tahsin Yazici calls it an imaginative rendering.20 The translator allows himself to add, omit, shorten or elongate passages at will. Kamshad gives several examples of this. The changes range from the insertion of material reflecting the translator’s ideological principles, especially against the clergy, to alterations to meet the translator’s personal taste and a Persian readership. As an example, Kamshad refers to chapter 37, 17 Tahsin Yazıcı in Encyclopædia Iranica, s. v. Ḥabīb Eṣfahānī; also compare M. M. Hâshemi in Dânesh-nâme-ye zabân va adab‑e Fârsi, s. v. H ­ abib‑e Esfahâni; On the controversy of the translator’s identity see Kamshad, Modern Persian Prose Literature, pp. 21–23. 18 Maryam B. Sanjabi, “Mardum-guriz: an early Persian translation of Mo­ lière’s Le Misanthrope,” International Journal of Middle East Studies, 30, (1998), pp. 251–70; also see J. Scott Meisami, “Iran,” Modern Literatur in the Near and Middle East 1850–1970, ed. R. Ostle, (London and New York, 1991), p. 45–62. 19 See Kamshad, Modern Persian Prose Literature, pp. 23–24. According to Kamshad he died in 1897, but Tahsin Yazici gives the date 1893. 20 Tahsin Yazıcı in Encyclopædia Iranica, s. v. Ḥabīb Eṣfahānī; also see Kamshad, Modern Persian Prose Literature, pp. 22–23; Yavari, in Encyclopædia Iranica, s. v. Fiction; Âryanpur, Az Sabâ tâ Nimâ, Vol. II, pp. 395–405.

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“The history of Yusuf, the Armenian and his wife Marian,” which covers thirty four pages in the original, but just five pages in the Persian rendering. Much material is omitted because Armenian customs and marriage ceremonies offer little opportunity to motivate Persian readers to social activism.21 The translator adopts the Persian manner of inserting suitable poetry into his prose, and citing the Koran and prophetic traditions. The translator is particularly successful in depicting Persian courtly manners and the behavior of the mullahs. His translation circulated in manuscript, until D. C. Phillott published it in Calcutta, in 1905. It was well received. Kamshad (who claims that the translation certainly excels the original) refers to its “immense influence” on people’s awakening, and as triggering the Constitutional Revolution.22 Basing himself on ­Mohammad-Taqi Bahâr characterization, he writes that Habib’s translation is one of the most powerful, precise and realistic works of this age, praising the style for its fluency and maturity of expression. Indeed, Bahâr places it among the best examples of Persian prose (1258).23 Mirzâ Ja’far Qarâchedâghi translated several plays from Azeri Turkish into Persian in 1871. Their publication introduced a new genre to Persian literature.24 At the order of Nâser-al-Din Shah (1848–96), Prince Mohammad-Tâher translated several of Alexander Dumas’s novels such as Le Comte de Monte-Cristo, Les Trois Mousquetaires, La Reine Margot, Louis XIV and Louis XV. French novels were chosen because the first group of Persian students sent to study in Europe had gone to France. French culture and literature had an enormous influence on Persian fiction in the nineteenth century. Other translations were made by Mohammad-Hoseyn Khân

21 See Kamshad, Modern Persian Prose Literature, pp. 24–25. 22 Ibid., p. 26. 23 See Kamshad, Modern Persian Prose Literature, p. 27; Golestân is probably the single most influential work in Persian, and has also had a wide influence on other literatures, especially Islamic literatures. See F. Lewis in Encyclopædia Iranica, s. v. Golestān‑e Sa’di. 24 In 1890, A. Rogers translated three of these plays into English.

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Forughi (Zokâ-al-Molk, 1839–1907),25 Mohammad Kermânshâhi, Ibrâhim Neshât, Ali Moqaddam (E’temâd-al-Saltane) and Abd-alHoseyn Mirzâ Qâjâr. Forughi translated Jules Verne’s La tour du monde en 80 jours, Bernardin de Saint-Pierre’s La chaumière indienne, and Chateaubriand’s Les aventures du dernier Abencerage, Lesage’s Gil Blas by Mohammad Kermânshâhi. Neshât translated Bernardin de Saint-Pierre’s Paul et Virginie. Moqaddam translated Molière’s Le Médecin malgré lui. Mirzâ Qâjâr translated historical novels by Jurji Zaydân.26 As Balaÿ rightly states, the translation of such a wide range of authors was not “primarily based on the works’ inherent literary quality or merit,” but rather on Persians’ awareness of their technological backwardness, inspiring them to acquire knowledge about Europe, a model they wanted to imitate.27 Among the literary translators before the Constitutional Revolution we can name Eʿtemâd-al-Saltane,28 Mohammad-Tâher Mirzâ; Abd-al-Rahim Tâlebof (1834–1911), and Mirzâ Âqâ Khân Kermâni (1854–1896). The number of translators from French increased after Constitutional Revolution with figures such as Gholâm-Rezâ Rashid Yâsami (1895–1951), Sa’id Nafisi (1895–1976), Abbâs Eqbâl Âshtiyâni (1897–1956),29 Hoseyn-Qoli Mosta’ân (1904–1983), the translator of Les Misérables (Tehran, 1921), Qâsem Ghani (1893–1952) who translated Anatole France,30 Nasr-Allâh Falsafi (1901–81), and several others.31 25 Forughi was also the editor of the newspaper Tarbiyat (1890–1906) in which he published literary compositions and translations. For the role of journals and newspapers in the formation of new prose see the contribution of Kamran Talattof in this volume. On Forughi see Manouchehr Kasheff in Encyclopædia Iranica, s. v. Forūḡī, Moḥammad-Ḥosayn Khan Ḏokāʾ-al-Molk. 26 For a comprehensive list of translations from French into Persian see Ch. Balaÿ in Encyclopædia Iranica, s. v. France. x. French Literature in Persia; also see Kamshad, Modern Persian Prose Literature, pp. 27–28. 27 Ch. Balaÿ in Encyclopædia Iranica, s. v. France. x. French Literature in Persia. 28 Abbas Amanat in Encyclopædia Iranica, s. v. Eʿtemād-al-Salṭana, Moḥammad-Ḥasan Khan Moqaddam Marāḡa’ī. 29 I. Afshar in Encyclopædia Iranica, s. v. Eqbāl Āštīānī, ʿAbbās. 30 Abbas Milani in Encyclopædia Iranica, s. v. Ḡanī, Qāsem. 31 On these and other names see Ch. Balaÿ in Encyclopædia Iranica, s. v. France. x. French Literature in Persia, from which my information is derived.

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4. The Role of Politicians in Reforming the Language and Introducing New Genres Political actors played an important role in the creation of modern Persian fiction. Their purpose was not to create literary works, but to simplify the inaccessible baroque Persian prose style, excessively ornamented with difficult Arabic phraseology, so that their message of reform and modernization could reach people. This emphasis on social and political reform, expressed in a plain style, made their works essentially pedagogic. Pedagogical writing has remained a strong characteristic of Persian literature till the present day. The roots of Persian littérature engagée lie in this period.32 The political actors who contributed to this renewal of prose in support of reforms had usually spent some time in Europe, where they had observed both the political reforms of 19 th century Europe, and the role of literature in Europe. Perhaps the most famous of these reformers was Mirzâ Malkam Khân Nâzem-al-Dowle (1833–1908), the editor of the London-based newspaper Qânun in which he introduced European political philosophy in plain language, developing a vocabulary for modern political concepts such as codified law (qânun), nation (mellat) and national (melli), parliament (majles). He also wrote the treatise Ketâbche-ye gheybi (‘The Oracular Notebook’) in 1859 in which he elaborates on European law codes. Other politicians were Mirzâ Yusof Khân Mostashâr-al-Dowle, whose Yek Kaleme (‘One Word’) enlarges on the concept of codified law and the rule of law. In his view, Europe’s success was not based on technological advances but on codes of law which treated all people the same, irrespective of their religion, gender and social and political positions. He was later imprisoned for his reformist views on government by Nâser-al-Din Shah, who personally beat him with his Yek Kaleme. Both Mostashâr-al-Dowle and Malkam Khân had a wide network, corresponding with other liberals such as Mirzâ Fath-Ali Âkhundzâde 32 Sīmīn Behbahānī and EIr in Encyclopædia Iranica, s. v. Fiction ii. (a). Historical Background of Modern Fiction.

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(1812–78), on various topics, including language and literature.33 Malkam Khân’s extensive discussions with Âkhundzâde included alphabet reform, and critiques of ornate prose that was thought to obstruct clear and original thinking.34 Âkhundzâde had an enormous impact on the concept of Persian literature, especially when we consider how his ideas influenced other intellectuals such as Ahmad Kasravi, and his literary criticism.35 Âkhundzâde, applying his own literary norms, concluded that only Ferdowsi and Nezâmi’s epics were authentic pieces of literature, as these two authors came close to achieving literature’s utilitarian purpose. Âkhundzade cherished the idea that the Persians were of Arian stock, sharing some cultural elements with Europeans. Such ideas became very strong, especially in the first half of the twentieth century. Âkhundzâde wrote several plays and a short story in Azeri Turkish, which were translated to Persian and published in 1874. His short story Dâstân‑e Yusof Shâh yâ setâregân‑e farib-khorde (‘The Story of King Joseph, or the Deceived Stars’) is a satirical short story, which as pointed out in the entry “Fiction” in EIr has noted is based on an episode in Eskandar Beg’s Târikh‑e âlamârâye Abbâsi.36 It has been called the first example of Persian fiction,37 33

34

35

36 37

F. Âdamiyyat, Andishe-hâ-ye Mirzâ Fath-Ali Âkhundzâde, (Tehran, 1970); H. Algar, Mīrzā Malkum Khān: A Study in the History of Iranian Modernism, (Berkeley / Los Angeles, 1973); idem, in Encyclopædia Iranica, s. v. Āḵūndzāda. Mehrdad Kia, “Persian Nationalism and the Campaign for Language Purification,” Middle Eastern Studies, Vol. 34, No. 2 (1998), pp. 9–36; H. Algar, “Malkum Khān, Āḵūndzāda and the Proposed Reform of the Arabic Alphabet,” Middle Eastern Studies 5, (1969), pp. 116–30; Âryanpur, Az Sabâ tâ Nimâ, Vol. I, pp. 314–22. I. Parsinejad elaborates on Âkhundzâde’s thinking, and his immediate impact on the development of Persian literature and literary criticism. See A History of Literary Criticism, pp. 39–65; also see idem, Mirza Fath Ali Akhund­zadeh and Literary Criticism, (Tokyo, 1988). Sīmīn Behbahānī and the editors of EIr in Encyclopædia Iranica, s. v. Fiction ii. (a). Historical Background of Modern Fiction. F. Âdamiyyat, Andishehâ, chapter two, pp. 32–68; M. Rezâ’i-Râd in ­Dânesh-nâme-ye zabân va adab‑e Fârsi, s. v. Âkhundzâde, Fath-Ali; idem., in Dânesh-nâme-ye zabân va adab‑e Fârsi, s. v. Adabiyyât‑e namâyeshi.

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and is in any case a landmark, in form and contents, and in the use of colloquial language, realistic dialogues and direct speech. Persian intellectuals’ deep fascination with Europe framed their critique of every aspect of Persian culture. While some intellectuals consciously chose traditional cultural and literary values, others heartily accepted European values and applied them to Persian culture, including literature. The result was a new type of literature, grafted onto European literary traditions. Literature had become a means to communicate reforms, to hold a mirror to society, to convey secular moral reasoning. For intellectuals such as Âkhund­ zade and Mirzâ Âqâ Khân Kermâni, literature should show the people the glorious past of Persia, the afflictions brought by the Arabs and Islam, and so guide them towards a modern states like those in Europe. In this context, Islam and the literature written within this tradition was devalued. Kermâni singles out Ferdowsi from the other Persian poets, emphasizing that “the only poet who enjoys the admiration of Europeans is Ferdowsi of Tus, whose Shahname, although not bereft on occasion of exaggerations, inscribes patriotism, honor and courage in the nature of the Iranian people, andoften also attempts their moral improvement.”38 Kermani and Kasravi, to mention two figures, were so charmed by European culture that even medieval Persian literature had to be assessed on the basis of European literary standards. All these ideas were later relayed and extended by Ahmad Kasravi, who wanted to cull classical poets such as Hâfez and Sa’di from the canon, as well as discarding the Persian mystical tradition.39

38 I. Parsinejad, A History of Literary Criticism in Iran, pp. 76–77; See also F. Âdamiyyat, Andishe-hâ-ye Mirzâ Âqâ Khân Kermâni, pp. 226–32; M. Bayat, in Encyclopædia Iranica, s. v. Āqā Khan Kermānī, Mīrzā ʿAbd-alḤosayn. 39 L. Ridgeon, Sufi Castigator: Ahmad Kasravi and the Iranian Mystical Tradition, (London / New York, 2006), chapters six and seven, pp. 137–90; also see F. Azimi, “Historiography in the Pahlavi Era.” Persian Historiography (Vol. X: A History of Persian Literature), ed. Charles Melville, (London / New York, 2012), pp. 384–98.

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5. The Prelude to the Constitutional Revolution In the late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries, the focus in Persian prose continued to be on transmitting knowledge about the benefits of progress in Europe and the world to ordinary Persian readers, and on awakening them from the apathy that was said to govern Persia. Abd-al-Rahim Tâlebof published his Ketâb‑e Ahmad yâ safine-ye Tâlebi (‘The Book of Ahmad, or Tâlebi’s Vessel’) in two volumes in Istanbul between 1893–96.40 It is a type of autobiographical novel with a central focus on ethics and education of the individual. The subtitle refers to a classical genre in which the author seeks to educate a child on geography, science and social criticism in an informal conversation.41 Tâlebof’s second work Masâlek al-mohsenin (‘The Ways of the Charitable’) was published in Cairo in l905. This is a fictional travel account, criticizing Persia’s despotic rule and backwardness.42 Tâlebof was possibly inspired by Sir Humphry Davy’s Consolations in Travel, or the Last Days of a Philosopher (1830). Its loose structure and depiction of the incidents of everyday life recall the picaresque novels of the sixteenth and early seventeenth century.43 Developments in Persian literature went hand in hand with political changes. At the turn of the twentieth century, politicians, intellectuals and poets wanted to defend their country against Western domination (bearing in mind that Russia is part of ‘the West’ in this context), while being fascinated by technological progress and Europe’s sophisticated political systems. Islam and the Arabs were often blamed for Persia’s backwardness, and the true ­identity 40 On Tâlebof see D. Rahmâniyân, “Tâlebof, gharb va tajaddod,” Majalle-ye dâneshkade-ye adabiyyât va olum‑e ensâni-ye dâneshgâh‑e Tehran, No. 182, (2007), pp. 101–22. 41 Âryanpur, Az Sabâ tâ Nimâ, Vol. I, pp. 285–304, on Ketâb‑e Ahmad see 292–94; On Ketâb‑e Ahmad see Christophe Balaÿ, La genèse du roman persan moderne, chapter seven, pp. 217–46. 42 H. Mirâbedini, in Dânesh-nâme-ye zabân va adab‑e Fârsi, s. v. Tâlebof, Abd-al-Rahim; Parsinejad, A History of Literary Criticism in Iran, pp. 121– 39; I. Afshâr, “Tâlebof,” Yaghmâ, No. 39, (1951), pp. 214–21. 43 Sīmīn Behbahānī and the editors of EIr in Encyclopædia Iranica, s. v. Fiction ii. (a). Historical Background of Modern Fiction.

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of the Persians was found in history, and often in pre-Islamic times. The first Persian novels are historical. Mohammad-Bâqer Mirzâ Khosravi (1850–1919) published a trilogy under the title of Shams-o Toghrâ (1909), Mâri‑e venisi (‘Marie the Venetian,’ 1910), and Toghrol-o Homây (1910), in Kermânshâh. The titles of the parts are the names of the main protagonists. The trilogy is set in thirteenth century Persia, when the country was invaded by the Mongols. Although the structure is influenced by French adventure novels, the themes are inspired from classical Persian narratives, notably Nezâmi’s historical romance Khosrow and Shirin and the poet Sa’di. The books are intended to entertain through a series of actions, but the main goal is didactic: to inform the reader of Persia’s history.44 Sheykh Musâ Nathri’s Eshq-o saltanat yâ fotuhât‑e Kurosh‑e kabir (‘Love and kingship, or the Victories of Cyrus the Great,’ Hamadân 1919), relates the exploits of pre-Islamic heroes.45 Hasan Badi Nosrat-al-Vozarâ (1872–1937) chooses the same topic in his Dâstân‑e bâstân yâ sargodhasht‑e Kurosh (‘The Story of Ancient Times, or the Life of Cyrus,’ 1921) which he published in Tehran.46 Here he tries to historicize the story of Bizhan-o Manizhe from Ferdowsi’s Shahname, using Herodotus and European scholarship. Abd-al-Hoseyn San’atizâde (1895–1973) started his prolific career as a historical novelist and wrote many novels, as well as experimenting with science fiction.47 His Dâmgostarân yâ enteqâmkhâhân‑e Mazdak (‘The Ensnarers, or the Avengers of Mazdak’) 44 On Shams-o Toghrâ see Ch. Balaÿ, “Shams et Toghrā. figures romanesques de l’Iran mongol,” Revue des mondes musulmans et de la Méditerranée, 89– 90, (2000), pp. 169–175; idem, La genèse du roman persan moderne, chapter nine, pp. 285–92 ; Âryanpur, Az Sabâ tâ Nimâ, Vol. II, pp. 240–52. 45 Âryanpur, Az Sabâ tâ Nimâ, Vol. II, pp. 252–54; E. G. Browne, A Literary History of Persia, Vol. iv, pp. 464–66; Kamshad, Modern Persian Prose Literature, pp. 45–46. 46 Âryanpur, Az Sabâ tâ Nimâ, Vol. II, pp. 254–55; Kamshad, Modern Persian Prose Literature, pp. 46–47. 47 C. Pedersen, “San’atizade’s Majma’‑e Divânegân, ‘An Assembly of Lunatics,’ The Earliest Literary Utopia in Modern Persian Literature,” in Folia Orientalia, XLII–XLIII, (Kraków 2006/2007), pp. 137–43.

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was published in two parts, the first in Bombay in 1921–22 and the second in 1925–26 in Tehran.48 Such historical fiction reflected Persia’s social, political and intellectual development. The authors were Persian secular intellectuals who were familiar with Western literary tradition and Orientalists’ research into Persia’s glorious past. Kamshad suggests two reasons for the vogue for historical novels: firstly, history gives “ample resources,” and secondly, the ruling system discouraged discussions of everyday affairs which would reveal the prevailing “corruption and inefficiencies.” Authors were instead encouraged to provide the nation with a dose of bygone glories.49 Kamshad notes that these novels are “crammed with distortions and anachronisms,” having no historical value, but Yavari observes that “their naive attempt to achieve historical credibility, often ending instead in anachronisms, imbues them with the charm of primitive paintings.”50 Historical novels remained a strong genre during the first half of the twentieth century. The anti-Arab and anti-Islamic sentiments of Âkhundzade and Mirzâ Âqâ Khân Kermâni can be seen again in the historical novels of Sâdeq Hedâyat and Bozurg Alavi.

6. The Early Pahlavi Era The focus in early Pahlavi era prose shifted to contemporary social change, although pre-Islamic history continued to be a source of inspiration for Pahlavi state policy. Without a doubt, Mohammad-Ali Jamâlzâde’s collection of six short stories entitled Yeki bud yeki nabud (‘Once upon a time’), published in 1921, heralds the beginning of Persian prose fiction based on European models, 48 H. Mirâbedini, in Dânesh-nâme zabân va adab‑e fârsi, s. v. Dâmgostarân yâ enteghâm-khâhân‑e Mazdak; idem, Dânesh-nâme zabân va adab‑e fârsi, s. v. San’atizâde-ye Kermâni; Browne, A Literary History of Persia, Vol. IV, p. 466; Âryanpur, Az Sabâ tâ Nimâ, Vol. II, pp. 255–58; Kamshad, Modern Persian Prose Literature, (1966), pp. 47–50. 49 Kamshad, Modern Persian Prose Literature, p. 51. 50 H. Yavari in Encyclopædia Iranica, s. v. Fiction, ii (b). The Novel. Kamshad, Modern Persian Prose Literature, p. 51.

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as ­regards the style of language, the form, narrative technique, time and setting, plot development and character depiction.51 Unlike most of the other authors discussed here, he wrote from abroad. He was sixteen years old when he left Persia but he had absorbed enough impressions of the life, mentality and culture to create an original and fascinating Persian context and atmosphere in his short stories and novels. Intellectuals such as Jamâlzâde wanted to modernize the language but to preserve its unique character, despite the influx of European ideas and translations from European works. Jamâlzâde was a prolific author who wrote fiction, literary criticism and history and also translated several works. His collection Yeki bud yeki nabud was written between 1915 and 1920, and published together in 1921. One of them, Fârsi Shekar ast (‘Persian is Sugar’ or ‘Persian is Sweet’) establishing Jamâlzâde’s fame as a literary figure, and served as an example for later fiction writers. It depicts the various modes in which Persian was used in Iran at that time in a very charming way. The setting is a prison, which houses a simple Persian youth from the provinces who is trying to discover why he has been imprisoned, a pompous cleric, and a Western-educated modernist just arrived from Europe. The young man is confused when he hears the Persian of his countrymen, each using a different jargon; the cleric uses Arabic words and phrases mixed with Persian, the modernist uses French phrases. The young man is put in jail for no reason and is seeking answer why he is put in prison.52 51 Hassan Kamshad and Nahid Mozaffari in Encyclopædia Iranica, s. v. Jamal­ zadeh, Mohammad-Ali ii. Work; also see M. F. Farzâne, “Jamâlzâde va Hedâyat pâye-godhârân‑e adabiyyât‑e novin‑e Fârsi,” Irân-nâme, No. 61, (1997), pp. 25–48; H. Mirâbedini in Dânesh-nâme zabân va adab‑e fârsi, s. v. Jamâlzâde, Sayyed Mohammad-Ali. Other authors also played significant roles, by publishing fiction in installments in journals and newspapers, publishing short stories, novellas and novels. Chapter four in this volume discusses the satiric element in Jamâlzâde’s prose. 52 The collection is translated in different languages such as Russian, French, and English. For translations of his works see Hassan Kamshad and Nahid Mozaffari, in Encyclopædia Iranica, s. v. Jamalzade, Mohammad-Ali, ii. Work; for an analysis of the first story as a case of language reform see Ahmad Karimi-Hakkak, “Language Reform Movement and Its Language …,” pp. 81–104.

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Another story in this collection, Dusti-ye khâle kherse (‘With Friends Like That’, lit. ‘The Friendship of Auntie Bear’), revolves around a kind waiter who saves the life of a wounded Russian Cossack who is lying in the snow on the road to Kermânshâh during World War I. The Cossack discovers that the waiter is carrying money, and once they are in safety, he has him executed. A third story is entitled Dard‑e del‑e Mollâ Qorbân-Ali (‘Mollâ Qorbân-Ali Pouring Out His Heart’), the story of a cleric who has fallen deeply in love with the daughter of a merchant. The climax of the story comes when the girl dies and the Mullah is invited to spend the night by the girl’s coffin to pray for her soul. When he sees her face, he cannot restrain his passion and kisses her lips. He is seen and put in prison. The fourth story is Bila dig bila choghondar (‘the Beetroot Fits the Pan’) is a satirical critique of the ruling class of the Qajar dynasty. A bath attendant from Europe comes to Persia, and becomes an adviser to a minister. Rajol‑e siyâsi (‘The Political Figure’) is a satire showing how opportunists climb to the higher echelons of the government. Veylân-al-Dowle (‘Vagrant of the Realm’) depicts the tragic fate of a vagabond who lives on charity.53 Yavari, summarizing the opinions of other critics such as Barâhani, Balaÿ, Cuypers, Âbedini and Katouzian, gives four reasons for the success and impact of Yeki bud yeki nabud. First, the collection marked a departure from the dominance of politics and didactic fiction, ushering in a new era of autonomous fiction, entailing a literary style, the development of character types, and fictional realism. This development also drew on the works of literati such as Ali-Akbar Dehkhodâ, whose columns in Charand-parand were influential. Second, Yeki bud yeki nabud launched the short story genre, differing in several respects from previous Persian fiction produced. Although Jamâlzâde’s characters are not developed beyond the level of types, this was the first attempt to present fictional characters who have distinctive voices. The treatment of time and place was also new, as each of these short stories is located in a specific time and setting to depict an aspect of modern Persian 53 See chapter 9 by M. Cuypers in Ch. Balaÿ and M. Cuypers, Aux sources de la nouvelle persane, (Paris, 1983), pp. 201–6.

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life. The plots are simple, but each event within the plot neatly fits in the plot structure. Thirdly, Yeki bud yeki nabud was the first attempt to introduce the “Western style of critical realism with its focus on mirroring society and its immediate problems, and interest in the representation of typical people in Persian fiction.”54 Other short story writers and novelists followed Jamâlzâde in this, so these stories had a lasting impact on Persian prose fiction to this day. Fourthly, the language of these short stories is “direct, unadorned, and colloquial, and the choice of words varies according to the class and educational level of the characters.”55 This in combination with the presentation of characters in a particular setting had never been attempted in fiction before. However this new language style had a precedent, in the language of newspapers during and after the Constitutional period.56 Yeki bud yeki nabud was received positively by the literati but was criticized by the divines, their followers and several members of parliament, who thought some passages insulted the clergy and political leaders. The author was called an apostate, and the book an apostasy (kofr).57 The protestors also demanded that the publisher should be punished. Despite the initial protests, the book gained popularity and Jamâlzâde established his fame as a major literary figure. Opposition from both religious and government circles, and state censorship, persuaded Jamâlzâde not to publish his next book Dâr-al-majânin (‘The Lunatic Asylum’), until 1942, after Reza Shah had been dethroned.58 From that time, Jamâlzâde published a large number of short stories, novels, translations, etc. 54 Hassan Kamshad and Nahid Mozaffari in Encyclopædia Iranica, s. v. Jamalzadeh, Mohammad-Ali ii. Work. 55 Ibid., 56 H. Yavari’s excellent survey of novel in Encyclopædia Iranica, s. v. Fiction, ii. The Novel. 57 On the reception of this book see Homa Katouzian’s analysis in chapter 4.6. Mohammad-Ali Jamâlzâde (1892–1997). Hassan Kamshad and Nahid Mozaffari in Encyclopædia Iranica, s. v. Jamalzadeh, Mohammad-Ali ii. Work; see also chapter three by M. Cuypers in Ch. Balaÿ and M. Cuypers, Aux sources de la nouvelle persane, (Paris, 1983), pp. 131–41. 58 On Dâr al-majânin and other stories of Jamâlzâde see Homa Katouzian’s contribution in this volume, and his following article, “Dâr-al-majânin,”

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Persian prose fiction focused more on social issues than on current events in the early decades of the Pahlavi dynasty, which discouraged accurate descriptions of contemporary history. Nevertheless, a number of historical novels with contemporary settings were written, which were well received. One of the novelists was Hoseyn Roknzâde Âdamiyyat (1899–1973), who became famous for his Dalirân‑e Tangestâni (‘The Heroes of Tangestân,’ 1931), dealing with contemporary history.59 Âdamiyyat was also the editor of the weekly paper Âdamiyyat.60 Another such figure was Zeyn-al-Âbedin Mo’tamen (b. 1914), a critic who also wrote novels. He became famous for his historical novel Âshiyâne-ye oqâb (‘The Eagle’s Nest,’ 1939), dealing with developments during the reign of Reza Shah. A less risky strategy was to deal with social issues at the individual level. As Yavari indicates Persian novelists, often influenced by European naturalism and authors such as Emile Zola, depicted social conditions, focusing particularly on the condition of women and the contrast between city life and the villages.61 Women certainly appear in classical Persian fiction, where they are sometimes oppressed but usually resourceful, dynamic and clever, especially in Ferdowsi’s and Nezâmi’s writings, or amazons in Persian prose stories. In modern fiction authors seek to show women in real life. Although they are still created by a male imagination, these women are no longer elusive characters from the past, but personages in the real world. In this fiction, the woman became “essentially a stereotyped victim of the sinister forces of modernity.”62 Mortezâ Moshfeq Kâzemi’s (1902–77) Tehrân‑e makhowf (‘Tehran the Terrible’) presents the city as a metaphor for modernity in which love, prostitution, corruption and decadence take a central place. The first part of the book was originally published in feuilleton form in the newspaper Setâre-ye Irân but the entire Irân-nâme, No. 61, (1997), pp. 49–68; idem, “Jamalzadeh’s Fiction,” Iran: Politics, History and Literature, (London and New York, 2013), pp. 246–56; idem, “Shâhkâr‑e shah-kâre,” Irân-shenâsi, No. 45, (2000), pp. 42–57. 59 Kamshad, Modern Persian Prose Literature, 1966, pp. 41–51. 60 L. P. Elwell-Sutton in Encyclopædia Iranica, s. v. Ādamīyat. 61 Yavari in Encyclopædia Iranica, s. v. Fiction. 62 Ibid.,

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novel was published in two volumes in Tehran in 1922.63 This novel was the seed of a number of other works in prose concentrating on modern city life in which women have new and active roles in a changing culture. Among the popular novels depicting the position of women were Abbâs Khalili’s (1891–1971) novels Ruzgâr‑e siyâh (‘Black Days,’ 1924) and Enteqâm (Revenge, 1925); Sayyed Yahyâ Dowlatâbâdi’s64 (1863–1939) Shahrnâz (1926) and Jahângir Jalili’s (1909–39) Man ham gerye karde-am (‘I, Too, Have Wept,’ 1934). The crown for this genre undoubtedly goes to Mohammad Mas’ud (1905–47), who wrote several novels on the theme of women and the city: Tafrihât‑e shab (‘Nocturnal Pleasures,’ 1933), Dar talâsh‑e ma’âsh (‘Struggling to Earn a Living,’ 1933), Ashraf‑e makhluqât (‘The Noblest of Creatures,’ 1934), and Golhâ’i ke dar jahannam miruyand (‘Flowers that Sprout in Hell,’ 1943). Yavari (drawing on Khânlari) observes that Mas’ud’s “outcries of pain and entertaining humor couched in a colorful colloquialism are reminiscent of Erich Maria Remarque’s Im Westen nichts Neues, which was translated into Persian in 1930 and whose style seems to have influenced Mas’ūd.” In addition to the plight of women in a changing modern society, these novels reflect the rise of a new middle class and the change from a traditional to a European social structure. The theme of a female protagonist appears to have been attractive for a wide audience as we can see in the works of Moti’-al-Dowle Mohammad Hejâzi (1901–1974), certainly one of the most popular novelists in the reign of Reza Shah (1925–1941). In addition to his novels, he wrote short-stories, plays and essays, and translated several works into Persian. His first three novels are about women: their titles are

63 H. Mirâbedini in Dânesh-nâme-ye zabân va adab‑e fârsi, s. v. Tehrân‑e ­makhowf; Christophe Balaÿ, La genèse du roman persan moderne, pp. 321– 34; also see Sh. Meskub, “Qesse-ye por ghosse yâ român‑e haqiqi,” Dâstân‑e adabiyyât va sargodhasht‑e ejtemâ (sâlhâ-ye 1300–1315), (Tehran, 1994), pp. 121–57; also see S. D. Elâhi, “Darâmadi bar maqule-ye pâvaraqi-nevisi dar Irân,” Irân-shenâsi, No. 4, (1998), pp. 716–33. 64 See H. Mirâbedini, in Dânesh-nâme-ye zabân va adab‑e fârsi, s. v. Hâjji Mirzâ Yahyâ Dowlatâbâdi.

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the names of his urban upper class heroines: Homâ (Tehran, 1928); Parichehr (Tehran, 1929), and Zibâ (Tehran, 1930).65 Hejâzi belongs to the group of Persian intellectuals of the early twentieth century who had been educated in the West and who wanted to modernize Persia by introducing Western ideas and a Western way of life. Hejâzi was educated at a French Catholic missionary school for boys in Tehran, and continued his education in telecommunications and electrical engineering, as well as political science, in France.66 As Ghanoonparvar rightly indicates, the efforts of persons such as Hejâzi derive from a sense of responsibility toward their country and people, which drove them to communicate knowledge in diverse fields to ordinary readers.67 Hejâzi became one of the most widely read novelists, but critics were not always positive about his work, arguing that he did not have a coherent worldview.68 In fact, he was conservative and anti-communist. With the rise of the Tudeh (Communist) party in Iran, critics on the left either ignored him, or characterized his work, in the words of Yavari, as “childish, sickly sweet, fit only for teenagers, and vacuous, a judgment that is not substantiated by either his popularity or his corpus.”69 His first novel Homâ depicts a young, educated, middle-class girl who has fallen in love with a young man, not knowing that her guardian Hasan-Ali Khân is secretly in love with her. When she finds out, she tries to devote her life to Hasan-Ali Khân. The young man is furious and with the help of a wretched mullah, 65 Christophe Balaÿ, La genèse du roman persan moderne, pp. 329–47. 66 My account of Hejâzi’s life and work is based on M. Ghanoonparvar, in Encyclopædia Iranica, s. v. Ḥejāzī, Moḥammad Moṭī’-al-Dawla; H. Kamshad, Modern Persian Prose Literature, pp. 73–84; Christophe Balaÿ, La genèse du roman persan moderne, pp. 329–47. 67 Hejâzi translated Freud’s The Interpretation of Dreams into Persian under the title of Ro’yâ, (Tehran, 1953), wrote a treatise Telegrâf‑e bisim (‘Wireless Telegraph’) published in Berlin in 1923, and later he wrote several highschool textbooks. See M. Ghanoonparvar, in Encyclopædia Iranica, s. v. Ḥejāzī, Moḥammad Moṭī’-al-Dawla. 68 M. Ghanoonparvar, in Encyclopædia Iranica, s. v. Ḥejāzi who relies on Sayyāh, p. 182. 69 Yavari in Encyclopædia Iranica, s. v. Fiction.

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­devises various machinations to get revenge on Hasan-Ali Khân. The story continues as an oscillation between altruism and deceit until Hasan-Ali Khân is captured by Russian officers and the story can come to a happy ending. Aside from the treachery and hypocrisy of the plot, Hejâzi depicts the tension women face, between love and the choice of a husband, and reflects on moral values such as altruism and magnanimity, which are both very important in Persian culture. By raising these issues, the author presents Homâ as an ideal Persian woman in modern times. As Kamshad indicates, Hejâzi’s second novel, Parichehr, was less successful in terms of the depiction of characters, realistic contexts and the author’s overall message. Corruption, and the decadence of modern society, is criticized in lengthy didactic passages. Parichehr’s character remains sketchy, while the authorial voice warns young women of threats in modern society. His most successful and widely read novel is Zibâ, which combines several elements skillfully. Hejâzi is able to link his moral message of virtue to an expose of the corruption of the bureaucratic governmental system during one of the most chaotic periods of Persian history, the 1910 s.70 This decade saw the end of the Constitutional Revolution (1905–1911), the First World War, the Soviet Revolution, and several other political developments in Persia. Hejâzi’s characters live in a chaotic world full of corruption, intrigues and dissimulations. The plot is complex and revolves around two main characters, Zibâ and Sheykh Hoseyn. Zibâ is an attractive but capricious young woman who has wide connections in official circles, to the extent that she can get people hired or fired. Hoseyn is a young seminary student, who comes to Tehran to study and falls prey to Zibâ’s charms. As a child he saw his father, whom he considered the most powerful man in the world, kissing the hand of the village cleric. This had such an impact that he decided to go to a seminary and become a cleric himself. Initially he wants to abandon the world, living an ascetic life, but when he meets Zibâ he turns to a merciless drive for worldly success. He is ready for any deception and corruption, 70 Âryanpur, Az Nimâ tâ ruzegâr‑e mâ, pp. 243–57; Kamshad, Modern Persian Prose Literature, pp. 75–84.

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even exploiting Zibâ. He achieves power and wealth, and marries the daughter of a cabinet minister, but when the minister loses his position, so does Hoseyn. He is accused of corruption and stealing. The novel shows that scoundrels can climb to the highest positions in government, and fall just as easily. Other noteworthy writers of novels and short stories focusing on women are Ali Dashti (1894–1982) and Hoseyn-Qoli Mosta’ân (1904–1983). Dashti was a journalist, politician and literary scholar who wrote several short stories and translated a number of works into Persian.71 He began his political career as an opponent of the Anglo-Persian Agreement of 1919, and became the editor of the Shafaq‑e sorkh newspaper. His contribution to prose fiction is small compared to his enormous contributions to literary criticism, politics and journalism. He wrote several short stories for journals which he later published in three collections: Fetne (Tehran, 1944), Jâdu (Tehran, 1951) and Hendu (Tehran, 1954).72 Hoseyn-Qoli Mosta’ân was a favorite author among teenagers. He wrote sentimental love stories and adventure novels, publishing them serially in journals and newspapers. His translation of Victor ­Hugo’s Les Miserables (1928–31) made him immediately famous. His Âfat (‘Plague’), which was published in more than three hundred ­installments in the weekly magazine Tehrân‑e mosavvar between 1951 and 1956, was enormous popular.73 71 See J. E. Knörzer in Encyclopædia Iranica, s. v. Daštī, ʿAlī; also see Âryanpur, Az Nimâ tâ ruzegâr‑e mâ, pp. 318–32. 72 Dashti’s contribution to literary criticism was very strong, especially through his critical monographs on major classical poets such as Khayyâm, Sa’di, Hâfez, Rumi, Khâqâni, Sâ’eb and Nâser‑e Khosrow. Naqshi az Hâfez (Tehran, 1957); Sayri dar Divân‑e Shams (Tehran, 1958); Qalamrow‑e Sa’di (Tehran, 1959); Shâ’eri dir-âshenâ (Tehran, 1961) a study on Khâqâni of Sherwân; Negâhi be Sâ’eb (Tehran, 1974); Tasviri az Nâser‑e Khosrow (Tehran, 1983); and Dami bâ Khayyâm (Tehran, 1965) which has been translated into English by L. P. Elwell-Sutton, In Search of Omar Khayyam, (London, 1971). 73 There were other authors who wrote sentimental novels in weekly magazines, such as Javâd Fâzel (1915–1961), who published his stories in Ettelâ’ ât‑e haftegi. His Eshq-o ashk (‘Love and Tears,’ 1948), Man to-râ dust dâram (‘I love you,’ 1962), and Be yâd‑e man bâsh (‘Remember me,’ 1963) were especially popular.

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Zabih Behruz (d. 1971), a satirist, scholar, and writer, published the historical novel Shâh‑e Irân-o bânu-ye arman (‘The Persian King and the Armenian (Christian) Lady’) in 1927.74 Behruz studied at Tehran’s American College, and continued his studies in Cairo. He later moved to England where he studied mathematics and became Edward G. Browne’s Persian language teaching assistant in 1921. Behruz was disenchanted with English orientalism and returned to Tehran in 1926, where he started to work in the Ministry of Finance as a trans­lator.75 As a literary figure he is famous for his satires, which were circulated clandestinely. One of his plays, Jijak-Alishâh, a satire on life at the Qajar court, has been very popular and has been reprinted several times. It was originally published in Berlin in 1923.76 His other satires are parodies of classical Persian poetry. His Gand‑e bâd-âvard (‘The Wind-Blown Stench’) is a parody of Nezâmi Ganjavi’s episodes of the ascension of the Prophet. In this mathnavi of 371 couplets, the narrator mocks the common literary motifs and characters of the classical ascension story, divesting the holy elements of the original by portraying, for instance, the wondrous Burâq as a donkey. In addition to Gand-e bâd-âvard, Behruz wrote the short poem Gand-nâme (‘Book of Stench’), and a small work in prose entitled Gandestân (‘The Land of Stench’), a short satire of Sa’di’s Golestân. His second work is Mer’ât al-sarâyer, a parody on the ignorance and rivalry of two Orientalists, Professors Schulkonhein and Sefkonberg, whose names in Persian sound like Professors Let-loose and Hold-tight. Behruz shares Âkhundzâde and Kermâni’s anti-Islamic and xenophobic disposition, blaming invasions by the Arabs and Turks for Persia’s contemporary problems, and proclaiming the superiority of ­Aryans and of Iranian civilization. Behruz also accuses the West 74 Paul Sprachman in Encyclopædia Iranica, s. v. Behrūz, Ḏabīḥ. H. Mirâbedini in Dânesh-nâme-ye zabân va adab‑e fârsi, s. v. Behruz, Zabih; Y. Âzhand, “Zabih Behruz va Namâyeshnâme-hâyash,” Te’atr, no. 13 (Spring 1991), pp. 33–52. 75 For a concise biography of the author see Paul Sprachman, in Encyclopædia Iranica, s. v. Behrūz, Ḏabīḥ. Also see chapter seven of the present volume, section Zabih Behruz (1890–1971). 76 Mohammad Rezâ’i-Râd in Dânesh-nâme-ye zabân va adab‑e fârsi, s. v. Jijak-Ali Shâh.

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of a conscious effort to falsify history in order to conceal the merits of Persian civilization. Sprachman compares Behruz’s burlesque ridicule of a verse from the Koran in his Mer’ât, which “takes advantage of the chance homonymies that occur when Arabic is read as though it were Persian,” to the effect of James Joyce’s “Hail Mary, full of grease, the Lard is with thee,” in Finnegan’s Wake.”77 No survey of modern Persian fiction would be complete without Sâdeq Hedâyat (1903–51). Since Homa Katouzian analyzes his works extensively in chapter four of this volume, a concise outline will suffice here. A son of Hedâyat Qoli Khân Eʿtezâd-al-Molk, Sâdeq became the towering figure of modern Persian fiction of the first half of the twentieth century.78 After finishing his studies in Tehran, he obtained a state grant to continue studying in Europe. He first went to Ghent in Belgium to study civil engineering, but after eight months, he moved to Paris to study architecture. Again unsatisfied, he began a degree in French literature, which he studied for four years. As Katouzian observes, Hedâyat was very productive during these years, writing Favâyed‑e giyâh-khâri (‘The Benefits of Vegetarianism’), Madlen, Zende be-gur (‘Buried Alive’), Asir‑e Farânsavi (‘The French Captive’), Hâjji Morâd, Afsâne-ye âfarinesh (‘The Legend of Creation’), and the historical drama Parvin dokhtar‑e Sâsân (‘Parvin the Sassanid Girl’).79 He did not graduate, but returned to Tehran in 1930. In 1936 he received an invitation from his friend Shirâzpur Partow, the Persian vice-consul in Bombay, and moved to India where he self-published Buf‑e kur (The Blind Owl), “in fifty handwritten, stenciled copies … distributed among friends outside Persia.” 77 Paul Sprachman, in Encyclopædia Iranica, s. v. Behrūz, Ḏabīḥ. The original phrase reads as follows: James Joyce, Finnegans Wake, (London, 1975), p. 214: “Lord help you, Maria, full of grease, the load is with me.” 78 For Hedâyat’s life and work see Homa Katouzian and EIr in Encyclopædia Iranica, s. v. Hedayat, Sadeq i. Life and Work; also see Kamshad, Modern Persian Prose Literature, part two, pp. 137–201, which is entirely devoted to Hedâyat; Âryanpur, Az Nimâ tâ ruzegâr‑e mâ, pp. 333–429. 79 Kamshad, Modern Persian Prose Literature, pp. 137–38, 142–43. Also see Claus V. Pedersen, chapter three “Outside Reality, Reality Inside,” Worldview in Pre-Revolutionary Iran: Literary Analysis of Five Iranian Authors in the Context of the History of Ideas, (Wiesbaden, 2002), pp. 53–105.

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Hedâyat is a versatile author whose lasting fame is based on his wide range of prose fiction, especially Buf‑e kur, which has been translated, analyzed and appreciated worldwide.80 Katouzian characterizes the novel as a psycho-fiction, a modernist work employing the literary techniques of French symbolism and surrealism. Buf‑e kur a psycho-fiction is the macabre elements, reflecting the primeval chaos, and end in destruction: a cat or a dog dies; a man or a woman commits suicide, is killed, or otherwise disappears from existence. But there is much more to them than a simple plot of abject failure. There is a crushing, unbearable sense of fear without any apparent reason; there is a determinism of the hardest, least tractable and most fatal variety; there is sin without absolution, guilt without transgression, and punishment without crime; there is fall with no hope of redemption; there is vehement condemnation of the mighty of the earth and the heavens.

In 1941, after the abdication of Reza Shah, Buf‑e kur was serialized in the weekly Irân. In the same year it was published as a book and it has been reprinted many times since, and translated in various languages as an example of a modern Persian masterpiece.81 Hedâyat cannot be placed in any one literary movement, as other works, such as Zende be gur (‘Buried Alive’), Arusak‑e posht‑e parde (‘Mannequin behind the Curtain’), Bonbast (‘Dead End’), Târik-khâne (‘Dark Room’), and Sag‑e velgard (‘Stray Dog’) use realistic rather than symbolist techniques. Katouzian’s term psycho-fiction points to “the essentially subjective nature of the stories, which brings together the psychological, the ontological, and the meta-physical in an indivisible whole.”82 80 On Buf‑e kur see H. Mirâbedini in Dânesh-nâme-ye zabân va adab‑e fârsi, s. v. Buf‑e kur. 81 Michael C. Hillmann in Encyclopædia Iranica, s. v. Būf‑e kūr. In addition to H. Katouzian, Hillmann and M. Beard have extensively published on Hedâyat. See, for instance, Hedayat’s “The Blind Owl” Forty Years After, ed. M. Hillmann, (Austin, Texas, 1978); M. Beard, Hedayat’s Blind Owl As a Western Novel, (New Jersey, 1990). 82 Homa Katouzian, “Introduction, the Wondrous World of Sadeq Hedayat, in Sadeq Hedayat: His Work and his Wondrous World, ed. H. Katouzian, (London, 2008), p. 10.

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7. Conclusions In the period from about 1900 to 1940, Iranian society began to turn away from political, social, and religious traditions, in part because of the impact of the political philosophy of the West. This brief survey of Persian prose fiction has pointed to the diverse forces that had the most direct effects on prose fiction. Iranian intellectuals’ travels abroad gave rise to another genre, of treatises explaining European political systems and codified legal systems. These treatises but other prose of the period shows an intense and desire to depict current events, avoiding metaphorical and artificial language. Where an author does use metaphors and allegories, such literary devices are entirely subordinated to the message the author wants to convey. The introduction of modern education and the change of readership from connoisseurs to ordinary people was another strong incentive to spread knowledge and the message of modernity to all layers of the society. The large number of newspapers and journals played an essential role in the dissemination of knowledge. These and many other developments affected the way men of letters and intellectuals perceived literature and how it could be used to educate people, so that Persia could reach the level of the progressive European countries, which were seen as a model. Among the literary figures who played large roles were Mohammad-Taqi Bahâr (1886–1951), Mohammad-Ali Forughi (1877–1942), Abbâs Eqbâl Âshtiyâni (1897–1956), Mohammad Qazvini (1877–1949), Ali-Akbar Dehkhodâ (1879–1956) and Sa’id Nafisi (1895–1976). Not all of these figures wrote novels, but they contributed in various ways to stimulating new genres of l­iterature in Persian.83 Dehkhodâ’s journal Charand-parand (‘Fiddle-faddle’) was so popular among 83 On these authors see M. B. Loraine and J. Matīnī in Encyclopædia Iranica, s. v. Bahār, Moḥammad-Taqī; Fakhreddin Azimi and Iraj Afshar in Encyclopædia Iranica, s. v. Forūḡī Moḥammad-ʿAlī Ḏokāʾ-al-Molk; Iraj Afshar in Encyclopædia Iranica, s. v. Eqbāl Āštīānī, ʿAbbās; on Dehkhodā see A.A. Saʿīdī-Sīrjānī in Encyclopædia Iranica, s. v. Dehḵodā, Mirzā ʿAlī-Akbar Qazvīnī.

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ordinary people, intellectuals and literati, that it had enormous influence on the style of prose fiction.84 Dehkhodâ’s satirical style can be traced in several later novels and short stories. As H. Yavari observes, the turn of the nineteenth century and the first two decades of the twentieth century “could aptly be called the golden age of satire in poetical invectives, political ballads, and fictional and journalistic prose.”85 The same could be said for descriptive techniques, the portrayal of characters, descriptions of time and setting, and plot structure: it was an age of renewal, drawing substantially on the techniques of European novels translated into Persian. The social effects of such fictional prose was immense, as it generated a new reading audience, one that was politically awakened and ready to accept new ideas. The new prose fiction also introduced the habit of silent reading. While novels and short stories were still read aloud for an audience, it was also possible to have these works at home, thanks to printing technology.

84 Gholâm-Hoseyn Yusofi in Encyclopædia Iranica, s. v. Čarand parand; also see E. G. Browne, A Literary History of Persia, Vol. IV, pp. 469–83, who gives examples of its style in English translations. See also Gholâm-Hoseyn Yusofi in Dânesh-nâme-ye zabân va adab‑e fârsi, s. v. Charand parand; For an exposition and detailed analysis of Charand parand see Ch. Balaÿ and M. Cuypers, Aux sources de la nouvelle persane, pp. 53–106. 85 H. Yavari in Encyclopædia Iranica, s. v. Fiction.

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CHAPTER FOUR SATIRE IN PERSIAN LITERATURE, 1900–1940 Homa Katouzian

1. Introduction Satire, like Janus, the Roman god of gates, has two faces, one looking out, the other looking in. Perhaps more than any other literary genre, satire brings together the interior and exterior, often in a covert manner. Not infrequently, it tells us more of the interior, inside the author’s psyche, than the author intends. It is an old truth, highlighted in Freudian psychoanalysis, that a statement may tell us something other than the intended meaning, something of which the writer or speaker is not conscious. The “Freudian slip” is a familiar instance. This is quite different to plain lies, of which the owner is aware. An extreme example is found in some psychologically abnormal people whose belief that some dark and unknown forces are permanently engaged in persecuting them is—clearly, to everyone else—a product of their own minds. Satire, and also lampoons and versified or anecdotal invective and obscenity, to some extent reveal the author’s psychological make-up, or at least his or her mood at the time. In some cases the author’s anger or indignation is quite clear, for example when invective and obscenities are used, but a more concealed anger or frustration can in many cases be detected in the snide remark, a gibe, taunt or mockery. Satire had always been a significant feature of Persian poetry. Sometimes it took on subtle forms such as in the works of Sa’di (c. 1206–1291; both in his poetry and prose), Hâfez (1315–1390), 161

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Rumi (1207–1273) and Ebn‑e Yamin (c. 1287–1367), though in the case of the latter two it occasionally turned coarse and even came close to pornography. Regarding subtle satirical pieces and jibes, consider the following fragment (qat’e) by Sa’di:

‫غرقه بود در جیحو ن به سمرقند بود پندارم‬ ‫مردکی‬ ‫نالید که دریغا کلاه و دستارم‬ ‫می‬ ‫بانگ میکرد و زار‬ A little man was drowning in the River Oxus ­—it was in Samarqand I think— Clamoring and complaining desperately: Woe for my hat and turban!1

And this gibe by Hâfez:

‫پیراهنی که �آید از �آن بوی یوسفم ترسم برادران غیورش قبا کنند‬ The garment that brings me Joseph’s scent from afar I fear his jealous brothers may tear apart.2

Classical satirical poetry and prose were frequently expressed in the form of lampoons (hazl), invectives and obscene language (hejâ or hajv) in verse, and anecdotal prose, such as those of Obeyd‑e Zâkâni. Examples have survived that date back at least to the 12 th century. Sometimes it was done for fun; sometimes for private vengeance; sometimes on behalf of a patron to castigate his enemy; sometimes blatantly to obtain money from the victim. Sanâ’i Ghaznavi, Adib‑e Sâber, Rashid-al-Din Vatvât, Anvari Abivardi, Suzani Samarqandi and Khâqâni Sharvâni are some of the most renowned examples in a long line of writers of humor, lampoons and/or obscene poetry. For example, the well-known humorous classical female poet Mahsati (or Mahasti, 12 th century) wrote in a quatrain:

‫ت گفتا ز سر قهر که این واقعه چیست‬ ‫قاضی چو زنش حامله شد زارگریس‬ ‫این قحبه نه مریم است پس بچه ز کیست‬ ‫من پیرم و کیر من نمی خیزد راس‬ ‫ت‬ 1 2

Kolliyyât‑e Sa’di, ed. Mohammad-Ali Forughi, second edition, (Tehran, 1977), p. 832. Ghazalliyât‑e Hâfez, eds. Adib and Purândokht Borumand, (Tehran, 1988), p. 191.

162

SATIRE IN PERSIAN LITERATURE, 1900–1940 When the Qâzi’s wife became with child, he cried. Struck by pain, he found it extremely odd, Saying, I am old and cannot have an erection This whore is not Mary, so whence the benediction?3

Anvari Abivardi (d. 1189) was a master of coarse lampoons usually for personal reasons, such as revenge, demanding money from the victim, and the like:

‫چون ترا چشم بر عطاست هنوز‬ ‫می نگوید که در کجاست هنوز‬

‫انوری نام هجو می نبر د‬ ‫کیر خر نام می برد لیکن‬

Anvari will not mention the word lampoon Since he still hopes for a donation He does mention donkey’s prick But does not yet mention its location.4

His lampoons against his own wife are unprintable.5 Khâqâni (c. 1126–1198) wrote in a fragment (qat’e):

‫طرفه شکلی شود چو گردد مست‬ ‫ لیکن هست‬،‫قلتبان شکل نیست‬

‫خواجه اسعد چو می خورد پیوست‬ ‫ لیکن نیست‬،‫پارسا روی هست‬

When Lord As’ad goes on drinking His appearance looks ironical—drunk He is pious looking, but he is not one He is not looking like a pimp, but he is one6

Rumi’s Mathnavi is packed with satire and irony, more or less subtle. But he also has some virtually pornographic tales, a wellknown one of which is the story of the lady without a male partner who discovered that her slave girl lets the donkey in the stable have sex with her, not suspecting that she uses a pumpkin as a buffer: “She saw the prick but did not see the pumpkin,” Rumi jibes. She 3 4 5 6

Divân‑e Mahsati (Mahasti) Ganjavi, ed. Abd-al-Rahmân Farâmarzi, (Tehran, 1957), p. 24. Behesht‑e sokhan, ed. Mehdi Hamidi, (Tehran, 1987), p. 438. See further, Divân‑e Anvari, ed. Mohammad-Taqi Modarres-Razavi (Tehran, 1968). Divân‑e Afzal-al-Din Badil-ebn-Ali Najjâr, Khâqâni Sharvâni, ed. Ziâ-alDin Sajjâdi (Tehran, n. d., date of the preface 1959), p. 847.

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tried to imitate her slave girl without the use of the pumpkin and died as a result: “She died a disreputable death, my friend / By the donkeys prick—can you believe?—was she martyred.”7 In the 19 th century, among the poets of Bâzgasht (the Return or Restoration style), there are examples of coarse lampooning similar to the old classics, notably in the works of Yaghmâ-ye Jandaqi (1781–1859) and Qâ’âni Shirâzi (1808–1854). Yaghmâ once described, not just the human race but all the living creatures as mother-fuckers, though the Persian term he used was zan-qahba. Qâ’âni returned his compliments by describing him as the chief mother-fucker of all.8 In reviewing the satire especially of the period 1900–1925, the Constitutional Era, this historical background must be firmly kept in view. The crucial difference was that, in the latter period, lampoons, invectives and the use of obscene words were no longer private to a special circle or elite, but open to the general public. Another important difference between the two traditions is that in the Constitutional Era, many satirical pieces in prose and poetry were politically motivated, even where they targeted one person.

2. The Constitutional Revolution and After Like so many other things modern and Iranian, modern Persian humor begins with the Constitutional Revolution. Indeed, the new press, prose and poetry were both political and humorous in equal 7 Jalâl-Din-Rumi, Ketâb‑e Mathnavi-ye Ma’navi, ed. Reynold Nicholson, (Tehran, n. d.), Book Five, p. 89. 8 Divân‑e Qâ’ âni, Mirzâ Habib Shirâzi (Bombay, 1889). See further, AliAsghar Halabi, Târikh‑e tanz o shukh-tab’i dar Irân va jahân‑e eslâmi tâ Ruzegâr‑e Obeyd‑e Zâkâni (Tehran, 1998). Various major histories of Persian literature as well as the divans of the noted classical and neo-classical poets contain humor as well as coarse satire. See, for example, Badial-Zamân Foruzânfar, Sokhan va sokhanvarân, (Tehran, 1971); Zabihollâh Safâ, Târikh‑e adabiyyât dar Iran, (Tehran, 1953, several reprints, 1984, 1989); E. G. Browne, A Literary History of Persia, 4 vols. (Cambridge, 1924); Jan Rypka, History of Iranian Literature, (Dordrecht, 1968). See also Hasan Javadi, Satire in Persian Literature, (London/Toronto 1988), chapter 5.

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measure. Revolutions normally escalate in tone, aspiration and violence. In the French revolution, the elegance of Mirabeau’s rhetoric was duly followed by the violent language of Marat’s Ami du Peuple, and Hébert’s gutter newspaper Père Duchesne. The Constitutional Revolution led to hopes, despair and a discharge of emotions lasting for almost a quarter century. Constitutionalist newspapers were, at first, the main channels for publishing political satire. They contained prose and poetry which vehemently attacked Mohammad-Ali Shah, his court, and those of the olamâ who supported his claims against the parliament (majles). Some of the lampoons against Mohammad-Ali Shah and the Qajar dynasty accused them of licentiousness, for example, saying that the Shah’s mother lacked virtue (see below). As modern and progressive prose and poetry went public during the Constitutional Revolution, the poisonous satires and scathing lampoons at first stopped short of using obscene language. E. G. Browne (aided by Mohammad-Ali Tarbiyat) was the first observer to capture the emerging connection between press and public through political poetry, although he did not expose much of the poetry or any of the prose that was particularly scathing.9 By the end of the First World War and in the early 1920 s, explicit obscenity became frequent in the verbal armory of public conflict. In 1919 Âref Qazvini, livid at Vosuq-al-Dowle’s conclusion of the Anglo-Persian agreement, described him as one, the door of whose home is open to whores, while out of doors his wife is busy turning men into whore-mongers:

10‫وز در برون زنت همه را جنده باز کن‬

‫ای خانه تو در به رخ جنده باز کن‬

  9 Edward G. Browne, The Press and Poetry of Modern Persia (Cambridge, 1914). 10 Divân‑e Âref‑e Qazvini, ed. Abd-al-Rahmân Seif‑e Âzâd (Tehran, 1948), p. 320. For a study of Âref’s life and works, see J. Matini in Encyclopædia Iranica, s. v. ʿĀref Qazvīnī. i. Life and Poetry. For a few previously unpublished works by Âref in addition to critical comments on his life and works by a number of leading twentieth century literary critics, see Âthâr‑e montasher nashodeh-ye Âref‑e Qazvini, ed. Sayyed Hâdi Hâ’eri (Tehran, 1993).

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It was characteristic of Iranian history that the fall of a dynasty, and often even the death of a ruler, led to division and chaos.11 1900–1940 was a period of revolution, chaos, coup, dictatorship followed by a ‘one-person regime.’12 Not all satire written between 1900 and 1940, especially those which were not political, were lampoons using obscene language. Exceptions include the satirical works of Mohammad-Ali Jamâlzâde (1892–1997), Sâdeq Hedâyat (1903–1951) and Hasan Moqaddam (1897–1925), from the early 1920 s to mid-1930 s. But at least the quantity of such work—mostly in poetry—was much larger until the mid-1920 s (see below). Politics itself was new. At the turn of the nineteenth century there was no Persian term for politics in the modern sense, so the term politik, a corruption of the French word politique, was used. A politician was a poltikchi.13 Later politics was denoted with the existing Persian term siyâsat, which usually meant the punishment (normally execution) of notables, and sometimes—as in Nezâm-alMolk’s Siyâsat-nâme—the arts of successfully ruling a kingdom.14 Politics was new, but so were the modern political press and the application of poetry, including scathing or obscene poetry, to public discourse, which often confused the newly-won liberty with mere license.15 Advanced prose and poetry were no longer confined to the elite or the private sphere; on the contrary they made up much of the emerging public sphere which included growing discussions of private parts in public.16 Sa’di once said, in a tale of 11 For the theory of arbitrary rule and its application to Iranian history and society see, for example, Homa Katouzian, The Persians: Ancient, Medieval and Modern Iran (London and New York, 2009) and Iranian History and Politics (London and New York, 2007). 12 For this direct quotation from Reza Shah, see Mehdiqoli Hedâyat (Mokhber-al-Saltane) Khâterat o khatarât (Tehran, 1984), p. 386. 13 See, for, example, Ruznâme-ye khâterat‑e E’temâd-al-Saltane, ed. Iraj Afshar (Tehran, 2000). 14 See Homa Katouzian, Iranian History and Politics, (London and New York, 2007), especially, pp. 35–55. 15 See further, Homa Katouzian, “Liberty and Licence in the Constitutional Revolution of Iran,” Journal of the Royal Asiatic Society, 3, 8, 2, (July 1998), pp. 159–80. 16 See Homa Katouzian, “Private Parts and Public Discourses in Modern Iran,” Comparative Studies of South Asia, Africa and the Middle East, 28,

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an angry man’s invectives against all and sundry, that ‘He left noone’s mother and daughter untouched.’17 Likewise some poets and writers of this period did not leave the mother, wife and daughter of many a notable person untouched, leaving aside the names they called the men themselves. Regarding mothers, the favorite target in the years 1907 and 1908 was the mother of Mohammad-Ali Shah. She was a daughter of Amir-Nezâm Farâhâni (Amir-Kabir) and niece of Nâser-alDin Shah, who had married her cousin, the late Shah. It is not well known that Mohammad-Ali was both a grandson of Nâser-al-Din Shah and Amir-Kabir. Nor did the radicals who accused his mother of promiscuity reveal that fact. The unfortunate woman’s title was Omm-al-Khâqân, which literally means the emperor’s mother. The radical constitutionalists, virtually all of them belonging to the Democrat party, kept referring to Mohammad-Ali as ‘the son of Omm-al-Khâqân,’ implying that he was not his father’s son (see below). The newspapers, Sur‑e Esrâfil (‘Trumpet of Resurrection’) and Mosâvât (‘Equality’), though not of the same standard, led the radical press in support of a liberty which often looked more like license. Ahmad Kasravi the moralist had the better of Kasravi the revolutionary when he wrote in his history of the Constitutional Revolution that if among the ‘freedom-seekers’ (âzâdi-khâhân) one person deserved to be killed, it was Sayyed Mohammad-Rezâ Shirâzi, editor of the newspaper Mosâvât. For example, when the Shah complained to the courts of the libels and invectives that that newspaper had hurled against him, the court sent the editor a writ of summons. But he tore it up in public, did not go to the court, and even devoted a whole issue of his newspaper to making fun of the court itself. Following that, “he shamelessly attributed certain obscene actions to Mohammad-Ali Mirzâ (i. e. the Shah) and his mother Omm-al-Khâqân on a large sheet of white cloth, and 2, (2008), pp. 283–90; “Problems of Democracy and the Public Sphere in Modern Iran,” Comparative Studies of South Asia, Africa and the Middle East, 18, 2, (1998), pp. 31–37. 17 “‫ ”که نگذاشت کس را نه دختر نه زن‬See Golchin‑e Sa’di, select. and ed. Homa Katouzian, (Tehran, 2010), p. 197.

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sent it to the bazaar so the people would sign it and confirm its content.”18 It is worth noting however that after the years of chaos which followed the triumph of the revolution, Mosâvât along with many other radical leaders regretted his erstwhile zeal, so that by 1920 he was to write to Taqizâde that history would not forgive them for what they had done unless they could find ways to remedy their ‘past sins.’19 Ali-Akbar Dehkhodâ (whose nom-de-plume was Dakhow) is everybody’s darling for his famous ‘charand-parand’ column in the newspaper Sur‑e Esrâfil. He displayed unrivalled talent both for his clear, simple and somewhat colloquial prose—which had been influenced by Malkam Khân’s pioneering simple style—and for his highly effective political satire. But what he wrote was often scathing and sometimes libelous. That was what earned him the reproach of Abd-al-Rahim Tâlebof (1834–1911) and, later, E. G. Browne, both of them ardent supporters of the Constitutionalist cause.20 He addressed one piece to Adam Smith whom he described as ‘the father of political economy.’ He said that Smith had been wrong in identifying nature, labor and capital as the three factors of production, because in that case the Shah would have no way of increasing his wealth. The Shah does not work, he went on to explain, his nature does not function well ever since he has been taking an opium tablet every night, and he has no capital. Would he then be unable to increase his wealth? He would, Dehkhodâ went on to say, earn well, by holding a circumcision ceremony for the young heir-designate, Ahmad Mirzâ, and collect the pish-keshes that courtiers and notables would be obliged to present to him on such an auspicious occasion.21 18 See Ahmad Kasravi, Târikh‑e mashrutiyat‑e Irân (Tehran, 1994), pp. 593–95. 19 Iraj Afshar, ed. Nâme-hâ-ye Tehrân, (Tehran, 2006), p. 111. See further, Homa Katouzian, “The Revolution for Law: A Chronographic Analysis of the Constitutional Revolution of Iran,” Middle Eastern Studies, 47, 5, (September 2011), pp. 757–77. 20 See further, Homa Katouzian, “European Liberalisms and Modern Concepts of Liberty in Iran,” Iranian History and Politics, p. 94 21 See Maqâlât‑e Dehkhodâ, ed. Mohammad Dabir-Siyâqi, Vol. 1, (Tehran, 1983), pp. 194–95.

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In another piece he wrote a letter, as if addressed by the Shah to the Swiss parliament. In it the Shah is made to address the Swiss parliament as ‘his exalted Excellency, the parliament of Switzerland,’ ask the parliament to arrest all the Iranian dissidents in ‘his’ realm and have them bastinadoed, and end by saying that the letter is accompanied by a ceremonial robe (khal’at) to show the Shah’s appreciation of his, i. e. the parliament’s, services.22 In yet another article Dehkhodâ managed even to over-reach himself. He wrote that since he had stopped his column in Sur‑e Esrâfil lately, he was about to be sick, because as the Persian expression has it, ‘breaking a habit results in sickness.’ And he went on to add that he would have got ill, just as Fath-Ali Shah would have done if every day he did not lie with his back down beneath the slide in the Negârestân Palace, alluding to the legend that FathAli did this naked every day, so that his wives would slide down naked over him. He would have got ill, Dehkhodâ went on to add, just as Nâser-al-Din Shah would have been unwell if he did not pay a visit to his sister-in-law every day. He would have got ill, just as Nâser-al-Din Shah’s mother would have done if now and again she had not disguised herself to look like maid servants and chat with the royal guards. He would have got ill, if Mohammad-Ali Shah’s mother who—Dehkhodâ emphasizes—was married to Hâjj Nasir-al-Saltane, did not meet her lover every night. And finally, he would have got ill, just like the Shah himself would be, if he did not see his aunt Tâj-al-Saltane every day.23 Dehkhodâ wrote a few satirical poems as well, but, though sometimes sounding colloquial, they tended to contain unfamiliar classical words, and in any case were no match for his prose in his charand-parand column. The exception to this rule is his colloquial mosammat entitled, and addressed to, a certain ‘Âkablâi’ (a 22 Ibid., pp. 199–200. For a study of Dehkhodā’s life and works see A. A. Saʿīdī Sīrjānī, Encyclopædia Iranica, s. v. Dehḵodā, Mīrzā ʿAlī-Akbar Qazvīnī. 23 Ibid., pp. 187–88. This is the same Tâj-al-Saltane whose memoirs were published in the 1980 s. See, for example, Crowning Anguish: Memoirs of a Persian Princess from the Harem to Modernity, 1884–1914, Taj al-Saltane, ed., intro. and notes, Abbas Amanat, trans., Anna Vanzan and Amin Neshati, (Washington D. C., 1993).

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popular term for Âqâ Karbalâ’i, a man who had visited the shrines in Karbalâ), humorously casting doubt on the possibility of establishing a (real) constitutional regime.

‫تو منتظری رشوه در ایران رود از یاد؟ �آخوند ز قانون و ز عدلیه شود شاد؟‬ ‫یک دفعه بگو مرده شود زنده �آکبلای‬ ‫اسلام ز رمال و ز مرشد شود �آزاد؟‬ 24‫هستی تو چه یک پهلو و یک دنده �آکبلای‬ Browne produced an English translation of this poem (though he apparently mistook Âqa Karbalâ’i’ for ‘O Kabalâi,’), of which the above stanza reads: In Persia will bribes ever go out of fashion, O Kablây? Will the mullâs for justice develop a passion, O Kablây? From magic and morshids can Islam win free? Bid the dead come to life for ‘twill easier be, You limb of the Devil and son of a gun, O Kablây!25

Sayyed Ashraf (variously known as Hoseyni, Qazvini as well as Gilâni, 1871–1933) published the newspaper Nasim‑e Shomâl (‘Northern Breeze’), all the columns of which he filled virtually single-handedly, though he was apparently inspired by several pieces in the popular Turkish satirical journal, Mollâ Nasr-al-Din, published in the Caucasus.26 He was to a considerable extent Dehkhodâ’s counterpart in writing simple and colloquial poetry in support of constitutionalism as well as constitutionalists. He too was vehement in dealing with the Shah, the anti-constitutionalists and critics of constitutionalism, but stopped short of Dehkhodâ in his personal attacks. Still, he was scathing enough. He accused Sheykh Fazl-Allâh Nuri of putting his faith on sale and destroying the dignity of Muslim people:

‫قاتل زمره احرار منم‬ ‫دین فروشنده به بازار منم‬ … ‫كو خریدار حراج است حراج‬

‫دشمن فرقه احرار منم‬ ‫شیخ فضل الله سمسار من م‬ ‫مال مردار حراج است حراج‬

24 See Majmu’e-ye Ash’âr‑e Dehkhodâ, ed. Mohammad Mo’in, (Tehran, 1955), pp. 124–26. 25 Browne, The Press and Poetry of Modern Persia pp. 180–82. 26 See Yahyâ Âryanpur, Az Sabâ tâ Nimâ, Vol. II, (Tehran, 1993), pp. 64–72.

170

SATIRE IN PERSIAN LITERATURE, 1900–1940 I am the enemy of the freedom party [the Sheykh is made to say] I am the murderer of all freedom-lovers I am Sheykh Fazlollâh the pawn-broker I am selling religion in the bazaar ­—Religion I must put on sale Come buyers, sale, sale!27 …

And in another poem:

‫تا كلّه شيخنا ملنگ اس‬ ‫ت‬ ‫تا پيردليل مست و منگ است‬ ‫اين قافله تا به حشر لنگ است‬ ‫تا دل به نفاق مستع ّد است‬ ‫تا مصدر کار مستبد است‬ ‫تا شاه به خائنین مم ّد است‬ ‫تا ملّت ما به شاه ض ّد است‬ ‫جان کندن و سعی ما جفنگ است‬ ‫اين قافله تا به حشر لنگ است‬

‫تا در دل ما غبار و زنگ است‬ ‫تا رشته بدست اين دبنگ است‬

So long as the Sheykh is funny in the head So long as our hearts are heavy and distraught So long as the old guide is drunk and giddy So long as this geezer is in charge ­—This caravan will be lame till doomsday. So long as the person in charge is an arbitrary ruler So long as there is a natural inclination to division So long as the people are against the Shah So long as the Shah helps the traitors All our desperate toils make utter nonsense. ­—This caravan will be lame till doomsday.28

Iraj Mirzâ (entitled Jalâl-al-Mamâlek, 1873–1925), who was not a typically political poet, was nevertheless moved by the action of Sheykh Fazl-Allâh Nuri in taking bast against the parliament (­majles) to write: 27 See Browne, The Press and Poetry, pp. 213–14. For Browne’s English translation of this poem’s first five stanzas see Ibid., pp. 215–16. 28 Jâvdâne Sayyed Ashraf-al-Din Gilâni, ed. Hosein Namini, (Tehran, 1984), pp. 177–78; Kolliyyât-e Sayyed Ashraf Gilâni, ed. Ahmad Edârachi Gilâni, (Tehran, 1996), p. 98.

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LITERATURE OF THE EARLY TWENTIETH CENTURY

… ‫حجت الاسلام کتک می زند بر سر و مغزت دگنک می زند‬ ‫چک زن سختی بود این پهلوا ن ملتفتش باش که چک می زند‬ … ‫گوز یکایک به الک می زند‬ ‫دستش اگر بر فکلی ها رس د‬ ‫شیخ در دوز و کلک می زند‬ ‫حالا در حضرت عبدالعظیم‬ ‫خیمه از �آنجا به درک می زند‬ ‫ان شاءالله دو روز دگر‬ The Hojjat-al-Islam smacks you He clubs your head and brain A big slapper is this champion Look out or he’ll slap you. If he gets his hands on men with a bow-tie He would beat the fart out of each of them with a stick … Now in the shrine of Abdol’azim The Sheykh is busy scheming God willing in a couple of days He will leave there and camp in Hell …29

Obscene language began to enter these public personal attacks as early as 1910. A lesser journalist who wished to intimidate the interior minister to pay him silence money described him as the ‘entered minister’ (vazir‑e dâkhele chon shod vazir‑e madkhule …). Unfortunately for the journalist the minister in question was Mirzâ Ahmad Qavâm-al-Saltane, a man far from likely to be intimidated by such tactics, who instead subjected him to a memorable private vengeance. This however did not deter the young, fiery and far from corrupt Mohammad-Rezâ Mirzâde Eshqi (1893–1924) to write in 1923 when Qavâm was Prime Minister:

‫ الحق که نه مردی‬،‫از من به قوام این بگو‬ ‫زین کار که کردی‬ ‫ریدی به سر هر چه که عمامه به سر بود‬ ‫دیدی چه خبر بود؟‬ Tell Qavâm for me, you are surely not an honorable man By what you did You shat on the head of every man with turban Didn’t you see it all? 29 See Iraj Mirzâ, Divân‑e kâmel‑e Iraj Mirzâ, ed. Mohammad Ja’far Mahjub, sixth impression (America, 1986), pp. 10–11.

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SATIRE IN PERSIAN LITERATURE, 1900–1940

Of the poets who continued—indeed advanced—the writing of harsh political poetry in the period of post-revolutionary conflict and chaos, the highest prize should go to Âref‑e Qazvini, Mohammad-Rezâ Mirzâde Eshqi and Mohammad Farrokhi Yazdi. Much of the humorous effects of their political lampoons are due to the coarseness of the language, although Eshqi’s poetry is considerably more mature than the other two, and he might even have made a notable poet had he not fallen victim to political assassination at an early age. The young Abu’l-Qâsem Lâhuti (1887–1957) was also a fiery poet, but he did not write humorous poetry and very seldom used coarse language. Adib-al-Mamâlek Farâhâni (1860–1917), Iraj Mirzâ and—less so—poet laureate Bahâr (1886–1951) were already established by 1906 when the first Parliament met, and might well have continued in the neo-classical school in form as well as content had they not responded positively to the new era of social and literary revolution. They generally held on to the basic classical structures. However, in many cases, not only the content of their poetry but also their choice of genres, words and figures of speech tended to be novel, and distinct from what they themselves had been writing before the age of constitutionalism. Bahâr wrote and published political poetry in the press. Adib-al-Mamâlek wrote satirical poetry, some of which were directly related to the current political struggles. But even some that were not, often involved social and political criticism, for example, the two qasides ‘Ahzâb‑e Siyâsi’ (Political Parties) and ‘Solhiye-ye Balad’ (The Magistrates Court, or Justice of the Peace).

‫خدا رحمت کند مرحوم حاجی میرزا �آقاسی را ببخشد جای او بر خلق احزاب سیاسی را‬ ‫دموکراسی و رادیکال و عشق اسکناسی را‬ ‫ ارتجاعیون‬،‫ انقلابی‬،‫ اعتدالی‬،‫ترقی‬ … ‫مجاهد ساختن افیونیان ریقماسی را‬ ‫ وکالت کردن پیران‬،‫وزارت دادن طفلان‬ … ‫کجا تعلیم دادند این گروه دیپلماسی را‬ ‫اونیورسیته و فاکولته در ایران نبد یارب‬ God bless the late Hâjji Mirzâ Âqâsi’s soul And grant the public, instead, the political parties, all Progressive, Moderate, Revolutionary, Reactionary Democratic, Radical and Lover of Money Bills

173

LITERATURE OF THE EARLY TWENTIETH CENTURY Making children ministers, old men members of parliament Turning into mojâheds the slender and puny opiates God, there were no universities and faculties in Iran Where did they give instructions to this bunch of diplomats?…30

The second poem is not only a masterpiece for its verbal satire, but—more importantly—for the dramatic effect of exposing the contradiction between traditional and modern culture through a fictional litigation in a modern court of law. The judge turns down every argument and evidence that the narrator presents to him in favor of his case by grotesquely using the new-fangled legal terminology. And when he swears by Imam Ali ‘who is my ancestor’:

‫عبدود‬ ‫عمر و بن‬ ‫به کشتن‬ ‫شد‬ ‫محکوم‬

‫اصول‬ ‫الا‬ ‫غیابی علی‬ ‫حکم‬ ‫به‬ ‫گفتا علی‬

The judge said that in a sentence passed in absentia In principle, Ali was convicted of killing Amr ebn-Abdovad.31

3. The Nationalist Poets Âref of Qazvin (1882–1934) and Mohammad-Rezâ Mirzâde Eshqi (1893–1924) The end of World War I and the conclusion of the 1919 Agreement led to an explosion of nationalist passions in response to the influenza epidemic, famine and chaos, and also to what was firmly (but erroneously) believed to be the design to turn Iran into a British protectorate.32 We have already noted one of Âref’s highly scath30 Divân‑e Kâmel‑e Adib-al-Mamâlek‑e Farâhâni, ed., Vahid Dastgerdi (Tehran, 1966), pp. 126–28. For a study of Adib-al-Mamâlek’s life and works see M. Rahman in Encyclopædia Iranica, s. v. Adīb-al-Mamālek Farāhānī. 31 Ibid., pp. 143–45. Amr-ebn-Abdovad was a champion of Quraysh who refused to accept Islam and was killed by Ali at the battle of Khandaq. 32 Almost everyone was convinced that this was the case until 1981 when, for the first time, this author argued against it. See Homa Katouzian, The Political Economy of Modern Iran, (London and New York), chapter pp. 77–78. For a detailed and documented study of the Anglo-Iranian 1919 Agreement, see idem, State and Society in Iran: The Eclipse of the Qajars and the Emergence of the Pahlavis (London and New York, 2006), chapters 4–7.

174

SATIRE IN PERSIAN LITERATURE, 1900–1940

ing poems addressing Vosuq-al-Dowle due to this almost universal suspicion. It was of course not just poetry. The newspapers opposed to the 1919 agreement—that is, most of the papers published in Tehran with the exception of Sayyed Ziâ’s Ra’d and the semi-official newspaper Irân, edited by Poet-Laureate Bahâr, were full of innuendos and sometimes downright libels against the government and its leading figures. But most of the obscene language belonged to the nationalist poets. Farrokhi Yazdi said in a short poem that Nosrat-al-Dowle Firuz, the foreign minister, was busy in Europe selling off the motherland, looking for customers and being keener than Britain to deliver her to them.33 Eshqi addressed an obscene poem to Vosuq, the prime minister, saying that Iran was not his daddy’s property, was not the rent of his boyhood adventures, and was not the wages of his loose-laced daughter.

‫نبود‬ ‫یت‬ ‫بابا‬ ‫ملک‬ ‫وثوق الدوله ایران‬ ‫ای‬ ‫نبود‬ ‫هایت‬ ‫بچگی‬ ‫زمان‬ ‫المثل‬ ‫اجرت‬ 34… ‫نبود‬ ‫روز یکجایت‬ ‫هر‬ ‫دختر‬ ‫کار‬ ‫مزد‬ Âref went overboard and described the entire Iranian people as asses:

‫به خدا جمله خاص و عام خرند‬

‫اهل این ملک بی لجام خرند‬

­… People of this lawless land are asses By God both common and grand are asses

As for the prime minister (Fath-Allâh Khân Akbar, known as Sepahdâr‑e Rashti): 33 See Divân‑e Mohammad Farrokhi Yazdi, ed. Hoseyn Makki, (Tehran, 1979), p. 194. For a more recent study of the life and works of Farrokhi Yazdi see A. Karimi-Hakkak, Encyclopædia Iranica, s. v. Farroḵī Yazdī, Moḥammad. 34 See Kolliyât‑e Mosavvar‑e Eshqi, ed. Ali-Akbar Mir-Salimi, (Tehran, 1943), p. 292. For a study of Ehsqi’s life and works A. Karimi-Hakkak, in Encyclopædia Iranica s. v. ʿEšqī, Moḥammad-Reżā Mīrzāda. For further and more recent studies of Eshqi and his works see Mohammad Qâ’ed, Eshqi, Simâ-ye Najib‑e yek ânârshist, (Virâst‑e Dovvom, Tehran, 2001); Solmâz Narâqi, Mirzâde-ye Eshqi, (Tehran, 2009).

175

LITERATURE OF THE EARLY TWENTIETH CENTURY

‫سرا‬ ‫به خداوند خالق دو‬ ‫وزرا‬ ‫ریاست‬ ‫�آن که دارد‬ ‫است‬ ‫خر‬ ‫طویله‬ ‫یک‬ ‫گفت‬ ‫تراست می توان‬ ‫بزرگ‬ ‫جملگی‬ ‫زان خران‬ He who heads the ministers, ­—I swear by the God of both worlds— Is a bigger ass than them all In fact he is a stable-full of asses …

And he continued:

… ‫زن و فرزند وهم نفس همه خر‬ ‫شهر و ده کشور و بیابان خر‬ ‫فعله و کارگر مسلم خر‬ ‫هم ز محراب تا دم در خر‬

‫شحنه و شیخ تا عسس همه خر‬ ‫سر بازار تا خیابان خر‬ ‫از مکلاش تا معمم خر‬ ‫واعظ و روضه خوان منبر خر‬

Sheykh, police chief and officers are all asses Wife, children and companion, all asses … From the bazaar to the street, asses Village, town and country, all asses Those wearing hats and turbans, all asses Worker and laborer, certainly asses The preacher on the pulpit is an ass From the altar to the door, asses

This long poem ends with verses which could well be the subject of a separate study:

‫بر محمد و �آله صلوات‬ ‫کن قدم رنجه زود و بی زحمت‬ ‫حین بفرما که خانه خانه توست‬

‫بلشویک است خضرراه نجات‬ ‫ای لنین ای فرشته رحمت‬ ‫تخم چشم من �آشیانه توست‬

The Bolshevik is the divine guide to salvation —Blessed be Mohammad and his people— O’ Lenin, O’ angel of bliss Take the trouble if you please You may nest in the apple of my eye Please step in, the home is yours.35

35 See Divân‑e Âref‑e Qazvini, pp. 303–5.

176

SATIRE IN PERSIAN LITERATURE, 1900–1940

In another poem, which was a general condemnation of his contemporaries, he wrote:

… ‫رشوه بگیرند و رشوه خوارعلیجان‬ … ‫بار بر غیر و بردبار علیجان‬ … ‫دولت و کابینه لکه دار علیجان‬ … ‫بر پدر تاج و تاجدار علیجان‬

‫شاه و وزیر و وکیل وحاکم و محکوم‬ ‫ملت وجدان کش و زبون و ریاکار‬ ‫ وکیل خائن و قاتل‬،‫مجلس ننگین‬ ‫لعنت بر کشور جم و لعنت‬

The Shah, minister, deputy, governor All of them are bribe-takers and bribe-eaters … People, conscience-less, hypocritical and cowardly, They are lackeys of foreigners with great endurance … The majles is shameful; its members, traitors and murderers The government and cabinet are tainted … Damn the country of Jamshid Damn the crown and the crowned father …36

There is little more than invective in Âref’s political poetry that could be construed as satire, and there is almost none in his poems on other subjects. He was a tragic figure and many of his poems were evidently written in a mood of depression. However, he was also known for playing the târ and was recognized as a great tasnif (song) writer and singer.37 Indeed he was one of the founders of modern tasnif writing at the turn of the twentieth century (another being his younger and less prolific contemporary, the Poet-­Laureate Bahâr). This is why, in satirizing Âref in his Âref-nâme (see below), Iraj said that he was not a poet but a song writer (tasnif-sâz). Many of these tasnifs are tragic pieces, either political or romantic. One well-known example begins “Tulips have grown from the blood of the motherland’s youth” (az khun‑e javânân‑e vatan lâle damide).38 Having welcomed Sayyed Ziâ’s premiership (see below), he, like Eshqi, was saddened and angered when Ziâ was suddenly dismissed and exiled. The tasnif he wrote on that occasion was famous for 36 Ibid., pp. 310–16. 37 See Mohammad Rezâ Shafi’i Kadkani, ‘Behtarin tasnifsâz’ in Hâdi Hâ’eri (Kurosh), ed., Âthâr‑e montasher nashodeh-ye Âref‑e Qazvini, (Tehran, 1993). 38 For an analysis of this poem see chapter 2.10, Singing Freedom, the Persian Ballad (Tasnif ).

177

LITERATURE OF THE EARLY TWENTIETH CENTURY

much of the last century: “May God ­protect you, come back … I’ll sacrifice my life for your black cabinet, come back ­…” (Ey dast‑e haqq posht o panâhat bâzâ … Qorbân‑e kabine-ye siyâhat bâzâ …)39. He did write one lightly humorous song addressed to a musician friend called Shokr-Allâh, nicknamed Âqa Shokri.40 The period between the 1921 coup and the fall of the Qajars in 1925 saw an intense power struggle between popular democrats and constitutionalists, on the one hand, and nationalists and modernists, on the other. Towards the end of the period, the body politic was divided between those for and those against a dictatorship led by Reza Khan, but in the first couple of years the situation was a good deal less clear-cut. For example, when Vahid Dastgerdi wrote a poem in praise of Reza Khan and incidentally attacked Eshqi and Âref, Eshqi wrote a devastating reply in a qaside, which also praised Reza Khan, but regarding Vahid left little to imagination:

‫سخن‬ ‫را‬ ‫دهانت‬ ‫ای که نامیدی همی گند‬ ‫ای نداده امتیاز شعربا گند دهن‬ ‫هیکلت اندر عبا چون دوش نسناسی کفن‬ … ‫رو در�آیینه نگر باور نداری گر ز من‬ ‫ای زبانت در دهان مانند گه اندر لگن‬ ‫بهر او قدح است مدح تو قسم بر ذوالمنن‬ ‫ سوری بزن‬،‫ کلاش دون‬،‫هرچه میخواهی بگو‬ ‫گفته بودی عارف و عشقی دو بد خواه وطن؟‬ ‫تف برویت ای کنیز پست سر پرسی لرن‬

‫ای وحید دستگردی شیخ گندیده ده ن‬ ‫ای شپش خور شیخ یاوه گوی شندر پندری‬ ‫گ‬ ‫پوستین بر پیکرت چون جلد خرسی کول س‬ ‫بر سرت عمامه چون �آلوده با گچ سنده ای‬ ‫این سخنهایت همه گوز اندر هوا‬ ‫این شنیدستم نمودی مدح سردار سپه‬ ‫گر چه از بهر پول این مدح گفتی نی ز قلب‬ ‫لیک از بهر چه در پایان �آن داستان و مدح‬ ‫عارف و عشقی همی گیرند پول از انگلیس؟‬

O Vahid‑e Dastgerdi, filthy-mouthed sheykh Who call the filth of your mouth poetry! O louse-eating sheykh in torn-off rags Who mistake poetry for the filth in your mouth! Your skin coat is like a bear’s skin on a dog’s shoulder Your garment looks like a shroud around a baboon Your turban is like a turd wrapped in plaster Look in the mirror if you doubt my word Every word of yours is like a fart in the air 39 Âref, Divân, pp. 396–402. 40 Ibid., p. 293.

178

SATIRE IN PERSIAN LITERATURE, 1900–1940 Your tongue in your mouth is like shit in a basin They say you wrote a panegyric for Sardâr‑e Sepah [Reza Khan] By God Your eulogy for him is as bad as disparagement Although you wrote the panegyric for money Say what you please, little fraud, and be fêted But why did you say at the end of the eulogy That Âref and Eshqi are ill-wishers of the motherland? Do they take money from the British, as you say? I spit on your face, O worthless slave-maid of Sir Percy Loraine …41

Percy Loraine was British minister (i. e. head of the British legation) in Tehran. At about the same time, Eshqi wrote a general condemnation of politics and politicians, but did not yet include Reza Khan. Its radif was ‘must be shat on’ (bâyad rid):

‫باید رید‬ ‫و فرش‬ ‫و بر کر‬ ‫به چنین مجلس‬ ‫به چنین عدل و به دیوار و درش باید رید‬ ‫به مکافات الا تا کمرش باید رید‬ … ‫به چنین ملت و روح پدرش باید رید‬

‫و برش باید رید‬ ‫بعد از این بر وطن و بوم‬ ‫به حقیقت در عدل ار در این بام و در است‬ ‫�آنکه بگرفته از او تا کمر ایران گه‬ ‫پدر ملت ایرن اگر این بی پدر است‬

From now on the motherland and its environs must be shat on Such a parliament and both its high and low members must be shat on. Truly if the gate of justice is this roof and gate [i. e. the parliament] Then such a justice and its wall and gate must be shat on. He who has shat on Iran up to her waist, In retribution, up to his waist he must be shat on. If the father of Iranian people is this bastard [i. e. Ahmad Shah] Then the people and the soul of their father must be shat on …42

At the close of the fourth parliament in 1923, both Âref and Eshqi were still pro-Reza Khan. Âref was to continue his support but Eshqi was to renounce it. When the fourth parliament ended, Eshqi wrote his infamous mosammat‑e mostazâd. He praised Mostowfial-Mamâlek and Soleymân Mirzâ and did not mention Reza Khan, but left none of its members and other notables untouched, not to mention their mothers, wives and daughters: 41 See Kolliyât‑e Mosavvar, 405–9. 42 Ibid., p. 403.

179

LITERATURE OF THE EARLY TWENTIETH CENTURY

‫بود؟‬ ‫خبر‬ ‫چه‬ ‫دیدی‬ ‫بود؟‬ ‫خبر‬ ‫چه‬ ‫دیدی‬ ‫والله ضررداشت‬ )…( ‫دیدی چه خبر بود؟‬ ‫در سالن مجلس‬ )…( ‫دیدی چه خبر بود؟‬ ‫درب همه تر کرد‬ ‫دیدی چه خبر بود‬ ‫با �آن ُپز چون جن‬ ‫دیدی چه خبر بود‬ ‫مطلب همه اینجاست‬ ‫دیدی چه خبر بود‬

‫بود‬ ‫بشر‬ ‫ننگ‬ ‫خدا‬ ‫چارم به‬ ‫مجلس‬ ‫این‬  ‫ضرر بود‬ ‫کردند ضرر روی‬ ‫که‬ ‫کار‬ ‫هر‬ ‫این مجلس چارم خودمانیم ثمر داشت‬ ‫صد شکر که عمرش چو زمانه بگذر بود‬ ‫دیگر نکند هو نزند جفت مدرس‬ ‫بگذشت دگر مدتی ار محشر خر بود‬ ‫دیدی که مدرس وکلا را همه خر کرد‬ ‫در مجلس چارم خر نر بر خر نر بود‬ ‫شهزاده ی فیروز همان قحبه ی خائن‬ ‫هم صیغه «کرزن» ُبد ُوهم فکر ددر بود‬ ‫خواهر زن کرزن که محمد ولی میرزاست‬ ‫چون موش مدام از پی دزدیدن زر بود‬

This fourth parliament was a blot on humanity, Didn’t you see it all? Whatever they did was loss upon loss, Didn’t you see it all? Honestly was this fourth parliament of any use? By God it was all loss Thank heaven that its life was not to last, Didn’t you see it all? … No more will Modarres jump and somersault In the parliament’s hall The jamboree of donkeys is now up, Didn’t you see it all? Didn’t you see Modarres making an ass of the deputies, And wetting their bottoms, In that parliament one jack-ass was over another jack-ass Didn’t you see it all? … Shahzâde-ye Firuz, that traitorous whore With that jinn-like bearing of his Was Curzon’s concubine and looked for lovers too Didn’t you see it all? Mohammad-Vali Mirzâ who is Curzon’s sister-in-law The whole point is this: Like a mouse he was constantly trying to steal gold Didn’t you see it all? …43 43

Ibid., pp. 417–22.

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Conflict peaked early in 1924, when supporters of Reza Khan led the campaign for the abolition of the Qajar monarchy and establishment of a republic. Disputes, arguments and invectives raged both inside and outside the parliament. There was much mud-slinging, libels and name-calling on both sides in the press, but, as usual, poetry was more potent than prose. Eshqi and poet laureate Bahâr took the field on the anti-republican side, while Âref wrote several poems and songs supporting the republican campaign and disparaging the Qajars.44 For example, he wrote in a ghazal:

‫یقین بدان بود امروز بهترین اعیاد‬ ‫چراغ سلطنت شاه بر دریچه باد‬

‫پس از مصیبت قاجار عید جمهور‬ ‫ی‬ ‫خوشم که دست طبیعت گذاشت در دربار‬

After the catastrophe of the Qajars The feast of republic is the finest festival. I am happy that, in the royal court, the hand of nature Put the monarchy’s lamp in the window of the wind …45

And in another ghazal:

‫برد‬ ‫خواهد‬ ‫به بقا‬ ‫را‬ ‫به فنا‬ ‫رو‬ ‫کشور‬

‫ عارف‬،‫ایران‬ ‫به‬ ‫زنده‬ ‫سپه‬ ‫سردار‬ ‫باد‬

Long-live Sardâr‑e Sepah in Iran, Âref! He will surely save the dying country46

Eshqi and Bahâr were not opposed to republicanism as such. But they believed that the move was intended to make Reza Khan a dictatorial president, a charge the supporters of the campaign almost openly conceded, for after the ruinous chaos of the revolution and World War I, many if not most leaders of opinion were advocating dictatorship as a panacea for peace and stability.47 Bahâr, Eshqi and others of similar opinion also believed that the next stage would be to declare a new Pahlavi dynasty, which in fact happened. Beyond that, they—and especially Eshqi—were convinced along 44 Mohammad Ali Sepânlu, Âref‑e Qazvini, shâ’er‑e tarâne-sarâ-ye melli, (Tehran, 1986). 45 Divân‑e Âref‑e Qazvini, pp. 290–91. 46 Ibid., p. 294. 47 See further, Homa Katouzian, State and Society in Iran, pp. 204–5.

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with many other opponents of the move that Britain was behind it, although in this they were mistaken.48 Eshqi wrote a dramatic piece in his newspaper Qarn‑e Bistom (Twentieth Century), in which the supreme leader (qâ’ed) and symbol (mazhar) of republicanism sings his part first. Above the poem features the picture of a fierce looking man in military uniform, shadowed by John Bull, who holds a rifle in one hand, a fistful of money in the other. The man declares he is a big bully and must be excused since he is an agent of foreigners. Then there is a chorus in which pro-Reza Khan newspapers—all of them mentioned by name but also represented by various animals such as serpent, cat, mouse, etc.—take turns to confess their loyalties to the great leader. For example, the mouse (i. e., the Kushesh newspaper) tells the leader:

 )...( ‫ پا بند تو‬، ‫من موشک مسکینم‬   )...( ‫ لبخند تو‬، ‫کردست مرا سرمست‬ )...( ‫در دزدی و کلاشی مانند تو‬ )...( ‫ چون دند تو‬، ‫تا نرم شود دندم‬ I am a little poor mouse, committed to you I have been elated by that smile of yours In thieving and fraudulence, I am just like you Let me get my just desert, just like you …49

Eshqi also wrote a long mathnavi based on a folk tale about a man called Yâsi, who in the original tale is a girl called Yâsa (short for Yâsamin).50 He is a fraud who takes advantage of a simpleton and steals his date syrup (shire) by leaning over the pot of syrup, while mounted on a donkey. The poor simpleton is confused, seeing the impression of the donkey’s hoofs on the ground, and that of Yâsi’s hand in the syrup:

‫حضرت جمبول یعنی انگلیز‬

‫عزیز‬ ‫یاسی ما هست ای یار‬

48 Ibid., chapter 9. 49 Kolliyât‑e Mosavvar‑e Eshqi, pp. 245–47. 50 See Amirqoli Amini, Dâstân-hâ-ye amthâl, ed. Manizhe Amini, (Tehran, 2009).

182

SATIRE IN PERSIAN LITERATURE, 1900–1940 Our Yâsi, my dear fellow Is the venerable John Bull, i. e. Britain

Britain, so the story goes, first tried to ‘eat’ Iran as Yâsi ate the syrup, by imposing the 1919 agreement. That did not work, so Britain arranged to organize a successful coup. But Sayyed Ziâ upset her design. Then Britain decided on an indirect route, and so promoted the idea of republicanism. Like Yâsi, she mounted the donkey to steal the syrup, the donkey’s republican hoofs showing on the ground, and Britain’s hand in the pot of syrup, saying:

… ‫زانچه کردم بعد از این بد تر کنم‬ ‫خلق جمهوری طلب را خر کنم‬ ‫هم ز خر بدبین و هم از خر سوار‬ ‫ناگهان ایرانیان هوشیار‬ ‫های و هو کردند کاین جمهوری است ؟ در قواره از چه رو فغفوری است؟‬ ‫دزد �آمد دزد �آمد �آی پلیس‬ ‫پای جمهوری و دست انگلیس‬ ‫مردم این جمهوری قلابی است‬ ‫این چه بیرق های سرخ و �آبی اس‬ ‫ت‬ ‫کره خر رم کرد و پا بر دو گذاشت‬ ‫ناگهان ملت بنای هو گذاشت‬ ‫شیره باقی مند و یارو گشت بور‬ ‫نه به زرقصدش ادا شد نه به زو ر‬ I shall make an ass of the republican people And shall do worse than I have ever done before … Suddenly the intelligent Iranians Neither trusting the donkey nor its rider Went into uproar saying Would you call this a republic? Why does its stature looks so funny? The legs of a republic, the hands of Britain? Come, police, come, thief, thief! What kind of colorful flags are these? People! This republic is a fraud. Suddenly the people began to boo The ass took fright and ran too Neither with money nor by force did she succeed The syrup remained; the geezer was the loser in the end.51

As is clear from its ending, this long piece was written just after the collapse of the republican campaign. In the same issue of his newspaper, Eshqi wrote another dramatic piece in which the coffin of 51 Ibid., pp. 241–45.

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republicanism is being carried by its mourners. There is a picture of a coffin under which it is written ‘the corpse of the late fraudulent republic,’ and some vultures are flying over it:

‫زدند‬ ‫لش پر‬ ‫بر‬ ‫لاشخوران در‬ ‫از غم ان فاجعه بر سر زدند‬ ‫مکرر زدند‬ ‫بر سینه‬ ‫و‬ ‫بر سر‬ ‫چنگ به تابوت پر از زر زدند‬ ‫سهم ربودند از�آن سکه ها‬ ‫�آه که جمهوری ما شد فنا‬ The vultures fluttered about the corpse They beat their heads mourning for the catastrophe They kept beating their heads, chests and body They put their hands in the gold coins in the coffin They took their shares of the gold —Alas, our republic was annihilated …52

These poems were open, vehement and scathing and were all published in the same, and final, issue of Eshqi’s newspaper. Shortly afterwards he was gunned down by two gunmen in broad daylight.53 In many ways the best poem at once describing and criticizing the republican campaign was the long mosammat entitled ‘The Republic Saga’ ( Jomhuri-nâme). It was secretly circulated, was unsigned and was generally believed to have been the work of Eshqi, which may have contributed to his assassination. In fact it was a product of collaboration between Eshqi and poet laureate Bahâr, though only four of the forty stanzas were written by Eshqi.54 (See Bahâr, below) The assassination of Eshqi and the accession of Reza Shah put an end to such literature. It went underground and was circulated by word of mouth until that too became dangerous, but even then it continued its subterranean existence especially when the new re52 Ibid., pp. 247–50. 53 Mohammad-Ali Sepânlu, Chahâr shâ‘er‑e âzâdi: jostoju’i dar sargodhasht va âthâr‑e Âref, Eshqi, Bahâr, Farrokhi Yazdi, (Tehran, 1990). 54 For another approach to the study of satire in this period see Javadi, Satire in Persian Literature, chapters 6 and 7.

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gime began to lose popularity. There are two unprinted lampoons by Bahâr against Ali-Akbar Dâvar in 1927, early in his tenure as Minister of Justice, which are not only unprintable but also impossible to quote in polite circles. But most of Bahâr’s clandestine political poetry was serious though critical of the new regime (see below). In what follows closer attention will be paid to humor and satire in the works of the foremost poets, Iraj and Bahâr, and writers, Mohammad-Ali Jamâlzâde and Sâdeq Hedâyat, in the first four decades of the twentieth century. Before that, however, a few other poets and satirists who flourished mainly during the Reza Khan / Reza Shah period should be mentioned. Parvin E’tesâmi was a modern mystical poet who had a pessimistic view of life and society, was extremely sympathetic towards the meek, weak and downtrodden, and wrote some of the most moving social and ethical poems of the twentieth century. She often employed irony, not satire, in defending the weak and castigating the strong. She does however have a fragment (qat’e) in the form of a dialogue or debate, in which she effectively satirizes the symbols and agents of religious authority:

‫افسار‬ ‫است‬ ‫پیراهن‬ ‫این‬ ‫دوست‬ ‫ای‬ ‫گفت‬ ‫گرفت مست‬ ‫گریبانش‬ ‫و‬ ‫دید‬ ‫ره‬ ‫به‬ ‫مستی‬ ‫محتسب‬ … ‫نیست‬ ‫کار نیست‬ ‫گفت مسجد جایگاه مردم بد‬ ‫بخواب‬ ‫مسجد‬ ‫در‬ ‫گوییم‬ ‫گفت تا داروغه را‬ … ‫شویم گفت قاضی از کجا در خانه خمار نیست‬ ‫�آنجا‬ ‫را سرای‬ ‫است قاضی‬ ‫گفت نزدیک‬ ‫گفت هوشیاری بیار اینجا کسی هوشیار نیست‬ ‫گفت باید حد زند هشیار مرد مست را‬ An officer of the moral police came across a drunkard and grabbed his neck The drunk said: Friend this is a garment, not a donkey’s rein … The policeman said: Wait in the mosque until I call the police chief ‘Sinners must not lodge in mosques,’ the drunk replied ‘Let’s go to the judge’s house which is not far’, said the officer ‘The judge may well be in a tavern,’ replied the drunk … ‘The sober must punish the drunk’ said the officer ‘I see no sober man here,’ retorted the drunk.55 55 Divân‑e Parvin E’tesâmi, (Tehran, 1954), p. 185.

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E’tesâmi has a similar piece, the debate between the thief and the judge, in which the thief says that he steals by climbing up walls, while the judge steals by going straight through the doors, (‫من ز دیوار‬ ‫)و تو از در می بری‬. However in this piece there is more irony than satire. Gholâm-Rezâ Ruhâni was a gifted satirical poet of this period. His nom de plume was R. Ajjene (genii), which is why, in a poem, Bahâr praises Ruhâni as ‘he in whose poem the genies had a hand,’ and adds that he writes well but sparsely. Unfortunately, his works were published in newspapers which are not easy to access, as is the collection of his poems.56 He wrote a humorous ghazal about Nowruz which is in the style (eqtefâ) of a famous ghazal by Hâfez: Friends gave me chocolates at the point of the vernal equinox …

57)…( ‫تحویل رفیقان شوکلاتم دادند‬ ‫وقت‬ The famous weekly Towfiq which Hoseyn Towfiq founded in 1922 was not quite the kind of satirical journal it became in the 1940 s and 50 s, but as one of the few dailies and weeklies to survive into the 1930 s,58 it did publish occasional satirical pieces by some contemporary satirists such as Taqi Binesh.59

4. Jalâl-al-Mamâlek Iraj Mirzâ (1874–1926) Iraj was a leading poet of the late Qajar era, and by far the greatest poet among the descendants of Fath-Ali Shah. There were two other notable poets in the Qajar family, both known as “Sheykh alRa’is” (Abu’l-Hasan Mirzâ Qajar and Mohammad-Hâshem Mirzâ Afsar). But Iraj excels them. He is one of the most able and most 56 Golâmrezâ Ruhâni, Kolliyyât‑e ash’ âr va fokâhiyât‑e Ruhâni (Tehran, 1964). 57 Quoted from memory; Javadi refers to two pieces by Ruhâni, which however he partially quotes from an Indian source written in English, and so the Persian original cannot be accessed: Satire in Persian Literature, pp. 187–89. 58 See Mohammad Sadr Hâshemi, Târikh‑e jarâ’ed va majellât ‑e Irân, Vol. 2 (Isfahan, 1949), pp. 144–47. 59 Taqi Binesh, Divân‑e Taqi Binesh (Tehran, 1953).

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eloquent Persian poets of all time.60 His whole corpus is no more than 4,000 beyts or distiches, but much of it is of the highest quality and deserves to be preserved in the annals of Persian poetry. He belonged to a generation of poets who modernized neo-­classical poetry within the existing classical structures and so can be called, not modernists, but certainly modern.61 They chose forms that were most appropriate to the expression of contemporary themes and ideas, and they employed many new metaphors, puns, asides, allusions, imageries and other figures of speech and literary devices. The level of modernity varies among the poets, and within the works of each of them. Yet reading most of the poems which they wrote through and after the Constitutional Revolution of 1905– 1911, it would be difficult for anyone familiar with classical and neo-classical Persian poetry to mistake more than a few of them for any classical work, although they retained the basic neo-classical structures. There were, of course, many other poets, such as Ebrat‑e Nâ’ini, Adib‑e Pishâvari and Vahid‑e Dastgerdi, who remained almost completely faithful to the classics both in form and substance and whose works did not survive beyond their own time. Iraj more or less shared this kind of modernity with Bahâr, Dehkhodâ, Eshqi, Âref and Lâhuti, at least three of whom were his friends and collocutors. Bahâr was seldom humorous, wrote only a few lampoons, and his satire was usually subtle (see below). As noted above, much of Dehkhodâ’s limited poems are more like poetical jokes, while most of the nationalist poetry of Eshqi and Âref are either laments for the backwardness of Iran and the loss of the ancient glories, or offensive and obscene hajv and lampoons against the political establishment and foreign powers. Yet, as noted above, even Adib-al-Mamâlek Farâhâni’s poems of the period reflect—to a certain extent—the new mood of politics and humor in Persian literature. 60 For a study of the life and works of ‘Iraj Mirzâ’ see B. Mahmoodi-Bakhtiari, Encyclopædia Iranica, s. v. Iraj Mirzā, Jalāl-al-Mamālek. 61 Homa Katouzian, “Persian Literature from Romantic Nationalism to Social Criticism 1914–1950,” Modern Literature in the Near and Middle East, 1850–1970, ed. Robin Ostle, (London and New York, 1991).

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Iraj and poet-laureate Bahâr were the two most outstanding poets of the period. Yet in many ways, Iraj’s poetry was different from Bahâr’s, particularly the poems that he wrote in the constitutional period and which make up the most enduring part of his works. In fact, Iraj’s poetical career may be divided neatly between the period before the Constitutional Revolution, to the age of thirty-four, and the period after it. He died in 1925, aged only fifty-two. In the first part of his career, Iraj was a traditional court poet, writing, mainly, though not entirely, panegyrics for princes and notables and poems in glorification of the Prophet Mohammad and the Shi’a Imams and martyrs. The poetry was brilliant but smacked of nineteenth century neo-classicism. Two things in particular distinguish Iraj’s poetry: eloquence and humor.62 Love, whether the love of mothers or of lovers, is a major theme. He wrote several pieces about the love of mothers, and also such highly romantic poems as ‘Shah o Jâm.’63 Leaving aside some of his shorter pieces, his best humorous works are the Âref-nâme (‘The Âref Saga’), Enqelâb‑e Adabi (‘The Literary Revolution’), Zohre o Manuchehr and all of his ekhvâniyât (‘fraternities’). Indeed, hardly anything he wrote is less than delightful, but his work during the Constitutional period is particularly fine. The most remarkable artistic characteristic of the whole of Iraj’s poetry, both traditional and modern, is its clarity and fluency. It is a model of the art of ‘sahl o momtane’ or ‘easy and impossible.’ This is the art of writing so clearly and concisely that it would not be possible to re-write the poem or prose line in a shorter form. It looks easy because of the clarity, fluency, and ready comprehensibility of the piece, but is very difficult or virtually impossible precisely because of the great economy in the use of words. It was perfected by Sa’di, in both his poetry and prose. Iraj may well be called its second master. For example, in the long poem Âref-nâme 62 See further, Homa Katouzian, “Iraj, the Poet of Love and Humor,” Iranian Studies, 40, 4, (September 2007), pp. 529–44. 63 See Divân‑e Kâmel‑e Iraj-Mirzâ, ed. Mohammad Ja’far Mahjub; Abolqâsem Feizi, “Shah o Jâm: Iraj va Schiller,” Jahân‑e now, 1, (June 1966); GholâmHoseyn Yȗsefi, “Setâyeshgar‑e mâdar” in Cheshme-ye rowshan, (Tehran, 1984).

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at one point he describes his own state of being drunk most fluently and with a subtle humor:64

… ‫ مخلص می پرستم‬،‫من امشب ای برادر مست مست م چه باید کرد‬ … ‫که دستم گم کند راه دهانم‬ ‫کنار سفره از مستی چنانم‬ ‫همی ترسم که چون الکل بسوزم‬ ‫اگر کبریت خواهم بر فروزم‬ ‫ �آبم‬،‫مرا جامد مپندارید‬ ‫ شراب م‬،‫من ایرج نیستم دیگر‬ Tonight brother, I am blind drunk What can I do, I happen to worship wine At the dinner spread I am so drunk That my hand gets lost en route to my mouth I am afraid of striking a match because Just like alcohol I might flame up I am no longer Iraj, I am wine Not solid anymore, water am I65

From the dawn of the Constitutional Revolution, Iraj’s poetry became modern as well as humorous. He often wrote on serious subjects in a humorous way. As noted, the most active of the poets who continued—indeed advanced—the writing of harsh political poetry in the conflict and chaos of the post-revolutionary period were Âref‑e Qazvini, Mirzâde-ye Eshqi, and Farrokhi Yazdi. Iraj did occasionally raise social and political problems in his poetry, but he was not a political poet in the style of the others, which later led a critic to assert that he did not deeply appreciate ‘social sufferings’ (by her definition) despite his ‘superficial’ discussions of them.66 Putting aside a couple of other political pieces, he wrote only two political lampoons, one in 1907 directed at Sheykh Fazl-Allâh Nuri (noted above), and another in 1921 against Qavâm-al-Saltane after the latter had put down the revolt of Colonel Mohammad-Taqi Khân 64 Some of Iraj’s poetry have been translated and published in Paul Sprachman, trans. and intro., Suppressed Persian: An Anthology of Forbidden Literature, (Costa Mesa, California, 1995). However this author takes responsibility for all the translations in this chapter except when stated otherwise. 65 Divan‑e Kâmel‑e Iraj-Mirzâ, ed. Mahjub, pp. 86–87. 66 See, Shahrâshub Amirshâhi, ‘har cheh hast zabân‑e tiz ast o resâ,’ Âyandegân‑e Adabi, (September, 1974).

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Pesyân, a p ­ ersonal friend of Iraj and the highly popular gendarmerie chief in Khorâsân, who lost his life in the process.67 Yet, he was and remained the most skilful and effective author of humorous poetry in his time. Despite its frequently coarse, even obscene, language, his Âref-nâme can be described as a masterpiece. In 1920, when Iraj was a civil servant in the department of finance in Mashhad, Âref, Iraj’s old and close friend, paid a visit to that city and, despite Iraj’s expectations that he would be his guest, he became a guest of the afore-mentioned Colonel Pesyân at the gendarmerie headquarters. More than that: he did not even go to see Iraj. Finally, he added insult to injury by holding a concert in which he himself sang and vehemently attacked the Qajars. It is clear from much of Iraj’s poetry, including his short lampoons about Ahmad Shah,68 that—despite occasional claims to the contrary69—he did not have any family or clan prejudice. But in the circumstances, he took Âref’s attack on the Qajars personally:

‫برون انداختی حمق جبلی‬ ‫ز اندامت خریت عرض اندام‬ ‫بسی بی ربط خواندی �آن دهن را‬ ‫ز بی �آزرمیت �آزرمم �آید‬ … ‫ ولی قدری زیادی‬،‫همی خوردی‬

‫شنیدم در تئاتر باغ مل ی‬ ‫نمود اندر تماشاخانه عام‬ ‫به جای بد کشانیدی سخن را‬ ‫ شرمم �آید‬،‫نمی گویم چه گفتی‬ ‫چنین گفتند کز �آن چیز عادی‬

They told me that in the Bâgh‑e Melli Theater You badly exposed your stupid nature There in the public arena You displayed your stature like a hyena You went too far this time And sang that misplaced song Ashamed I’d be to repeat your discourse Ashamed I feel of your lack of grace They said that of that common thing You ate, but ate a great deal70 67 Divân‑e Kâmel, ed. Mahjȗb, pp. 213–16. 68 See, for example, ‘Ahmad‑e lâyansaref’ in Divan‑e Kâmel, ed. Mahjub, p. 168. 69 See, for example, Sa’id Nafisi, “Khâterâti as Iraj Mirzâ” in Khâterât‑e siyâsi, adabi, javâni be ravâyat‑e Sa’id Nafisi, ed. Alirezâ E’tesâm, (Tehran, 2002). 70 Divân‑e Kâmel, ed. Mahjub, p. 92.

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That is how Âref-nâme, or the Âref Saga, came into existence. It is a long poem and not just a lampoon against Âref, although Âref is there in some way, from the beginning to the end. There are parts of it, not least where he attacks hejâb, which cannot be repeated in polite society even though, like the rest of the poem, they are hilariously funny as well as poetry at its best (see below). He begins by attacking Âref for not having become his guest, nor even visited him:

‫رفیق سابق تهرانم �آمد‬ ‫شنیدم من كه عارف جانم �آمد‬ ‫شدم خوشوقت و جانی تازه کردم نشاط و وجد بی اندازه کردم‬ … ‫ از در نرانند‬،‫که گر عارف رسد‬ ‫به نوکرها سپردم تا بدانند‬ … ‫ صابون و �آبی‬،‫ حوله ای‬،‫چراغی‬ ‫نهادم در اطاقش تختخوابی‬ ‫که منزل می کند در باغ خونی‬ ‫نمی دانستم این نامرد کونی‬ I heard that dear Âref has arrived My old pal of Tehran has arrived I was delighted and my spirits rose I fell into ecstatic joy I told the servants so they knew That when Âref called he should be welcomed I put in his room a bed A lamp, a towel, water and soap Little did I know, you bastard That in Bâgh Khuni you would take abode71

A very interesting aspect of Âref-nâme is its ekhvâniyât or fraternities. Ekhvâniyât are a category or genre of classical Persian poetry in which the poet writes to or about his friends in poetical forms. Often the addressee, or others who are named in the ‘fraternity,’ were themselves poets or men of letters. In fact, much of Âref-nâme consists of such ekhvâniyât either addressed to Âref or about their mutual friends. For example, until recently, Âref had been wearing a traditional head-dress like a little turban, called a mowlavi, but had decided to become more fashionable and replaced it with a hat. Iraj makes fun of this and says that it is too late for the likes of him and Âref to become young and good-looking by employing such tactics: 71 Divân‑e Kâmel, ed. Mahjub, p. 75.

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… ‫کلاهت رفته از مه تا به ماهی‬ ‫برایت نعل در �آتش نمایند‬ ‫به خرجت می رود این نکته یا نه؟‬ ‫به �آن جفت سبیلت هر دو گوزیم‬

‫شنیدم تا شدی عارف کلاهی‬ ‫زن و مرد از برایت غش نماین د‬ ‫گرت یک نکته گویم دوستانه‬ ‫من و تو گر به سر مشعل فروزیم‬

Âref they say you are now wearing a hat One that reaches the sky, just like that … Men and women are bedazzled by your attraction And they indulge in magical practice to protect you from evil intents If I pass a comment as a friend I wonder if it would have any effect: Even if, wearing a torch, our heads would shine We would still fart at both parts of your mustache72

He then turns to the praise of Colonel Pesyân, the gendarmerie chief, who was a good friend of his as well as host to Âref:

‫که صاحبخانه ای جانانه داری‬ … ‫که باشد بهتر از جان میزبانت‬ … ‫ با توانائی کم �آزار‬،‫توانا‬ ‫خیانت کرده و برداشته مزد‬ … ‫کمر شخصا به اصلاحات بسته‬

‫ولی در بهترین جا خانه داری‬ ‫گوارا باد مهمانی به جانت‬ ‫خلیق و مهربان و راست گفتار‬ ‫چو دیده مرکزی ها را همه دزد‬ ‫ز مرکز رشته طاعت گسسته‬

Yet you are dwelling in the best abode Since you are guest of a graceful landlord I hope you’ll enjoy being there as a guest As you have a most wonderful host … Kind, courteous, and truthful Harmless despite being powerful … Since he’s found the central government corrupt Betraying them, he has appropriated the provincial fund He has rebelled against the central government And has personally launched reform and development …73

Iraj’s direct addresses to Âref in this poem continue, and although the tone is usually one of complaint and criticism, both friendly and unfriendly remarks follow one after the other: 72 Ibid., 86. 73 Ibid., 87.

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‫که از من این سفر دوری نمودی‬ ‫به موسی برگزیدی سامری را‬ ‫که جاویدان در این عالم نمانیم‬ ‫که فردا می خوری بهر من افسوس‬ ‫به قبرم لاله و سنبل بکاری‬

‫تو عارف واقعا گوساله بودی‬ ‫گرفتی گوشه ژاندارمری را‬ ‫بیا امروز قدر هم بدانیم‬ ‫بیا تا زنده ام خود را مکن لوس‬ ‫پس از مرگم سرشک غم بباری‬

You Âref really acted as a donkey This time that you stayed aloof from me Dwelt in the corner of the Gendarmerie site Sacrificing Moses for the Golden Calf Let us today appreciate each other As we will not remain in this world for ever Come stop playing hard to get while I am still alive Since when I die you’ll regret your lack of love You will, after my death, cry of grief And plant hyacinths and tulips on my grave74

At this point, Iraj writes the fullest and most authentic ‘fraternity’ of the whole poem.75 Addressing Âref, he asks after their mutual friends in Tehran, nearly all of them literati and intellectuals. They include, Dehkhodâ; Bahâr; Yusof E’tesâm-al-Molk, scholar, critic and father of Parvin E’tesâmi; and Ahmad Kamâli, poet, critic, and owner of a shop specializing in the sale of tea: “Tell me, Âref, of our friends in Tehran / For every night I dream of the friends of Tehran”:

‫که می بینم همه شب خواب تهران‬ ‫اخیرا با تو الفت داشت یا نی‬ … ‫دخو با اعتصام اندر چه شور است‬ ‫موفق شد به جبران خسارات؟‬ … ‫ اعتدالی‬،‫ انقلابی‬،‫دموکرات‬ ‫نداند لیک چای خوب از بد‬ … ‫وگرنه هیچ عیبی خود ندارد‬

‫بگو عارف به من زاحباب تهران‬ ‫بگو �آن کاظم بد �آشتیانی‬ ‫کمال السلطنه حالش چطور است‬ ‫ادیب السلطنه با �آن مرارات‬ ‫چه می فرمود �آقای کمالی‬ ‫کمالی را کمالات است بی حد‬ ‫تمیز چای خوب از بد ندارد‬

74 Ibid., 89. 75 For a full discussion of the ekhvâniyât in Âref-nâme, see Homa Katouzian, “ekhvâniyât‑e Âref- nâme-ye Iraj,” Jashn-nâme-ye ostâd Zabihollâh Safâ, ed. Sayyed Mohammad Torâbi (Tehran, 1998), reprinted in Irânshenâsi, (spring 1999), reprinted in Katouzian Hasht maqâle dar târikh va adab‑e mo’ âser (Tehran, 2008).

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‫به هرسلک شریفی منسلک را‬ ‫محبت پشت پا زن‬ ‫�آیین‬ ‫به‬ ‫که می خندد به قانون اساسی‬ … ‫که تعدادش به من هم گشته مشکل‬

‫ز من عرض ارادت کن ملک را‬ ‫ �آن طعنه بر مهر و وفا ز ن‬،‫ملک‬ ‫ دارای �آن مغز سیاسی‬،‫ملک‬ ‫ملک دارای �آن حد فضائل‬

Tell me, Âref, about our friends in Tehran For every night I dream of Tehran Was Kâzem, that Âshtiyâni rogue Still friends with you in recent times? How is Kamâl al-Saltane carrying on? How do Dehkhodâ and E’tesâm get on? … Did Adib al-Saltane who tried so hard Manage to make good the harm? What was on about Mr Kamâli That democrat, moderate and revolutionary? … On his side has much credit Kamâli But he cannot tell good from bad tea He can’t distinguish between good and bad tea Otherwise there is no fault in Kamâli … Give Bahâr my humble regards Who is engaged in all honorable conducts Bahâr who mocks kindness and commitment And turns the rules of friendship on their heads Bahâr with that political mind Who pokes fun at the constitutional law Bahâr who has so many good points That I too find difficult to count …76

Finally, he advises Âref to become a rowze-khân, a religious figure who at Shi’a meetings recounts the life and sufferings of Shi’a Imams and martyrs, but who might also speak on various social, even political, topics. Making fun of Âref who like himself was very intolerant of the Shi’a olamâ, he tells him to wear a big turban, mount the pulpit, and speak highly of ministers and members of parliament so that, instead of being persecuted for his political views, he would be rewarded with a good living:

76

Divân‑e Kâmel, ed. Mahjub, p. 90, and Katouzian, “Ekhvâniyat.”

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‫همیشه دیگ بختت بار باشد‬ ‫خودت را روضه خوانی معتبر کن‬ ‫ بوده ست‬،‫سوادت هم اگر کم بود‬ … ‫تو را این موهبت تنها ندادند‬ ‫ از روی ریا کن‬،‫به صدق ار نیست‬ ‫که در این فصل پیدا می شود ماست‬ … ‫که سالم تر غذا نان و پنیر است‬ ‫ببیند هر چه گه کاری بلیسد‬ ‫ پابند زمین اند‬،‫ز عرش افتاده‬ … ‫ورم کردند از بس غصه خوردند‬

‫اگر خواهی که کارت کار باش د‬ ‫دو زرعی مولوی را گنده تر کن‬ ‫چو ذوقت خوب و �آوازت ستوده ست‬ ‫تمام روضه خوان ها بیسوادند‬ ‫سر منبر وزیران را دعا کن‬ ‫بگو از همت این هیات ماست‬ ‫�آ ن دانا وزیر است‬ ‫ز سعی و فکر‬ ‫شب و روز �آن یکی قانون نویسد‬ ‫وکیلان را بگو روح الامین اند‬ ‫ مردند‬،‫غم ملت ز بس خوردند‬

If you want to get into good business And luck be with you always Get yourself a turban two meters longer And turn yourself into a worthy preacher With a good taste and singing well Your little knowledge will not be an impediment All preachers have little knowledge You alone do not enjoy this privilege … On the pulpit pray for ministers Even if it is not honest be a hypocrite Say it is due to the efforts of the cabinet That we enjoy yoghurt this season It is due to the actions of that able minister That the best dinner is cheese with bread … The other one is drafting laws all the time Licking all the shit that he comes along Say the Majles deputies are like angles Who have just descended from Heavens They grieve so much for the people’s ills That are about to burst with grief …77

Iraj has other ekhvâniyât, many of which are likewise light and humorous. One of these is addressed to the brothers Abd-al-Hoseyn and Abu’l-Hasan Sabâ. They were sons of Kamâl-al-Saltane, a descendent of Poet-Laureate Sabâ of Fath-Ali Shah’s court, and 77 Divân‑e Kâmel‑e Iraj-Mirzâ, ed. Mahjub, p. 95.

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physician and personal friend of Iraj. Abu’l-Hasan Sabâ, then a young man, went on to become a great composer and instrumentalist. They lived in Tehran while Iraj was working for the finance department in Mashhad. Both the sons and their father wrote poetry and greatly admired Iraj’s work. They had written a joint letter to Iraj, probably in verse, and he wrote back an ekhvâniye in reply. Abd-al-Hoseyn suffered from migraines, and Abu’l-Hasan had gone completely bald at a young age. In his humorous reply, Iraj made much of the fact that both of them had something odd about their heads. He began by addressing the elder brother, Abdal-Hoseyn, making fun of his migraines and saying that the reason they have not yet been cured is the laziness of their father, who was a physician:

‫شاعر سالم المشاعر ما‬ ‫ای تو عبدالحسین شاعر ما‬ … ‫صاحب نظم و دفتر و دیوان‬ ‫عربی دان و انگلیسی دان‬ ‫ چه کنم من که قافیه کون است‬- ‫ت‬ ‫ سرت چون اس‬،‫ اولا‬،‫باز گو‬ ‫باشد از کون گشادی پدرت‬ ‫گرنگشته هنوز خوب سر‬ ‫ت‬ ‫رفته بود از سر تو بیرون درد‬ ‫پدرت گر مواظبت می کرد‬ ‫ برادرت کچل است سگ زرد و شغال هم مثل است‬،‫تو علیلی‬ O Abd-al-Hoseyn, our poet Our poet of a sound mind Who know Arabic and English And have pads and divans of poetry … Tell me first how your head is I am sorry that the rhyme is ass If your head has not yet got well It is due to the laziness of your father If your father had sufficiently cared The pain would have gone from your head Your head is in pain and your brother’s is bald Brothers, they say, are the yellow dog and the jackal78

78 This refers to the proverb sag-e zard barâdar-e shoghâl ast (lit. ‘yellow dog is the brother of jackal’). It is equivalent of “as bad as the other,” used to refer to people who are only different in appearance.

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He then turns to Abu’l-Hasan. To make up for poking fun at his baldness, he tells him that, ironically, bald people are very important, that some of the prophets were bald, and that the Germans defeated the Russians (in World War I) because they had many bald soldiers in their army:

‫کچل �آقا ابوالحسن خان را‬ ‫بنده ام بنده خان ذی شان را‬ ‫کچلان عاقلند و با تدبیر‬ ‫کچلی را تو کار خرد مگیر‬ ‫بعضی از اولیا کچل بودند‬ ‫ز انبیا خوانده ام که کل بودند‬ … ‫ت غالبا دیده ام سرش کچل است‬ ‫هر که با مکر و دانش و حیل اس‬ ‫در قشونش کچل فراوان است‬ ‫فتح دانی چرا ز �آلمان است؟‬ … ‫همه عالم بدی مسخر روس‬ ‫گر کچل بود جمله لشکر رو‬ ‫س‬ I am a servant of my worthy master Bald-headed Abu’l-Hasan the Mister Do not underestimate baldness The bald are wise and clever I have read that prophets were bald Some spiritual guides were likewise bald I have often noticed that he is bald Who is learned, clever, crafty and all … Do you know why the Germans are victorious? It’s because in their army there’s a lot of baldness If the entire Russian soldiers had been bald The Russians would have conquered the whole world …79

It may be observed that in the latter part of his career (that is, the last eighteen years of his life), Iraj wrote lighter, more fluent and more humorous poems on modern subjects, mainly in the mathnavi form, whereas his traditional poems are largely in the form of qaside and ghazal. One of the themes that Iraj is most famous for is the subject of hejâb. This, at the time, entailed women covering not only their heads, but also their faces and hands. It is this particular type of hejâb that Iraj attacks in various poems. He is explicit on this point when he says in a verse: “Covering the hands and the face, without a doubt / Is against what the Holy Qur’an has allowed”: 79 Divân‑e Kâmel, ed. Mahjub, after page ‫ت‬, under the title ”‫شغال‬

197

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LITERATURE OF THE EARLY TWENTIETH CENTURY

80‫که ضد نص قران مبین است‬

‫حجاب دست و صورت خود یقین است‬

The story in Âref-nâme against hejâb, although brilliant, is too explicit to be directly quoted in polite society. Briefly, the narrator says that as a young man he had once invited a woman into his home on a bogus pretext. He had then asked the woman to show him her face and the woman had severely rebuked him:

‫ز جا برخاست با تندی سخن گفت‬ … ‫برو این حرفها را دور انداز‬

‫پری رو زین سخن بی حد بر�آشف‬ ‫ت‬ ‫که من صورت به نا محرم کنم باز؟‬

The beauty was terribly angered She rose and angrily said I should show my face to a stranger? Stop saying such nonsense …81

As a result, he had changed tactics and, instead, made physical passes at the woman. The woman had responded positively, and they had ended up copulating while she was holding fast onto her hejâb, refusing to show her face:

‫ولی �آهسته بازویش فشردم‬ ‫دگر اسم حجاب اصلا نبردم‬ … ‫بغرد همچو شیر ماده در غار‬ ‫یقینم بود کز رفتارم این بار‬ ‫ اما نه بسیار‬،‫ �آن ماه رخسار تحاشی می کند‬،‫ به عکس‬،‫ولی دیدم‬ … ‫به “عاقل باش” و “�آدم شو” رسیدم‬ ‫از �آن جوش و تغیر ها که دیدم‬ ‫ مومن به حلوا‬،‫چو ملا بر پلو‬ ‫گشادم دست بر �آن یار زیبا‬ … ‫دویدم زی اسافل از اعالی‬ ‫چو گل افکندمش بر روی قالی‬ ‫ولی چون عصمت اندر چهره اش بو د از اول تا به �آخر چهره نگشود‬ I stopped mentioning hejâb even once But gently pressed her arm I was sure that she would now roar Like a lioness encircled … But lo and behold that moon-like beauty Resisted, but not very plenty Instead of the tantrums and shouts Now she was telling me to behave myself … 80 Ibid., p. 84; Katouzian “Iraj, the Poet of Love”; idem.“Ekhvâniyât.” 81 Divân‑e Kâmel, ed. Mahjub, p. 80.

198

SATIRE IN PERSIAN LITERATURE, 1900–1940 I put my hands around that pretty darling Just like mullahs and the faithful take polo and halva for eating I threw her on the carpet like a flower Moving from the upper parts to the lower … But since hejab was the proof of her innocence She did not show her face from start to end82

The poet then concludes that ignorant women wearing the face veil neqâb are far less capable of defending their honor than liberated women:

… ‫ت زن مستوره محجوبه این است‬ ‫حجاب زن که نادان شد چنین اس‬ … ‫زند بی پرده بر بام فلک کوس‬ ‫اگر زن را بیاموزند ناموس‬ ‫رواق جان به نور بینش �آموخت‬ ‫چو زن تعلیم دید و دانش �آموخ‬ ‫ت‬ ‫به دریا گر بیفتد تر نگردد‬ ‫به هیچ افسون ز عصمت برنگردد‬ ‫اگر �آید به یه پیش تو دکولته‬ ‫ دیده فاکولته‬،‫زن رفته کلژ‬ ‫تو هم در وی به چشم شرم بینی‬ ‫چو در وی عفت و �آزرم بینی‬ This is the meaning of hejâb for an ignorant woman This is your chaste and unconquerable woman … If they teach women real chastity Without hejab they could rise up to the heavens … When a woman is educated and gains knowledge Thus exposed to the light of clear thinking No spell would make her give up her chastity She wouldn’t get wet even if she fell into the sea A woman educated at college and university Even if her dress shows her shoulders and back When you see in her chastity and modesty You too would approach her bashfully83

In another poem he says that someone once drew a picture of a woman above the gate of a caravanserai. The olamâ, whom he calls ‘the turban masters,’ hear of it and arrive at the scene without delay. 82 Ibid., p. 82. 83 Ibid., p. 83. For a ‘moral’ criticism of Iraj’s description of such scenes and use of obscene words, see Taqi Binesh, “She’r‑e Iraj,” Nashriye-ye farhang‑e Khorâsan, 5, 1964, reprinted in Seyri dar zendegi va âthâr‑e Iraj Mirzâ, ed. Ali Dehbâshi, (Tehran, 2008).

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They mix dust with water, make a neqâb (piche) for the picture, and thus save the Faith—he comments—with a fistful of mud:

‫تصویر زنی به گچ کشیدند‬ ‫بر سر در کاروانسرائی‬ ‫از مخبر صادقی شنیدند‬ ‫ارباب عمائم این خبر را‬ ‫روی زن بی حجاب دیدند‬ ‫ خلق‬،‫گفتند که واشریعتا‬ ‫تا سر در �آ ن سرا دویدند‬ ‫�آسیمه سر از درون مسجد‬ ‫می رفت که مومنین رسیدند‬ ‫ایمان و امان به سرعت برق‬ ‫ �آن یکی خاک یک پیچه ز گل بر او بریدند‬،‫این �آب �آورد‬ ‫با یک دو سه مشت گل خریدند‬ ‫ناموس به باد رفته ای را‬ ‫غفلت شده بود و خلق وحش ی چون شیر به خود همی ژکیدند‬ ‫پاچین عفاف می دریدند‬ ‫بی پیچه زن گشاده رو را‬ … ‫مردم همه می جهنمیدند‬ ‫درهای بهشت بسته می ش د‬ Above the gate of a caravanserai They chalked the picture of a dame The turban-masters heard the news From a reporter honest in fame God, said they, the people Have seen the face of a neqab-less dame Alarmed, they ran from the mosque Until they reached the caravanserai’s gate Faith and security were about to leave When the faithful managed to get there One of them got water, another earth And they made a face-veil for the picture The negligence had made the people go wild And behave like restless lions At home they were busy spoiling The chastity of veil-less dames And they were busy sucking Their lips, lovely and beauteous The gates of Heavens were shutting down All the people had got Hell-bound …84

Iraj also maintains his highly effective humor in poems and pieces about his own life and experiences. Unlike most Iranian poets, he 84 Divân‑e Kâmel, ed. Mahjub, pp. 177–78.

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only rarely displays self-pity or anger at his lot. Enqelâb‑e Adabi (The Literary Revolution) is one of his enchantingly humorous poems and a most remarkable piece containing scattered autobiographical remarks. In this mathnavi he talks, sometimes hilariously, about his life, his poverty, his jobs, his misfortunes, and his disappointments. But there is not a single word of serious complaint, that is, even such words are couched and coated in fun and humor. First, he talks generally about how he ended up being penniless after thirty years of work:

… ‫ ملائی‬،‫ کیسه بری‬،‫نوکری‬ ‫بعد سی سال قلمفرسائی‬ … ‫ بله قربان” گفتن‬،‫“بله قربان‬ ‫گرد سرداری سلطان رفتن‬ … ‫همسر لوطی و رقاص شدن‬ ‫مدتی خلوتی خاص شدن‬ ‫ت کیسه ام خالی و همت عالی ست‬ ‫باز هم کیسه ام از زر خالی اس‬ ‫با همه جفت و جلا و تک و پ و دان ما پش ایل نیامام ان سل سو‬ After thirty years of penmanship Being a mullah, lackey and pickpocket … Turning around the sultan’s frock-coat Keep saying “Yes majesty, yes majesty” … Sometime joining the shah’s private gatherings Together with lutis and dancers … My pockets are still empty of money My pockets are empty though intact is my dignity Despite all effort, struggle and activity In my pocket there isn’t a single penny …85

He then proceeds to describe his job situation:

‫در ادب داد تجدد دادم‬ … ‫هرخری هم به وکالت نرسد‬ ‫ نه خائن بودم‬،‫نه غلطکار‬ ‫سه مه �آواره و بی پولم کرد‬ ‫همگی کاسه بر و کیسه برند‬ ‫لایق خادم محبوب نشد‬ … ‫انسپکتر ژنرالم کردند‬

‫همه گویند که من استاد م‬ ‫هر ادیبی به جلالت نرسد‬ ‫من از این پیش معاون بودم‬ ‫جاکشی �آمد و معزولم کرد‬ ‫ مرکزیان رشوه خورند‬،‫چه کنم‬ ‫بعد گفتند که این خوب نشد‬ ‫پیش خود فکر به حالم کردند‬

85 Divân‑e Kâmel, ed. Mahjub, p. 121. In French: Dans ma poche, il n’y a même [pas] un seul sou.

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… ‫پرورش دیده در امعاء شهان‬ ‫کار اهل دل از او مشکل شد‬ … ‫پس بگو هیچ معاون نشود‬

‫یک معاون هم از �آن کج کلهان‬ ‫�آمد از راه و مزن بر دل شد‬ ‫چه کند گر متفرعن نشود‬

They all say I am a master And have modernized Persian literature Not every writer would be titled Jalal- al-Mamalek Nor would every ass be a Majles deputy … I used to be a deputy head And was neither a wrong-doer nor dishonest A pimp showed up and gave me the sack For months making me jobless and penniless What could one do when those in the capital are bribe-takers? All of them are thieves and pickpockets Then they thought they had mistreated me Mistreated a popular civil servant like me They put their heads together And made me general inspector … Later an opinionated deputy minister One of those nurtured inside the kings’ tummies … Arrived in Mashhad and behaved with arrogance Making life difficult for those with kind hearts What could he do but be arrogant He would then not be a deputy minister …86

He ends this part of the poem by describing his office work with great fun, throwing French words here and there and thus humorously describing his daily routine:

‫دوسیه کردم و کارتن ترته‬ … ‫اشتباه بروت و نت کردم‬ ‫هی تپاندم دوسیه لای شمیز‬ … ‫خاطر مدعی ارضا کردم‬ ‫از شر و شور و شعور افتادم‬ ‫نیست در دست مرا غیر زرو‬

‫بس که در لیور و هنگام لت ه‬ ‫بس که نت دادم و انکت کردم‬ ‫هی نشستم به مناعت پس میز‬ ‫هی پاراف هشتم و امضا کردم‬ ‫تو بمیری ز �آمور افتادم‬ ‫چه کنم زین همه شیفر و نومرو‬

During l’hiver as well as l’été Doing dossier and cartone traité 86 Ibid., 122.

202

SATIRE IN PERSIAN LITERATURE, 1900–1940 Sending so many notes and doing enquête Mistook brevet for note … Sitting respectably behind the desk Pushing dossier inside the chemise Putting paraphe on papers and signing Satisfying the needs of the customers … God knows I no longer feel any amoure I’ve lost my senses for sure What can I do, from all that chiffre and numéro I have nothing left for myself except zéro …87

Iraj’s brilliant use of a few French words in this poem (reminiscent of the molamma’ât of Sa’di, Hâfez and some other classics) has misled a critic into believing that that is how he was trying to bring about a ‘literary revolution.’88 This is partly due to a more general misunderstanding of the title of this poem which (if indeed it was so named by the poet himself) is simply intended to make fun of those of his contemporaries who were debating the necessity of a literary revolution, by which they meant a revolution in writing poetry.89 Apart from the title, this topic is addressed in only a few couplets. But what had necessitated that reference, was that the verse before it ended had a word (qalil al-kherad) coined by Iraj himself which mixed Persian with Arabic in an unconventional way:

‫ا لخردی ست‬ ‫ت کار انسان قلیل‬ ‫کار امروزه من کاربدی س‬ ‫شد‬ ‫عربی توام‬ ‫با‬ ‫فارسی‬ ‫ش د‬ ‫محکم‬ ‫ادبی‬ ‫انقلاب‬ My present job is worthless It’s worthy of a person of low intellect The literary revolution was just solidified Persian and Arabic got mixed up

87 Ibid., 124. 88 See Afkâr-o âthâr‑e Iraj Mirzâ, ed. Sayyed Hâdi Hâ’eri (Kurosh), second edition (Tehran, 1987). 89 Regarding the debate on ‘the literary revolution then proceeding between the journals Dâneshkade and Tajddod see, for example, Yahyâ Âryanpur, Az Sabâ tâ Nimâ, Vol. II.

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Not seeing the connection between these two verses some critics have missed the point and thought that Iraj had simply made a linguistic mistake by using the word qalil al-kherad. Finally, mention must be made of Iraj’s long poem Zohre o Manuchehr, which is apparently an unfinished piece and probably the last important poem he wrote before his untimely death. This delightful poem is based on Shakespeare’s Venus and Adonis, which was, in turn, based on a famous piece of ancient Greek mythology.90 Iraj has taken the basic idea, that Venus sees Adonis and falls madly in love with him, and then develops it in a totally original way, fluent, clear and humorous, including a wealth of imagery and metaphor. Manuchehr is a young army officer, looking like a prince of love. When he first turns down Zohre’s approach, the goddess is shocked and in a very long speech tries to entice him to embrace her:

… ‫بلکه ز من خوبتری یافتی‬ ‫گفت ز من رخ ز چه برتافتی‬ … ‫جز تو کس از بوسه من سر نخور د هیچکس این طور به من بر نخورد‬ ‫ قرضم بده‬،‫مفت نخواهم ز تو‬ ‫ گوش به عرضم بد ه‬،‫اخم مکن‬ ‫نیست در این گفته من سوسه ای گر تو به من قرض دهی بوسه ای‬ … ‫لحظه دیگر به تو پس می دهم‬ ‫بوسه دیگر سر �آن می نهم‬ ‫زحمت پای تو فراهم کنم‬ ‫من نه شکارم که ز تو رم کنم‬ ‫گیرم و در سینه کنم جا به جا‬ ‫تیر بینداز که من در هوا‬ ‫باش تو چون گربه و من موش تو موش گرفتار در �آغوش تو‬ ‫ول ده و پرتم کن و بازم بگیر‬ ‫گربه صفت ورجه و گازم بگیر‬ ‫بوسه بزن بر دهن ناف من‬ ‫دست بکش بر شکم صاف من‬ ‫گاز بگیر از لب شیرین من‬ ‫ماچ کن از سینه سیمین من‬ Why did you refuse me?, she said Perhaps you were thinking of someone better … No-one but you was ever put off by my kiss No-one responded to me like this … Don’t be cross and listen to me Not for free, give it as a loan to me There is no flaw in what I want If you give me a kiss as a loan 90 See further, Abolfath Hakimiyân, “Tahqiq pirâmun‑e afsâne-ye Zohre o Manuchehr,” Honar o mardom, nos. 165–66, 1976.

204

SATIRE IN PERSIAN LITERATURE, 1900–1940 I’ll add another kiss to it And will return it to you in a minute … I am not a kind of game who would escape Making you tired of chase Shoot an arrow into the air And I’ll grab and put it in my chest Be my cat and I’ll be your mouse A mouse right in your embrace Jump and bite me like a cat Throw me up then again catch Stroke my soft belly And kiss my navel Kiss my silvery breasts Bite my sweet lips …91

At one stage, the goddess tells her beloved that all the creators of beauty on earth—whether Michelangelo or Iraj—are under her patronage:

‫ گه هرودوت پرورم‬،‫گاه هومر‬ … ‫روی صنایع کنم از وی سفید‬ … ‫خلقت فرزانه ایرج کنم‬ ‫در دهنش تنگ شکر پرورم‬

‫ گه میکل �آنژ �آورم‬،‫گه رافائل‬ ‫گاه کمال الملک �آرم پدید‬ ‫گاه به خیل شعرا لج کنم‬ ‫گاه زنی همچو قمر پرورم‬

Once I create a Raphael and a Michelangelo Another time I nurture a Homer and a Herodotus Sometimes I create a Kamâl-al-Molk Making the arts proud of him … Sometimes I get obdurate with poets And create a sagacious poet like Iraj … Sometimes I create a woman like Qamar92 And put in her mouth a bowl of sugar …93

After a long resistance, in the end innocence gives way to love, Manuchehr surrenders, and there follows the subtle scene of their love-making: 91 Divân‑e Kâmel, ed. Mahjub, p. 102. 92 The reference is to the leading singer Qamar-al-Moluk Vaziri. 93 Ibid., p. 115.

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‫زهره پی بوسه چو رخصت گرفت بوسه خود از سر فرصت گرفت‬ ‫جست و گرفت از عقب او را به ب ر کرد دو پا حلقه بر او چون کمر‬ … ‫به به از �آن متکی و متکا‬ ‫داد سرش را به دل سینه جا‬ ‫لب به لبش هشت و مکیدن گرفت‬ ‫تار دو گیسوش کشیدن گرفت‬ ‫بوسه مگر �آتش سوزنده بود‬ ‫زهره یکی بوسه ز لعلش ربود‬ ‫رفت دگر باره به ناف اندرون‬ ‫بوسه ای از ناف در �آمد برون‬ ‫هر دو فتادند در �آغوش هم‬ ‫هوش به هم برده و مدهوش ه م‬ Once Zohreh got permission to kiss She took her time in getting her kiss Jumped and embraced him form the back Put her legs round him like a belt Then she put his head on her chest What a scene the two stuck together! … She began to pull his hair apart And put her mouth on his and sucked The kiss she took from his mouth Turned into a burning fire A kiss came out of the navel And at once returned to the navel Unconscious and stupefied They fell into each other’s arms …94

It must be pointed out that there is considerably more satire and humor in Iraj’s poetry than the scope of this article allows to be cited and discussed.

5. Mohammad-Taqi Bahâr (1886–1951) Mohammad-Taqi Bahâr (Malek-al-Sho’arâ, Poet-Laureate) is normally regarded as the last great poet writing in the Khorâsâni style, although, especially from the Constitutional Revolution onwards, many of his poems have aspects which reflect the modern period. Unlike Iraj he was a political poet, but unlike Âref, Eshqi and 94 Ibid., p. 117. See also, Abu’l-Qâsem Feyzi, “Zohra o Manuchehr: Iraj va Shakespeare,” Jahân‑e Now, 1, 2, (July 1966).

206

SATIRE IN PERSIAN LITERATURE, 1900–1940

­Farrokhi, he did not write many lampoons. Few of those he did write contain outright invectives and obscene or highly disparaging words. They are usually prompted by political or literary conflict.95 As an example of political disputes, one may cite his ­hajviyyât addressed to Sayyed Esma’il Arâqi, a fellow parliamentary deputy who had voted against the government giving Bahâr a research grant; and against Hoseyn Sabâ, a journalist who never tired of slinging mud at Bahâr in his newspaper, Setâre-ye Iran (Star of Iran).96 Among his best pieces in response to literary conflicts are those addressed to Ahmad Kasravi, because of his merciless attacks on great Persian classics such as Sa’di, Rumi and Hâfez.97 Bahâr wrote many political poems during the Constitutional Revolution. Although critical of Mohammad-Ali Shah and arbitrary rule, none of these poems was excessively vehement and scathing, as were some of Sayyed Ashraf’s of the same period.98 They certainly did not match Dehkhodâ and Mosâvât’s personal attacks on the Shah.99 There are thus neither lampoons nor readily visible satires among them.100 He supported Vosuq-al-Dowle and the 1919 agreement and so, unlike most other poets and journalists, did not attack Vosuq. He   95 For a study of the life and works of Bahâr see M. B. Loraine and J. Matīnī, Encyclopædia Iranica, s. v. Bahār, Moḥammad-Taqī. For two recent literary biographies of Bahâr, see Kâmyâr Âbedi, Ba yâd‑e mihan, zendegi va she’r‑e Malek-al-Sho’arâ Bahâr, (Tehran, 1997); Mohammad-Ali Sepnâlu, Mohammad Taqi Bahâr, Malek-al-Sho’arâ, (Tehran, 1996). For an earlier biography see Khâwje Abd-al-Hamid Erfâni, Sharh‑e ahvâl va âthâr‑e Malek-al-Sho’arâ Mohammad-Taqi Bâhar, (Tehran, 1956).   96 See Divân‑e ash’ âr‑e shâdravân Mohammad-Taqi Bahâr (Hereafter Divan), vols.1 and 2, (Tehran, 1956–1957), Vol. 2, pp. 504–7 and pp. 508–10   97 Ibid., Vol. 2, pp. 508–9 and p. 513. See also Homa Katouzian, “Kasravi va Adabiyyât,” Irân-Nâme, special issue on Ahmad Kasravi, (spring and summer 2002).   98 Hadi Hâ’eri (Kurosh) Yeksad o dahomin sâlgard‑e milâd‑e bahâr (Tehran, 1996).   99 Homa Katouzian, “The Poet-Laureate Bahâr in the Constitutional Era,” Iran, published by British Society of Persian Studies, (2002); idem, “The Poetry of the Constitutional Revolution” in H. E. Chehabi and Vanessa Martin, eds., (London and New York, 2010). 100 See Katouzian, “The Poet-Laureate Bahâr in the Constitutional Era,” and “The Poetry of the Constitutional Revolution.”

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LITERATURE OF THE EARLY TWENTIETH CENTURY

even wrote poems of praise and support for him,101 including one ghazal composed as an esteqbâl for one written by Vosuq.102 He was a friend of Sayyed Ziâ-al-Din, one of the very few journalists who supported Vosuq.103 But just after the 1921 coup, he turned down the Sayyed’s offer of cooperation with him, as a result of which he had Bahâr arrested along with many other prominent people. While in Ziâ’s jail, he wrote a scathing piece, in the form of a long qaside addressed to Ahmad Shah, apparently because the Shah had recognized the Sayyed Ziâ-Reza Khan coup and in that sense acquiesced in the arrest of politicians and notables, although Bahâr was later to learn that the Shah had had very little choice in the matter. He wrote towards the end of the poem that when the people move to avenge themselves on the Shah:

‫نه نور ضیات می شود رهبر‬

‫یاری‬ ‫کند‬ ‫رضات می‬ ‫زور‬ ‫نه‬

Neither Rezâ’s force would be of much help to you Nor Ziâ’s light would be of any use104

Ziâ, of course, literally means light. He also wrote a humorous qat’e (fragment) poking fun at his young friend and jailer. It is more like a joke than a lampoon:

‫و مندیلی‬ ‫شوخ‬ ‫دو جوانیم‬ … ‫پیلی‬ ‫و می کنی‬ ‫ستاندستی‬ ‫زر‬ … ‫شرم بادت ز ننگ فامیلی‬

‫لدین‬ ‫ا‬ ‫ضیاء‬ ‫دوای‬ ‫هر‬ ‫تو‬ ‫و‬ ‫من‬ ‫هندستان‬ ‫وجوه‬ ‫از‬ ‫تو کنون‬ ‫میکنی �آوخ‬ ‫حبس‬ ‫تو مرا‬

You and I, O’ Ziâ-al-Din, are both Two humorous young men with little turbans This minute you’ve got some money From India’s budget, and look mighty105 101 Bahâr, Divân‑e ash’ âr, 1, 309–10; 2, 489–92; the 1919 agreement was erroneously believed to be intended to turn Iran into a British protectorate for a very long time; see further n. 32 above. 102 Bahâr, Divân‑e ash’ âr, 2, p. 395. 103 Mohammad Golbon, Boland âftâb‑e khorâsân: yâd-nâme-ye Ostâd Mo­ hammad-Taqi Malek al-Sho’arâ Bahâr be monâsebat‑e panjâhomin sâlgard‑e dargozesht‑e u, (Tehran, 2001). 104 Bahâr, Divân, Vol. 1, pp. 323–24. 105 Here Bahâr is alluding to the belief that Ziâ had been paid by the British.

208

SATIRE IN PERSIAN LITERATURE, 1900–1940 You dare to put me in jail, alas Shame on you blotting your name …106

Before looking closely at Bahâr’s most original and longest political poem, the Jomhuri-nâme, it is worth mentioning two of his major satirical poems about superstitious ideas and behavior, criticizing some of the rituals of Moharram, which commemorate the martyrs of Karbalâ. The first is a qaside written as early as 1919:

‫از زمین �آه و فغان را زیب گردون می کنند‬ … ‫می کنند‬ ‫خون‬ ‫پر‬ ‫خویش‬ ‫فرق‬ ‫گه کفن پوشیده‬ … ‫شب کون می کنند‬ ‫می خوانند و‬ ‫نوحه‬ ‫ظهر تا شب‬ … ‫شامش از دروازۀ دولاب بیرون می کنند‬ ‫می کنند‬ ‫�آه و زاری‬ ‫ایشان‬ ‫در زیر‬ ‫خران‬ ‫وین‬

‫ری خود را دگرگون می کنند‬ ‫در محرم اهل‬ ‫گاه عریان گشته با زنجیر می کوبند پشت‬ ‫اشک‬ ‫میریزند‬ ‫ظهر‬ ‫جؐنؑب تا‬ ‫جسته‬ ‫بر‬ ‫صبح‬ ‫حسین‬ ‫روزی‬ ‫شمران اگر‬ ‫دروازۀ‬ ‫از‬ ‫�آید‬ ‫می کنن د‬ ‫سواری‬ ‫رندان خر‬ ‫تا خرند این قوم‬

In Moharram the Tehranis experience a metamorphosis The sound of their sigh and wail rises to high heavens Stripping off, they beat their shoulders with chains Wearing a shroud, they flood their heads with blood … They rise in the morning, don’t wash their pollution, and weep until noon From noon till night they wail, then indulge in sodomy … If one day Hoseyn enters town through the Shemrân Gate By night they kick him out through the Dulâb Gate … While there are these donkeys, the cunning take a ride Under them these donkeys sigh and cry107

The other major poem on this subject is a tarkib-band with two long stanzas, which he wrote in 1926:

… ‫من با کی ام‬ ،‫زن‬ ‫زنجیر زن قداره‬ ‫زن‬ ‫ی سینه‬ ‫دسته ا‬ ،‫دین‬ ‫بی‬ ‫دسته ای دزدند و‬ ‫… خلق ایران‬ … ‫بزن من با کی ام‬ ‫گویدش بر خود‬ ‫لیک شیطان‬ ‫گویم این قداره را بر گردن دشمن بزن‬ … ‫من با کی ام‬ ‫پیرهن‬ ‫خوردند این شپش ها خون ت و او شپش می جوید اندر‬ ‫�آخوند‬ ‫ی‬ ‫ا‬ ‫گویم‬ ­… Some Iranians are thieves and irreligious, while others Beat their breasts and hit their heads with daggers; to whom am I talking? … 106 Bahâr, Divân, Vol. 2, p. 512. 107 Bahâr, Divân, Vol. 1, pp. 307–9.

209

LITERATURE OF THE EARLY TWENTIETH CENTURY I tell him to hit the dagger on the enemy’s neck But Satan tells him to hit himself; to whom am I talking? … I say O’ âkhund your blood was sucked by lice He is looking for lice in his garment; to whom am I talking? …108

As mentioned above, during the campaign to establish a republic in 1923–24, several poems were written, mostly against it. But in many ways the best was the long mosammat entitled ‘The Republic Saga’ ( Jomhuri-nâme). It was secretly circulated, and was generally believed to have been the work of Eshqi, although, as mentioned, it was a collaboration between Eshqi, who contributed four of its forty stanzas, and Poet-Laureate Bahâr. ‘The Republic Saga’ is a satirical poem which describes, more or less faithfully, the republican campaign and its failure, from the viewpoint of its opponents. Its semi-colloquial language, and crypto-journalistic narrative style of reporting, and the fact that it comments on a contemporary event, make it almost unique among Persian satirical poems of the twentieth century:

‫جوانمرد‬ ‫خان‬ ‫بمانند رضا‬ ‫فرد‬ ‫یک‬ ‫ملک‬ ‫شود در‬ ‫پیدا‬ ‫اگر‬ ‫باید ضایعش کرد‬ ‫به فکر این که‬ ‫کنندش دوره فورا چند ولگرد‬ ‫تاج بگذار‬ ‫�آن‬ ‫خویشتن‬ ‫به فرق‬ ‫بردار‬ ‫شه تاج‬ ‫سر‬ ‫از‬ ‫بگویند‬ ‫دریغ از راه دور و رنج بسیار‬ ‫انقلابی‬ ‫سرخ‬ ‫های‬ ‫علامت‬ ‫�آفتابی‬ ‫بار سازیم‬ ‫نخستین‬ ‫چو گشتی تو رییس انتخابی‬ ‫حسابی‬ ‫حرفی‬ ‫بود‬ ‫جمهوری‬ ‫که‬ ‫پادشاهی را سزاوار‬ ‫بود خود‬ ‫بباید گفت کین مرد فداکار‬ … ‫دریغ از راه دور و رنج بسیار‬ ‫علمدارش بود شیطان رشتی‬ ‫چو جمهوری شود �آقای دشتی‬ ‫نشیند عصرها در توی هشتی‬ ‫تدین �آن سفیه کهنه مشتی‬ ‫ز حلاج و ز رواس و ز سمار‬ ‫کند کور و کچل‌ها را خبردار‬ )…( ‫دریغ از راه دور و رنج بسیار‬ ‫ز عدل الملک بشنو یک حکایت که �آن بالا بلند بی کفایت‬ ‫کندگاهی تدین را حمایت‬ ‫میانجی گشته بین بول و غایط‬ ‫که سازد این دو را با یکدگر یار‬ ‫شود گاهی سلیمان را مددکار‬ )…( ‫دریغ از راه دور و رنج بسیار‬ 108 Bahâr, Divân, Vol. 1, pp. 387–90.

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‫ز کمپانی نماید حق‌شناسی‬ ‫ �آن رند سیاسی‬،‌‫دبیر اعظم‬ ‫به افسون‌های نرم دیپلوماسی‬ ‫زند تیپا به قانون اساسی‬ ‫که جمهوری نباشد کار دشوار‬ ‫به سردار سپه گوید به اصرار‬ ‫دریغ از راه دور و رنج بسیار‬ ‫به همراهی اعضای معارف‬ ‫نمایش می‌دهد این هفته عارف‬ ‫که جمهوری ندارد یک مخالف‬ ‫شود معلوم با جزئی مصارف‬ ‫که مشروطه ندارد یک طرفدار‬ ‫مدلل می‌شود با ضرب و با تار‬ ‫دریغ از راه دور و رنج بسیار‬ ‫ ستاره‬،‌‫ گلشن‬،‌‫ وطن‬،‌‫ کوشش‬،‌‫شفق‬ ‫نمودم من جراید را اداره‬ ‫دگر معنی ندارد استخاره‬ ‫قیامت می‌شود با یک اشاره‬ ‫به زورکنفرانس و نطق و اشعار‬ ‫همین فردا شود غوغا پدیدار‬ )…( ‫دریغ از راه دور و رنج بسیار‬ ‫که فوری خواست سرپرسی لرن را‬ ‫موافق گشته لندن این سخن را‬ ‫فرستم پیش او استاد فن را‬ ‫برد گر شومیاتسکی سوء ظن را‬ ‫کریم رشتی �آن شیاد طرار‬ ‫همان مهتر نسیم رند عیار‬ )…(‫دریغ از راه دور و رنج بسیار‬ ­… When someone shows up in this land Like the chivalrous Reza Khan He becomes surrounded by a few tramps Who, bent on corrupting him, Tell him to remove the Shah’s crown And put it on your own head ­—Alas the long way and great suffering At first we shall put out Red revolutionary signs That republic is a good idea And after you become an elected president We would say that this self-less man Surely deserves to be shah. ­—Alas the long way and great suffering … When there appears a republican in Mr. [Ali] Dashti His standard bearer being that devil of a Rashti [Mirzâ Karim Khân] [Sayyed Mohammad]Tadayyon, that insane old Mashti Sits every night in the entrance of his home (hashti)

211

LITERATURE OF THE EARLY TWENTIETH CENTURY Summons the riffraff up to the hashti From cotton-whippers to pawn-brokers ­—Alas the long way and great suffering Listen to a tale about Adl-al-Molk That tall and useless bloke Between shit and piss he tries to mediate He sometimes to Tadayyon lends support Other times becomes Soleymân [Mirzâ Eskandari]’s assistant To bring these two together ­—Alas the long way and great suffering … Dabir‑e A’zam [Faraj-Allâh Bahrâmi], that political rogue Shows his gratitude to the Oil Company Kicking the constitution out of the way By the use of soft diplomatic spells He tells Sardâr‑e Sepah emphatically That declaring a republic is very easy ­—Alas the long way and great suffering: Âref is putting on a show this week With the support of the ministry of culture It’ll be clear with a little expenditure That republicanism has no opponent It’ll be proven with the drum and the târ That constitutionalism has no-one on its side ­—Alas the long way and great suffering I am mobilizing the newspapers— Shafaq, Golshan, Vatan, Kushesh, Setâre There will be sensation at a stroke So dilly-dallying no longer makes sense From tomorrow there will be a lot of noise By the force of conferences, speeches and poems ­—Alas the long way and great suffering The idea has been approved by London That quickly summoned Sir Percy Loraine109

109 Sir Percy Loraine (1880-1961) served as a diplomat in Tehran as Envoy Extraordinary and Minister Plenipotentiary between 1921 and 1926.

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SATIRE IN PERSIAN LITERATURE, 1900–1940 If Shumiyatsky110 gets suspicious I’ll send him that master fixer That same duplicitous rogue Karim‑e Rashti that devil of a conjuror ­—Alas the long way and great suffering …

And about one of the enthusiastic campaigners:

‫برای کارهای محرمانه‬ ‫از ایران رهنما گشته روانه‬ ‫زده در بصره و بغداد چانه‬ ‫گرفته پول‌های بی‌نشانه‬ ‫که جمهوری شود این ملک ادبار نه من گویم خودش کرده است اقرار‬ ‫دریغ از راه دور و رنج بسیار‬ [Zeyn-al-Âbedin] Rahnemâ has departed from Iran To see to important confidential matters He has received unlimited moneys And has haggled in Basra and Baghdad For this wretched country to become a republic It’s not just my word, he’s confessed to it ­—Alas the long way and great suffering

And about another:

‫کند از بهر جمهوری هیاهو‬ ‫ضیاء الواعظین �آن لوس ریقو‬ ‫چه جمهوری‌! عجب دارم من از او مگر او غافل است از قصد یارو‬ ‫همان‌طوری که کرد �آن مرد افشار‬ ‫که می‌خواهد نشیند جای قاجار‬ ‫دریغ از راه دور و رنج بسیار‬ Ziâ-al-Vâ’ezin, that silly midget Is making a lot of noise for republic What republic, I am surprised at him Who seems not to know the bloke’s real aim That he wishes to succeed the Qajars Just as did that man of the Afshârs ­—Alas the long way and great suffering 110 Boris Zakharovich Shumiyatsky’s (1886-1938) name is commonly associated with the Soviet film industry, but he was also politically active, serving the Soviet regime after the Russian Revolution. He was Soviet ambassador in Persia from 1923 to 1925.

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The long saga continues, describing details of the campaign and campaigners and showing how it failed. Reza Khan resigned as prime minister but the provincial army chiefs threatened to march on Tehran if he did not return to office:

‫رسید از احمد �آقا تلگرافات‬ ‫به تعلیمات مرکز با گزافات‬ ‫نمایند از رضاخان دفع �آفات‬ ‫که سرباز لرستان و مضافات‬ ‫سوی مرکز پی تنبیه احرار‬ ‫قشون غرب گردد زود سیار‬ )…( ‫دریغ از راه دور و رنج بسیار‬ On instructions from the capital General Ahmad Âqâ111 sent telegrams That the army of Lorestân and others besides Will relieve Reza Khan from calamities The Army Group West will quickly move To punish the freedom-seekers in the Center ­—Alas the long way and great suffering

Thus members of parliament were intimidated, and voted for the return of Reza Khan to premiership:

‫ز جای خویش از وحشت پریدند‬ ‫وکیلان این تشرها چون شنیدند‬ ‫نود رای موافق �آفریدند‬ ‫به تنبان‌های خود از ترس ریدند‬ ‫سلیمان بن محسن شد علمدار‬ ‫بر این جمعیت مرعوب گه کار‬ ‫دریغ از راه دور و رنج بسیار‬ When the deputies heard these threats They jumped off their chairs Shitting in their pants out of fear They put together ninety ‘yes’ votes ­—This society of shit rollers was led By Soleymân son of Mohsen (Eskandari)112 ­—Alas the long way and great suffering113

111 Major General Ahmad Âqâ Khan of the Persian Cossacks later became Iran’s first lieutenant general and was known as General Amir-Ahmadi. 112 Solyemân Mirzâ (son of Mohsen Mirzâ Kafil-al-Dowle) was leader of the parliamentary socialist faction and later adopted the surname Eskandari. 113 Bahâr, Divân, Vol. 1, pp. 359–70.

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Bahâr’s major political poem after the change of dynasty in 1925– 26 is Kâr-nâme-ye zendân (‘Prison Report’). It is in the classical genre of habsiyyât (‘prison poetry’), but is otherwise a thoroughly modern poem, entirely appropriate to its time, place and circumstances. Since it is also a long mathnavi, it contains, following the classical tradition, not only an account of his repeated arrests, interrogation and imprisonment, but also other tales, both satirical and didactic.114 One moment in this long and curiously entertaining poem stands out: when he asks the police chief why he is persecuting him, knowing that he is innocent. The answer could have come from a novel by Kafka. The police chief answers that Bahâr must have wronged someone in the past and is now suffering in retribution for that. If that is true, Bahâr asks, what will happen to the police chief himself, who is knowingly wronging him? “I must confess,” says the police chief, “I do worry about the future.”115

In contrast to the above, in a very short and brilliant qat’e, also written in and about prison, Bahâr describes the moment he tried to go to the lavatory and was stopped by a prison officer who said he must obtain permission: “Please note my friends that there was no one ever but me / Who did not shit without the state’s permission.” Bahâr wrote a few political lampoons in that period which he kept close to his chest until the 1940 s, when he also wrote a few similar new pieces, this time more humorous than scathing, but they fall outside the period under study.116

6. Mohammad-Ali Jamâlzâde (1892–1997) Mohammad-Ali Jamâlzâde was one of the most humorous writers of the twentieth century, but different from Dehkhodâ in that he was a fiction writer rather than an essayist or poet. He was more 114 Bahâr, Divân, Vol. 2, pp. 2–123. 115 Ibid., p. 110. 116 Mohammad-Ali Sepânlu, Bahâr: Mohammad-Taqi, Malek al-Sho’arâ, (Tehran, 1996).

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of a social than a political critic, and most of his satire was a good deal more subtle. He has been traditionally known as the founder of modern Persian fiction. This is acceptable if it means that with the publication of his Yeki bud-o yeki nabud (Once upon a Time), modern Persian fiction, which had begun to emerge from the late nineteenth century, came of age. Jamâlzâde brought satire and wit to modern Persian fiction. Humor was almost second nature to him as was the art of sheer story-telling, although there is hardly anything in his fiction that does not have some kind of social or moral purpose, however implicit. The collection of the six short stories published in 1921 certainly marks a watershed in the development of modern Persian fiction. The author lived in Berlin when, in 1921, the book was published in Tehran and caused a great sensation. The immediate causes of its success were more socio-political than literary. The book was enthusiastically received by modern scholars and intellectuals. But some of the olamâ found it blasphemous and held a meeting in Jâme’ Mosque to condemn it, although others, who included some olamâ and committed Muslims, organized a counter-meeting in its support in the Sepahsâlâr Mosque. “Cudgels of excommunication were raised, and cries of ‘Oh Shari’a help!’ were shouted,” as Sayyed Abd-al-Rahim Khalkhâli reported in a long letter to the author.117 The objection must in the first place have been to the short story “Bila dig bila choghondar” (‘the Beetroot Fits the Pan’ or ‘They Are One of a Kind’), which, as is clear from the title, is presented in a humorous garb. It contained scathing criticism of both of the bureaucratic establishment and religious leaders and figures. The short story “Dard‑e del‑e Mollâ Qorbân-Ali” (‘Mollâ Qorbân-Ali Pouring Out His Heart’) may have been a further cause of the backlash, since it ends with the Mollâ being jailed for kissing the lips of a dead girl in the mosque, although ‘kissing’ here may have been intended to represent a more serious sexual offence. Finally, the caricaturing of mollâs and their artificially Arabicized Persian 117 See Khalkhâli’s letter in Mohammad-Ali Jamâlzâde, Shahkâr (Amu H ­ oseyn-​ Ali), (Tehran, 1942), pp. B-J.

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in “Fârsi shekar ast” (‘Persian is Sweet’)—the first short story in the collection—is likely to have added insult to injury. This story is indeed the most satirical of them all. Contrary to common belief, the language in these stories is not folksy and full of slang (âmiyâne). The narrative is in a simple colloquial style, and the form of the dialogues is determined by the social class and cultural attributes of the characters. The background to Jamâlzâde’s distinct, narrative prose is the simple and easy style of modern prose and poetry which blossomed in revolutionary journalism during the Constitutional Revolution, and, as noted, reached its heights in Ali-Akbar Dehkhodâ’s prose and Sayyed Ashraf-al-Din’s poetry, except that here it is applied to fiction. As noted, the most famous and humorous short story in Once upon a Time is “Persian is Sweet.” It employs verbal as well as dramatic satire to very good effect. The narrator has returned home after spending a few years in Europe, in full European dress and bowler hat which makes him look like a European traveler. But no sooner has he disembarked at Port Anzali than he is arrested and temporarily imprisoned in a dark, windowless warehouse together with a pseudo-Europeanized dandy in an adapted European outfit and a religious figure in a black robe and white turban. Then the door is flung open and they throw in a common man. Being both angry and puzzled at this treatment, he looks around, sees the other inmates, and naturally decides to take his complaint to the preacher. The mollâ responds to his question in such a clumsily Arabicized Persian that not a word of it is intelligible to him. Repeating his question, Ramezân, the common man, gets a similar response from the mollâ. Since he thinks the narrator is European, the common man turns to the pseudo-European dandy and asks for sympathy. He responds in a strange and incomprehensible language, not only mixing Persian and French words, but also translating French sentences and expressions verbatim into Persian. Ramezân, the common man, tries once again and gets a similar response from the dandy. He is then seized by absolute terror thinking that he is in the company of jinns (genii), and keeps banging on the door asking to be taken out and tortured rather than kept in that company. At 217

LITERATURE OF THE EARLY TWENTIETH CENTURY

this point the narrator goes forward and astonishes him with great joy by speaking to him in plain Persian. The speeches of the mollâ and the dandy must be read in Persian to be able to appreciate their full humorous effect.118 All the principal socio-cultural types among twentieth century Iranians are represented in the story: the traditionalist, the pseudo-modernist, the common man, normally led by the first or second type, and the modern type, belonging to a small minority, who was neither an obscurantist nor so in awe of Europe and things European as to have lost his cultural and psychological balance. Seen from this angle, this short story would seem to have mapped out the basic sociology of Iran in the twentieth century long before it came into full view.119 The theme of ‘Persian is Sweet’ is similar to Hasan Moqaddam’s (nom de plume, Ali Nowruz, 1897–1925) Ja’ far Khân az Farang âmade (‘Ja’far Khan has Returned from the West’) which was published at almost the same time, but ‘Persian is Sweet’ is richer and more elaborate, there is a social as well as political background to the story, and there are four distinct voices compared to the two in Moqaddam’s story. Moqaddam’s story is a brilliant satire on the emerging pseudo-modernism—the zest to emulate European culture superficially—which had begun to sweep over the modernist elite. Young Ja’far Khân has returned from Paris—where he has been studying—to Tehran. He puzzles his family by speaking a rudimentary Persian in a French accent, saying he does not like qoghme-sabzi (cf. qorme-sabzi) and he no longer wishes to marry his cousin Zinat, while intermittently speaking to his dog. There are only two voices in Ja’ far Khân, the modern and the traditional, whereas in Jamâlzâde’s there are four, the mollâ’s, the dandy’s, the peasant’s and the narrator’s.120 Another short story in the collection, Rajol‑e siyâsi (‘The Politician’) is a fictional critique of the corrupt and chaotic politics that 118 “Yeki bud yeki nabud” in Fârsi shekar ast, (Tehran, 1960). 119 See further, Homa Katouzian, “Yeki bud yeki nabud: fârsi shekar ast,” special article in Jamâlzâde’s memoriam, Mehregân, (Winter 1998). 120 For a detailed description of Moqddam’s play see Yahyâ Âryanpur, Az Sabâ tâ Nimâ, Vol. 2, pp. 305–10.

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followed the Constitutional Revolution. While the old Qajar civil servants (who used to be described as “lackeys of the state”), the higher olamâ, and some provincial magnates inherited the power of the fallen arbitrary state, constitutional politics also afforded some members of the new classes—merchants, shop-keepers and the lower olamâ—a taste of political power. One of these is Sheykh Ja’far Hallâj (‘the cotton carder’), whose business all day long is to whip raw cotton to get it fluffy for use in pillows and eiderdowns. Their neighbor Hâjj Ali has joined the Democrat party and is now an important member of their community. He has become a role model, in the eyes of Sheykh Ja’far’s wife’s, who constantly pressures her husband to become a political agitator and mob leader.121 One day they decide to shut down the bazaar and gather outside the Majles to protest against some unknown grievance. Ja’far seizes his opportunity shouting “the motherland is about to be ruined,” “unity, unanimity, fraternity,” “if the Shah doesn’t support us then we’ll bring him down too,” etc. Soon he finds his way into the parliament as a delegate from the crowd which is gathered outside, is interviewed by a newspaper, and is contacted by a magnate’s agent who gives him money to help his master’s campaign to become prime minister. And so on.122 In this story, Jamâlzâde has captured the essence of popular politics, not only during the chaos that followed the Constitutional Revolution, but in the rest of the twentieth century whenever pure idealism turned in reality into disunity and disorder. It may look like a somewhat cynical representation because the original idealism is absent from the picture, although the story begins when the idealism has already given way to chaos, corruption and cynicism. Apart from verbal satire, what gives it its subtle satirical effect is the incidental description of how the crowd or mob is quickly mobilized by a few outlandish or utopian slogans.123 121 Jamâlzade “Rajol‑e siyâsi” in Fârsi shekar ast. 122 See further, Homa Katouzian, “Jamâlzâde’s short stories in the Constitutional period,” Mehregân, (spring 1999). 123 Homa Katouzian, “Yeki bud yeki nabud: hekâyâti az mashrute, amperiâlism va eshq o jonun,” Darbâre-ye Jamâlzâde va Jamâlzâde-shenâsi, (Tehran, 2003).

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As noted, when Once upon a Time was published in Berlin in 1921 it was received with enthusiasm and condemnation in Iran. For the next twenty years, Jamâlzâde virtually stopped writing fiction, explicitly in response to being condemned and excommunicated by the clerics. His decision earned him a friendly rebuke from Mohammad Qazvini, who wrote that his refusal to continue writing was tantamount to the betrayal of Iran and the Persian language.124 The preface to the first edition of his next work, the novel Dâr-al-Majânin (‘The Lunatic Asylum’) is dated 1940.125 This is a subjective and psychological story rather than a critique of the social framework, portraying characters rather than social types. Despite the misery, depression, madness and tragedy that unfold through it, it retains the joviality and entertaining quality typical of Jamâlzâde’s narrative, sometimes to the point of being killingly funny. Having lost his parents at a young age, the narrator Mahmud moves into the home of his uncle, a well-to-do but miserly old merchant, and falls madly in love with his daughter Belqeys. The uncle disapproves of their love and hope of marrying, and turns Mahmud out of his home. He moves in with his friend Homayun, a psychiatrist who himself is far from normal and one day disappears on a journey to the sea, the symbol of perfect freedom. His other close friend is Rahim, a mathematical genius who is obsessed with the numbers 1 and 2—to him, symbols of good and evil—and ends up in the town’s asylum. Shahbâji Khânom, Rahim’s mother, is constantly consulting seers, soothsayers, fortune-tellers and the like in the hope of saving his son from demon possession. She is the funniest character of the novel. In his visits to Rahim in the asylum, Mahmud gets to know some of the other inmates, the most attractive and interesting one being Hedâyat-Ali Khân‑e Buf‑e Kur (Hedâyat-Ali Khân of the Blind Owl), otherwise known as Monsieur, a brilliant intellectual 124 For the full text of Qazvini’s letter see Jamâlzada, Shahkâr (Amu Hoseyn’ali), pp. H–Z; see also Homa Katouzian, “Shahkâr‑e shahkâr-kâre,” Iranshenâsi, (Spring 2000). 125 Mohammad-Ali Jamâlzâda, Dâr-al-majânin, (Tehran, 1942), p. 8.

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from an upper-class family. The allusion to Sâdeq Hedâyat could not have been made more obvious although Hedâyat-Ali Khân is a fictional character whose life-story the narrator bases on the main figures in Hedâyat’s psycho-fictions, particularly “Buried Alive.” “Three Drops of Blood,” “Puppet behind the Curtain,” The Blind Owl and “Dead End.” Meanwhile Mahmud’s situation goes from bad to worse. He has no job or money, one of his best friends has gone mad, the other has gone to the sea, and completely disappeared. He is lovesick and his uncle is as hostile as ever to the love between him and his cousin. At the same time Hedâyat-Ali keeps tempting him to feign madness, so he will also be committed and the two of them can enjoy a care-free life in each other’s company in the asylum. In the midst of all this, Rahim’s mother brings him the news that his uncle has decided to marry Belqeys to the son of a rich merchant. This is the last straw: Mahmud decides to “go mad.” He writes fantastic letters to the director of the asylum and to his uncle’s manager, Rahim’s father, and generally behaves in such a way that there is no doubt about his insanity. They put him in the asylum. The letters, competently written in the style of the late nineteenth century bureaucracy, look very authentic and are extremely funny. His argument outside his door with the traders from whom he had ordered goods he was not prepared to pay for is another short satirical masterpiece. The first couple of months pass almost joyfully. With outside pressures shaken off, Mahmud enjoys the peace of the asylum and its delightful garden. Suddenly the wheel of fortune turns in the outside world. The uncle dies. Shahbâji Khânom brings Mahmud the news and urges him to leave the asylum forthwith to marry Belqeys and save her inheritance from the ill intentions of the sharks. Easy! Mahmud sees his doctor and tells him that all this while he has been feigning madness, and now he wishes to leave. The doctor politely dismisses him. He tries to slip out of the asylum gate but the gate keeper stops him. At night he tries to jump off the roof of the asylum, but it is an impossible fall, and the passing drunk in the alley cannot help him either. This experience is described with an underlying humor, which is enhanced by the 221

LITERATURE OF THE EARLY TWENTIETH CENTURY

description of the drunkard’s behavior down below. He tries the doctor again but to no avail. Almost at the same time, Rahim goes totally insane, and Hedâyat-Ali dies of suspected suicide. When the novel finishes Mahmud is still in the asylum. However, even in this very short summary of the story, it is easy to discern the effective use of irony as well as satire, not least the irony of fate.126 Jamâlzâde’s later novels and stories did not quite measure up to the first two, but four of them were interesting and worthwhile, and in parts brilliant, and all of them have humorous aspects. They are Amu Hoseyn-Ali or Shahkâr (‘Amu Hoseyn-Ali’ or ‘Masterpiece’); Sar o tah yek karbâs or Isfahan-nâme (‘All of the Same Cloth’ or ‘The Isfahan Saga’); Qoltashan Divân (‘Squire Bully’); Râhâb-nâme (‘The Drains Saga’). However these works were published in the 1940 s and so fall outside this study.127

7. Sâdeq Hedâyat (1903–1951) Generally speaking, Sâdeq Hedâyat has three main targets in his satire: the literary establishment; the political establishment; and the religious establishment and community. One satire, Tup‑e Morvâri (‘The Morvâri Cannon’), the last he ever wrote, brings all these targets together in a frenzy of wrath and laughter, and—in psychological terms—is the satirical counterpart to his following (and last published) work, Payâm‑e Kafkâ (‘Kafka’s Message’). However these were written in the 1940 s and therefore need not detain us here.128 Hedâyat’s debt to Jamâlzâde in this as in some other respects is clear. His display of humor in his stories and other works reflects Jamâlzâde’s, but unlike Jamâlzâde, his humor often tends to be biting, 126 See further, Homa Katouzian, “Darolmajânin,” Irân-Nâme, special issue on Jamâlzâda, (winter 1998). 127 For a comprehensive study of Jamâlzâda’ works, see Katouzian, Darbâra-ye Jamâlzâda va Jamâlzâda-shenâsi. 128 See the Introduction in Sadeq Hedayat: His Work and His Wondrous World, ed. Homa Katouzian, (London and New York, 2008).

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and sometimes bitter or venomous. He too makes the reader laugh with his satirical works and jibes. Though they are seldom coarse or rude, it is not difficult to detect the anger beneath their surface. His humor is displayed through both verbal and dramatic satire, in short stories, novels, short and long anecdotes, mockery and jibes. His satirical fiction almost invariably ridicules one of the three powerful establishments noted above. The author applies his knowledge of these establishments and their ways, his own negative personal judgment of them, and his remarkable wit to produce fiction, which is always funny and sometimes hilarious. His works hit hard at their subjects, usually with effective subtlety, although​ ­—particularly in his satires of the 1940 s—outright lampooning, denunciation and invective reveal the depth of the author’s personal involvement in his fiction. They often reflect intense conscious or unconscious anger and defiance. The anger is evidently motivated by many factors: social backwardness and the high degree of violence in society, literary traditionalism, political bullying, the contempt and disregard which the author feels from the literary establishment and, finally, the hatred he has for his own shortcomings, the personality traits which, despite his high intelligence and great literary talent, prevent him enjoying a relatively good life like those whom he terms ‘the happy and stupid’ or ‘the rabble’ (rajjâle-hâ) in his psycho-fictions, especially The Blind Owl. In a letter to Mojtabâ Minovi, he writes that he intends to transcribe some Pahlavi texts, and goes on to add: And we’ll add a glossary to it as well. I used the royal ‘we.’ Why not? It would have the additional benefit of burning the asses of the literati [i. e. make them intensely jealous].129 Incidentally, ‘why not’ is written in English, in the middle of the Persian text. These are the same literati that Hedâyat and Mas’ud Farzâd130 had ridiculed in a jointly written piece in Vagh-vagh sâhâb (‘­Mister 129 See Mahmud Katirâ’i, Ketâb‑e Sâdeq Hedâyat, (Tehran, 1970), pp. 129–31; Homa Katouzian, “Sâdeq Hedâyat dar Hend,” Sâdeq Hedâyat va marg‑e nevisande, (Tehran, 2005), pp. 155–56. 130 Mas’ud Farzâd was a poet and literary critic. He was Iran’s cultural attaché in London in the 1950s and became professor of English at the Pahlavi University of Shiraz later. He is best known as a critic of Hâfiz.

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Bow Wow,’ see below) and who have been described as ‘a bunch of knowledge salesmen (ma’lumât forush).’ But he immediately turns against himself, and declares that all of his efforts have been worthless: It’s just like the guy whom the thieves robbed and whose wife they fucked, and he was happy that he was putting his foot out of the circle which they had drawn around him [and out of which they had forbidden him to put a single step while they were busy raping his wife]. I’ve also thought up other worthless plans, just like the hopes that [in another anecdote] the blind man was pinning on his prick.131

The attack on the political establishment—except in Hâjji Âqâ which, together with one or two political allegories, and one short story, he wrote in the 1940 s—is usually indirect but not difficult to detect in many of his works. The literary establishment of the time is mocked and ridiculed, for example, in the Ghaziye-ye ekhtelât-numche (‘The Case of the Gabbing’), effectively and— allowing for the inevitable elements of caricature—with reasonable accuracy. In ‘The Patriot,’ (Mihanparast) a short story which ridicules both the literary and political establishment, the names of real-life literary-political figures can even be deduced from the story and the names of their fictional equivalents. Hedâyat’s satirical fiction is paralleled by some of his reviews of the literary establishment’s works, full as they are of merciless jibes, such as his reviews of Farhang‑e Farhangestân (‘the Dictionary of the Literary Academy’) and of a contemporary edition of Khamseye Nezâmi (‘Nezâmi’s quintet,’ see below). The damage is at its worst when he exposes the authors’ silly mistakes. What follows is an introduction to the variety of his dramatic, anecdotal and verbal satire, by selecting some of the best in each category, written before 1940.

131 Ibid. For the full story of the blind man and his hopes see, Amirqoli Amini, Dâstân-hâ-ye amthâl.

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SATIRE IN PERSIAN LITERATURE, 1900–1940

‘The Islamic Mission to European Countries’ ‘The Islamic Mission to European Countries’ (Al-bi’that al-islâmiya ila’al-bilâd al-afranjiya’) was written in Paris in 1930, in the form of three newspaper reports. It appeared in print for the first time in 1970 in a book which was quickly banned by the censors.132 However, Hedâyat himself had once circulated a few typed copies of it among his friends, and the original hand-written copy was reproduced by an opposition group, in Paris, in the early 1980 s.133 Together with The Legend of Creation (Afsâne-ye âfarinesh, which was also written in 1930, but published in France as late as 1946)134 it is one of the earliest examples of Hedâyat’s dramatic satire, but the drama in the satire, though cleverly designed, is rather limited in scope. Its overriding objective is to set a framework for critical comment, biting ridicule, and venomous denunciation. The ‘reports’ are said to have been translated from an Arabic newspaper. This is an Islamic journal called al-Manjelâb-al-Sudân (‘The Sewage of Sudan’), but the reporter is evidently Christian, since his name is Ebn-Ishâq al-Yasu’i or ‘Son of Isaac the Jesuit.’ In the first article, the reporter describes the proceedings of a conference of Islamic dignitaries in Samarra, ‘a blessed city of Arabia.’ The conference is attended by representatives from various Islamic countries, and charged with selecting a group of missionaries to spread Islam among the people of Europe, ‘whose heart,’ says the conference chairman, ‘is darker than the Black Stone [of Mecca.]’ In the end, they select four of the conference members, Tâj-al-Motekallemin (‘Crown of the Preachers’), Andalib-al-Islâm (‘Nightingale of Islam’), Sokkân-al-shari’a (‘Rudder of Islamic Law’) and Sonnat-al-Aqtâb (‘Source of Spiritual Leaders’). One of them is the author of Zubdat-al-nijâsât,—or ‘The Choicest Filth’— which by common agreement is an important book on the Shari’a. 132 Mahmud Katirâ’i, Ketâb‑e Sâdeq Hedâyat. 133 This hand-written copy is the source of our short account of the story which follows. 134 The book was published in a hundred copies in Paris, in 1946, by Hedâyat’s close friend Hasan Shahid-Nurâ’i.

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The ‘caravan of Islam’ finally reaches Berlin, its first destination, and leaves the train after paying fines for damages caused by cooking, burning the seat, etc. However they have hardly arrived at the city when one of them disappears with the mission’s funds. The missionaries seem to be attracting much public attention. They are watched and photographed by the public, and invited by a film producer to play in three films, one which is called ‘The Way of the Baboon.’ They are also approached by a representative of the circus. Meanwhile, Crown of the Preachers is arrested for smoking opium, and the remaining two missionaries are invited to visit the Zoo by its director. Two and a half years later, the reporter, who has now been transferred to Paris, comes across the three men in a bar in Montmartre. They are now called Jean, Jimmy and Job, and are making a living as barmen, card sharps and pimps. It turns out that the missionary who had stolen the funds is also in Paris: having squandered the money, he is now a doorman at the Folies Bergères. When the reporter asks one of them how they managed to get to Paris, he tells him that for some time they lived as guests at the Berlin Zoo, whose Director also managed to obtain the release of their opium-smoking colleague from jail: Pity you were not there. Girls as pretty as the sun used to come and watch us. I picked up one of them myself … The people used to laugh at our [simulation of religious performances], they used to clap for us and newspapers used to print our pictures. People in the Islamic world were thinking that we were seriously spreading the faith … and we began to receive donations from Muslims in every corner of the globe.

And to the reporter’s moral reproach, he replies: What religion, what nonsense? Is Islam anything but looting and killing? You either have to be a Muslim and live according to the book of Choicest Filths, or you’ll be killed. This is the whole logic of Islam, i. e. the sharp sword and the begging bowl.

What about all the good things that European scholars and philosophers have said about Islam, the reporter asks. ‘That too is from political motives,’ he is told. ‘These are contrived books written by 226

SATIRE IN PERSIAN LITERATURE, 1900–1940

Europeans in order to dupe [the Muslim people],’ and take advantage of their stupidity …’ As for Islamic culture and civilization: What civilization. You mean Arab civilization? Read the book of Sheykh Crocodile son of Ape … which is full of camel milk, camel dung and lizard. All the rest belong to conquered Muslim people, though their own sense of lack of self-respect gave the credit for them to the Arabs [i. e. they wrote them in Arabic]. He then orders the band to play, and offers a glass of wine to the reporter. They drink ‘the health of the caravan of Islam.’135

Alaviye Khânom Alaviye Khânom (‘Mistress Alaviye’, 1933) is a comedy in the classical sense, using a good deal of verbal humor. It is the story of a caravan of poor urban pilgrims to Mashhad, revealing the extent and depth of amorality and religious hypocrisy among them. But, one or two layers deeper, it exposes the tragedy of want, both social and psychological. The story begins with a stage coach, in a caravan bound for Mashhad, the shrine of Imam Rezâ. The central character is Alaviye, a divorced woman with three children going on pilgrimage with a young man in his twenties. Alaviye’s name itself implies a claim of descent from Imam Ali, as does the young man’s little green turban, and the green shawl around his waist. The two are partners in trade but there is some (probably deliberate) confusion about their true relationship: he is first her son, then her suitor, her son-in-law and her daughter’s suitor. They run a ta’ziye trade, specializing in telling tales about the tragedy of Karbalâ in great detail, and using large traditional canvas prints that depict the saints and the villains in battle as props. ‘This is what they did to the House [i. e. family] of the Prophet,’ the young man shouts to the onlookers while beating his forehead as a sign of grief: 135 See Homa Katouzian, Sadeq Hedayat, The Life and Legend of an Iranian Writer, (London and New York, 1999), pp. 78–80. For a study of Hedayat’s life and creative works see H. Katouzian and EIr., Encyclopædia Iranica s. v. Hedayat, Sadeq i. Life and Work.

227

LITERATURE OF THE EARLY TWENTIETH CENTURY Now what happens after this is that Mokhtâr will rise and give the unjust what they deserve. Would those good Shi’ites gathered here who want to see the rest of the story throw our subsistence into the kitty? It’s really not for me. I’ve got four mouths to feed. What I like to see is that four really nice guys light up four candles [i. e. throw money] from the four corners of this gathering here. We can then look at the rest of the story and see how Mokhtâr is gonna give hell to the so-and-so’s136…

After the caravan starts to move again Alaviye begins to chat with two other women. She tells them about herself and her young partner, and about her eldest daughter’s divorce from her husband. I said to him: ‘All you wanted to do was to empty your sockets into my daughter’s belly.’ They spend the night in the caravanserai. Next morning, when Alaviye and the young man are setting up their show, a woman turns up, shouting abuse at Alaviye, claiming that she has slept with her temporary husband the night before. The torrents of mutual abuse are authentic, idiomatic and proverbial, as well as coarse, vile and obscene: You better hold your tongue or I’d tear the knickers off anyone who says I’ve done something I haven’t done. I’ll burn up dog shit and set fire to anyone’s father who slings mud at me. Look at this nigger of a slave woman now! She’s spent her youth getting fucked upside down in rich people’s kitchens, and now she’s become a pimp of a woman trying to defend Alaviye. What were you doing in our room in the middle of the night. You were obviously itching for it weren’t you? I’d tear up anyone’s mouth who’d slander me. Weren’t you the one who kept saying: ‘Neither a temporary nor a permanent wife, I’d just be a whore for the money they cough?137

The scene makes up a third of the story’s length and contains some of the funniest passages that Hedâyat ever wrote in a story. The things they say about each other cannot be all true, but the atmosphere of unmitigated wretchedness—of prostitution, lying, 136 ‘Alaviya Khânom,’ in Alaviya Khânom va velengâri, (Tehran, 1963), p. 12; Homa Katouzian, Sadeq Hedayat, The Life and Legend, p. 99. 137 Ibid., p. 100 and Katirâ’i, Ketâb, pp. 44–46.

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c­heating, slander, perjury—is unmistakably there. The episode ends with Alaviye giving the boot to her partner—‘the whore with two balls’– and the tough coach driver, who has been sleeping with her, giving her the same treatment. All you wanted, she tells the latter, was ‘to empty the juice of your back into the bellies of the Imam’s pilgrims;’ that is, herself as well as her daughter. The final episode is at the shrine in Mashhad, where the woman is being shown the scenes of martyrdom with the help of a new partner. The coach driver shows up and the past is quickly forgotten. Alaviye agrees to return to Tehran in his coach. Most of the pilgrims are portrayed unambiguously as cynical and amoral.

Talab‑e Âmorzesh ‘Seeking Absolution’ (1932) is a dramatic satire, with little obvious humor. This time the caravan goes to Karbalâ, and all the three main characters among the pilgrims turn out to have murdered for love or money. It has a more dramatic and ironic effect than the previous story (especially as the pilgrims in question have all come to seek absolution), but its meanings and implications remain essentially the same. The story opens with a description of a caravan bound for Karbalâ, introducing four characters, two men and two women. When they reach the town one of the women—Aziz Âghâ—goes missing. Finally they find her in the shrine of Imam Hoseyn, shouting and wailing for forgiveness. When they eventually calm her down and ask her to tell her story, she explains that she had been married for three years until it became apparent that she was barren. When all the treatments, prayers and vows failed, her husband begged her to let him take a temporary wife, promising to divorce the woman as soon as she bore him a child, who would be raised by Aziz Âghâ. Everything went according to plan, and she was still the boss until Khadije, the new wife, got pregnant, and ‘her star began to rise.’ Aziz Âghâ started a relentless campaign against her but it did not work. In due course Khadije had her baby, ‘and a baby boy at that,’ 229

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and her star rose even higher than before. Aziza Âghâ exploded and asked for a divorce, but her husband promised to get rid of Khadije as soon as the baby began to toddle. She could not bear to wait, however, and killed the baby by pushing a pin into his fontanel. But in no time Khadije ‘shat another boy (terekmun zad),’ and Aziz Âghâ killed him too. Khadije got pregnant for the third time, but when Aziz Âghâ went to kill him as well, the boy smiled into her eyes, and she could not bring herself to do it. She decided to kill Khadije instead, got poison from an attâr (‘apothecary,’ ‘traditional pharmacist’) and put it in Khadije’s food: No-one suspected me but deep inside I was devastated …I used to go to rowze-khwâni, mourn [the Shi’a martyrs], give money to beggars, but I simply couldn’t calm down …138

Therefore when her husband died she sold everything they had, and has now come to live close to the shrines permanently, but ‘she is not sure [she says] if God will forgive my sins, and if the Imam will speak out for me on the Day of Judgment …’139 Ramezân-Ali, one of the pilgrims listening to her story, cuts her short saying ‘What do you think we have come here for?’ He was a coach driver, he explains, and once he killed a passenger and robbed him of his money. He has already purified the money in Karbalâ by paying a share of it to a Mullah. After a moment’s pose, another one of the pilgrims, Khânom Galin, confesses to have murdered her companion on the way to Karbalâ. Aziz Âghâ wants to jump for joy, saying ‘so you too …!’ Khânom Galin gives her the final reassurance: Haven’t you heard from the pulpit? The minute the pilgrim so much as thinks of going on pilgrimage and takes the first steps, her sin will be washed off even if it is as big as the leaf of a tree.140

This is a macabre as well as cynical satire. The story is rich in many aspects of traditional life, ranging from problems of barrenness and bigamy, to medicinal and superstitious methods of treating ills 138 ‘Talab‑e âmorzesh’ in Sa qatra khun, (Tehran, 1956). p. 123; Katouzian, Sadeq Hedayat, The Life, p. 94. 139 Ibid., Sa qatra khun, p. 124. 140 Ibid., p. 126; Katouzian, Sadeq Hedayat, The Life, p. 95.

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and illnesses. In Aziz Âghâ’s saga, the issue of bigamy is probably less important than the more universal predicament of a childless woman whose husband has a child by another. Who is to blame: Aziz Âghâ, Khadije or their husband? And the story has another, perhaps more important side to it. It is the question of absolution, and the motives behind the whole ritual of seeking it by visiting a Shi’a shrine. There is however a contrast between the attitude and psychological make-up, of Aziz Âghâ and the other two individuals. She is truly sorry and repentant, while the other two are almost proud of what they have done, and sound as if the absolution of their sins is owing to them. There is more realism in this, perhaps, than the fact that three out of four of the pilgrims have been portrayed as no less than murderers.

Vagh-vagh Sâhâb Mr. Bow-Wow (1933) is a volume made up of thirty-four anecdotes or ‘cases’ of mockery and ridicule. It was jointly written by Hedâyat and Mas’ud Farzâd under the pen-names of Gog and Magog Company Limited. Hedâyat wrote some of the ‘cases’ and Farzâd wrote most of the others. Cases 12 and 13 were written by both of them, while 12 and 14 were written by ‘another friend.’141 Yet all are similar in form and content, and it is clear that most of them were jointly discussed before the two authors divided the work. Many of these anecdotes directly or indirectly ridicule the social and intellectual upper crust, for both their clumsy modernism and their persistence in traditional ways. The bitterness the authors felt from being ignored and denigrated is often evident. For example, in ‘The case of the elegy for the poet’:

‫اگر او بود دست ما را از پشت می بست‬ ‫راه ترقی را به روی ما ها می بست‬ ‫از این جهت بهتر شد که او مرد‬ 141 For more details see, Homa Katouzian, Tanz va tanzina-ye Hedâyat (Satire and Irony in Hedayat), (Stockholm, 2003), pp. 135–48.

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‫گورش را گم کرد و زود تشریفاتش را برد‬ ‫اما حال از او قدردانی می کنیم‬ ‫برایش مرثیه خوانی می کنیم‬ ‫تا زنده ها بدانند که ما قدر دانیم‬ ‫قدر اسیران خاک را ما خوب می دانیم‬ ‫‪Were he still alive, he would have surpassed us all,‬‬ ‫‪He would have halted the social climbing of us all‬‬ ‫‪So it’s better that he is dead and gone,‬‬ ‫‪gone to his grave with chants and pomp.‬‬ ‫‪We would appreciate him now,‬‬ ‫‪Write elegies for him now‬‬ ‫‪So the living know that we do have regard,‬‬ ‫‪regard for those who are buried under dust …142‬‬

‫‪This may now look like a prophesy about at least one of the‬‬ ‫’‪two authors. But ‘The case of the disbelieving chap and his end‬‬ ‫‪(­Ghaziyye-ye shakhs-e lâ-din va âqebat-e u, written by Hedâyat‬‬ ‫‪himself) contains parts which are almost autobiographical:‬‬

‫همه مبانی اخلاقیش سست بود‬ ‫فقط کارهای بد اخلاقیش درست بود (‪)...‬‬ ‫هر روز تو اداره و تو کافه‬ ‫میگفت از این زندگی شده ام کلافه (‪)...‬‬ ‫چند صباحی در فرنگستون سگ زده بود‬ ‫عوض �آبدوغ خیار خرچنگ و قورباغه خورده بود (‪)...‬‬ ‫ک شب‌ ک‌ه دير وقت‌ م ‌ی رسيد به‌ خونه‌‬ ‫ي ‌‬ ‫ی ديوونه‌‬ ‫از زور مشروب‌ بود مث ‌ل �آدم‌ ها ‌‬ ‫ی لال‌ مادرزاده‌‬ ‫يک‌ شب‌ ديگ‌ه انگار ‌‬ ‫ی و اولاده‌ (‪)...‬‬ ‫هيچ‌ حرف‌ نم ‌ی زد با ابو ‌‬ ‫پدر پيرش‌ هرچ ‌ی ب‌ه او نصيحت‌ می‌ کرد‬ ‫ت برگرد”‬ ‫ک‌ه “ پسر از راه‌ ضلال ‌‬ ‫ش م ‌ی داد و بابا را مسخره‌ می‌ کرد‬ ‫او فح ‌‬ ‫ت “ما حوانها عاقليم‌‪ ،‬شماها خريد‬ ‫می‌ گف ‌‬ ‫اصلن شما پير پتولها بدرد نم ‌ی خوريد”‬ ‫ی اينک‌ه او را ادب‌ کنند‬ ‫پيرها ه ‌م برا ‌‬ ‫‪142 Vagh-vagh sâhâb (Mr. Bow Wow), (Tehran, 1962), pp. 31–32.‬‬

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‫مجبور شدند او را غضب‌ کنند‬ ‫ديگر داخل‌ �آدمها راش‌ نمی‌ دادند‬ ‫گ بهش‌ نمی‌ گذاشتند‬ ‌ ‫محل‌ س‬ ‫اما او چون‌ بود افعل‌ التفضيل‌ احمق‬ )...( ‌‫ه ‌ی باز فحش‌ داد و خورد شراب‌ و عرق‬ ‌‫يک‌ شب‌ ه ‌م صدای‌ توپ‌ کرد و مردش‬ )...( ‫ی �آدم‌ شد ‌ن را ب‌ه گور بردش‬ ‌ ‫�آرزو‬ ‌‫ش کور شه‬ ‌ ‫پيرها گفتند “افسوس‌ اما چشم‬ ”‫ی گور شه‬ ‌ ‫بچ‌ه ناخلف‌ بهتر‌ه ک‌ه تو‬ All his manners and morals were loose and bent, Only his lack of manners was absolutely correct … Every day in office, every night in the café He’d say: ‘I am fed up with this life’ … He’d spent in Europe a few days Instead of hotchpotch eating lobster and frog-legs … One night he’d go home late drunk, and look like an idiot. Another night he’d look like a born dummy, Saying not a word to sibling, mom and daddy No matter how much advice his old man gave, Saying, ‘Boy drop the ways of the knave,’ He’d react with bad words and ridicule, saying: ‘We youngees are wise, you oldees, fools, … So the oldees, to correct him, decided to be cross and ignored him. They’d no longer treat him like a human, they wouldn’t care even a farthing for the man. But since he’d perfected the art of foolishness, he went on drinking, and cursing, none the less … One night he blew up like a cannon, and died, With him the hope of reforming him was buried … The oldees said: what a pity but serves him right, a black sheep belongs only in the grave.’143

The long ‘case of the gabbing’ between the two authors (ghaziye-ye ekhtelât-numche) is in the form of classical prose.144 At one point 143 Ibid., pp. 70–72. 144 They have deliberately misspelt Qaziya with gheyn rather than qâf.

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one of them talks about an old man’s advice to his son on how to become a successful scholar. This is an unmistakable mirror of Key-Kâvus ebn-Eskandar’s Qâbus-nâme, though it is not intended to ridicule the great classic.145 First, you should find an important academic patron, agree with all his views, lick his boots, and become his crony. It will then be easy to write and publish on any subject. Take history, for example. All you need is an elementary knowledge of a foreign language to plagiarize other people’s works, and use your imagination and add a few notes of your own. As for philosophy and ethics, there is no need for any effort at all. Just memorize some mystifying jargon and drop it here and there.146 The ‘cases’ cover a wide range of subjects (including a competent satirical piece based on Freudian psychoanalysis), the mockery of the established literati being prominent among them. Hedâyat was to write a few more, much lengthier, satirical ‘cases’ in the 1940 s. None—except the last—were as good as those in this volume. The exception is The Case of the Morvâri Cannon (1946), which has never been legally published in Iran.

The Patriot ‘Mihanparast’ is a dramatic satire in the form of a short story, which Hedâyat wrote in India in 1937. It is aimed at the literary establishment as well as the political regime. The names of Sayyed NasrAllâh Vali, the story’s central figure, and Hakimbâshi-pur are pseudonyms of a leading educationalist and the then Minister of Education. One day the Minister summons the Sayyed and asks him to go on a cultural mission to India. He is told to spread the good news of ‘the miraculous cultural progress in the ancient country [i. e. Iran] which has already become a wonder of the whole world’: 145 Qâbus-nâme is one of the masterpieces of Persian classic genre of ‘mirror for princes,’ which Key-Kâvus ebn-Eskandar wrote for his son Gilânshâh, advising his son on a wide range of topics in 44 chapters. 146 Ibid., pp. 136–55.

234

SATIRE IN PERSIAN LITERATURE, 1900–1940 It would be a pity for a country like India which is the center of the Aryan race … not to be properly in touch with our brilliant cultural developments, and especially the words newly coined by our Farhangestân (the official Literary Academy).147

Later, when the Sayyed is in a boat bound for India, the reader is exposed to his innermost feelings, showing his doubts about his collaboration with the government and his cynical attitude toward the views which he expresses in public:147 A bunch of upstarts who throw dust into the people’s eyes, deceive them, and line their own pockets in the deal. Besides weren’t they the very ones who made himself [the Sayyed] praise the Brilliant Era through the Institute for the Education of Minds.148

This inner conflict keeps worsening as the boat moves further away from Iran, and the Sayyed begins to feel sea-sick and homesick as well. He tries to prepare the speech he is to deliver in Bombay/ Mumbai, but cannot get beyond the first few words. He goes to bed and has a nightmare in which the boat is on fire. Next morning they find him dead with a lifejacket wrapped tightly around his neck. Two months later, a statue in his memory is unveiled by the Minister of Education. He presents a eulogy for ‘that patriotic genius who showed unparalleled courage and selflessness in the service of the motherland, and earned the place of martyrdom in the end.’ In recognition, he will propose to the official Academy that the Sayyed’s name be changed to Piruz Yazdân, its pure Persian equivalent, and that he be given the title ‘The Patriot.’149

Ridicule of the Contemporary Literary Studies Most, though not all, of Hedâyat’s reviews of current publications are in the form of merciless ridicule. For example, his review article on ‘the Dictionary of the Literary Academy’ (‘Farhang‑e 147 ‘Mihanparast,’ Sag‑e velgard, (Tehran, 1963), p. 143; Katouzian, Tanz va tanzina, p. 150. 148 Ibid., p. 152, Sag‑e velgard, p. 155. 149 Ibid., p. 171; Katouzian, Tanz va tanzina, p. 153.

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Farhangestân’) consists entirely of jibes and mockeries. The official academy’s main task was to coin ‘pure Persian’ words, which after being approved by the royal court, would replace the existing (mainly Arabic) loan words in the Persian language. Some of the less ­artificial terms which they invented eventually caught on. On the other hand, the nationalist attitude which lay behind the enterprise, and the somewhat mechanistic approach of the Academy to their task, offended the literary and cultural sensibilities of not only marginalized intellectuals like Hedâyat, but also of such established and prominent scholars as Mohammad Qazvini and Sayyed Hasan Taqizâde.150 Many of the proposed words were simply ridiculous. For example, they had literally translated the French word ascenseur to make bâlâro (‘upward mover’). ‘Evidently, when this word was being invented,’ jibes Hedâyat, ‘elevates could not yet move downwards.’151 In another review he takes the editor of the new edition of Nezâmi Ganjavi’s collected works to task. For example, the book’s glossary describes Afranje (Europe) as a city on the Nile built by a famous Sassanid emperor. Hedâyat jibes: ‘it appears the people of that city later migrated to Europe, and that is why Europe has become known as farang.’152 In his devastating review of the popular novel Nâz (an unusual name for a woman at the time) Hedâyat perfected his already merciless and cutting ridicule. This is a longish story, one in a series by H. M. Hamid (the penname of Hoseyn-Qoli Mosta’ân), who was to become a popular and prolific producer of fiction for mass consumption. His stories are pseudo-romantic, contemporary or historical stories, full of anachronisms and improbabilities, and Nâz is certainly one of the worst. What is surprising is not that Hedâyat 150 See Sayyed Hasan Taqizâda, Zendegi-ye tufâni, ed. Iraj Afshar, second edition, (Tehran, 1993), Appendix 14; Homa Katouzian, ‘Sayyed Hasan Taqizâda: sa zendegi dar yek omr, in Irân-Nâme, guest-ed. Homa Katouzian, special issue on Taqizâda, 1, 21, (spring and summer of 2003), reprinted in idem, Hasht maqâla dar târikh va adab‑e mo’ âser. 151 ‘Farhang‑e farhangestân’ in Alaviya khânom va velengâri, p. 90. 152 ‘Jeld‑e haftom az Khamsa-ye Nezâmi,’ Neveshta-hâ-ye parâkanda-ye Sâdeq Hedâyat, ed. Hasan Qâ’emiyân, (Tehran, 1965), pp. 382–91.

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was offended by it, but that he paid any attention to it. Perhaps he felt slighted by the fame and popularity of such writers while he was still publishing his own works in limited numbers, and out of his own pocket.

Letters There is much satire, mockery, jibes and—occasionally—sheer invective in the more than a hundred letters that Hedâyat wrote to friends from 1925 to 1951. One of these, written to Mojtabâ Minovi in the 1930 s, was noted above. Hedâyat’s letters deserve an extensive study in their own right.153 Here we shall briefly introduce just two of the more humorous of those he wrote before 1940. The first is a long letter he wrote to his friend Taqi Razavi in Paris from the French provinces, on 26 February 1929, explaining his life and circumstances in a French boarding college: Right now it’s 10 o’clock here in the dormitory. A couple of reading lights are on, but all the others are asleep. Worse than any possible torture is this incredible Turk who is sleeping next to me. That he says his prayers five times a day is his own funeral. That he fasts during Ramadan is also his own bloody business. Good God he goes to bed at 9 o’clock, and gets up in the morning, and all the while he snores as if they’ve been shitting right inside his dirty mouth.154

In his letter of 13 January 1930 to Razavi, this time written from Tehran when he was about to resign from his job at Bânk‑e Melli-ye Irân, he wrote: All I can tell you is that whenever I leave this cesspit my head is turning around …while at the same time you’d be roaming around égouts [sic] in Paris with that short and dirty stick of yours which you must have nicked from a rowze-khwâni at Hâjj Âqâ Jamâ’s house [in Tehran].155 153 For a full study of his letters, see Katouzian, Tanz va Tanzina. 154 Katirâ’i, Ketâb‑e Sâdeq Hedâyat, p. 203, Katouzian, Sadeq Hedayat, The Life, p. 99. 155 Ibid., p. 55 and Katirâ’i, Ketâb‑e Sâdeq Hedâyat, pp. 208–11.

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Hâjj Âqâ Jamâl Esfahâni was at the time one of the leading olamâ of Tehran. Jamâ,’ on the other hand, means copulation. Hedâyat continued to write both dramatic and verbal satire through the 1940 s, notably Hâjji Âqâ, ‘The Case of the Antichrist’s Donkey,’ and The Case of The Morvâri Cannon (Tup‑e Moravâri) and, again, letters. A comprehensive account, analysis and critique of his satire and irony has been published in Europe, but has not yet been officially approved for publication in Iran.156 In 1941, war came to Iran and Reza Shah abdicated. For about two years massive amounts of insult and invective were hurled at the former Shah and his regime, through the press and by word of mouth, though the predictable emergence of chaos soon put an end to that. There was a change as compared to the earlier period of chaos, 1900–1925. This time, obscene political verses were just passed on orally. Yet libels and defamations, not least the charge of being a foreign agent, were rife in the press. A champion in this field was Mohammad Mas’ud, a talented and able author and journalist who extracted money from his victims either by threatening to ruin their reputation or by attacking them first and then telling them to pay or expect worse. His sensational newspaper was highly popular precisely because he slung mud at the rich and powerful, although the readers had little notion of the money he was making through this process. In 1947 he was assassinated by an unofficial Tudeh party assassination squad, set up by Nur-al-Din Kiyânuri, later to become the party leader.157 This was the first of a series of assassinations intended to spread fear and point the finger at the Shah and the conservatives, although the Tudeh party leadership put a stop to it once they learned about it.158 From the 1940 s, up to the 1953 coup, a number of specialist satirical weeklies appeared, of which five were more or less promi156 Katouzian, Tanz va tanzina. 157 See for example, Fereydun Keshâvarz, Man mottaham mikonam komite-ye markazi-ye hezb-e tudeh-ye Iran râ, third impression. London, 1982. 158 See further ibid., Bâbak Amir Khosravi, Nazar az darun be naqsh-e hezb-e tudeh-ye Irân, Tehran, 1996, and Homa Katouzian, The Political Economy of Modern Iran, London and New York, 1981.

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nent. The Tudeh party’s Chelengar, edited by the talented Mohammad-Ali Afrâshte, satirized and scandalized opponents. When Mosaddeq became leader of the National Front, and later Prime Minister, it led hysterical attacks on him. Like most other Tudeh party papers, it accused him of being a foreign agent, but it toned down its attacks somewhat in the latter part of Mosaddeq’s government. A competent, popular and quite respectable satirical weekly of the 40 s was Bâbâ Shamal, edited by the talented but amateur Rezâ Ganja’i, a future Minister of transport. The two pro-Mosaddeq satirical weeklies were the previously mentioned Towfiq, and Hâjji Bâbâ, edited by Parviz Khatibi, a former Tudeh journalist. These newspapers were funny, entertaining and at times scathing towards their opponents but by and large they did not publish blatant lies and libels. All of these journals were banned after the 1953 coup, and other ordinary papers that survived ceased publishing vehement personal attacks on well-known individuals. Towfiq made a comeback in the late 1950 s and was highly popular, but it was eventually banned in the 1960 s.

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CHAPTER FIVE WOMEN POETS Dominic Parviz Brookshaw

1. Introduction In 1901, the divân of Gowhar Khânom, Shamsat-al-Sho’arâ, a grand­ daughter of the second Qajar king, Fath-Ali Shah (d. 1834), was published in Isfahan.1 Running to over 400 pages and containing more than 8,000 lines of poetry (mostly religious odes in praise of the Prophet, Imam Ali, and the Hidden Shi’i Imam Mahdi, as well as praise poems for the late Nâser-al-Din Shah [assassinated in 1896], his mother, Mahd‑e Olyâ [d. 1873] and his daughters), this divân is most likely the first to have been published by any woman poet in modern Iran. Although Gowhar Khânom’s divân in terms of style and content looks back to the nineteenth century and builds upon the elite female poetic tradition we know to have existed in early and mid-Qajar Iran,2 it is significant in that it demonstrates how, by the dawn of the twentieth century, Iranian women poets were beginning to carve a niche for themselves in a hitherto male-dominated literary sphere. With the explosion in the late nineteenth / early twentieth century in printing, the publication of newspapers and periodicals, the establishment of numerous women’s societies (sing. anjoman), and the appearance of new literary and later women-focused journals, women poets and writers were presented with new outlets through which to disseminate their work. Through these 1 2

Gowhar Khânom (Shamsat-al-sho’arâ), Divân, (Isfahan, 1901). See e. g. Mahmud Mirzâ, Tadhkera-ye Noql‑e Majles, eds N. Jalâli and M. R. Nasiri, (Tehran, 2006). See also Sunil Sharma, “From ‘A’esha to Nur Jahan: The Shaping of a Classical Persian Poetic Canon of Women,” Journal of Persianate Studies 2 (2009), esp. pp. 162–63.

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various avenues, poetry penned by women began to reach a much larger reading public than ever before.3 All of the poets discussed here (with the exception of Parvin E’tesâmi) have received insufficient scholarly attention to date, and the poetry of many of them is discussed in detail and translated into English here for the first time. This selection of women poets is a representative sample of those who were active in Iran in the period 1900–1941, but is by no means an exhaustive list. The poets studied here represent that “large and diverse group of women poets” who Milani says appeared on the Persian literary scene in the first decades of the twentieth century and who created a literature of their own and enjoyed a fame “shared by few women in the history of classical literature.”4 The seven poets discussed here include a Qajar princess, a pioneering modernist, a Bahâ’i social activist, a journalist-educationalist, a staunch advocate of women’s rights, a proto-feminist, and one of the most popular poets of twentieth-century Iran. The pre-Parvin E’tesâmi poets examined here were among those women poets who, as Milani has written, were “taking off their veils and struggling for what they perceived to be freedom.”5 Their poetry, and the poetry produced by other women like them, became, as Milani has noted, “a forum for demands for equal rights by a wide spectrum of women.”6 Just as significant is the manner in which, through their poetry, an ever-growing number of women poets in this period strove to establish (and in some cases succeeded in establishing) their literary credentials alongside those of their male peers. A number of these women poets participated (some in more tangible ways than others) in the embryonic stages of the modernization of Persian poetry that lead ultimately to the work of Nimâ Yushij (1897–1960) and the emergence of she’r‑e now. 3

4 5 6

On women’s anjomans, schools for girls, and other early achievements of the nascent women’s movement at the turn of the twentieth century, see J. Afary, The Iranian Constitutional Revolution, 1906–1911: Grassroots Democracy, Social Democracy, and the Origins of Feminism, (New York, 1996) pp. 177–208. F. Milani, Veils and Words: The Emerging Voices of Iranian Women Writers, (Syracuse, 1992), p. 32. Ibid., p. 31. Ibid., p. 31.

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For the most part, the poets studied here attempted to modify an ancient tradition and they were among the first in modern Iran to attempt to make poetry expressive of the here and now. As women, they displayed “unusual courage in articulating women’s experience from women’s perspectives.”7 The majority of them were, in the words of Milani, “dedicated to changing what they perceived to be the forces victimizing them.”8 Women poets, of course, encountered the added obstacle of being faced with a society that, on the whole, considered them inferior, both in terms of their gender, and in terms of their literary credentials. Women poets who displayed considerable skill were dubbed freakish anomalies; as Milani argues, “Perhaps the reality of a woman poet must be lived for successive generations before it is not seen as an abnormality, a transgression, a transvestism of a kind.”9 Almost all the women studied here suffered for the right to express themselves in verse and to be taken seriously by their male peers; they are the true pioneers in women’s poetry in modern Iran. Reading the poetry of the women poets studied here one is struck by the extent of the overarching cultural and social concerns expressed in their writing. Like their male contemporaries, Iranian women poets in the first decades of the twentieth century gradually broke away from traditional modes of expression and clichéd amorous or didactic themes and concerned themselves (some more overtly than others), with the status of women in Iranian society, the plight of the poor and underprivileged, and the future of their nation. These women were the poetic forerunners of the female literary giants of the mid- to late twentieth century: Simin Behbahâni (1927–2014) and Forugh Farrokhzâd (1935–1967). To contextualize and appreciate better the contributions of these later poets to women’s poetry specifically, and to modern Persian poetry in general, it is imperative to gain a fuller understanding of their sisters’ achievements before them. 7 8 9

Ibid., p. 32. Ibid., p. 32. F. Milani, “Judith Shakespeare and Parviz E‘tesami,” Once a Dewdrop: Essays on the Poetry of Parvin E ‘tesami, ed. H. Moayyad, (Costa Mesa, California, 1994), p. 146.

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2. Fasl‑e Bahâr Khânom, ‘Jannat’ (1878–1940) Fasl‑e Bahâr Khânom, who is also known by her title, Irân-al-Dowle, was born in Tehran in 1878 to parents who were both descendants of Fath-Ali Shah Qajar.10 Fasl‑e Bahâr Khânom was tutored from an early age at home, and as a child developed an interest in classical Persian poetry (in particular that of the thirteenth-century poet, Sa’di).11 It was as a child that Fasl‑e Bahâr Khânom began to compose poetry, adopting the penname “Jannat” (‘Paradise’). At the age of thirteen, Jannat was married to Mostafâ-Qoli Khân Devellu Qajar, Hâjeb-al-Dowle.12 Jannat’s husband encouraged her in her literary interests, and she continued to compose poetry after marriage. The overwhelming majority of her poems are neoclassical ghazals, the greater portion of which deal with traditional, rather than modern, themes. In addition to composing poetry, Jannat was a talented musician,13 and an accomplished painter (she studied under the celebrated artist, Kamâl-al-Molk, d. 1940).14 Jannat and her husband held regular literary ­salons at their home at which 10 Fasl‑e Bahâr Khânom was the daughter of Soltân-Hoseyn Mirzâ, Nayyeral-Dowle (d. 1908), who accompanied Nâser al-Din Shah on his two visits to Europe and was variously the governor of Khorasan and Tehran. SoltânHoseyn Mirzâ’s father was Parviz Mirzâ (d. 1887), fifty-third son of FathAli Shah and sometime governor of Neyshâbur and Torshiz. Fasl‑e Bahâr Khânom’s mother was the daughter of Farhâd Mirzâ, Mo’tamed-al-Dowle (d. 1887), an important son of Fath-Ali Shah’s most accomplished offspring, the Crown Prince, Abbâs Mirzâ (d. 1833). See M. Ishaque, Sokhanvarân‑e Irân dar asr‑e hazer Vol. II, (Delhi, 1932), p. 106 and A. A. Moshir-Salimi, Zanân‑e sokhanvar Vol. I, (Tehran, 1956), pp. 154–55. 11 For a tazmin (not thematic imitation) from Sa’di in a poem by Jannat, see Moshir-Salimi, Zanân‑e sokhanvar, Vol. I, p. 159. 12 Jannat’s husband was in the service of Mozaffar al-Din Shah for many years. After the death of Mozaffar-al-Din Shah, he served Mohammad-Ali Shah from whom he received the title “Amir Mo’azzam.” The couple had seven children, five sons and two daughters. 13 R. Karâchi, Andishe-negârân‑e zan dar she’r‑e mashrute, (Tehran, 1995), p. 103: Fasl‑e Bahâr Khânom excelled at the târ and piano. She is also believed to have written a book on housekeeping and cookery. See MoshirSalimi, Zanân‑e sokhanvar, Vol. I, p. 155. 14 See Ishaque, Sokhanvarân‑e Irân, Vol. II, p. 107 and Moshir-Salimi, Zanân‑e sokhanvar, Vol. I, p. 154.

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she recited her poetry, and engaged in literary debate and poetic competitions with some of the leading male literati of her day. Male poets and writers who attended the couple’s salons included Malek-al-Sho’arâ Bahâr, Afsar,15 Dânesh,16 Eshqi, Sheydâ,17 and Vosuq-al-Dowle.18 Jannat published a number of her poems in the widely-read periodicals Armaghân (edited by Vahid Dastgerdi),19 and Gol‑e zard (edited by Yahyâ Reyhân).20 She also traveled to Europe in 1920.21 It has been suggested that Jannat composed over 6,000 beyts of poetry,22 although Ishaque’s observation in 1937 (just three years prior to the poet’s death) that she had composed around 1,000 lines of poetry would appear to be more accurate.23 Jannat died in 1940 at the age of 62. Almost four decades after her death, a collection of her poems (approximately 1,000 beyts) was published in 1977 by one of her sons, Allâhyâr Devellu, under the 15 Asfar was the penname of Mohammad-Hâshem Mirzâ, Sheykh al-Ra’is (1879–1940), a Qajar prince and President of Tehran’s Literary Society (Anjoman‑e Adabi-ye Tehrân). For an esteqbâl from a ghazal by Afsar in a poem by Jannat, see Moshir-Salimi, Zanân‑e sokhanvar, Vol. I, p. 160. 16 Dânesh was the penname of Mirzâ Rezâ Khân, better known as Prince Arfa‘ (1854–1937). For a reference to Dânesh in a poem by Jannat, see Fasl‑e Bahâr Khânom, Bahâr‑e Jannat: ash’ âr‑e Fasl‑e Bahâr Khânom “Jannat” Irân al-Dowle, (Tehran, 1977), p. 166. 17 Garakâni has alleged, without sufficient proof, that Jannat passed off Ali-Akbar Shaydâ’s poems as her own, see F. Garakâni, Tohmat‑e shâ’eri, (Tehran, 1977), p. 113. 18 See Fasl‑e Bahâr Khânom, Bahâr‑e Jannat, pp. 7–8. 19 Fasl‑e Bahâr Khânom’s son, Allâhyâr Devellu, writes that his mother had a particular affection for Dastgerdi. See Fasl‑e Bahâr Khânom, Bahâr‑e Jannat, p. 2. 20 See Ishaque, Sokhanvarân‑e Irân, Vol. II, p. 107. Jannat responded in verse to a poem by Reyhân, see Fasl‑e Bahâr Khânom, Bahâr‑e Jannat, p. 7. 21 Moshir-Salimi, Zanân‑e sokhanvar, Vol. I, p. 154. 22 See Moshir-Salimi, Zanân‑e sokhanvar, Vol. I, p. 155. It is not clear how Moshir-Salimi arrives at this figure, since he says that Jannat’s divân has not yet been published. 23 For examples of Jannat’s poems published before her divân appeared in print, see D. J. Irani, Poets of the Pahlavi Regime, (Bombay, 1933), p. 270; P. Bakhtiyâri, Behtarin ash’ âr, (Tehran, 1934), pp. 94–95; and Ishaque, Sokhanvarân‑e Irân, Vol. II, pp. 107–12.

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title Bahâr‑e Jannat.24 Devellu describes how he only began compiling his late mother’s poems upon the suggestion of friends and that, while searching his mother’s papers for unpublished poems, he came across a note in her hand in which she expressed the desire that her ‘notebook’ (daftarche) of poetry be published.25 Purân Farrokhzâd attributes Jannat’s lack of popularity today to the fact that, for the most part, she avoided current socio-political topics in her poems.26 Karâchi sees no engagement with the outside world and the monumental changes in the social and political life of Iranians in Jannat’s poetry,27 and, somewhat harshly, attributes the poet’s failure to engage with the present to her “lack of social awareness,” and what she sees as Jannat’s inability to understand the world around her.28 This is a somewhat unfair appraisal of the poet, and ignores the very important fact that Jannat was one of a handful of women poets of her day who were taken seriously by their male peers. Jannat, who began writing poetry as early as the late 1880 s, associated closely, and it would seem, fairly freely, with the leading male poets and writers of her day. More significantly (as noted above), she engaged in literary debate with men, both in the context of her literary salons, and in print. Jannat’s importance in her day is reflected in the fact that she is one of the very few contemporary women poets whose poetry is included in Din-Shah Irâni’s 1933 anthology of contemporary poetry, and in that of Pezhmân Bakhtiyâri published in 1934. Jannat is also one of only two women poets (alongside Parvin E’tesâmi) included by Ishaque in the second volume of his landmark Sokhânvarân‑e Irân dar asr‑e hâzer published in 1937.29 24 Fasl‑e Bahâr Khânom, Bahâr‑e Jannat: ash’ âr‑e Fasl‑e Bahâr Khânom “Jannat” Irân al-Dowle, (Tehran, 1977). 25 See Fasl‑e Bahâr Khânom, Bahâr‑e Jannat, pp. 4–6. 26 P. Farrokhzâd, Nime-hâ-ye nâ-tamâm: seyri dar she’r‑e zanân az Râbe’e tâ Forugh, (Tehran, 2001), p. 158. 27 Karâchi, Andishe-negârân‑e zan, p. 103. 28 Ibid., p. 104. Karâchi finds Jannat’s poetry to be replete with clichés which she sees as representative of what she calls the repetitive mindsets of earlier centuries. 29 Jannat’s photograph appears alongside that of Parvin E’tesâmi and the male poets featured in Ishaque’s anthology. See Ishaque, Sokhanvarân‑e Irân, Vol. II, plate between pp. 106–7.

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Jannat’s poetic output contains many amorous neoclassical ghazals, typical of poetry composed in the early part of the twentieth century. Here is a beyt from one such poem in which the poet adopts the persona of the devoted lover:

‫محو از دفتر عشاق تو نامم بادا‬

‫گر بگویم که جز از عشق تو کامم بادا‬

If I ever say I derive pleasure from any love but yours My name must be erased from the list of your lovers30

In other poems, Jannat the lover enters into a dialogue with her cruel beloved; e. g.:

‫که عهد دوستان بشکست درهم‬ ‫که چون من بنده ای افتد ترا کم‬

‫ز جنت گو به �آن بد عهد بد خو‬ ‫به هیچم از چه بفروشی ندانی‬

Tell that disloyal, ill-natured one from Jannat He who broke the pact of friends in two: Why do you sell me for nothing? Do you not know You will find very few servants like me?31

A number of Jannat’s poems contain expressions of fakhr or boasting in the style of pre-modern poets such as Hâfez (d. circa 1390):

‫خوش پریشان می سراید نظم و نثر تازه جنت زین پریشان تر گرش افکار میشد بد نمیشد‬ Jannat, happily disturbed, composes fresh poetry and prose If her thoughts became any more disturbed, it would be no bad thing32

And this robâ’i features a skilful pun on the poet’s given name, Fasl‑e Bahâr (lit. ‘Spring season’):

‫گر فصل بهار است و سرور است و چمن‬ ‫پوشیده بنفشه رخت ماتم بر تن‬

‫میگفت یکی بلبل شوریده چو م ن‬ ‫پس لاله چرا داغ بدل رسته ز خاک‬

A love-struck nightingale like me once said If it is the spring season, a time of happiness on the lawn 30 See Ishaque, Sokhanvarân‑e Irân, Vol. II, p. 109. All translations in this chapter are my own unless stated otherwise. 31 See ibid., p. 107. 32 Ibid., p. 108.

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Women Poets Why has the tulip risen from the earth with branded heart? Why has the violet clothed itself in mourning attire?33

In some of her poems, Jannat adopts a saintly, prophet-like persona and speaks with a more obviously mystical tone; e. g.:

‫رو بانگ �أنا الح ّق زن منصور صفت بر دار‬ ‫هی زخم پیاپی خور همی خنده به مرهم زن‬ ‫بگشا به حقیقت لب بر مرده روان بخشا‬ ‫زان پس دم از این اسرار با عیسی مریم زن‬ Go raise the cry of “I am the Truth” on the gallows like Mansur34 Suffer the wounds one by one, dress them with laughter Open your lips with truth, bestow life upon the dead Thereafter speak of these mysteries with Jesus, son of Mary.35

3. Esmat Khânom Tehrâni, ‘Tâyere’ (1871–1911) Esmat Khânom Tehrâni (who is better known by her penname ‘Tâyere,’ or ‘Tâyer,’ lit. ‘Bird’), was born in Tehran in 1871 (although some scholars believe her to have been born as early as 1861 or 1863).36 33 Ibid., p. 112. 34 The early Islamic mystic, al-Hoseyn b. Mansur al-Hallâj (857–922) is best known for his ecstatic utterance, Ana l-Haqq (‘I am the Truth/God’) which many believe contributed to his martyrdom. 35 See Moshir-Salimi, Zanân‑e sokhanvar, Vol. I, pp. 156–57. Jesus and his life-giving powers are commonly alluded to in mystical Persian poetry. 36 Various sources give the year of Tâyere’s birth as either 1861 or 1863. In a letter in her own hand dated ah 1326 (1908), Tâyere says, “it is now twenty-five years that I have been the servant of the friends of God [i. e. the Bahâ’is], both male and female.” Given that in the same letter Tâyere says she became a Bahâ’i at the age of twelve, this would suggest that she was born in 1871. For this letter, see Nime-ye digar Vol. II, number 3, winter 1997, pp. 148–49. On Tâyere’s role in the Bahâ’i community and beyond, see M. Momen “The Role of Women in the Iranian Bahâ’i Community during the Qajar Period,” Religion and Society in Qajar Iran, ed. R. Gleave, (London, 2005), p. 353; J. Cole, Modernity and the Millennium: The genesis of the Baha’i Faith in the nineteenth-century Middle East, (New York, 1998), pp. 180–81; Afary, The Iranian Constitutional Revolution, pp. 197–99.

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Tâyere was the daughter of Mirzâ Esmâîl Khân Âshtiyâni, an army secretary, and Habibe Khânom, who worked in Nâser-al-Din Shah’s andarun.37 Tâyere’s father died when she was just seven, and the family moved to the home of her maternal grandfather, Mirzâ Abd-al-Karim Khân Esfahâni, known as Hakim Simâ.38 Just two years later, Hakim Simâ also died. Tâyere’s family then lived with her eldest maternal uncle, Mirzâ Faraj-Allâh Khân, who had apartments at the Firuze Palace where he was chief keeper (sarâydâr-bâshi). Tâyere’s uncle hired a private tutor to instruct his niece in Persian and rudimentary Arabic. As a child, Tâyere is said to have spoken with (and impressed) Nâser-al-Din Shah on his visits to the palace. At the age of twelve (circa 1883), Tâyere secretly converted to the Bahâ’i religion, most likely through her younger maternal uncle, Abu’l-Barakât.39 Soon after this clandestine conversion, Tâyere’s mother married her daughter to Mehr-Ali Khân Zanjâni, deputy commander of the imperial bodyguard, a violent man who had a penchant for persecuting Bahâ’i prisoners whom he regularly detained within his home.40 Tâyere, disturbed by her husband’s brutal treatment of these Bahâ’is, did what she could to ease their suffering but, when Mehr-Ali Khân learned of his wife’s secret allegiance to the Bahâ’i Faith, he told her to recant and, when she did not, he began to beat her, and on a number of occasions almost succeeded in killing her.41 In a letter written in Persian to an American 37 See Fâzel Mâzandarâni, Târikh‑e zohur al-haqq, Vol. VI, pp. 456–64. Habibe Khânom was herself a poet (her penname being “Zohre”). 38 According to Beyzâ’i, Hakim Simâ was a Babi. Hakim Simâ was the family doctor of Prince Hesâm-al-Saltane. Hakim Simâ is said to have composed poetry too, and to have been very fond of his granddaughter. See N. Beyzâ’i, Tadhkere-ye sho’arâ-ye qarn‑e avval‑e Bahâ’i, Vol. II, (Tehran, 1966), pp. 282–83. 39 Tâyere was converted to the Bahâ’i religion by another maternal uncle, Abu’l-Barakât, during his brief stay at her home after returning from India, whence he had fled to escape persecution for having converted to the Bahâ’i religion. 40 When Tâyere moved to her husband’s house she found several Bahâ’is detained there. She rebuked her husband for torturing them. 41 For the gruesome details of these violent episodes, see Beyzâ’i, Tadhkere-ye sho‘arâ-ye qarn‑e avval‑e Bahâ’i, pp. 283–84.

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Bahâ’i woman in Washington dated 1326 (1908),42 Tâyere says it is impossible to recount all the sufferings she has endured as a Bahâ’i.43 She writes that for ten years her relatives called her “irreligious and ritually unclean” (bi-din o najes), and that, day and night, they strove to destroy her.44 Then she recounts some of the more violent incidents,45 but repeatedly states that this brutality only served to increase her religious fervor. Tâyere writes that during some of the most awful episodes of this abuse she was inspired to compose poetry, which she recited at the top of her voice. On several occasions her relatives denounced her as an infidel who must be killed (vâjeb-al-qatl) and hauled her before clerics to be questioned. Tâyere explains that, after a decade of abuse, she made a pact with her family that, if they would listen to her explain the tenants of the Bahâ’i religion for a couple of hours, and if, after that, they still believed themselves to be in the right, she would recant and become Muslim. One night the whole family gathered to listen to Tâyere. That same night she says her husband asked forgiveness for what he had done to her, and converted (Tâyere’s brother and some other members of her family also became Bahâ’i).46 Tâyere and Mehr-Ali had three daughters, all of whom were Bahâ’is.47 Beyzâ’i 42 This letter is addressed to Isabella D. Brittingham (1852–1924). Tâyere addresses Isabella as her “dear western Baha’i sister,” and says she was introduced to her by Charles Mason Remey. 43 Tâyere tells Isabella that, if she wanted to relate the whole of her life story (sharh‑e hâlât) and recount all of her sufferings, it would amount to a book, which is why she has provided her with a brief version of it. 44 Mâzandarâni says Tâyere’s younger brother, Isâ, and her mother were also involved in abusing her. See Mâzandarâni, Târikh‑e zohur al-haqq, Vol. VI, pp. 456–58. 45 These included being confined behind a wall in her house, being almost suffocated with charcoal smoke, being whipped whilst naked, being attacked with knives and blades, and being forced to stay out in the courtyard of her house over night in the falling snow and bitter cold. See Tâyere’s letter to Isabella D. Brittingham referenced above. 46 Isa died in Paris in 1908. It would seem that Tâyere’s mother died before her brother and husband converted. 47 Tâyere’s daughters were: Turân (also known as Shâhzâde Khânom, wife of Reza Khan Sartip‑e Tupkhâne), Mowlud (wife of Mirzâ Ali-Akbar Khân, Mohebb al-Soltân, also a Bahâ’i), and Leyli who is said to have received a modern education and who used her knowledge of English to translate into

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states that Tâyere was thirty-one years old when Mehr-Ali died, presumably around 1902.48 A few years later (most likely in 1907 or 1908) Tâyere remarried. Her second husband was Mostafâ Khân Nuri, son of Mahmud Khân Meftâh-al-Molk and younger brother of Mas’ud Khân Mefâh-al-Dowle, both of whom held important positions in the Foreign Ministry.49 Mostafâ Khân had become a Bahâ’i through Tâyere’s son-in-law, Reza Khan Sartip‑e Tupkhâne, who had been converted by Tâyere herself following several years during which he had abused and insulted his wife for her religious affiliation. Mostafâ Khân and Tâyere had been married for just a few short years when she died in 1911. Tâyere corresponded with Abdu’l-Bahâ (1844–1921), Bahâ’ullâh’s eldest son (and leader of the Bahâ’i community from 1892 to 1921). Tâyere sent a number of her poems to Abdu’l-Bahâ, who in turn responded with letters in which he praised her both for the quality of her poetry, and her services to the Bahâ’i community in Iran.50 There is evidence that Tâyere was also in contact with some of the most prominent Bahâ’is of Tehran, including Ebn‑e Asdaq (1850–1928) and his family.51 In 1908 Tâyere met two early American Bahâ’is, Charles Mason Remey,52 and Syd-

48 49 50

51 52

Persian the correspondence her mother received from American Bahâ’is. Beyzâ’i’s short biography of Tâyere was written with the cooperation of her second daughter, Mowlud. See Beyzâ’i, Tadhkere-ye sho’arâ-ye qarn‑e avval‑e Bahâ’i, pp. 283–84. Mirzâ Mostafâ Khân’s extended family reacted very badly to his conversion, but subsequently at least two of his younger brothers became Bahâ’is. In one “tablet” (letter) Abdu’l-Bahâ says the poem she has sent is “eloquent” ( fasih, baligh), “original” (badi‘), and “sweet” (malih). In another tablet, sent to Tâyere from Alexandria, Abdu’l-Bahâ thanks her for sending him poems about the Bahâ’i House of Worship in Chicago. He says he rejoices at the connections between East and West. See Beyzâ’i, Tadhkere-ye sho’arâ-ye qarn‑e avvâl‑e Bahâ’i, pp. 284–85 for the texts of these two tablets. See Peyk-i Râstân, ed. V. Rafati, (Darmstadt, 2005), pp. 310, 347, 435, and 437. Remey has left us a description of his 1908 meeting with Tâyere, “One of the most interesting characters we met in Persia was Tahere [Tâyere] Khanoum of Teheran, a woman of ability as a leader of women. For some time past she had been working assiduously for the spread of the Bahâ’i Cause among women, and for the education and general uplifting of her sex … She was an enlightened soul, holding advanced ideas not gleaned from foreign sources but evolved through personal work and service. She was wholly

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ney Sprague, during their visit to Iran. When another American Bahâ’i, Dr. Susan Moody, moved to Iran in 1909 on the request of Abdu’l-Bahâ to set up a clinic for women and help to establish the Bahâ’i-run Tarbiyat School for Girls,53 Tâyere soon befriended her. It was through Charles Mason Remey that Tâyere was introduced to Isabella D. Brittingham, an American Bahâ’i woman with whom she began to correspond in 1908 and to whom she wrote the above-mentioned letter. Tâyere is believed to be the first Iranian Bahâ’i woman to correspond directly with American Bahâ’is.54 In another letter written in 1909, which appears to have only survived in English translation, Tâyere addresses the American Bahâ’i women recipients as her sisters.55 She focuses on the importance of the role women can play in propagating the Bahâ’i religion, and describes in emotive detail the persecution, torture and execution of Bahâ’is in Iran.56 At the end of the letter, Tâyere expresses the hope a product of Persia and was, therefore able to understand and to minister unto the needs of those among whom she labored … Our hostess had for some time past discarded her veil and with her husband received men in her house and garden, yet she was obliged, as she explained to us, to veil in the streets on account of attracting too much attention. On this particular afternoon she was holding two receptions at once. Twenty or more of us men were in one room while in an adjoining room, separated from us by a curtain, was a party of twelve or fifteen ladies, our hostess slipping quietly from one room to the other, serving and entertaining her guests,” quoted in Nime-ye digar Vol. II, number 3, winter 1997, pp. 178–79. 53 On Dr. Susan Moody, see R. J. Armstrong-Ingram, “American Baha’i Women and the Education of Girls in Tehran, 1909–1934,” In Iran: Studies in Babi and Baha’i History, Vol. III, ed. P. Smith, (Los Angeles, 1986), pp. 181–210. See also S. B. Fazel and M. Fouadi, “Baha’i health initiatives in Iran: a preliminary survey,” The Baha’is of Iran: Socio-historical studies, eds. D. P. Brookshaw and S. B. Fazel, (London, 2008), esp. pp. 127–33. 54 It is interesting to note that in her letter to Isabella Brittingham, Tâyere speaks of her and the other Bahâ’i women of the US as her sisters, and asks them to remember their Iranian sisters in their meetings. She presents her own story as an example of the trials and tribulations of Iranian Bahâ’i women, adding after her short autobiographical note, “So, my dear sister, this was the story of us Iranian sisters.” She also asks Isabella to send her two photographs, one of herself, the other of her with other American Bahâ’i ladies. See Nime-ye digar, Vol. II, number 3, winter 1997, pp. 149. 55 See ibid., pp. 152. 56 See ibid., pp. 156–57.

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that correspondence between Bahâ’i women in Iran and America will continue. She says the letter sent by the American women had a great effect on the Bahâ’i women in Tehran, and tells them that they are trying hard to send them their photographs. She signs the letter, “Tâyere, one who desires to meet the brothers and sisters of the West.” Once she had managed to win over her husband and other members of her family, Tâyere set about promoting unveiling among the women of Iran’s Bahâ’i community,57 and emphasizing the importance of the education of girls.58 Tâyere organized gatherings of women (both Bahâ’is and others) at which she recited her own poetry and recounted instructive stories. Mâzandarâni calls Tâyere a “free-thinking woman” (horrat-al-fekr), one who strove to promote the liberation of women (horriyat‑e nesvân), and who associated freely (âzâdâne) with both men and women alike.59 Beyzâ’i believes Tâyere to have composed much more poetry than has survived. The poet herself appears to have paid little thought to collecting her poetry, although Beyzâ’i does refer to a small notebook ( jozve) containing a selection of her ghazals in the possession of her second daughter, Mowlud.60 In his anthology of Bahâ’i poets, Beyzâ’i quotes a number of Tâyere’s more accomplished poems, one of which ends with an expression of her devotion to Abdu’l-Bahâ.61 Tâyere’s best-known poem is one that, in a shorter variant form has, to date, often been attributed to the prominent Bâbi preacher and poet, Tâhere Qorrat-al-Eyn, 57

Tâyere adopted a Western-inspired style of dress and urged other women to abandon the châdor and follow her example. See Remey’s description of his encounter with her quoted above. 58 The education of girls was a chief preoccupation of Iran’s Bahâ’is in the last decades of the nineteenth century and the first decades of the twentieth century. On girls’ schools and the role of women in Iran’s Bahâ’i community during this period, see D. P. Brookshaw, “Instructive Encouragement: Tablets of Baha’u’llah and ‘Abdu’l-Baha to Bahâ’i women in Iran and India,” The Baha’is of Iran, pp. 49–93. 59 Mâzandarâni, Târikh‑e zohur al-haqq, p. 459. 60 Beyzâ’i, Tadhkere-ye sho’arâ-ye qarn‑e avval‑e Bahâ’i, p. 284. 61 Ibid., p. 286.

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who was killed in 1852 for her beliefs;62 the confusion in attribution presumably arising from the similarity in the poets’ pennames, and the fact that one is Bâbi and the other Bahâ’i.63 In this ecstatic poem, Tâyere expresses her love for an unattainable beloved who commands her complete devotion; perhaps as a metaphor for her dedication to Bahâ’ullâh (1817–1892):

‫چند مغایرت کنی با غمت �آشنا منم‬ ‫خاطر خلق خسته ای کز همگان جدا منم‬ ‫شمس تویی قمر تویی ذ ّره منم هبا منم‬ ‫خوان مرا قنق تویی شاخه هبدبا منم‬ ‫خواجۀ با ادب تویی بندۀ بی حیا منم‬ ‫دلبر محترم تویی عاشق بینوا منم‬ ‫تا به تو متصل شدم بیح ّد و انتها منم‬ ‫رسته ز کبر و از ریا مظهر کبریا منم‬ ‫بی ارنی و لنترا مست می لقا منم‬ ‫منتظر عطای تو معترف خطا منم‬

‫در ره عشقت ای صنم شیفتۀ بلا من م‬ ‫پرده بروی بسته ای زلف بهم شکسته ای‬ ‫شیر تویی شکر تویی شاخه تویی ثمر تویی‬ ‫نور تویی تتق تویی ماه تویی افق تویی‬ ‫نخل تویی رطب تویی لعبت نوش لب تویی‬ ‫قبله تویی صنم تویی دیر تویی حرم تویی‬ ‫من ز یم تو نیم نم نی نه کمم ز هیچ هم‬ ‫شاهد شوخ دلربا گفت بسوی من بیا‬ ‫ماه عذار دلبرا طور تجلی تو را‬ ‫طایره خاکپای تو مست می ولای تو‬

In the path of your love, O idol, infatuated with calamity am I No matter how much you disagree, familiar with your woe am I You have veiled your face; you have disheveled your hair You have wounded the people’s minds, but distinct from all others am I You are milk, you are sugar; you are both the branch and the fruit You are the sun and the moon; an atom, a speck of dust am I You are light, you are the sky,64 you are the moon, you are the horizon 62 Another possible reason for this misattribution is the similarity between this poem and another attributed more reliably to Tâhere in which she describes her quest for her beloved as a metaphor for her longing to meet Sayyed Ali-Mohammad, The Bab (executed 1850). The opening beyt of Tâhere’s poem is:

‫گر بتو افتدم نظر چهره بچهره رو برو شرح دهم غم تو را نکته به نکته مو بمو‬

63 A copy of this poem in the hand of Tâyere exists in the papers of Isabella D. Brittingham (see Nime-ye digar, Vol. II, number 3, winter 1997, p. 151). Mâzandarâni also attributes this poem to Tâyere. See F. Mâzandarâni, Târikh‑e zohur al-haqq, Vol. VIII, (Tehran, 1975), pp. 451–52. 64 I have translated totoq as “sky” because it fits better with the other images in the line. The word totoq most commonly means “large tent,” but in the phrase totoq‑e nili (“indigo tent”), it stands for the blue sky.

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LITERATURE OF THE EARLY TWENTIETH CENTURY You are the guest at my table, a flat plank of wood65 am I You are the palm and the date, you are a sweet-lipped beauty You are a courteous master, a shameless, impudent slave am I You are my qeble and my idol, you are my monastery and my sanctuary You are a venerable beloved, a helpless, destitute lover am I I not half a drop from your sea, no, even less than nothing am I Having joined myself to you, now boundless and endless am I My heart-stealing, playful beloved said: Come towards me! Now, free of pride and hypocrisy, the manifestation of might am I My knavish, heart-stealing moon, you emanate the light of Sinai Without asking to see you or being refused,66 drunk on meeting you am I Tâyere, the dust at your feet, is drunk on the wine of nearness to you In anticipation of your bestowals, a confessor to my sins am I

In addition to the above-mentioned social and literary activities, Tâyere also published a remarkable extended essay on the importance of the education of girls and the emancipation of women in one of the most progressive and controversial newspapers of the second constitutional period, Irân‑e Now.67 This essay, which appeared in instalments under various titles (“Letter from an Iranian Lady,” “Essay by a Learned Lady,” and “Letter from a Learned Lady”),68 was published between 13 th September 1909 and 18 th December 1909.69 In the first instalment, Tâyere addresses the editor 65 I have translated shâkhe-ye habadbâ here as “plank of wood.” 66 Qur’an, Surat al-A‘raf, 134: qâla rabbi ari-ni anzur ilayka, qâla lan tarâ-ni (He said, “O Lord, show Thyself to me, that I may look upon Thee. He said “Thou shalt not see Me …”). 67 Mâzandarâni says Tâyere also published in other periodicals. He mentions that Tâyere was commissioned by Ardashir Jey Sâheb, the Zoroastrian envoy from Bombay, in 1910 to compose a piece on the progress and emancipation of women. See Mâzandarâni, Târikh‑e zohur al-haqq, Vol. VI, p. 459. 68 Mâzandarâni (ibid.) says Tâyere’s second husband assisted her in writing these essays and sending them to Irân‑e Now for publication. Mâzandarâni (ibid.) also says the couple sent these essays to the nationalist and pro-constitutional activist Mirzâ Ghaffâr Khân Zonuzi who petitioned the Majles to grant more rights to women. 69 The essay is incomplete, suggesting that further instalments may have been planned for issues of Irân‑e Now in 1910.

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of Irân‑e Now saying that the paper lives up to its name (‘New Iran’) because it “renders a great service and imparts a new spirit to new Iranians and manifests the true reality of patriotism.”70 In the second paragraph, after a few lines of poetry, Tâyere boldly states that she believes all the ills of Iranians to stem from the “lack of education of the mothers of the children of the homeland.” She says that in a country where females remain uneducated, “progress and civilization are impossible,” because: The educating and civilizing of the children are the responsibility of the mother, just as the ease and wealth of men is brought about through the existence of educated, civilized women.

Tâyere then refers to periods in Iran’s pre-Islamic history when educated women played a significant role, focusing on the Sassanid period. She says she bases her statements on “historical research,” which she argues has shown how exalted the station of women was at the time, adding that contemporary Zoroastrians (who she calls the “children of the ancient Persians”), still invoke some of these women in their prayers. Tâyere praises Iran’s politicians for the attention they pay to their “lofty duties,” and expresses the hope that they will turn their thoughts to the need for women to be educated, as women’s education is in the interests of the progress of Iran as a whole. She signs this instalment, “Servant and devotee of the beloved homeland, Tâyere.” In the second instalment,71 Tâyere opens with a description of how God has gradually nurtured Iran from infancy through the instruction provided by prophets, saints, and God-worshipping leaders, and has recreated Iranians anew so that they will, “deliver [Iran] to a level of humanity intended by all the saints and prophets, and release her from the darkness of ignorance.” She then 70

Tâyere, “Maktub‑e yeki az khânom-hâ-ye Irâni,” Irân‑e Now, year 1, no. 17, (13 th September 1909), p. 2. Reproduced in Nime-ye digar, Vol. II, number 3, (winter 1997), pp. 181–82. E. G. Browne estimated Irân‑e Now to have a circulation of 2,000–2,500 copies in 1909. See E. G. Browne, The Press and Poetry of Modern Persia, (Cambridge, 1914), p. 25. 71 Tâyere, “Lâyehe-ye khânom‑e dâneshmand,” Irân‑e Now, year 1, no. 65, (13 th November 1909), p. 3. Reproduced in Nime-ye digar, Vol. II, number 3, (winter 1997), pp. 183–85.

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a­ ppeals to her compatriots to strive so that, having become [truly] human, “we will not remain small and helpless in this great new Iran.” Tâyere writes that the source of humanity is to be found in, “religion, love, and adab.”72 Tâyere then returns to the necessity for women to be educated, saying, “[A]ll mothers in childhood should be required to study sciences (olum) in modern schools.”73 She then turns to the controversial topic of polygamy, asking rather provocatively whether any man would accept it if his wife took multiple husbands, concluding that he certainly would not.74 This discussion is continued in the next instalment,75 where Tâyere boldly argues against those who say that men are allowed by the Shari‘a to have more than one wife, saying that, because the Prophet made equality of treatment a pre-requisite for a man to take more than one wife, and because it is impossible to treat two people equally, in effect, polygamy is not permitted under Islamic law, and the Prophet intended that a man only have one wife. Tâyere then strays from her proto-feminism by appearing to blame women’s “ill-temperedness, ignorance, and lack of moral education” for forcing men to take more than one wife. This, she says, is the only way to explain why men would enter into a situation that causes so much grief and strife between children from different mothers. Tâyere returns to her earlier topic of the inextricable link between women’s education and the progress of the nation, saying: When we women … free ourselves from the disease of ignorance and ill-temperedness, and walk in the path of progress, civilization, and humanity, and become partners alongside our men and participate in all affairs, in the shortest period of time our dear homeland will become endowed with all forms of greatness, honor, industries, and sciences. 72 Here adab stands for an amalgam of literature, learning, and good manners. 73 See Brookshaw, “Instructive Encouragement,” pp. 64–65 for similar sentiments expressed by Abdu’l-Bahâ in his correspondence with female educators teaching at the Bahâ’i-run girls’ school in Hamadan established in 1909. 74 Tâyere signs this instalment, “Servant of the beloved homeland, Tâyere.” 75 Tâyere, “Maktub‑e khânom‑e dâneshmand,” Irân‑e Now, year 1, no. 69, (18 th November 1909), p. 3. Reproduced in Nime-ye digar, Vol. II, number 3, (winter 1997), pp. 185–88.

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Tâyere likens a man’s wife to half his limbs and says that for years men have been living and suffering with a deficient half of their body, and that they have never sought to “treat” that half of themselves. More concretely, Tâyere argues that, if women were to receive even basic training in hygiene and healthcare (hefz-al-sehhe), many children’s lives would be saved every year. She then turns to the question of the girl’s trousseau and the importance placed upon it and the material wealth expended on it in contrast to the contemporary neglect of girls’ education. In the next instalment,76 Tâyere reiterates her belief in the necessity of women’s education for the progress of the Iranian nation, saying that other countries have progressed by virtue of proper attention having been paid to the education of females. She addresses her male readers asking whether they consider women to be of their own ‘kind’ (now); do they not realize that they grew in their mother’s womb and were nurtured by women? In the subsequent section of her article,77 Tâyere confronts men of power asking on what basis they have deemed women not to be worthy of formal education, asking why schools have not been established for girls, and why no teachers have been assigned to them. She then addresses her fellow Iranian women, her “dear sisters,” the “oppressed ones of the nation,” calling on them to open their eyes, take note of their current predicament, compare it with that of women in other lands, and act to improve it. In what appears to be the last instalment that has survived,78 Tâyere calls on men and women to come together to cleanse their souls from all “despicable habits” (âdât‑e radhile) and “laughable, customary behaviors” (raftâr‑e taqlidi-ye mozheke). Addressing women more specifically she writes: 76 Tâyere, “Maktub‑e khânom‑e dâneshmand,” Irân‑e Now, year 1, no. 78, (30 th November 1909), pp. 2–3. Reproduced in Nime-ye digar, Vol. II, number 3, (winter 1997), pp. 188–90. 77 Tâyere, “Maktub‑e khânom‑e dâneshmand,” Irân‑e Now, year 1, no. 84, (8 th December 1909), p. 3. Reproduced in Nime-ye digar, Vol. II, number 3, (winter 1997), pp. 190–92. 78 Tâyere, “Maktub‑e khânom‑e dâneshmand,” Irân‑e Now, year 1, no. 92, (18 th December 1909), pp. 3–4. Reproduced in Nime-ye digar, Vol. II, number 3, (winter 1997), pp. 192–95.

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LITERATURE OF THE EARLY TWENTIETH CENTURY Arise, for the sake of God, and let us become human, and raise ourselves out from the darkness of ignorance up to the luminous station of science, knowledge, letters, arts, and morals, so that this dear homeland of ours, in the shortest time, might show its face like a resplendent beauty among the civilized nations of the world, and we might thereby be freed from the suffering of perplexity and need!

4. Shams Kasmâ’i (1883–1961) Shams Kasmâ’i was born in Yazd in 1883 into a family with its roots in Gilân.79 Around 1907, she married a tea merchant by the name of Hoseyn Arbâbzâde, and in 1908 the couple moved to Ashgabat in Russian Turkestan, where they remained for the next 10 years. Shams Kasmâ’i and her husband were culturally active during their time in Ashgabat, a fact recognized by the Iranian government, which awarded Arbâbzâde a medal for his efforts in promoting Persian culture outside of Iran.80 In Ashgabat, Shams learned Russian, began reading Russian literature, and became acquainted with Russian revolutionary ideas.81 It was in the wake of her husband’s bankruptcy in 1914, and the October Revolution of 1917, that in 1918 the couple relocated with their two children, a son (Akbar, also known as Karim) and a daughter (Safâ) to Iran,82 settling in Tabriz. Azerbaijan was at that time a center for political and social activism led by Sheykh Mohammad Khiyâbâni, who in April 1920 declared the independence of the Republic of Azerbaijan.83 79 Her father was Khalil Kasmâ’i and her mother’s name was Homâyun, see A. A. Moshir-Salimi, Zanân‑e sokhanvar, Vol. II, (Tehran, 1957), p. 103. 80 See S. Langerudi, Târikh‑e tahlili-ye she’r‑e now, Vol. I, (Tehran, 1998), p. 87. 81 See Langerudi, Tarikh‑e tahlili, Vol. I, p. 87. Farrokhzâd (Nime-hâ-ye nâtamâm, p. 173) sees traces of Bolshevism and Communism in Kasmâ’i’s poetry. Moshir-Salimi tells us (Zanân‑e sokhanvar, Vol. II, p. 103) that Kasmâ’i traveled extensively in Russia. 82 In 1920, Shams Kasmâ’i’s nineteen-year-old son was killed in Gilân in the Jangali uprising. This prompted the leftist poet Abu’l-Qâsem Lâhuti (1887– 1957) to address a poem to her. 83 On Khiyâbâni and the independent Republic of Azerbaijan, see C. E. Bosworth in Encyclopædia Iranica, s. v. Azerbaijan iv. Islamic History to 1941, p. 231.

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Soon after her arrival in Tabriz, Shams Kasmâ’i joined the literary circle of Taqi Raf‘at, the avant-garde editor-in-chief of a periodical entitled Tajaddod (lit. “Modernization”).84 Raf‘at85 was a pioneer in the attack on the neo-classical poetry of the nineteenth and early twentieth century.86 Writers and intellectuals gathered regularly at Shams Kasmâ’i’s Tabriz home, and she began to write revolutionary essays (mostly attacks on the treaty of 1919).87 After moving to Tabriz, Shams Kasmâ’i, almost two decades before Reza Shah’s forced unveiling (Kashf‑e hejâb),88 refused to wear the customary black châdor in public, a decision which caused her to be abused by more conservative elements of the population.89 At the height of Khiyâbâni’s opposition to the Central Government, sex-segregated “garden parties” were held near the Arg (Citadel) in 84 N. Parvin in Encyclopædia Iranica, s. v. Āzādīstān, pp. 177–78: “…Raf‘at and other like-minded writers had attempted to initiate a reform of Persian literature and had engaged in controversy with the Tehran periodical, Daneshkada.” Âzâdistân also had a dispute with the Berlin-based periodical, Kâve (see Y. Âryanpur, Az Sabâ tâ Nimâ, Vol. II, Tehran, 1971, p. 230). Parvin views Tajaddod as the official organ of the Democratic Party of Azerbaijan (see N. Parvin, in Encyclopædia Iranica, s. v. Tajaddod, available online at www.iranicaonline.org). A total of 202 issues appeared in Tabriz between April 1917 and August 1920. Tajaddod’s First editor-in-chief was Khiyâbâni, succeeded after 58 issues by Raf‘at. The newspaper’s focus was on politics, but it also covered cultural, social, and literary matters. 85 Taqi Raf‘at (1889–1920) studied at Istanbul and taught at Trabzon before returning to Tabriz. 86 Langerudi, Târikh‑e tahlili, Vol. I, p. 87. Parvin, “Tajaddod”: Tajaddod carried a special column entitled, “Modernity in literature,” and it advocated radical changes and innovation in Persian poetry. For a detailed analysis of a debate on poetic modernity between Raf‘at and Bahâr, see A. KarimiHakkak, Recasting Persian Poetry: Scenarios of Poetic Modernity in Iran, (Salte Lake City, 1995), pp. 104–22. 87 Langerudi, Târikh‑e tahlili, Vol. I, p. 87. 88 On mandatory unveiling, Milani writes (Veils and Words, p. 101): “The women must have felt helpless at suddenly being exposed to prying eyes, anguish at being abruptly revealed, even if they had wished for and expected it.” On the broader impact of Kashf‑e hejâb in society, see H. E. Chehabi, “The Banning of the Veil and its Consequences,” The Making of Modern Iran: State and Society under Riza Shah, 1921–1941, ed. S. Cronin, (London, 2003), pp. 193–210. 89 Âryanpur, Az Sabâ ta Nimâ, Vol. II, p. 457.

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Tabriz, at which Kasmâ’i would appear before the crowd on a stage to recite her poetry.90 Unfortunately, few of Kasmâ’i’s early poems appear to have survived. Among those poems which have is the handful published in the periodical Âzâdistân (lit. ‘Land of Freedom’; the educational-cultural mouthpiece of Khiyâbâni’s rebel government).91 Two of the express aims of Âzâdistân were (i) the promotion of the “modernization of literature” (tajaddod dar adabiyyât) and (ii) the protection of the rights of women.92 In the first issue of Âzâdistân, Taqi Raf‘at called for “sincerity and boldness of innovation” and a “literary revolution.”93 Âzâdistân was a short-lived periodical, appearing just three times between June and August 1920 (the fourth issue was in press when Khiyâbâni and his supporters were defeated in September 1920). Despite the fact that it only appeared a handful of times, Parvin believes Âzâdistân to have made an important contribution to the modernization and transformation of the language, content, and form of Persian poetry.94 In addition to poetry by Raf‘at and Kasmâ’i, Âzâdistân also published poetry by another modernizing poet, Ja’far Khâmene’i, who was also based in Tabriz.95 Following the killing of Khiyâbâni in September 1920, the subsequent suicide of Taqi Raf‘at, and the rise to power of Reza 90 Langerudi, Târikh‑e tahlili, Vol. I, pp. 87–88. 91 Khiyâbâni’s rebel government had renamed Azerbaijan, “Âzâdistân” (“Land of the Free”) in May 1920. 92 Tajaddod published several poems on the status of women and their rights in Iran penned by Taqi Raf‘at under the pseudonym “Femina” and by Dr. Rafi‘ Amin under the pseudonym “Feminist.” See Âryanpur, Az Sabâ tâ Nimâ, Vol. II, p. 456. 93 See Parvin, “Āzādīstān.” See also Karimi-Hakkak, Recasting Persian Poetry, p. 136. 94 See ibid. 95 Ja’far Khâmene’i (b. Tabriz, 1887) knew Ottoman Turkish and French, and became acquainted with new forms of poetry through those literatures. He was influenced by the Turkish poetry published in an Ottoman periodical entitled Servet-i Fünun. He published his poetry in various periodicals including Tajaddod, Shams, Asr‑e Jadid, Dâneshkade, Habl-al-Matin, and Chehre-namâ. See Langerudi, Târikh‑e tahlili, Vol. I, pp. 91–93. For examples of his poetry, see Browne, The Press and Poetry of Modern Persia, pp. 295–98.

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Shah, the political and social activists that had gathered around Khiyâbâni and Raf‘at in Tabriz dispersed. In the wake of her husband’s death, Kasmâ’i returned to Yazd in 1928 with her daughter Safâ. She remained there for the next five years and at some point married her second husband, Mohammad-Hoseyn Rashtiyân. In 1933 Kasmâ’i moved with her family to Tehran. In Tehran she maintained some contact with other poets and writers, but she led a largely reclusive life.96 She died in Tehran in 1961 at the age of 78. Shams Kasmâ’i was one of the pioneers of modernist Persian poetry, the roots of which can be traced back to the emergence of the constitutional movement in the late nineteenth / early twentieth centuries. Despite the liberal socio-political atmosphere fostered during and in the immediate wake of the Constitutional Revolution of 1905–1911, those who argued passionately in favor of the modernization of Persian poetry, both in terms of subject matter and form (in particular rhyme and meter, but also language and register), faced considerable resistance from conservative elements within Iran’s literary establishment. Kasmâ’i is believed to be the first female Iranian poet to express her thoughts using both modern forms and modern imagery,97 and her 1920 poem, Parvaresh‑e tabi’at (‘Nurturing Nature’),98 is one of the first examples of new poetry in Persian published by any poet, whether male or female.99 “Parvaresh‑e tabi’at” reads as an attack on the outmoded clichés, standard conceits, and tired tropes of the neoclassical Persian ghazal:100   96 See Moshir-Salimi, Zanân‑e sokhanvar, Vol. II, p. 103.   97 Karâchi, Andishe-negârân‑e zan, p. 125. See also Karimi-Hakkak, Recasting Persian Poetry, pp. 300–301. For examples of Kasmâ’i’s poetry, see Âryan­pur, Az Sabâ tâ Nimâ, Vol. II, pp. 456–58.   98 See Âzâdistân, no. 4, (21 Shahrivar 1299 / September 1920). This poem is reproduced in Âryanpur, Az Sabâ tâ Nimâ, Vol. II, pp. 457–58.   99 See M. R. Shafi’i-Kadkani, Advâr‑e she’r‑e Fârsi: az mashrutiyat tâ soqut‑e saltanat, (Tehran, 2001), p. 109. The poet Mehdi Akhavân-Sâless acknowledges Kasmâ’i’s pioneering work in modernist Persian poetry, but is rather disparaging of the literary quality of her work. See M. Akhavân-Sâless, Bed’at-hâ va badâye‘‑e Nimâ Yushij, (Tehran, 1978), pp. 64 and 195–96. 100 This poem featured in the fourth issue of Âzâdistân dated 21 Shahrivar 1299 / September 1920, which appears to have been printed, although perhaps not widely distributed.

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‫ز بسیاری �آتش مهر و ناز و نوازش‬ ‫از این شدت گرمی و روشنایی و تابش‬ ‫گلستان فکرم‬ ‫خراب و پریشان شد افسوس‬ ‫چو گلهای افسرده افکار بکرم‬ … ‫صفا و طراوت ز کف داده گشتند م�أیوس‬ ‫ پای بر دامن و سر به زانو نشینم‬،‫بلی‬ ‫که چون نیموحشی گرفتار یک سرزمینم‬ ‫نه یارای خیرم‬ ‫نه نیروی شرم‬ ‫نه تیر و نه تیغم بود نیست دندان تیزم‬ ‫نه پای گریزم‬ ‫از این روی در دست همجنس خود درفشارم‬ ‫ز دنیا و از سلک دنیاپرستان کنارم‬ !‫بر �آنم که از دامن مادر مهربان سر بر �آرم‬ From an excess of the fire of love, coquetry, and flattery From this intense heat, light, and sunlight, The rose-garden of my thoughts Has, alas, become ruined and disturbed Since the depressed flowers of my virgin thoughts Have lost all their beauty and freshness, and now despair … Yes, I sit with legs crossed, head on knees For I am trapped like a half-wild creature in this land I have no ability to do good No power to act shamefully I have neither arrow nor blade; no sharp teeth No feet on which to flee This is why I am pressured by my own kind Set apart from the world and the ways of those who worship it I am planning to emerge from the lap of a kind mother!

Like other modernizing poets of her time, Kasmâ’i was in part influenced by her reading of foreign works of literature, in her case contemporary Ottoman Turkish and Russian literature (and, possibly, other European literature via Russian or Ottoman translations).101 Kasmâ’i appears to have first experimented with changes 262

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in content,102 and then set about challenging the structure and form of Persian poetry.103 This said, even those poems by Kasmâ’i which are more traditional in form address modern themes, such as the status of women and the unity of the nation. One such example is a poem entitled “Madâr‑e omid” (“Pivot of Hope”),104 a patriotic poem with a socialist flavor:101102103104

‫تا تکیه گه نوع بشر سیم و زر بود‬ ‫هرگز مکن توقع عهد برادری‬ ‫تا اینکه حق به قوه ندارد برابری‬ ‫غفلت برای ملت مشرق خطر بود‬ ‫�آنها که چشم دوخته در زیر پای ما‬ ‫مخفی کشیده تیغ طمع در قفای ما‬ ‫مقصودشان تصرف شمس و قمر بود‬ ‫حاشا به التماس بر �آید صدای ما‬ ‫باشد همیشه غیرت ما متکای ما‬ ‫ایرانی از نژاد خودش مفتخر بود‬ As long as humankind relies on silver and gold, Never expect the pledge of brotherhood. As long as the truth remains unequal to force, Heedlessness will endanger the peoples of the East. Those whose eyes are fixed on the ground beneath our feet, Who secretly have drawn the blade of greed behind our back, They seek to take possession of the sun and the moon. 101 See Karâchi, Andishe-negârân‑e zan, p. 125. See also Langerudi, Târikh‑e tahlili, Vol. I, p. 187. There was a good deal of cultural debate between Ottoman and Iranian intellectuals at the time. 102 For four examples of poems by Shams Kasma’i which conform to traditional rhyme and meter, see Moshir-Salimi, Zanân‑e sokhanvar, Vol. II, pp. 103–4. It is possible that these poems were composed before her move to Tabriz, or else after her move to Tehran where she may have abandoned modernist forms. 103 Karâchi, Andishe-negârân‑e zan, p. 125. 104 See Âzâdistân, no. 3, (20 Mordâd 1299). Reproduced in Âryanpur, Az Sabâ tâ Nimâ, Vol. II, p. 456.

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LITERATURE OF THE EARLY TWENTIETH CENTURY God forbid! Our voices are raised in supplication. May we for ever rely on our honor! May all Iranians be proud of their noble race!

In another poem entitled Amal (‘Action’),105 which conforms to the traditional conventions of rhyme and meter, Kasmâ’i bemoans the discrepancy between the glories of Iran’s past and the backwardness of the country’s present, rallying her readers to challenge the hegemony of the West:

‫از چه در ظلمت جهل و ز تمدن شده دور‬ ‫ما ز فقدان عمل گوشه نشین یا محجور‬ ‫کرده اینقدر مرا ساکت و محجوب و هیور‬ ‫نیست حاجت به اثاث و نبود گنج ضرور‬ ‫غافل از �آنکه اروپا ز رقابت مقهور‬

‫ما که پروردۀ شرقیم وز سر چشمه نور‬ ‫غرب از سعی و عمل مخترع طیاره‬ ‫پرتو نور تو ای مهر فروزنده چرا‬ ‫بسکه از فیض طبیعت شده ام مستغنی‬ ‫�آسیایی ز قناعت شده گمنام و حقیر‬

We, who are nurtured in the East, who come from the source of light Why are we in the darkness of ignorance, far distant from civilisation? The West, through effort and action, invented the airplane We, through lack of action, are reclusive and side-lined Why have the rays of your light, O resplendent sun Made me so silent, modest, and frivolous? So much have I become needless of nature’s bounty I need not worldly things, nor riches Asians have become insignificant and irrelevant through contentment Unaware that Europe is vanquished through competition.

It has been commented that, when she abandoned classical forms, Kasmâ’i’s language was insufficiently eloquent.106 In the assessment of Parvin, the avant-garde verses featured in Tajaddod failed because they were all modelled in form and phraseology after the new literary styles current in Ottoman Turkey; and as a result, many of the Turkified Arabic words and phrases it [Tajaddod] used lacked the fluency and 105 See Moshir-Salimi, Zanân‑e sokhanvar, Vol. II, pp. 103–4. 106 Karâchi, Andishe-negârân‑e zan, p. 125.

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A more significant factor which contributed to the “failure” of these first bold attempts to modernize Persian poetry was the strength of the opposition from conservatives to the modernising literary movement, a fact which meant that, at the time of their circulation at least, periodicals such as Tajaddod and its sister periodical Âzâdistân, had limited direct impact on the trajectory of contemporary Persian poetry. Poets such as Shams Kasmâ’i, Taqi Raf’at and Ja’far Khâmene’i were arguably too progressive for their time, but their poetry is significant in that it helped pave the way for Nimâ Yushij (1897–1960) and his ultimately successful and lasting reformist poetic project. Unfortunately, after leaving Tabriz, it would appear that Shams Kasmâ’i either abandoned her literary experiment and reverted to a more traditional form of poetry, or else neglected to collect her later poetry.108 In the following poem entitled “Falsafe-ye omid” (“Philosophy of Hope”),109 Kasmâ’i paints an impressionistic picture, one which echoes the sentiment of early she’r‑e now:

‫ما در این پنج روز نوبت خویش‬ ‫چه بسا کشتزارها دیدیم‬ ‫نیکبختانه خوشه ها چیدیم‬ ‫که ز جان کاشتند مردم پیش‬ ‫زارعین گذشته ما بودیم‬ ‫باز ماراست کشت �آینده‬ ‫گاه گیرنده گاه بخشنده‬ ‫گاه مظلم گهی درخشنده‬ 107 N. Parvin, in Encyclopædia Iranica, s. v. Tajaddod; See Âryanpur, Az Sabâ tâ Nimâ, Vol. II, p. 458: Raf’at appears himself to have recognized the shortcomings of some of these early pieces. Farrokhzâd (Nime-hâ-ye nâtamâm, p. 175) views the poetry of Shams Kasmâ’i as an example of a preNimâ modernist failure. 108 Moshir-Salimi says Kasmâ’i composed at least 500 beyts of poetry, although her poems do not appear to have been published as a collection. See Moshir-Salimi, Zanân‑e sokhanvar, Vol. II, p. 103. 109 See Âzâdistân, no. 2, (15 Tir 1299). Reproduced in Âryanpur, Az Sabâ tâ Nimâ, Vol. II, p. 456.

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‫گرچه جمعیم و گر پراکنده‬ ‫در طبیعت که هست پاینده‬ ‫ باز موجودیم‬،‫گر دمی محو‬ We, in the five days of our time How many fields we saw! Fortunately, we gathered many ears of corn,110 Planted from the soul by people before us We were the farmers of the past We also own the field of the future Sometimes the takers, sometimes the givers Sometimes gloomy, sometimes shining bright Whether we are together, or else dispersed In nature—which is ever-lasting—if, for a moment, We are erased, we still exist.

5. Fakhr‑e Ozmâ Arghun, ‘Fakhri’ (1899–1966) Fakhr‑e Ozmâ Arghun, who took the penname Fakhri, was born in Tehran in 1899. Her father was Mortezâ-Qoli Arghun, Mokremal-Soltân, and her mother was Qamar Khânom, Azamat-al-Saltane. Fakhr‑e Ozmâ was first tutored at home alongside her brothers in Persian literature, Arabic grammar, Islamic jurisprudence, and the basics of philosophy. Her father had a working knowledge of French as did her mother, who also knew English.111 As a young girl Fakhr‑e Ozmâ was tutored in French by a Swiss woman who lived with the family. She subsequently studied at Tehran’s Jeanne d’Arc School and the American School,112 and also obtained an official certificate of competence in French from the Institut ­Franco-​ 110 The verb khushe chidan literally means “to gather ears of corn,” but can also be used as a metaphor to mean “to glean.” 111 Moshir-Salimi, Zanân‑e sokhanvar, Vol. II, p. 33. 112 The American School was established in 1874. On the American Girls’ School and its literary activities (including the publication of a magazine entitled Âlam‑e Nesvân from 1921–1935) see B. Bamdad, From Darkness into Light: Women’s Emancipation in Iran, ed. and trans. F. R.C. Bagley,

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Persan.113 In 1924 Fakhr‑e Ozmâ married Abbâs Khalili (1895– 1971), an established writer and the editor of a newspaper called Eqdâm.114 The couple appear to have become acquainted when, in 1923, Fakhr‑e Ozmâ sent a rousing poem to Khalili for publication in his newspaper.115 The poem opens with the following two beyts:

‫ملک را از خون خائن لاله گون باید نمود جاری از هر سوی کشور جوی خون باید نمود‬ ‫حشمت و ف ّر کیان گر بایدت چون کاوه پاک کشور جم را ز ضحاکان دون باید نمود‬ The country must be stained tulip-red with the blood of traitors! From every corner of the land must flow rivers of blood! If you wish to have the glory and majesty of the Kayânids, like Kâve, Jamshid’s country must be cleansed of all debased Zahhâks!116

The poem then develops into an attack on the corrupt practices of some members of Iran’s parliament, the Majles:

‫ب از درون مجلس شورا بیرون باید نمود‬ ‫هر وکیلی را که شد با زور و با زر انتخا‬ ‫هر بنایی را که شد با جور و بیداد استوا ر محو باید کرد و یکسر سرنگون باید نمود‬ Every deputy who got elected through coercion and gold, Should be expelled from the Consultative Assembly! Every building that was erected through cruelty and injustice Must be destroyed altogether, and toppled to the ground!

Fakhri’s poem ends with an impassioned call to the reader to look to Iran’s future, and do whatever is necessary to advance the nation:

‫فکر اصلاحات �آینده کنون باید نمود‬ ‫کار را اصلاح از سیلاب خون باید نمود‬

‫بر گذشته دسترس نبود مخور افسوس �آن‬ ‫فخریا اصلاح این ویرانه را جز خون مدان‬

(Hicksville, NY, 1977), pp. 50–52; Djavad Hadidi, in Encyclopædia Iranica, s. v. France XV. French Schools in Persia. 113 Bamdad, From Darkness into Light, p. 70. 114 H. Mir’âbedini, in Encyclopædia Iranica, s. v. Khalili, Abbās. 115 For the Persian text, see Karâchi, Andishe-negârân‑e zan, p. 169. 116 Here Fakhr‑e Ozmâ is drawing on the myths of Ferdowsi’s Shahnâme. Jamshid is perhaps the most famous king in Persian mythology. Zahhâk is the evil foreigner who overthrows Jamshid. Kâve is the noble blacksmith who plots the uprising against Zahhâk and his tyranny.

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LITERATURE OF THE EARLY TWENTIETH CENTURY The past is beyond our grasp, lament not for it! Now is the time we must think of reforms for the future. Fakhri! Know that this ruin can only be repaired through blood To repair the mess a deluge of blood must flow!

From 1925 to 1929, Fakhr‑e Ozmâ served on the executive committee of the Patriotic Women’s League (Jam’iyat‑e Nesvân‑e Vatankhwâh),117 a progressive women’s association founded in 1922 by a group of audacious women centered on Mohtaram Eskandari (1895–1924).118 No more than three years after the birth of their daughter, Simin Behbahâni (1927–2014),119 Arghun and Khalili divorced. In 1931 Fakhr‑e Ozma married her second husband, Âdel Khal’atbari, editor of Âyande-ye Irân. Upon the request of her new husband, she changed her name to Fakhr‑e Âdel.120 117 Bamdad, From Darkness into Light, p. 65. For a number of years, Fakhr‑e Ozmâ acted as director of the school for adult women established by the Patriotic Women’s League (see P. Sheykholeslâmi, Zanân‑e ruznâmenegâr o andishmand‑e Irân, Tehran, 1973, p. 159). Other leading members of the league included Nur al-Hodâ Mangane, herself an accomplished writer and poet who acted as the league’s secretary, and who later left Iran to study child psychology at the American University of Beirut (see Bamdad, From Darkness into Light, p. 158), and Homâ Mahmudi, who also ­composed poetry (see ibid., pp. 72–75). In 1923 the league published a periodical named Nesvân‑e Vatankhwâh and began educational classes for adult women. Members of the League of Patriotic Women famously burnt copies of a pamphlet on women’s wiles in Tehran’s Meydân‑e Tupkhâne (see ibid., p. 64). 118 See Bamdad, From Darkness into Light, pp. 62–63: Mohtaram Eskandari was the daughter of a Qajar prince, Mohammad-Ali Mirzâ Eskandari, a founding member of the Anjoman‑e Âdamiyyat. Mohtaram Eskandari was married to Mirzâ Ali-Mohammad Khân Mohaqqeqi. See M. Dawlatshahi, in Encyclopædia Iranica, s. v. Eskandari, Mohtaram, pp. 606–7. 119 Simin Behbahani has described her mother’s role in her first ventures into poetry. See S. Behbahani, “We Await the Golden Dawn,” A Cup of Sin: Selected Poems, ed. and trans. F. Milani and K. Safa, (Syracuse, 1999), p. xix: “At Fourteen, I wrote a few poems which I recited at school. My teacher encouraged me. My mother sent my first ghazal to the journal Now Bahar, published by Malek ol-Sho‘arâ-ye Bahâr … My ghazal was accepted and published.” 120 See Behbahani, “We Await the Golden Dawn,” pp. xviii–xix. Âdel Khal’at­ bari also headed the Kânun‑e Dâneshvarân. See Moshir-Salimi, Zanân‑e sokhanvar, Vol. II, p. 33.

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In 1931 a piece entitled Ezdevâj‑e ejbâri (‘Forced Marriage’) written by Fakhr‑e Ozmâ was published in Âyande-ye Irân,121 and in 1932, Arghun took over as editor-in-chief of Âyande-ye Irân. In 1935 she launched a women’s periodical entitled Nâme-ye Bânovân. She was an active member of the Kânun‑e Bânovân (Ladies Center), regularly delivered speeches on the role of women in Iranian society, and in the early 1940 s joined the Democratic Party of Iran. For many years, Arghun taught French in girls’ secondary schools in Tehran,122 and was in the employ of the Ministry of Culture for more than forty years.123 In 1958, following her retirement, she traveled to the US to be with her children from her second marriage.124 Moshir-Salimi believes Fakhr‑e Ozmâ to have composed more than 4,000 beyts of poetry, and he says that many of her poems were published by her in various newspapers and periodicals.125 Her most stirring poems have patriotic themes and deal with issues such as the emancipation of women and national pride, although she also wrote some more formulaic, amorous ghazals. Some of her poems deal with the workers’ struggle and a few of her pieces carry a Shi’i tone.126 Arghun’s poetic voice is both strident and uncompromising, which perhaps explains why Purân Farrokhzâd detects no “feminine feelings or emotions” (ehsâsât o avâtef‑e zanâne) in her most forceful pieces.127 For Sheykh al-Eslâmi, Arghun is simply a “revolutionary” (enqelâbi) poet.128 121 See Moshir-Salimi, Zanân‑e sokhanvar, Vol. II, p. 33. 122 See Behbahani, “We Await the Golden Dawn,” p. xix. 123 Moshir-Salimi, Zanân‑e sokhanvar, Vol. II, p. 33. 124 Fakhr‑e Ozma Arghun and Âdel Khal’atbari had three children, two of whom wrote poetry. Their elder son, Âdelnezhâd, wrote under the penname “Ghowghâ,” and their daughter, Âdeldokht, adopted the penname “Tarâne.” See Moshir-Salimi, Zanân‑e sokhanvar, Vol. II, p. 33. 125 See Moshir-Salimi, Zanân‑e sokhanvar, Vol. II, pp. 34–35 and Karâchi, Andishe-negârân‑e zan, pp. 120–23 for some examples of her poetry. See also Bakhtiyâri, Behtarin ash’ âr, pp. 442–43 for 25 beyts from nine poems by Fakhri. 126 Farrokhzâd, Nime-hâ-ye nâ-tamâm, pp. 170–71. 127 Ibid., p. 169. 128 Sheykh al-Eslâmi, Zanân‑e ruznâme-negâr, p. 57.

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In this extract, the poet invokes the spirit of the legendary blacksmith, Kâve, who defeats the evil, foreign king, Zahhâk:

‫همتی کو که دل از دام غم �آزاد کنم‬ ‫تا مگر ملک کیان یکسره �آباد کنم‬ ‫ز یکی فکر حکیمانه که بنیاد کنم‬ ‫شورشی بر پا چون کاوۀ حداد کنم‬ ‫چاره �آنست که با سعی خود ایجاد کنم‬

‫چند در کنج قفس ناله و فریاد کن م‬ ‫ناله را ترک کنم ضعف بیکسو فکنم‬ ‫بر زنم �آتش دانش بدل تیرۀ جهل‬ ‫علم علم برافرازم و در کشور جهل‬ ‫فخریا چشم امید از دگران بیخردیست‬

How long should I wail in the corner of this cage? Where is my resolve to free my heart from the snare of woe? To give up moaning, to throw weakness to one side So I might rebuild the whole of this land of the Kayânids, Ignite the fire of knowledge in the dark heart of ignorance, And build its foundation with one wise thought. I will raise the flag of knowledge, and in ignorance’s realm Lead a revolt, just like Kâve the blacksmith! O Fakhri! It is foolish to pin your hopes on others— The solution is for me to create it through my own efforts.

Elsewhere Arghun expresses a viewpoint found in many poems written by both male and female poets of the day, namely that women in contemporary Iranian society should strive to distinguish themselves through their virtue and upright moral conduct, rather than their outward appearance. The poet calls on her sisters to clothe themselves in knowledge rather than in fancy foreign fabrics:

‫نه عارض چو گل و غنچه دهن باشد‬ ‫جمال زن نه همین زلف پر شکن باشد‬ ‫نه کفش برقی و نه چین پیرهن باشد‬ ‫نه ژوپ اطلس و نه جامۀ کرپ ژرژت‬ ‫ت چنین زنی همه جا شمع انجمن باشد‬ ‫جمال زن به حقیقت کمال و عفت اوس‬ ‫چرا ضعیفه در این ملک نام من باشد‬ ‫صبا ز قول من این نکته بپرس از مرد‬ ‫وظیفۀ پرورش مرد پیلتن باشد‬ ‫اگر ضعیفه منم از چه رو به عهدۀ من‬ ‫ش خوش �آن زمان که چنین جامه ات به تن باشد‬ ‫بکوش ای زن و بر تن ز علم جامه بپو‬ ‫به چشم فخری دانش ز بس که شیرین است همیشه در طلبش همچو کوهکن باشد‬ A woman’s beauty is not in her curly locks It’s not in her rosy cheeks, nor in her budlike lips It’s not in a stain skirt, nor a crêpe georgette dress Nor in patent leather shoes, nor a pleated blouse,

270

Women Poets A woman’s beauty lies in her excellence and chastity, Such a woman is the light of any gathering. O zephyr, ask this question on my behalf from men: Why am I called “weak” in this country? If I am “weak,” why then am I charged with the job Of raising a man to rival Rostam? O woman! Clothe yourself with the robe of knowledge! Happy the day when you will wear such a garment! For Fakhri, knowledge is so sweet (shirin) that She strives continually for it, just like Farhâd.

Like many other poets writing in the 1920 s and 1930 s, Arghun illustrated her poetry with allusions to popular heroes from Ferdowsi’s Shahname, such as Kâve and Rostam—strong male figures who, through selfless dedication, protected the Iranian world against attack from the Turânians and other non-Iranians, such as the much demonized Arabs. At points this poetry transgresses the bounds of the patriotic and becomes xenophobic. In the lines quoted above, the poet identifies herself with another male figure found in medieval Persian poetry, Farhâd, a key character in Nezâmi’s 12 th-century romance, Khosrow va Shirin. Arghun uses the example of Farhâd’s unwavering devotion to Shirin (a love that eventually leads him to take his own life) to express the passion she has for knowledge; a passion she seeks to impart to her female readers. Another prominent feature of Fakhri’s poetry, one which is typical of poetry written in this period, is love for the homeland. In the fiercely patriotic poetry of the late Qajar and first Pahlavi period, the homeland (vatan) is conceptualized either as a beloved, or else a benevolent mother, or, as in this extract, a mixture of the two:129 129 On the conceptualisation of the homeland (vatan) as beloved or mother in this period, see A. Najmabadi, Women with Mustaches and Men without Beards: Gender and Sexual Anxieties of Iranian Modernity, (Berkeley, 2005), pp. 97–131. On the appellation mâdar-vatan (“maternal homeland”) and the “matriotic” in nationalist discourse, see M. Tavakoli-Targhi, Refashioning Iran: Orientalism, Occidentalism, and Historiography, (New York, 2001), pp. 122–34. On patriotism in this period, and the role of mothers as educators of patriots, see F. Kashani-Sabet, Frontier Fictions: Shaping the Iranian Nation, 1804–1946, (London, 2000), pp. 180–215. On patriotic ghazals and qasides in the late Qajar/Constitutional period, see Karimi-Hakkak, Recasting Persian Poetry, pp. 61–62.

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‫این کشور دیرینه و ملک کهن من‬ ‫امید که هر روز جوانتر شود از پیش‬ ‫گر قطره خونیست روان در بدن من‬ ‫تا عشق وطن در رگ من در جریانست‬ ‫جز واژۀ پایندۀ وطن از دهن من‬ ‫تا هست جهان باقی هرگز ننیوشی‬ ‫جز زمزمۀ عشق تو زین پس سخن من‬ ‫ای مام وطن تا به ابد هیچ نباشد‬ ‫ای شمع رخت روشنایی انجمن من‬ ‫پروانه صفت عشق تو سوزد پروبالم‬ ‫خواهم که پس از مرگ من احباب بسازند از پرچم ایران عزیزم کفن من‬ My hope is that this ancient, antique land of mine Will, day by day, grow ever more youthful As long as love for the homeland runs in my veins Until the very last drop of blood flows in my body As long as the world remains, you will hear nothing besides The ever-lasting word “homeland” from my mouth! O Mother Iran! From now until eternity there will be for me No other words save whisperings of my love for you! Moth-like, the fire of your love burns my wings; Your candle-like face provides the light for my gathering. When I die I wish my friends to fashion From the flag of my beloved Iran my death shroud

Fakhr‑e Ozmâ Arghun died in the US in 1966 at the age of 67 and her body was repatriated to Iran for burial.

6. Zanddokht Shirâzi (1909–1952) Zanddokht Shirâzi, whose given name was Fakhr-al-Moluk, was born in Shiraz in 1909. She was the eldest child of Nasr-Allâh Khân Zand—a descendant of Karim Khân Zand’s brother, Sâdeq Khân— and Ziâ-al-Shams, daughter of Sharif-al-Hokamâ, a well-known Shirazi physician.130 Bassâri tells us that Zanddokht’s mother, although not educated to a high level herself, placed a good degree of importance on her daughter’s education.131 Zanddokht first attended a local 130 See T. Bassâri, Zanddokht: Pishahang‑e nehzat‑e âzâdi-ye bânuân‑e Irân, (Tehran, 1967), p. 20: Zanddokht had two younger brothers, Bahman Zand and Iraj Zandpur, both of whom worked for government ministries. 131 See ibid., p. 11.

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maktab, and then studied Arabic, Persian literature, English, French, physics, chemistry, and geometry with private tutors.132 In 1930 she studied on a more formal basis for a brief period at the Nâmus School in Tehran.133 In the late 1920 s, Zanddokht taught at Shiraz’s Esmatiye School (est. 1923).134 According to some sources, Zanddokht was married off at the extremely young age of ten.135 The marriage appears to have ended in divorce, and Zanddokht did not remarry. Zanddokht Shirâzi was a passionate advocate of women’s rights.136 In 1927, aged just 18, she founded in Shiraz the Women’s Revolution Society (Jam’iyat‑e Enqelâb‑e Nesvân) and drew up its very progressive charter based on, as she says, her own ideas and feelings.137 According to its stated list of aims (marâm-nâme), the Women’s Revolution Society supported constitutional government and Pahlavi rule, as well as the progress and independence of the Iranian nation.138 Another explicit aim of the society was “striving for the progress of women and supporting women’s rights.”139 The society also believed in women-only public reading rooms (sing. qerâ’at-khâne), the opening of free primary and secondary schools for girls, as well as the establishment of women’s colleges teaching medicine, midwifery, and pediatric nursing (the society also called for women-only hospitals to be created). True to the spirit of the age, the society promoted the wearing of Iranian garments made with domestic fabrics, rather than those made from imported foreign materials.140 It also urged the government to allow ­women 132 133 134 135 136 137 138 139 140

Ibid., p. 12. Ibid., p. 13. Ibid., p. 13. See Sheykholeslâmi, Zanân‑e ruznâme-negâr, p. 172, and E. Sanasarian, The Women’s Rights Movement in Iran: Mutiny, Appeasement, and Repression from 1900 to Khomeini, (New York, 1982), p. 42. See Bassâri, Zanddokht, p. 17: Zanddokht welcomed the establishment of a local branch of the Red Lion and Sun (Shir o Khorshid‑e Sorkh‑e Fârs) in Shiraz and called for a separate women’s branch to be set up. Ibid., p. 18. See also Sanasarian, The Women’s Rights Movement in Iran, pp. 36–37. Ibid., p. 18. Ibid., p. 18. Zanddokht is said to have only worn Iranian-made clothes, and to have encouraged all Iranian women to do the same.

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to attend performances of “beneficial plays.” Other stated aims included promoting alcohol awareness, combating the spread of prostitution, confronting the practices of forced and child marriage, encouraging physical education among females,141 promoting hygiene awareness, and organising meetings for women at which they would receive training in debating and discussing contemporary issues.142 True to its aims, the Women’s Revolution Society managed, in 1927, to facilitate the attendance of women at one of the first public theatrical performances in Shiraz.143 Zanddokht delivered a moving speech on stage before the performance of the play on the second night (the night designated for the female audience). That night she argued for the contribution plays make to the education of women. She believed the spreading of education as the cure for all her society’s ills, and believed that attending “ethical” (akhlâqi) and “social” (ejtemâ’i) plays would prove more effective in educating women than reading newspapers and periodicals. Zanddokht expressed her pride in the fact that the women of Fars now no longer lagged behind women in other parts of the country when it came to attending theatrical performances.144 Soon after its establishment, and under considerable pressure from Reza Shah’s government, the society changed its name to The Women’s Movement (Nehzat‑e Nesvân),145 presumably because of sensitivities around the word 141 Zanddokht encouraged the introduction of physical education to girls’ schools in Shiraz, a fact which saw her criticized by conservative elements of society. See Bassâri, Zanddokht, p. 13. 142 For the full text of the society’s marâm-nâme, see Bassâri, Zanddokht, pp. 18–19. 143 Ibid., p. 103. 144 For the full text of her speech, see ibid., pp. 103–6. 145 See Sanasarian, The Women’s Rights Movement in Iran, pp. 36–37: “The aims of this organization were the emancipation and unveiling of women. Zanddokht was forced by the Reza Shah government to change the name of the organization to the Nezhat Nesvan (Women’s Movement). Despite this change, the government banned the organization nine months later.” Zanddokht says she changed the name to “Women’s Movement” so that there would be no misunderstanding. She was keen to point out that by “revolution” she intended a social, intellectual, and literary revolution (i. e., not a political one).

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“revolution” (enqelâb) in its original title. The society was eventually closed down by the authorities in Shiraz just nine months after its establishment.146 As a teenager, Zanddokht Shirâzi attempted to publish an independent periodical but was deemed too young by the authorities, and was refused the necessary license.147 In 1931 she eventually managed to launch an illustrated monthly entitled Dokhtarân‑e Irân (“Daughters of Iran”),148 which carried articles on women’s activities in other countries, literary pieces, and editorials written by Zanddokht herself.149 In the face of considerable local opposition, Dokhtarân‑e Irân was forced to close after just seven months. After moving to Tehran in 1932, Zanddokht re-launched her periodical for a brief period.150 The poet, Lo’bat Vâlâ, considers Dokhtarân‑e Irân to be more weighty than other contemporary women’s periodicals, believing it to have painted a more accurate picture of the 146 See Bassâri, Zanddokht, pp. 100–101: In a speech addressed to the members of her organization, Zanddokht calls on the women of Iran to found societies and organizations like those founded by women in America and Europe. She says all Iranian women should arise with their “Muslim and non-​ ­Muslim sisters” so that through fellowship and unity they might achieve their goals which are the progress and the elevation of Iran and the liberation of women. She argues that those countries where women are granted greater importance have become more powerful in the world. She continues by arguing that today women stand shoulder to shoulder with men (ham-dush), and that in some respects they have overtaken them. She refers to Reza Shah as the “Savior of Iran and all Iranians.” She praises the Shah for recognizing the importance of the question of women and believes that he will grant Iran’s women “freedom and liberty.” Zanddokht’s speech ends with a call for all the members to read and ponder upon the contents of the constitution of their organization and think how best they can implement its goals. 147 See Bassâri, Zanddokht, p. 13. 148 See Sheykholeslâmi, Zanân‑e ruznâme-negâr, p. 173 for details on the illustrations carried in Dokhtarân‑e Irân. See also M. Sadr-Hâshemi, Târikh‑e jarâyed va majallât‑e Irân, (Isfahan, 1984), Vol. II, p. 28: Dokhtarân‑e Irân marketed itself as a scientific, literary, social, and moral magazine. 149 See Bassâri, Zanddokht, pp. 110–29 for several pieces (some rather light-hearted, others more serious) written by Zanddokht and published in Dokhtarân‑e Irân. 150 According to Sheykholeslâmi (Zanân‑e ruznâme-negâr, p. 173) only seven issues of Dokhtarân‑e Irân appeared in print, and the publication of the magazine came to an end because of lack of sufficient funds. See ibid., p. 176.

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reasons behind women’s disenfranchisement. She also considers the magazine to have been of a higher literary standard than some others.151 Dokhtarân‑e Irân won its editor the admiration of some of the leading literary figures of the day, many of whom wrote articles for it.152 There is ample evidence of Zanddokht Shirâzi’s correspondence with many of the most influential male literati of her day, including Âref Qazvini,153 Sa’id Nafisi, Dr. Suratgar,154 Fereydun Âdamiyyat, Mo’ayyadzâde,155 Kâzemzâde,156 and Hesâmzâde.157 Rezâzâde Shafaq, for one, wrote that Zanddokht’s abilities were unrivalled among women at her time.158 Zanddokht is also believed to have corresponded with prominent foreign figures, such as the French scholar Henri Massé and Rabindranath Tagore.159 Zanddokht published a number of her poems and essays in leading Persian-language periodicals and newspapers of her day, including, Habl-al-Matin (Calcutta),160 The Iran League Quarterly (Bombay),161 Râh‑e Now (Switzerland), Chehre-namâ (Cairo), and Estakhr and Asr‑e Âzâdi (both published in Shiraz).162 In a brief and incomplete autobiographical sketch, Zanddokht says that 151 Lo’bat Vâlâ as quoted in Sheykholeslâmi, Zanân‑e ruznâme-negâr, p. 177. 152 Bassâri, Zanddokht, p. 13. See ibid. pp. 14–15 for a poem written in praise of the magazine dated 1931, and pp. 15–16 for a letter in appreciation of Dokhtarân‑e Irân. Sheykholeslâmi (Zanân‑e ruznâme-negâr, pp. 175–76) lists the following as having contributed pieces to Zanddokht’s magazine: Kâzemzâde Irânshahr, Rashid Yâsami, Sa’id Nafisi, and Sediqe Dowlatâbâdi (a leading women’s rights activist and editor of the influential Isfahanbased women’s periodical, Zabân‑e Zanân). The first issue of Dokhtarân‑e Irân included a biography of Jeanne d’Arc, and in issue 6, a number of female Persian poets were discussed. 153 Bassâri, Zanddokht, p. 12. See also ibid., pp. 28–29 and 31–33. 154 Ibid., pp. 25–26. 155 Ibid., pp. 26–27. 156 Ibid., pp. 29–31. 157 Ibid., pp. 32–34. 158 Ibid., p. 22. 159 Ibid., p. 22. Tagore visited Shiraz in the spring of 1932. 160 Ibid., p. 51: “Tab’‑e hasrat-zade.” 161 Ibid., p. 65: “Mâ va man”; ibid., pp. 88–89: “Niyâkân‑e mâ.” See ibid., pp. 34–35 for a note in English about Zanddokht Shirazi and her poetry published in The Iran League Quarterly. 162 See ibid., p. 59.

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she published poetry and essays from an early age,163 although she never seriously considered collecting her poems, nor did she attach much importance to her own poetry. Zanddokht believed her poetry to have had a specific purpose at the time it was composed, not necessarily later. According to one of her pupils, when reciting her patriotic poetry to her class, Zanddokht would weep bitterly upon reaching a section about women’s disenfranchisement, which would, in turn, cause her students to cry.164 Like many women activists of her day, Zanddokht was enamored of Reza Shah, whom she praises in her poetry and essays. She believed Reza Shah to be the savior of Iran, and the savior of Iran’s women in particular.165 As was typical of her day, Zanddokht Shirâzi composed a number of neoclassical ghazals.166 In some of these poems, she draws on the poetry of Hâfez (d. circa 1390), who she says influenced her as a child.167 This said, even in those poems which bear the 163 Ibid., pp. 20–21. 164 Ibid., p. 23. See also ibid., p. 102: On the education of women in Japan, Zanddokht writes: “they consider the education of this noble sex to come before the education of men” (ta’lim o tarbiyat o ma’ âref‑e in jens‑e sharif râ maqdam bar tarbiyat- o ta’lim‑e mardân mi-dânand ). Zanddokht informs us that the first step Japan took to develop was to educate its women, and that this is why Japan now is shoulder to shoulder with the other “living nations” (melal‑e zende). She calls upon female teachers in newly established girls’ schools, saying they are “responsible for the progress of this society,” and praises them for having turned away from the superstitions of the past, telling them that future generations will be indebted to them. Zanddokht then addresses the school girls themselves in the following manner, “Girls of today! Everyone is pinning their hopes on you!” (dokhtarân‑e emruz, chashm‑e omid‑e hame bar shomâ-st). 165 See Bassâri, Zanddokht, p. 88: “Monji-ye keshvar” (“Savior of the Nation”), a mathnavi in praise of Reza Shah which Zanddokht published in Bombay’s The Iran League Quarterly. 166 See e. g. ibid., p. 38: “Ghamm‑e Shirin”; and ibid., p. 49: “Rah-âvard.” 167 See ibid., pp. 43–44: “Zende-ye jâvid.” This poem contains an esteqbâl of a hemistich from Hâfez’s well-known poem which opens with the line:

‫منم که شهرۀ شهرم به عشق ورزیدن منم که دیده نیالوده ام به بد دیدن‬

Zanddokht says she was a child when she opened Hâfez’s divân, read this ghazal (which had a strange effect on her), and then composed her own poem. See also ibid., p. 76: “Ruh‑e man” (“My Spirit”), a poem in which Zanddokht expresses her love for Hâfez.

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­ nmistakable imprint of classical influence, the poet often adds a u modern element, such as devotion to the homeland; e. g.:

”‫به خاک پاک وطن بوسه زن چو حافظ گفت “که دست زهدفروشان خطاست بوسیدن‬ ‫که هست شرط نخست سخن سراییدن‬ ‫سخن مگوی مگر زنددخت نغز و لطیف‬ Kiss the pure soil of the homeland,168 since Hâfez said: “It is a sin to kiss the hands of those who hawk asceticism.” Zanddokht! Compose no poetry, unless it be fine and delicate, For this is the first condition when composing verses.169

In a revealing note appended to a poem entitled, “Golbon‑e Hâfez” (“Hâfez’s Rose-garden”), the poet says she has never liked and still does not like composing ghazals, and that she only ever did so after reading the poetry of great masters. After composing ghazals, she says she would return to her “natural state” (hâl‑e tabi’i) in which she would no longer compose such poems. From almost the very beginning of her poetic career, Zanddokht Shirâzi used poetry as a vehicle for the expression of socially relevant ideas. In the first poem she published in her hometown of Shiraz, “‘Âsheqân‑e dorughi” (“False Lovers”),170 the poet critiques what she sees as the corruption of elements of the elite in 1920 s Iran:

‫به هرکه روی کنم جز قفا نمی بینم‬ ‫ز عاشقان دروغی وفا نمی بینم‬ ‫ولی به ملک کیان جز گدا نمی بینم‬ ‫خداپرست و به حق �آشنا نمی بینم‬ ‫خدا گواست که صدق و صفا نمی بینم‬ ‫جوی ز حب وطن در شما نمی بینم‬ ‫اثر به خون شما از نیا نمی بینم‬ ‫بر این گروه نصیحت روا نمی بینم‬

‫به هر که می نگرم جز جفا نمی بینم‬ ‫رجال ایران گویند عاشق وطنیم‬ ‫ببین که علم و هنر کرد عالمی �آزاد‬ ‫کسان که حافظ دین اند و هادی خلق اند‬ ‫در این زمانه تقلب رواج بازار است‬ ‫متاع کشور بیگانه تا به کار شماست‬ ‫اگرچه زادۀ کوروش و داریوش استید‬ ‫بیا خموش نشین زنددخت و راحت باش‬

168 In Hâfez’s ghazal, the hemistich which comes before the poet commands himself to kiss only the beloved sâqi and the wine cup. Zanddokht has made the homeland her intoxicating beloved. 169 See Bassâri, Zanddokht, pp. 43–44: “Zende-ye jâvid,” beyts 6–7. 170 Ibid., p. 46: “‘Âsheqân‑e dorughi.”

278

Women Poets Whomsoever I look at I see nothing but cruelty Everyone I turn my face to I see only their back Iran’s noble men profess love for the homeland From these false lovers I see no fidelity See how science and art have freed the world But in the land of the Kayânids I see only beggars Those who protect the faith and guide the people Seem neither godly, nor pious in my eyes Today, the markets do a brisk trade in dishonesty God is my witness; I see neither honesty nor sincerity As long as you buy goods from foreign countries No love for the homeland will I see flowing in you Even though you are born of Cyrus and Darius No trace of the blood of your forefathers do I see in you Come, sit quietly Zanddokht; calm yourself I see no use in offering advice to this group

In a number of her later poems, the strong influence of contemporary male poets such as Rashid Yâsami,171 and, more particularly, Âref Qazvini, can be detected.172 In a note appended to a ghazal containing an esteqbâl from a poem by Âref, Zanddokht mentions that a group of women came to appreciate Âref through her promotion of him.173 In some of her poems, Zanddokht speaks with an autobiographical tone. In a patriotic poem entitled “Mozhde” (‘Good News’),174 she boasts of her royal lineage, and encourages women to be at the vanguard of social change in Iran. The poem opens with praise (madh) for Reza Shah, and ends with the poet’s expression of her love for the beloved homeland, followed by a short benediction (do’â) for the king in the style of the panegyric ode (qaside):

‫مژده ای دل که مه رفته چنان مهر �آید‬ ‫�آفتابی است که رخ از همه سو بنماید‬ 171 Ibid., pp. 46–47: “Hadith‑e eshq” (dated 1932), contains an esteqbâl from a ghazal by Rashid Yâsami. 172 See e. g., ibid., pp. 47–48: “Hân!”; pp. 54–55: “Mellat‑e hoshyâr-am ârezust”; p. 58: “Seyd‑e baste”; and pp. 59–60: “Zan va gol.” 173 See ibid., p. 59. 174 Ibid., p. 50.

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‫هر کسی حکم کند حاکم لایق نیست‬ ‫پارس را حاکم شایسته و لایق باید‬ ‫دختری شورشی و زادۀ شاه زندم‬ ‫نتواند که کسی ه ّمت من برباید‬ ‫ای خوش �آنروز که در رزم وطن با دل و جان‬ ‫زن زره پوشد و خود بند کفن بگشاید‬ ‫عاشقم بر وطنم پس سخن از میهن و دوست‬ ‫زنگ غم از دل غمدیدۀ من بزداید‬ ‫از خدا می طلبم راهبر ایران را‬ ‫صولت و کامرواییش عطا فرماید‬ Rejoice, O heart! A sun has replaced the moon A sun which shows its face from every direction Not every man who rules is a worthy ruler Persia needs a fitting and worthy ruler I am a rebellious girl of royal Zand stock No one can ever rob me of my zeal! Happy that day when, with heart and soul, women will Don mail and untie shrouds, battling for the homeland I am in love with my homeland, talk of which Burnishes the tarnish of woe from my weary heart I ask God to bestow upon the leader of Iran Added ferocity; and the gratification of his desires

Like many of the female and male poets that came before and after her, Zanddokht bemoaned the low status of women in Iranian society.175 In the lines quoted below, the poet directs her anger against the traditional black veil and its accoutrements:176 175 For examples of “feminist” poems by male poets of the early twentieth century, including Eshqi, Bahâr, Âref Qazvini, and Iraj Mirzâ, who were all staunch supporters of women’s education and who advocated unveiling, see Bamdad, From Darkness into Light, pp. 134–37. On the phenomenon of the support of male Iranian intellectuals at this time for women’s emancipation, see Sanasarian, The Women’s Rights Movement in Iran, p. 23. 176 Ibid., pp. 44–45: “Chie?,” beyts 1–4. The colloquial radif of this poem gives the sense that we are listening to the voice of the Iranian everywoman. See also ibid., p. 79: “Del‑e khunin” and p. 81: “Nâ-mehrabun” for more colloquialisms in Zanddokht’s poetry.

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‫اگر که ما بشر استیم این عذاب چیه؟‬ ‫بدون شرکت زن حسن انتخاب چیه؟‬ ‫برای ملت بیدار خورد و خواب چیه؟‬ ‫به کارتان همه عیاشی و شراب چیه؟‬

‫ندانم این کفن و پیچه و نقاب چیه‬ ‫به شاه تاجور بگوی باد صبا‬ ‫رجال کشور ما از چه روی خاموشند‬ ‫اگر که فکر شما جز وطنپرستی نیست‬

I know not what this shroud, mask, and face veil are If we are human beings, then what’s all this torment? O zephyr! Ask our royal King what the beauty is In being elected without the participation of women? Why do the leading men of our country remain silent? For a wakeful nation, what’s all this slumber? If indeed you are occupied solely with thoughts of patriotism, Then what’s all this revelry and drinking?

Zanddokht saw herself as a “lion-hearted woman” (shir-zan),177 an Iranian Jeanne d’Arc.178 She understood her mission as raising awareness about the restrictions imposed on women in Iran:

‫زن در این ملک بدینگونه پریشان تا چند؟ دست و پا بسته و لب بسته به زندان تا چند؟‬ How long will women in this land remain disturbed like this? With hands and feet bound, their lips shut tight in this prison?179

And:

‫ولی خاک مذلت را زن ایران به سر دارد‬

‫به هر ملت نظر کردم زنانش محترم دیدم‬

Every nation I have observed, their womenfolk seem respected But the women of Iran have the dust of humiliation on their heads.180

Like Tâyere and other Iranian proto-feminists before her, Zanddokht wrote passionately, both in poetry and prose, about the need for girls and women to be educated. Zanddokht argued for the 177 See ibid., p. 52: “Mardi bozorg bâyad va azmi bozorg-tar,” beyt 11: “Yes, just like Zanddokht, the lion-hearted women of Iran / Should spell out the faults of the foolish, letter by letter!” 178 Ibid., p. 51: “Parvâne va sham‘,” beyt 9: “O God, you have made me the manifestation of love / So that, like Jean d’Arc, I might burn the hands of the enemy.” 179 Ibid., p. 53: “Tâ chand?,” beyt 1. 180 Ibid., p. 55: “Zan‑e Irân”: beyt 2.

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e­ ducation of females on the premise that, if women remained uneducated, Iran would not prosper, because intelligent men, who are vital to the progress of the nation, can only be raised by educated mothers:

‫دانش مرد هم از معرفت مام بباید‬

‫نه ترقی کند ایران مگر از دانش مردان‬

Iran will only progress through the knowledge of men A man’s knowledge must come from that of his mother.181

There are, however, in some of Zanddokht’s writings, flashes of a more radical attitude. In one poem, Zanddokht goes a step further than many of her contemporaries in calling for women to be judged on an equal level to men in regard to issues of sexual morality. In the following extract, the poet attacks the double standard that exists in Iranian society in regard to interaction with the opposite sex:182

‫اگر یک مرد با صد زن شود دوست شرافت پیشه مرد نیکنام اوست‬ ‫ز رفعت فرق گردون سای دارد‬ ‫به کوی نیک نامان جای دارد‬ ‫بر او صد زشت نامی ساز گردد‬ ‫وگر یک زن دو مرد انباز گردد‬ ‫ز هر در راندن او را حاصل اوست‬ ‫سرای زشت نامان منزل اوست‬ If a man befriends a hundred women He is considered honorable, his reputation intact His place is the lane of those of good name From dignity his head touches the sky But if one woman befriends just two men A hundred foul names are heaped upon her She is lodged in the abode of the ignominious Her fate to be driven from every door

Further proof that Zanddokht Shirâzi was comparatively more forward-thinking than many other female social activists of her time is to be found in a fascinating poem in which she argues for a 181 Ibid. pp. 56–57: “Dânesh‑e nesvân,” beyt 6. 182 Ibid., pp. 95–96: “Chenin pâkân‑e nâ-kas râ be sar‑e khâk,” beyts 13–16. A similar sentiment is expressed in ibid., pp. 96–97: “Yek bâm o do havâ”: beyt 3: “Two people are about to do something bad: / Why is the man good, and the woman malevolent?”

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more active role for Iranian women in the workplace, whether that workplace be the factory or the hospital. A poet, writer, and educationalist herself, Zanddokht saw a broader role for women professionally, one that only began to be imagined in the late 1920 s and the 1930 s with the gradual increase in numbers of women traveling abroad to study at the university level, and, on home soil, with the admission of the first group of women students to Tehran University in 1936:

‫کار تجارت از چه معنی کار زن نیست‬ ‫کار صناعت با چه منطق کار من نیست‬ ‫کفش زنان را از چه رو زن خود ندوزد‬ ‫زن از چه جراح و طبیب جان و تن نیست‬ ‫پس خواهرانم تا به کی بیکاره هستید‬ ‫تنها برای تخم‌گیری خلق گشتید‬ ‫تنها برای عشق مردان چیره دستید‬ … ‫ولله بدبختی زن از احتیاج است‬ ‫هر گرسنه در چاپلوسی ناعلاج است‬ ‫هر زن اگر شد کارگر مانند مردش‬ ‫بر تارک شو لاجرم بی شبهه تاج است‬ !‫عزت بود ای خواهران در بی نیازی‬ For what reason is commerce not women’s work? By what logic is industrial work not fit for me? Why shouldn’t women themselves make women’s shoes? Why aren’t women surgeons and physicians? So, my sisters, how long will you remain idle? Were you created only for breeding? Are you only skilled in loving men? ­… By God! Women’s misfortune stems from their need Every hungry one has no choice but to use flattery If every woman became a worker, like her man Undoubtedly she would become the crown on his head There’s honor, O sisters, in being free from want!183 183 Ibid., pp. 71–72: “‘Ezzat bovad ey khwaharân dar bi-niyâzi,” selected lines.

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Zanddokht Shirâzi moved to Tehran in 1932, where, for a short period, she worked for the Ministry of Culture.184 She died in Tehran in 1952 at the young age of 43 after a long period of depression reportedly brought on by the criticism she received in her youth for her radical views. She was also saddened by not being able to muster sufficient funds to continue publishing Dokhtarân‑e Irân.185 Moshir-Salimi describes meeting Zanddokht in her modest Tehran apartment in the 1930 s (between 1932 and 1937).186 In 1937 Zanddokht Shirâzi suffered a nervous breakdown. She continued to compose poetry during the last fifteen years of her life as she battled with her deteriorating psychological state.187

7. Âlam-tâj Qâ’em-Maqâmi, ‘Zhâle’ (1883–1946) Âlam-tâj Qâ’em-Maqâmi, who adopted the penname Zhâle (‘Dew’), was born in Farâhân in western Iran in 1883. Her father, Mirzâ Fath-Allâh, was a direct descendant of Qâ’em-Maqâm Farâhâni (d.1835) Mohammad Shah’s celebrated prime minister.188 Her mother, Maryam, was the daughter of a certain Mo’in-al-Molk. Zhâle was educated from the age of five, first in Persian literature and then in Arabic grammar. Following a family dispute over inheritance, she left Farâhân in 1898 for Tehran aged 15 with her parents.189 One year later she was married to an acquaintance of her father more than twice her age, a military man by the name of 184 Ibid., p. 25. 185 See Sheykholeslâmi, Zanân‑e ruznâme-negâr, pp. 177 and 178. 186 Moshir-Salimi, Zanân‑e sokhanvar, Vol. I, pp. 219–20. 187 See Bassâri, Zanddokht, p. 178. 188 A prominent poet of the Constitutional period, Adib al-Mamâlek Farâhâni, was a distant cousin of Zhâle. Adib al-Mamâlek’s sister, Fâteme Soltân Farâhâni, “Shahin” (1864–1919), who is also known by the title, Adibat alZamân, was also a talented poet. For two of her poems, see Irani, Poets of the Pahlavi Regime, pp. 1–4. 189 P. Bakhtiyâri, “Gushe-hâ’i az zendegi-ye u” in Âlam-tâj Qâ’em-Maqâmi, Divân‑e bânu Âlam-tâj Qâ’em-Maqâmi, Zhâle, ed. P. Bakhtiyâri, (Tehran, 1967), pp. vii–viii.

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Ali-Morâd Khân Bakhtiyâri.190 Zhâle and her husband had little, if anything, in common. Within just months of the marriage, both of Zhâle’s parents died. The couple had a son named Hoseyn Bakhtiyâri (better known as Pezhmân Bakhtiyâri; 1900–1974), who became a well-known poet and writer in his own right. Zhâle and her husband separated around 1906 after approximately seven years of unhappy marriage. Pezhmân Bakhtiyâri was raised by his father, and after Ali-Morâd Khân died in 1909, by his father’s relatives. Bakhtiyâri was only reunited with his mother at the age of 27. For the best part of the next two decades, mother and son lived under one roof. Zhâle passed her time writing poetry, and reading books on literature, history, and astrology. She died in Tehran in the summer of 1946 at the age of 63.191 During her lifetime Zhâle did not publish any of her poetry. However, in 1934 her son published 14 lines of his mother’s poetry without her knowledge, an act she later chastized him for.192 In the late 1950 s, Moshir-Salimi included a handful of Zhâle’s poems in his anthology of women poets,193 and between 1965 and 1967, Bakhtiyâri published a number of his mother’s poems in the literary periodical Yaghmâ.194 Being published in a prestigious periodical such as Yaghmâ did much to acquaint key players in the literary circles of 1960 s Iran with Zhâle and her poetry, and helped create a readership for her collected poems published in 1967 by her son. Bakhtiyâri published all that he had managed to salvage of Zhâle’s poetry, which amounted to just over 900 beyts.195 There is no way 190 Ibid., p. ix. 191 Ibid., p. xii. 192 See Bakhtiyâri, Behtarin ash’ âr. Interestingly, Keshavarz-Sadr says it was he who acquired these few lines of poetry surreptitiously via Zhâle’s niece and published them in Bakhtiyâri’s anthology. See Keshâvarz-Sadr, Mohammad-Ali, Az Râbe’e tâ Parvin, (Tehran, 1955), pp. 143–44. 193 See Moshir-Salimi, Zanân‑e sokhanvar, Vol. I, pp. 241–44. Moshir-Salimi says he collected the poems from poetry anthologies and from Pezhmân Bakhtiyâri himself. 194 See e. g. Yaghmâ Vol. 17, issue 10, pp. 458–59; Vol. 17, issue 11, pp. 510–11; Vol. 17, issue 12, p. 555; Vol. 18, issue 4, p. 211; Vol. 18, issue 8, p. 411; Vol. 18, issue 10, p. 511; Vol. 19, issue 7, p. 380; and Vol. 19, issue 10, p. 514–15. 195 Bakhtiyâri, “Gushe-hâ’i,” p. vi.

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of knowing how much of Zhâle’s poetry has been lost. Since she did not publish any of her poetry during her lifetime (and appears never to have wished to), it is unsurprising that many of her poems have an unfinished feel to them. Bakhtiyâri makes reference to this when he speaks of the difficulties he encountered in editing his mother’s poetry, in particular in the case of beyts that appear in variant versions in her handwritten notes.196 Zhâle did not share any of her poetry with her son while alive, and it was only after her death that, leafing through his mother’s favorite books, he came across a poem in her handwriting. He subsequently found more poems written on pieces of paper inserted between the pages of books, and other poems scattered among her papers.197 We do not know how faithfully Bakhtiyâri edited the manuscript fragments of his mother’s poetry, although the fact that he published poems by her in which she talks frankly about the disappointment she felt in her marriage, suggests that he did not censor the content.198 Scholars of poetry penned by Iranian women in the early twentieth century are indebted to Bakhtiyâri for preserving Zhâle’s poetry, but one cannot help but feel that this intensely private woman would have been horrified to learn that, after her death, her most intimate feelings, which she expressed in verse and shared with no one, had entered the public domain.199 This said there is a sense in at least one of her poems that she toyed with the idea of publishing her work:200

196 Ibid., p. vi. See ibid., p. xxi: many of Zhâle’s poems were recorded in her handwritten notes with multiple variations, and it is sometimes not clear which one of the versions she preferred. 197 Bakhtiyâri, “Gushe-hâ’i,” p. xv. 198 Bakhtiyâri (ibid., p. xxii) tells us the problems he faced in editing his mother’s poetry led him to publish slightly different versions of certain poems by her. He says it was sometimes very difficult to select which version of a line to include because both/all were eloquent. It is he who gave titles to the poems, not Zhâle. 199 See Karâchi, Andishe-negârân‑e zan, pp. 130–31. 200 Qâ’em-Maqâmi, Divân, p. 4: “Payâm be zanân‑e âyande,” lines 16–17, plus one line which was crossed out.

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‫رفتگان را جز کتاب و گفته راه �آورد نیست‬ ‫من ز دنیا رفته ام ای نازنین �آیندگان‬ ‫برگ خشکی است بر شاخ سخن گر ورد نیست‬ ‫�آنچه باقی ماند از مجموعۀ اشعار من‬ ‫سرد باشد شعر من زانرو که طبعم گرم نی گرم گردد منطق ار گوینده را دل سرد نیست‬ I have left this world, O dear women of the future The only souvenirs of the departed are books and words Whatever remains of my collection of poems, Is a dry leaf on the branch of poetry, if it is not a rose. My poetry is cold because my nature is not warm Speech becomes warm if the speaker’s heart is not cold

Based on the fact that Zhâle not only avoided publishing her work, but also rebuked her son for doing so (and even admitted to burning a sizeable portion of it),201 Bakhtiyâri’s assessment that his mother did not consider herself a poet per se and actively avoided being labeled as one would appear to be correct.202 This all begs the question of what the cause of her strong aversion to being considered a poet was, and, more importantly perhaps, who the addressee is in her poetry. Is Zhâle addressing an imaginary or anticipated audience, or is she essentially in dialogue with herself?203 Zhâle knew Arabic, but she did not know any European languages and was, therefore, largely unfamiliar with Western literature. This is a fact which makes her poetry so fascinating when compared with that of her younger contemporary, Parvin E’tesâmi, and later poets such as Simin Behbahâni and Forugh Farrokhzâd who, due to their education, knowledge of European languages, or time spent abroad, had greater access to such literature in the original. In terms of 201 Bakhtiyâri, “Gushe-hâ’i,” p. xiv: Zhâle told her son that she had previously composed a divân of ghazals but that she had burned that divân because ghazals are poems about love and she had been deprived of love. In this line the poet appears to allude to this episode: Qâ’em-Maqâmi, Divân, p. 75: “Vasvase-ye kaniz,” line 6: “I will throw my divân into the fire on purpose / Before any fire can fall from me into my divân.” 202 Bakhtiyâri, “Gushe-hâ’i,” p. iv. See ibid., p. xiv: Zhâle went so far as to deny being the author of the short poems her son had procured via a relative and had published without her permission in 1934. 203 In one poem Zhâle refers to her poetry as her only true friend, see Qâ’em-Maqâmi, Divân, p. 44: “This crazed poetry is neither sweet nor is it firm / What can I do? It is my confidant in my loneliness.”

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LITERATURE OF THE EARLY TWENTIETH CENTURY

meter, rhyme, and form, Zhâle conformed to the standards of traditional Persian poetry. Although she wrote during a period in which poetry was changing, in terms of form, Zhâle made peace with tradition. The form of her poetry was not new, but the views on men, women, and marriage that she expressed in them were.204 It is in terms of subject matter and stance that her poetry is most interesting: Zhâle’s poetry contains dialogues with inanimate, domestic objects (such as mirrors, combs, and her trusted samovar).205 These domestic dialogues were novel for her time, and mark her poetry as feminine.206 It is, however, her tirades against Iranian society’s injustices against women, and the open portrayal of her own failed marriage that truly grab the reader. Zhâle writes unabashedly about her own misfortunes, extrapolating from her individual circumstances to tell the story of the Iranian everywoman.207 The honesty of her poetic voice is striking for its time. As Afary has noted, it is with Zhâle that “female-centred” poetry (which finds its true voice in the 1950 s and 1960 s with Forugh Farrokhzâd), is born.208 Zhâle’s most bitingly bitter poems are those in which she attacks and ridicules her husband. In the following extract,209 she depicts the bed she shares with her husband. The repeated equation of her husband with non-humans (whether animals or demons), and the suggestion of marital rape, are chilling:210 204 See Karâchi, Andishe-negârân‑e zan, p. 145. 205 On domestic markers in the poetry of Zhâle and their significance, see G. Yusofi, Cheshme-ye rowshan: didâri bâ shâ’erân, (Tehran, 1990), pp. 173–74. 206 Despite this, some commentators describe Zhâle’s poetry, presumably because it is so bold, as “manly” (mardâne). See Jamshid Amir Bakhtiyâri, “Moqaddame” in Âlam-tâj Qâ’em-Maqâmi, Divân‑e bânu Âlam-tâj Qâ’em-Maqâmi, Zhâle, ed. P. Bakhtiyâri, (Tehran, 1967), p. xxvii. 207 See Farrokhzâd, Nime-hâ-ye nâ-tamâm, pp. 196–97 and Karâchi, Andishenegârân‑e zan, p. 144. Karâchi (ibid., p. 142) believes Zhâle crossed the line between defending women and attacking men in her poetry. 208 J. Afary, Sexual Politics in Modern Iran, (Cambridge, 2009), p. 229. See also Farrokhzâd, Nime-hâ-ye nâ-tamâm, p. 189. 209 Qâ’em-Maqâmi, Divân, p. 66: “Tasviri dar qâb‑e talâ’i,” lines 23–26. 210 Bâstâni-Pârizi praises Zhâle for the frankness with which she portrays the trials of married life in her poetry. See M. E. Bâstâni-Pârizi, Khâtun‑e haft qal’a, (Tehran, 1965), pp. 14–16.

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Women Poets

‫�آنکه �آنجا خفته و ز خرطوم فیل �آسای خویش صور اسرافیل را بیغاره بر خرخر زده‬ ‫دیوسیما شوهری کز روی نامیمون خویش �آب وحشت صبحدم بر روی همبستر زده‬ ‫پنجه و دندان درین عشق �آفرین پیکر زده‬ ‫همسری عشق �آشنا خواهم نه ببری گرسنه‬ ‫او زند راهی که هر حیوان بی مشعر زده‬ ‫چشم شهوتران کجا ادراک زیبایی کجا‬ He who sleeps over there, who from his elephantine trunk Reproaches Esrâfil’s211 trumpet with his snoring Is a demon-faced husband from whose cheek at dawn The water of terror drips upon his bed-fellow I want a husband who knows love, not a hungry tiger Whose paws and teeth maul this frame made for love How can lustful eyes ever comprehend true beauty? He beats a path that every dumb beast has trodden before him.

In many of her poems, Zhâle expresses her anger towards her now dead parents—for having forced her to marry—and towards her husband—for having caused her to suffer when married. In the following extract,212 the poet, weary at the burden of anger she bears, questions her ability to continue to rail against those now departed:

‫چند چون پیری عجوز و چند چون کوری گد ا اشک خون از دیده بارم دست غم بر سر زنم‬ ‫تازیانه تا بکی بر لاشۀ شوهر زنم‬ ‫تا بکی مسکین پدر را تن بلرزانم بگور‬ ‫شوی بگذشت و پدر فانی شد و مادر بریخت تا بکی بیغاره بر یک مشت خاکستر زنم‬ How long should I, like an aged woman, like a blind beggar Shed tears of blood and beat my head with the hand of woe? How long should I shake my father’s corpse in his grave? How long should I flog my dead husband’s carcass? My husband has passed away; my father and mother are dead How much longer should I reproach a handful of dust?

In a similar vein, in a poem which appears to have been composed after the death of her husband (that is, after 1909), Zhâle’s tone is regretful. The overall sense is one of loss:213 211 Esrâfil: the archangel whose trumpet will sound on the Day of Judgment. 212 Qâ’em-Maqâmi, Divân, p. 78: “Oshtolom,” lines 5–8. 213 Qâ’em-Maqâmi, Divân, p. 83: “Pas az marg‑e showhar,” lines 10–12.

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‫کنون او به خاک سیه خفت و خیز د شرار غم از جان امیدوارم‬ ‫به سر سایه ای بود از کردگارم‬ ‫گرانمایه مردی جوانمرد شویی‬ ‫ندانستمش قدر و اکنون چه حاص ل گر از دیدگان اشک خونین ببارم‬ He now sleeps in black earth and there rise Sparks of sorrow from my hopeful soul A precious man, a chivalrous husband A shade for my head sent by God I knew not his worth. What now will be gained If I shed tears of blood from my eyes?

Zhâle was no more than 23 years of age when she separated from her husband, and just 26 when he died. In his introduction to his mother’s poetry, Bakhtiyâri shows awareness of his parents’ incompatibility, and says he understands why his mother complained about being married to a husband less educated than her, but he says that her situation was by no means unique at that time, and that many women dealt with much worse without complaining as much. Bakhtiyâri defends his father, arguing that he was not completely illiterate and, that, in any case, it was unreasonable of his mother to expect a man like him to possess literary erudition.214 Bakhtiyâri goes so far as to attribute some of her complaints about married life to fantasy: “I can consider many of her [Zhâle’s] complaints to have been born of her poetic imagination.”215 He believes that his mother, who he says viewed the world with a poet’s eyes and had an active imagination, transformed small issues into larger ones, recasting them in her poetry. In the following excerpt,216 possibly written around 1913, the poet draws attention to her youth. Zhâle says she has only now awoken from her slumber, ready to live her life anew:

‫از چه پیر و بیوه می پنداریم‬ ‫من کیم دوشیزه ای نسپرده سال‬ ‫خفته بودم تا که عمر از سی گذشت اینک �آمد نوبت بیداریم‬ ‫می دهد منشور دولتیاریم‬ ‫شاید امروزست روزی کاسمان‬ 214 Bakhtiyâri, “Gushe-hâ’i,” p. ix. 215 Ibid., p. x. 216 Qâ’em-Maqâmi, Divân, p. 57: “Yâdegar‑e ahd‑e showhardâri-am,” lines 10–12.

290

Women Poets Who am I? Just a girl of tender years Why do you think me an old widow? I remained asleep until I turned thirty Now has come the time of my awakening! Perhaps today is the day that the heavens Will bestow the charter of my good fortune!

Bakhtiyâri says his mother had sought a love marriage and a husband who would dote on her, although it would never have occurred to his father to show love and affection to his wife.217 In some sense, Zhâle was in love with the idea of love itself.218 There are rare glimpses of tenderness in Zhâle’s poetry, such as the following from a short poem in which the speaker addresses an idealized beloved:219

‫سیماب صفت دل ببرم می لرزد‬ ‫تصویر تو در چشم ترم می لرزد‬ ‫می رقصد و در برابرم می لرزد‬

‫ای دلبر موهوم بیا کز غم ت و‬ ‫هر سو گذرد نگاه اشک �آلودم‬ ‫نقش تو ز پشت دود سیگار امش‬ ‫ب‬

O imaginary beloved, come, for out of longing for you My heart trembles in my chest like mercury Every direction my tearful gaze turns towards An image of you trembles in my moist eyes Tonight, behind the cigarette smoke, your outline Dances and trembles before my face.

Dark pessimism, however, better characterizes Zhâle’s poetry, in particular those poems in which she talks directly of her harsh lot in life; e. g.:220

‫داستانش مرگ و عنوان زیستن‬

‫پس حیات من غم �آگین دفتریست‬

And so my life is a book filled with woe Its story is death, and its title is life.

Zhâle is most compelling as a poet when she diverts the attention of the reader away from herself towards the plight of the average 217 Bakhtiyâri, “Gushe-hâ’i,” p. xi. 218 See ibid., p. xi. 219 Qâ’em-Maqâmi, Divân, p. 74: “Ghazal,” lines 3–5. 220 Ibid., p. 14: “‘Eshq o ehsân,” line 6.

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Iranian girl or woman of the early twentieth century. In some poems she places the blame at the door of a patriarchal society and the weak women it has fashioned; e. g.:221

‫قید عفت قید سنت قید شرع و قید عرف زینت پای زن است از بهر پای مرد نیست‬ ‫اجتماعی هست و نیرویی زنان را در فرنگ در دیار ما هم ار زن جمع گردد فرد نیست‬ ‫لیک ضعف روح و نقص فکر و فقد اعتما د ساخت موجودی زما کش بیش از �آن درخورد نیست‬ The fetters of chastity and tradition, of religious and common law Adorn the ankles of women; they are not for the feet of men Women have a society and some power in the West In our land too, if women come together they are not alone But, weak spirits, deficient thoughts, and a lack of confidence Have made of us creatures who are not worthy of more.

Zhâle attacks age-old traditions and established moral boundaries, and condemns both Islamic religious law (shar’) and common law (orf ) for the ways in which they restrict women. Zhâle exposes the disparity between established moral codes for men and women in Iran, showing how traditional modes of behavior in effect require men to perform acts of brutality to preserve their honor:222

‫مرد اگر مجنون شود از شور عشق زن رواست‬ ‫زانکه او مردست و کارش برتر از چون و چراست‬ ‫لیک اگر اندک هوایی در سر زن راه یافت‬ ‫قتل او شرعا ً هم ار جایز نشد عرفا ً رواست‬ ‫بر برادر بر پدر بر شوست رجم او از �آنک‬ ‫عشق دختر عشق زن بر مرد نامحرم خطاست‬ If a man loses his mind out of love for a woman, it is permissible Because he is a man, and what he does is not to be questioned But, if even the slightest desire finds its way into a woman’s mind Even if religious law does not allow her killing, common law does It falls to her brother, her father, or her husband to stone her, For the love of a girl or a woman for a stranger, is a sin

221 Ibid., p. 4: “Payâm be zanân‑e âyande,” lines 4–6. 222 Ibid., p. 24: “Hoquq‑e zan o mard,” lines 1–3.

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In another poem, Zhâle speaks out against forced child marriage, going so far as to say that the man who “buys” his young bride with a lucrative dowry is not truly her husband, but rather a nâ-mahram (a man with whom a woman cannot freely associate because he is not a close relative). By calling the husband of such a child bride a nâ-mahram, the poet suggests that their sexual relationship is akin to fornication (zinâ):223

‫هست نامحرم بمعنی ور بصورت شوهرست‬ ‫�آنکه زن را بی رضای او بزور و زر خرید‬ ‫گرچه در ظاهر رضای ماست سامان بخش کار لیک لبهای بلی گو بر دهان مادرست‬ ‫هم بلوغ جسمی و عقلی دو شرط دیگرست‬ ‫شرط تزویج ار بود نه سالگی در دین ما‬ ‫جان خواهر جای �آن سودا نه درین کشورست‬ ‫در دگرجا دختر نه ساله گر بالغ شود‬ ‫ت کی عروسک بازرا جامۀ عروسی درخورست‬ ‫دخترنه ساله شوهر را چه داند که چیس‬ He who buys a woman by force and with gold against her will Is in reality a stranger to her, even if outwardly he is her husband. Although it appears to be our consent that facilitates what happens The lips that say “Yes!” are those of our mothers’ mouths If in our religion the girl must be nine years old to marry Physical and mental maturity are two other preconditions Elsewhere, if a nine-year-old girl reaches puberty, dear sister There’s no place for such a trade as in our country How does a nine-year-old girl know what a husband is? Since when does a wedding dress suit one who plays with dolls?

In many of her poems, Zhâle places great emphasis on the backwardness of women, their low standing in society,224 and the need for them to progress.225 A great defender of the rights of women, she saw all other Iranian women as partaking in her suffering and misfortune:226

‫کش نام و نشان طعن و تسخریست‬ ‫زن را نه پناهی نه داوریست‬

‫من کیستم �آوخ ضعیفه ای‬ ‫دردا گه درین بوم ظلمنا‬ ‫ک‬

223 Ibid., p. 70, “Showhar‑e nâ-mahram,” lines 2–6. 224 Ibid., p. 29, “‘Eshq,” line 6: “What is a woman? A plaything for men’s reckless desires / Consequently her only resources are her beauty and trickery.” 225 Ibid., p. 51, “Hasud,” line 23: “Faces covered, hands bound, tongues tied, eyes shut / If women are not humiliated, then who is?” 226 Ibid., p. 20, “Nekuhesh‑e showhar,” lines 46–47 and 49.

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‫پیچیده به قیرینه چادریست‬

… ‫زن ننگ وجودست واز �آن سبب‬

Ah, what am I? A weakling, identified Only through taunts and mockery Alas, that in this oppressive land Women have neither refuge nor justice … Women are a disgrace to existence, that’s why They are wrapped up in tar-colored veils

Like other women poets of her generation, Zhâle railed against veiling and cultural norms that dictated that a woman’s place was within the four walls of the home.227 In one of her most moving poems, Zhâle expresses the frustration felt by her and other women at being cut off from the wider world:228

‫در خاندان بشر گویی که هیچکسم‬ ‫بس سر بلند کسم اما به جرم زنی‬ ‫بر فاضلاب وجود افشانده همچو خسم‬ ‫در گورسان حرم با قیرگون کفنی‬ ‫�آنسوی محبس من شهری و غلغله ایست ویحک بشهرم و شهر بیرون ز دسترسم‬ I am a most proud person but, convicted of womanhood In the family of humankind, you would say I was nobody. In the cemetery of the harem, with tar-colored shroud I have been tossed like rubbish on the sewage of existence On the other side of my prison is a city and much tumult Alas, I am in the city, but the city lies beyond my reach!

Despite the isolation dictated by a still largely sex-segregated society, it would appear that Zhâle was well aware of the opportunities afforded women in other parts of the world, in particular Europe:229

‫شاید و باید چو �آنان زیستن‬ ‫در فرنگستان و ایران زیستن‬ ‫فرق دارد زیستن با زیستن‬ ‫هیچ حقی نیست الا زیستن‬

‫کانچه گفتم بر فرنگستانیا ن‬ ‫باید �آری باید اما فرقهاست‬ ‫گفتگو از زیستن کردم ولی‬ ‫مر زنان را بهر عشرتهای مرد‬

227 Ibid., p. 80, “Oshtolom,” lines 24–25: “If our châdors and face veils are the signs of our humiliation / I will ignite a hostile fire in our face veils and châdors!” 228 Ibid., p. 21, “Dar châh-sâr haram,” lines 3–5. 229 Ibid., p. 15, “‘Eshq o ehsân,” lines 15–23.

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‫گربه وش با پیر و برنا زیستن‬ ‫قصه کوته با دو صد “ها” زیستن‬ ‫چند باید برده �آسا زیستن‬ ‫جان سپاری باشد این یا زیستن‬

‫سگ صفت با زشت و زیبا ساختن‬ ‫زیستن با قیدها با شرط ها‬ ‫ای ذخیرۀ کامرانی های مرد‬ ‫تن فروشی باشد این یا ازدواج‬

Whatever I said about Europeans We really must live like they do We must, however, there are differences Between living in Europe and living in Iran I have talked of living, however One way of living differs from another For women have no rights at all Except to live for the pleasures of men To get along like a dog with ugly and fair To live like a cat with old and young To live with fetters, with conditions In brief, to live with two hundred rules O repository of men’s enjoyment! How long must you live like a slave? Is this marriage, or are you selling your body? Is this living, or is it in fact dying?

8. Parvin E’tesâmi (1907–1941) Parvin E’tesâmi was born in Tabriz in 1907, and moved to Tehran with her parents as a young child. Parvin’s father, Yusof E’tesâmi (E’tesâm-al-Molk), encouraged his daughter to recite her poetry in his private literary salons attended by major literary figures, and Parvin was lauded from the very beginning of her career by Malek-al-Sho’arâ Bahâr,230 Âref Qazvini,231 among others. Parvin E’tesâmi’s first 11 poems appeared in E’tesâm-al-Molk’s literary magazine, Bahâr between 1920 and 1922. Bahâr featured 230 See Bahâr penned a glowingly positive preface for the first edition of Parvin E’tesâmi’s divân. 231 See Qazvini’s letter to Parvin’s father reproduced in Jâvdâne Parvin E’tesâmi, ed. H. Namini, (Tehran, 1983), pp. 96–101.

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t­ ranslations from European and American literature, together with descriptions of modern trends of thought and social movements.232 Parvin’s father translated French poetry into Persian, and he also translated the bulk of Qâsim Amin’s ground-breaking book, Tahrir al-mar’a (“The Liberation of Women”) from Arabic and published it under the Persian title Tarbiyat‑e nesvân (“The Education of Women”) in Tabriz in 1900, just one year after it was published in Egypt.233 Milani stresses the significance of Yusof E’tesâmi’s support for his daughter’s literary activities, and notes her good fortune at having been born into such a family, “…unlike many muted, suppressed, and lost women writers, she was not born into the wrong circumstances.”234 He was the first critic and promoter of Parvin’s poetry, and wielded great influence over her literary career. In a tender poem written after his passing, Parvin employs the language of the amorous ghazal to express her love for her father:

‫ ای یوسف کنعانی من‬،‫ گرگ تو شد‬،‫مرگ‬ ‫یوسفت نام نهادند و به گرگت دادند‬ )…( ‫ ای مه زندانی من‬،‫ زندان تو گشت‬،‫مه گردون ادب بودی و در خاک شدی خاک‬ ‫ ای لالٔه نعمانی من‬،‫من که �آب تو ز سرچشمٔه دل میدادم �آب و رنگت چه شد‬ 232 H. Moayyad, “Parvin E‘tesami’s Niche in the Pantheon of Persian Poetry,” Once a Dewdrop: Essays on the Poetry of Parvin E‘tesami, ed. H. Moayyad, (Costa Mesa, California, 1994), p. 176. Eslâmi-Nodushan ( Jâvdâne Parvin E’tesâmi, ed. H. Namini, pp. 77–78) believes Parvin to have been influenced by her father’s translations of French poetry. Some contemporary critics went so far as to allege that Parvin was not the author of her poetry, or that she merely versified prose translations from French by her father. E’tesâm al-Molk founded one of the first printing presses in Tabriz. He worked for the Ministry of Culture in Tehran, and served as head of the Royal Library. He also served in the Majles, and, until his death, was head of the Majles Library and a member of the Culture Commission. 233 For an English translation of Amin’s book, see Q. Amin, The Liberation of Women and The New Woman: Two Documents in the History of Egyptian Feminism, trans. S. S. Peterson, (Cairo, 2000), pp. 1–106. For a discussion of the choices E’tesâm al-Molk made when translating Amin’s book, see Najmabadi, Women with Mustaches, pp. 193–96. Milani believes Tarbiyat‑e nesvân to be earliest book written or translated in Iran dedicated solely to questions regarding the status of women in society. See Milani, Veils and Words, pp. 102–3. 234 F. Milani, “Judith Shakespeare and Parviz E‘tesami,” Once a Dewdrop, p. 142. Parvin’s mother, who outlived Parvin into old age, would appear to have had less of an influence on her daughter.

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‫ چه فتا د که دگر گوش نداری به نوا خوانی من‬،‫من یکی مرغ غزلخوان تو بودم‬ !‫ بعد تو با کیست نگهبانی من‬،‫گنج خود خواندیم و رفتی و بگذاشتی م ای عجب‬ They named you Joseph and gave you to the wolf Death was your wolf, O my Joseph of Canaan!235 Moon of literature’s heaven, you now lie in the earth The earth became your prison, O my imprisoned moon!236 … I watered you from the source of my heart What has become of your fresh hue, O my anemone? I was your one ghazal-singing nightingale, what happened That you no longer lend your ear to my singing? You called me your treasure, then went and left me Who, I ask myself, will protect me after you?237

E’tesâmi married a cousin of her father in 1934, but the marriage ended within just a few months. Parvin’s father had blocked the publication of her divân before her marriage, and it subsequently appeared in 1935. After graduating from the American School in 1924, Parvin E’tesâmi taught Persian literature and English at the school for just over a year, and later (in 1939) she worked for a few months at the library of Tehran University. E’tesâmi knew English well, and the influence of English literature on her own writing is an area that needs to be explored in more detail. E’tesâmi was devoted to her art, and between circa 1920 and her untimely death in 1941, she wrote over 200 poems, totalling just over 5,600 beyts.238 The poet’s own assessment of her work was characteristically humble:

‫در این صحیفه ناچیز یادگاری بود‬

‫نبود در خور ارباب فضل گفته من‬

My words are not worthy of great scholars In this book lies merely a most insignificant souvenir239 235 Parvin’s father’s given name was Yusof (Joseph). 236 P. E’tesâmi, Divân, ed. H. Moayyad, (Costa Mesa, 1987), p. 271: “Dar ta’ziyat‑e pedar,” lines 2–3. 237 Ibid., lines 14–16. 238 Parvin E’tesâmi’s divân was first published in 1935, and in a slightly longer version in 1941. The 1941 edition of her divân contained more than 50 additional poems in comparison to the original 1935 edition. 239 See E’tesâmi, Divân, p. xxxviii: “Be bâgh‑e nazm,” line 8.

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Moayyad sees a marked coherence in Parvin E’tesâmi’s corpus,240 and a “constancy of its stylistic qualities which remain unchanged from her earliest known compositions to the last.”241 The focus of E’tesâmi’s poetry is broadly human, rather than being women-focused per se, although her quiet pleas for emancipation are there, waiting patiently to be heard.242 Some of her best-known poems address social problems, in particular the plight of the poor. In this sense, Parvin E’tesâmi’s poetic mantle can be seen to have passed from her to Simin Behbahâni, where it found expression through a more radical voice. Scholars disagree as to what extent E’tesâmi’s poetry displays originality.243 For Karimi-Hakkak, her genius as a poet, “lies in large measure in her ability to see signs where others before have not.”244 Parvin E’tesami was, by all accounts, a very private and shy individual,245 one who avoided direct contact with the public.246 Ghanoonparvar has suggested that the poet’s “confined and secluded life” was imposed on her from an early age, and “her projected portrait as a modest, shy and innocent girl” was “carefully crafted by those who knew her intimately, and perpetuated by their 240 241 242 243 244

Moayyad, “Parvin E‘tesami’s Niche,” p. 165. Ibid., p. 185. See Milani, “Judith Shakespeare and Parviz E‘tesami,” p. 148. See e. g. Moayyad, “Parvin E‘tesami’s Niche,” p. 186. A. Karimi-Hakkak, “The Unconventional Parvin: An Analysis of Parvin E‘tesami’s “Jula-ye Khoda” (God’s Weaver),” Once a Dewdrop, p. 120. 245 Milani, “Judith Shakespeare and Parviz E‘tesami,” p. 151: “The inner landscape of the poet remains an absolutely private matter.” Ghanoonparvar argues (“Parvin E‘tesami’s Utopia,” Once a Dewdrop, p. 113) that E‘tesami resisted anything that might disturb her seclusion.” 246 See Moayyad, “Parvin E‘tesami’s Niche,” p. 181: She reportedly refused the invitation of the royal court, and the Ministry of Culture’s medal. She also refused to meet with Mohammad Ishaque. Vincent Sheean succeeded in seeing Parvin in 1926, but she covered her face with her veil throughout, and “nearly died of shock” when he shook her hand on departure. I have to agree with Matini’s assessment (“A Few Words on Parvin E‘tesami,” p. 17) that Parvin’s refusal to see Ishaque was due to her extreme shyness and modesty, and that she turned down the Shah’s invitation to tutor at the Royal Court due to her shyness, rather than because of any particular political stance vis-à-vis the Pahlavi regime.

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like-minded compatriots.”247 In the poetry of Parvin E’tesâmi Milani detects another explanation for this shyness or recurrent desire for privacy, namely “the push and pull between self-assertion and self-denial, between self-revelation and self-concealment”248 felt by many women who—literally or metaphorically—felt the urge to veil event after 1936. Whatever the reason(s) behind the poet’s physical detachment from broader society, it would be a mistake to read it as aloofness on her part, or else as detachment from the social problems of her society. She was a rather introspective poet,249 but far from being oblivious of her surroundings, she quietly engaged with them and, as Moayyad writes, “resisted conformity and mustered enough civic courage not to yield to political pressure.”250 Davaran’s assessment that Parvin’s poetry remained “unaffected” by social, cultural, and literary “tremors” in her society is unfounded.251 Dabashi argues convincingly that her politics cannot be separated from her ethics and that she was a “relentless moralist with a clear vision of good and evil.” For Dabashi and many others, she is among the most socially sensitive poets of her day.252 The tone of the opening lines from “Ey ranjbar” (“O’ Laborer”) is typical of her socially committed poetry:

‫ریختن از بهر نان از چهره �آب ای رنجبر‬ ‫تا بکی جان کندن اندر �آفتاب ای رنجبر‬ ‫زینهمه خواری که بین ‌ی زافتاب و خاک و باد چیست مزدت جز نکوهش یا عتاب ای رنجبر‬ ‫چند میترسی ز هر خان و جناب ای رنجبر‬ ‫از حقوق پایمال خویشتن کن پرسشی‬ Until when will you toil in the sun, O laborer? Pouring sweat from your face to earn a crust, O laborer? For all this humiliation you suffer from sun, dust, and wind 247 Ghanoonparvar, “Parvin E‘tesami’s Utopia,” p. 115. 248 Milani, Veils and Words, p. 102. 249 Moayyad, “Parvin E‘tesami’s Niche,” p. 166. 250 Ibid., p. 166. Dabashi reads Parvin’s refusal to tutor the women of the royal family and her rejection of the Ministry of Culture’s third class medal in 1936 as evidence of “an active political consciousness” on her part; see H. Dabashi, “Of Poetics, Politics, and Ethics: The Legacy of Parvin E‘tesami,” Once a Dewdrop, p. 51. 251 F. Davaran, “Impersonality in Parvin E‘tesami’s Poetry,” Once a Dewdrop, p. 69. 252 Dabashi, “Of Poetics, Politics, and Ethics,” p. 65.

299

LITERATURE OF THE EARLY TWENTIETH CENTURY What is your reward, save reproach and rebuke, O laborer? Ask for your rights which have been trodden under foot How long will you fear every gentleman, every sir, O laborer?253

For Ghanoonparvar, Parvin E’tesâmi inhabits “a world of moral absolutes, a world in which no change can take place.”254 She was a humanist, a friend of the disenfranchised in Iranian society, a society she understood at all levels.255 In this regard she shared many similarities with her contemporary, Sâdeq Hedâyat (d. 1951), although not all commentators view Parvin E’tesâmi’s poetry as sufficiently profound in its commitment to social issues.256 The following extracts from E’tesâmi’s early masterpiece, “Sâ’eqe-ye mâ setam‑e aghniyâ-st” (“Our Thunderbolt is the Cruelty of the Rich”), illustrate well the poet’s ability to connect with the subaltern in late Qajar Iran:257

‫ بیک کلبه ترا اکتفاست‬،‫از چه‬ ‫ شهان ملک ستانی کنند‬،‫از چه‬ ‫ جامٔه خلقان چراست‬،‫پای من از چیست که بی موزه است در تن تو‬ ‫از چه درین دهکده قحط و غلاست‬ ‫ که سوخت؟‬،‫خرمن امسالٔه ما را‬ ‫ ناسزاست‬،‫در عوض رنج و سزای عمل �آنچه رعیت شنود‬ ‫ مگر چارپاست‬،‫زارع بدبخت‬ ‫چند شود بارکش این و �آن‬ )…( ‫ بی بهاست‬،‫خون فقیران ز چه رو‬ ‫کار ضعیفان ز چه بی رونق است‬ ‫ ز غصب و رباست‬،‫دولت حکام‬ ‫ اهریمنند‬،‫مردم این محکمه‬ ‫ گه شب غذاست‬،‫ حامی شرع است و دین اشک یتیمانش‬،‫�آنکه سحر‬ ‫پنجٔه �آلودٔه ایشان گواست‬ ‫لاشه خورانند و به �آلودگی‬ ‫ پارساست‬،‫خون بسی پیرزنان خورده‌است �آنکه بچشم من و تو‬ 253 E’tesâmi, Divân, p. 82: “Ey ranjbar,” lines 1–3. 254 Ghanoonparvar, “Parvin E‘tesami’s Utopia,” p. 114. 255 See I. Aliabadi, Jâvdâne Parvin E’tesâmi, ed. H. Namini, pp. 69 and 74. 256 V. Kubíčková, “Persian Literature of the 20 th Century,” History of Iranian Literature, ed. J. Rypka, (Dordrecht, 1968), p. 387: “Unfortunately … she [Parvin] hardly grazed the surface of the really important problems, even in the poems on social themes. She chose her subject-matter from the lives of the pauperized members of the lower classes, and had sympathy for their misery and suffering. She did not, however, attempt to find a solution or to penetrate more deeply into the social context, but lapsed into sentimental and affected melancholy.” 257 This poem was composed circa 1921, i. e. during the last years of Qajar rule. See J. Matini, “A Few Words on Parvin E‘tesami,” Once a Dewdrop, p. 15.

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‫کی غم سرمای زمستان ماست‬ ‫در طلب و نیت عمری دعاست‬ ‫ چه خبر از خداست‬،‫بی خبران را‬

‫خوابگه �آنرا که سمور و خز است‬ ‫هر که پشیزی بگدائی دهد‬ ‫تیره‌دلان را چه غم از تیرگیست‬

Why is it that kings conquer whole lands? Why is that you content yourself with a hut? Why have I no boots on my feet? Why do you wear only a shabby robe? Who has used up our harvest this year? Why is there famine and dearth in our village? In exchange for this toil and labor The peasant hears only abusive words How long will he bear the loads of others? The ill-fated farmer; is he a beast of burden? Why does the work of the weak never flourish? Why is the blood of the poor so worthless? 258… The people of this courtroom are in fact devils The rulers’ fortune comes from usury and extortion He who, at dawn protects religious law and the faith At night feasts on the tears shed by orphans They feed off carcasses, and their contaminated claws Stand as witnesses to their defilement He who, in my and your eyes appears to be pious Has sucked the blood of numerous old women He whose bedding is made from sable and furs How can he feel the pain of our cold winters? Whoever gives a penny to a beggar Expects a lifetime of prayers in exchange What fear do dark-hearted men have of darkness? What can the uniformed ever know of God?259

Milani rightly highlights the importance of the publication of Parvin E’tesâmi’s divân in 1935 which, she argues, constituted, “the watershed in women’s writing—a quest for voice and visibility.”260 But however visible Parvin became with the divân’s publication, it is wrong to expect her poetry to be substantially autobiographical 258 E’tesâmi, Divân, p. 173: “Sâ’eqe-ye mâ setam‑e aghniyâ-st,” lines 27–32. 259 Ibid., p. 174, lines 47–53. 260 Milani, “Judith Shakespeare and Parviz E‘tesami,” p. 149.

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in nature; as Milani reminds us: “In a culture where feminine silence and restraint, her physical repetitive anonymity in veils, all in all her cloistered selfhood are cherished ideals, autobiographical writing—this public unveiling of private details—cannot e­ asily flourish.”261 This said, publishing a large volume of poetry in a single instance as a woman was itself a transgressive act. The relative simplicity of E’tesâmi’s language made her poetry eminently accessible to all levels of Iranian society. This, combined with what Moayyad calls her natural and moderate use of rhetorical embellishments and technical devices,262 has preserved her popularity in Iran until today.263 It is important to remember when analyzing Parvin E’tesâmi’s poetry that there was little (if any) freedom of speech during the Reza Shah period, that is throughout the best part of her literary career.264 This is most likely why E’tesâmi favored metaphorical language and, as Moayyad has argued, hid behind allegory, and a “disguised mode of expression” a mode which “allowed her to vent her feelings of dissatisfaction and social protest.”265 It is somewhat of a stretch of the imagination to suggest, as some have, that the poet targeted Reza Shah himself in her poems.266 Another feature of E’tesâmi’s use of allegory as noted by Karimi-Hakkak is her ability to turn abstract concepts such as hope and despair into protagonists of a poetic drama.267 As Moayyad has noted, an “undertone of sadness” permeates Parvin’s lyrical verse,268 and a “fatalistic mood” pervades in her poetry;269 e. g.:

‫دست و پا میزنیم تا نفسی است‬ ‫ دسترسی است‬،‫نه مرا بر خلاص‬

‫چه توان کرد اندرین دریا‬ ‫ نیروئی است‬،‫نه تو را بر فرار‬

261 Ibid., pp. 155–56. 262 Moayyad, “Parvin E‘tesami’s Niche,” p. 184. 263 By 1984, over 100,000 copies of her divân had been printed. See Dabashi, “Of Poetics, Politics, and Ethics,” p. 51. 264 Moayyad, “Parvin E‘tesami’s Niche,” p. 163. 265 Ibid., p. 164. 266 See e. g. ibid., p. 167. 267 Karimi-Hakkak, “The Unconventional Parvin,” p. 120. 268 Moayyad, “Parvin E‘tesami’s Niche,” p. 172. 269 Ibid., p. 170.

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‫کس نپرسد که فاره یا فرسی است‬ ‫عاقبت رمز دامی و قفسی است‬

‫همه را بار بر نهند به پشت‬ ‫گر که طاوس یا که گنجشکی‬

What to do? We will struggle in this sea Until our last breath You have not the strength to escape I have no means of liberation Everyone has a burden placed on his back Nobody asks whether he is a mouse or a mule270

Behâdhin observed rather morbidly in the 1950 s, “[D]eath casts a shadow over the entirety of her divân.”271 Parvin’s sometimes macabre treatment of mortality and the futility of man’s struggle against the inevitability of his ultimate fate is best summarized in a poem she wrote for her tombstone in which she appears to address the reader from the grave:

‫خاک در دیده بسی جان فرساست سنگ بر سینه بسی سنگین است‬ ‫هر که را چشم حقیقت بین است‬ ‫بیند این بستر و عبرت گیرد‬ ‫هر که باشی و زهر جا برسی �آخرین منزل هستی این است‬ Dust in the eyes is so unbearable A stone on the chest weighs so heavy Whosoever can see the truth Will see this death bed and take heed Whoever you are, wherever you arrive from This is the last stopping-place of existence272

For Sa’id Nafisi, Parvin was a fatalist, and her poetry is an expression of “unconditional resignation” (taslim be-lâ shart);273 e. g.:

‫حاصل هستی بیهودٔه ما �آه سردی است که نامش نفس است‬ ‫چشم دید این همه و گوش شنید �آنچه دیدیم و شنیدیم بس است‬ The product of our pointless existence Is a cold sigh which we call breath. 270 E’tesâmi, Divân, p. 88: “Bâzi-ye zendegi,” lines 10–12. 271 M. E. Behâdhin, Jâvdâne-Parvin E’tesâmi, p. 33. Behâdhin (ibid., p. 38) also detects “mercy and pity coupled with pessimism” in her poetry. 272 E’tesâmi, Divân, p. 273: “Barâ-ye sang‑e mazâr,” lines 5–7. 273 S. Nafisi, Jâvdâne Parvin E’tesâmi, pp. 87–88.

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LITERATURE OF THE EARLY TWENTIETH CENTURY The eye has seen all this, and the ear heard All that we have seen and heard is enough.274

Others have noted a mystical tone in E’tesâmi’s poetry.275 Throughout her divân there are instances of old-fashioned content and language, and many of her poems have a tangibly archaic feel to them.276 Influences from major pre-modern Persian poets, such as Attâr (d. circa 1221), Anvari (d. 1189), Sanâ’i (d. 1131), and Nâser‑e Khosrow (d. 1088) can be detected in her poems.277 Azhdarpanâh for one sees elements of both the Khorâsâni and Erâqi styles in her work;278 the didactic tone often employed by Parvin echoes that of the masters of the classical period;279 e. g.:

‫همواره نه این دلو را طنابست‬ ‫این قافله عمریست در شتابست‬ ‫کاین بادیه راحتگه ذئابست‬

‫�آبی بکش از چاه زندگان ی‬ ‫بگذشت مه و سال وین عجب نیس‬ ‫ت‬ ‫ ای بخت خفته چوپان‬،‫بیدار شو‬

Draw water from the well of life For this bucket will not always have a rope Months, years have passed, and no wonder The caravan of life rushes by Awake, O luckless shepherd! For this plain is the resting-place of wolves280

Despite her classicisms, Aliâbâdi notes that E’tesâmi adopts some unconventional voices in her poetry, such as that of the drunkard, the thief, or the madman (a feature we see Simin Behbahâni take up 274 E’tesâmi, Divân, p. 197: “Kârevân‑e chaman,” lines 10–11. 275 See e. g. Behâdhin, Jâvdâne Parvin E’tesâmi, p. 38; and Aliabadi, ibid., p. 62. 276 Behâdhin, ibid., p. 33. 277 See Behâdhin, ibid., p. 33; Aliâbâdi, ibid., p. 64; and Nafisi, ibid., p. 85. 278 Y. Azhdarpanâh, ibid., p. 147. Ishaque is right to point out, however, that the Bacchanalian and amorous themes are lacking in Parvin’s poetry. See M. Ishaque, Four Eminent Poetesses of Iran, (Calcutta, 1950), p. 41. 279 On this, see Kubíčková, “Persian Literature of the 20 th Century,” p. 387: “She [Parvin] composed according to the rules of classical poetry—albeit in simple language—often consciously imitating the ‘Art of the Ancients.’ Just as did classical authors, she enjoyed using philosophical and moralizing themes with pointed reference to contemporary events.” 280 E’tesâmi, Divân, p. 17, poem 10, lines 8–10.

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in her poetry).281 Parvin steps aside from a straightforward imitation of the pre-modern by repackaging the didactic in domesticity, and speaking through everyday objects found in the home and the kitchen, including the humble green bean and pea:

‫ خلق راست نیاز‬،‫که بما نیز‬ ‫ بر کار خویشتن پرداز‬،‫هم تو‬ ‫چه پلاس و چه جامٔه ممتاز‬ ‫چه توانیم گفتن از �آغاز‬

‫ باز خوشیم‬،‫گر چه در زحمتیم‬ ‫ بر کار کس نپردازد‬،‫دهر‬ ‫چون تن و پیرهن نخواهد ماند‬ ‫ما کز انجام کار بی‌خبریم‬

Even though we suffer, we are happy For people still have need of us Fate busies itself not with anyone’s affairs Best for you to busy yourself with your own Since neither body nor garments will remain Whether coarse woollen cloth or fine robes We, who are uninformed as to the end of things, How can we ever speak of their beginning?282

This is a prime example of what Karimi-Hakkak calls Parvin E’tesâmi’s “ability to place in poetic relations the things that pass by her as a domestic woman in everyday life.”283 According to Milani, E’tesâmi’s poetry has been, to a large extent, “misunderstood, misconstrued, or patronized.”284 Milani sees this stemming from the fact that mostly men have written about Parvin from a masculine perspective. From the very beginning in Bahâr, the poet had to clarify her gender. Even after her death some believed her poetry to have been written by a man: her father.285 Milani notes that even some of E’tesâmi’s admirers called her “manly”; they granted her authenticity, but denied her “womanness,”286 even though, as Milani stresses, 281 Aliâbâdi, Jâvdâne-ye Parvin E’tesâmi, p. 67. 282 E’tesâmi, Divân, p. 191: “Falsafe,” lines 11–14. 283 Karimi-Hakkak, “The Unconventional Parvin,” p. 120. Nafisi ( Jâvdâne-ye Parvin E’tesâmi, pp. 87–88) also notes the level of domesticity reflected in her poetry. 284 Milani, “Judith Shakespeare and Parviz E‘tesami,” p. 143. 285 Ibid., p. 144. 286 Ibid., p. 145. See also Milani, Veils and Words, p. 107: Bahâr said Parvin composed poetry “like a man,” and A. Zarrinkub called her a “manly woman.”

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Parvin never passed herself off as a man, nor did she adopt a male pseudonym. For Milani, E’tesâmi’s poetry is unmistakably feminine. Through her reworking of fables, E’tesâmi manages to capture the voice of women storytellers, and “elevates women’s vernacular storytelling to the status of a literary discourse.”287 Milani argues that E’tesâmi includes in her poems “different and often divergent points of view engaging and disengaging moral social and relational questions.” In Milani’s reading, Parvin bases her reasoning on relationships and interdependence, thereby “portray[ing] things from the vantage point of a woman.”288 In the following extract, the poet speaks of her ideal vision of harmony and balance in marital union; something she did not experience in her own life:

‫ت یکیست کشتی و �آن دیگریست کشتیبان‬ ‫ دانی چیس‬،‫ ای حکیم‬،‫وظیفٔه زن و مرد‬ ‫چو ناخداست خردمند و کشتیش محک م دگر چه باک ز امواج و ورطه و طوفان‬ ‫ هم ازان‬،‫ هم ازین‬،‫امید سعی و عملهاست‬ ‫ اندر یم حوادث دهر‬،‫بروز حادثه‬ ‫ بزرگی پسران‬،‫ز مادرست میسر‬ ‫ مادر فرداست‬،‫همیشه دختر امروز‬ ‫ جامٔه نکو مردان‬،‫بجز گسیختگی‬ ‫ نداشت‬،‫اگر رفوی زنان نکو نبود‬ ‫ مهر فرزندان‬،‫حطام و ثروت زن چیست‬ ‫ یاری ز ن‬،‫توان و توش ره مرد چیست‬ ‫طبیب بود و پرستار و شحنه و دربان‬ ‫ نه بانوی خانه تنها بو د‬،‫زن نکوی‬ ‫ تیمارخوار و پشتیبان‬،‫بروز سانحه‬ ‫ رفیق و یار شفیق‬،‫بروزگار سلامت‬ ‫ نیالود نیکمرد دهان‬،‫بحرف زشت‬ ‫ زن دانا نکرد روی ترش‬،‫ز بیش و کم‬ ‫ گرفت عنان‬،‫گهیش مرد و زمانیش زن‬ ‫ چو �آغاز بدعنانی کرد‬،‫سمند عمر‬ ‫ در دامان‬،‫ کسی شد بزرگ و کامروا که داشت میوه‌ای از باغ علم‬،‫ چه مرد‬،‫چه زن‬ O wise one, do you know the duties of woman and man? One is the ship, the other is the ship’s captain When the captain is wise and his ship is sturdy What fear is there of waves, whirlpools, and storms? If disaster strikes on the ocean of time’s vicissitudes Effort and action is hoped for from both him and her The daughter of today is always the mother of tomorrow The greatness of sons is due to their mothers If good women did not mend their garments Good men would have but torn clothes to wear 287 Ibid., p. 150. 288 Ibid.

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Women Poets A man’s strength and sustenance stem from his wife’s support A woman’s worldly wealth is the love of her children A good woman is not merely a housewife She is both doctor and nurse, both watchman and guard In times of good fortune she is a close friend and confidante In times of adversity she shares the woe and provides support A wise wife does not sour her face when times are tough A good husband does not sully his mouth with foul words When the steed of life starts to become unruly At times the husband takes the reins, at times the wife Whether woman or man, that person is great and successful Who has picked a fruit from the orchard of knowledge.289

At a first reading, one might conclude that E’tesami differs from earlier women poets, and some of her contemporaries, in appearing to avoid tackling the challenges facing Iran’s women in her day. To draw such a conclusion would require one to ignore one of her earliest poems, “Nahâl‑e ârezu” (“Sapling of Hope”) composed for her high school graduation in 1924. This poem contains some of Parvin’s most outspoken comments on the role of women in Iranian society. According to Matini, the poem was considered by Parvin’s father too radical.290 If it had not been for his discouragement, it is possible that E’tesâmi would have written more poems of this type:

‫ برتری و رتبت از دانستن است‬،‫ت مرد یا زن‬ ‫ جمله از بی دانشی اس‬،‫پستی نسوان ایران‬ ‫ روشن است‬،‫ت شاهراه سعی و اقلیم سعادت‬ ‫زین چراغ معرفت کامروز اندر دست ماس‬ )…( ‫ پسر هشیار و دختر کودن است‬،‫تا نگوید کس‬ ‫به که هر دختر بداند قدر علم �آموختن‬ ‫ کجا پرورده نادان مادری‬،‫ نخست �آموزگار کودک است طفل دانشور‬،‫دامن مادر‬ The inferiority of Iran’s women stems from lack of knowledge Both men and women derive superiority and rank through knowledge This lamp of knowledge that we hold in our hands today Illumines the highway of effort and the land of true happiness It is best that every girl knows the value of studying So that no one can say boys are intelligent, girls not (…) 289 E’tesâmi, Divân, p. 188: “Fereshte-ye ons,” lines 11–21. 290 Matini, “A Few Words on Parvin E‘tesami,” p. 15. See also the text of Parvin’s speech on “Women and History” delivered at her graduation reproduced in Jâvdâne Parvin E’tesâmi, pp. 25–29.

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LITERATURE OF THE EARLY TWENTIETH CENTURY A mother’s lap is the first educator of the child No ignorant mother ever raised an intelligent child291

A similarly strident poem, “Zan dar Irân” (“Women in Iran”), could have been written by any number of the poet’s contemporaries, such as Fakhr‑e Ozmâ Arghun:

‫ با گرانی و به ارزانی نبود‬،‫قدر و پستی‬ ‫ارزش پوشانده کفش و جامه را ارزنده کرد‬ ‫گوهر تابنده تنها گوهر کانی نبود‬ ‫سادگی و پاکی و پرهیز یک یک گوهرند‬ ‫ پرده‌پوش عیب نادانی نبود‬،‫زیور و زر‬ ‫از زر و زیور چه سود �آنجا که نادان است زن‬ ‫جامٔه عجب و هوی بهتر ز عریانی نبود‬ ‫عیبها را جامٔه پرهیز پوشانده‌ست و بس‬ ‫پاک را �آسیبی از �آلوده دامانی نبود‬ ‫ سبکساری نبیند تا گرانسنگ است و پاک‬،‫زن‬ ‫زن چون گنجور است و عفت گنج و حرص و �آز دزد وای اگر �آگه ز �آیین نگهبانی نبود‬ ‫اهرمن بر سفرٔه تقوی نمیشد میهمان‬ ‫ز�آن که می‌دانست ک�آنجا جای مهمانی نبود‬ ‫ جز پشیمانی نبود‬،‫توشه‌ای و رهنوردی‬ ‫ کاندر راه کج‬،‫پا به راه راست باید داشت‬ ‫ بنیاد مسلمانی نبود‬،‫چادر پوسیده‬ ‫چشم و دل را پرده میبایست اما از عفاف‬ It’s the wearer’s value that makes shoes and clothes valuable Exalted and lowly are not measured by expensiveness and cheapness Simplicity, purity, and abstinence are all three gems Sparkling gems are not only to be found in mines What use are gold and jewels when the woman is ignorant? No amount of jewels and gold will cover the defect of ignorance Defects can only be masked with abstinence, naught else The robe of conceit and carnal desire is no better than nakedness A dignified, chaste woman will never see foolish frivolity One who is pure cannot be tainted by one who is immoral Woman is the treasurer, chastity her treasure, lust the thief Woe to her if she knows not the rules of guarding her treasure! The Devil is never a guest at the table of piety For he knows that it is no place for a party Walk on the straight path, for on the crooked lane There are no provisions and no guide, only regret The eyes and heart need a veil, one fashioned from chastity The tatty châdor is not the fundament of Islam292

291 E’tesâmi, Divân, pp. 260–61: “Nahâl‑e ârezu,” lines 6–8, 11. 292 E’tesâmi, Divân, p. 153, “Zan dar Irân,” lines 15–23.

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9. Conclusions In the writing and biographies of all the women poets studied here we detect aspects, some more obvious than others, of what Milani calls women’s writing as “transgression.” Zhâle’s women-centered poetry is in some sense the most transgressive: she speaks openly and unabashedly about her failed marriage, and the suffocation she feels as a progressive woman trapped in the confines of a traditional, patriarchal society. Zanddokht is similar to Zhâle in her boldness, although her poetry is much less autobiographical and deals consistently with issues beyond those of direct pertinence to women, most significantly the need for Iran to emerge as a strong, independent nation. Shams Kasmâ’i’s transgressive act was her attack on neo-classical poetry, and her attempt at disrupting the meter, rhyme, and diction of Persian poetry in the early 1920 s. This pioneering modernist was considered an equal by her more influential male peers in Tabriz, a fact that has yet to be fully appreciated. Fakhr‑e Ozmâ Arghun transgressed the boundaries of the roles prescribed to her by a traditional society and entered the workforce as an educator and journalist. In her desire to convey better her message to a wider public, Arghun adopted a fiercely nationalistic and radical tone in many of her poems, one which strikes many commentators as “manly.” Even those poets discussed here who appear to have remained faithful to the tradition, those who made peace with age-old genres and archaic language, they too in their own, quietly subversive ways, contravened established norms. Parvin E’tesâmi added layers of domesticity to her poems, clearly marking them as feminine; from beneath the veil of allegory (and, on occasion, with it partially drawn back) she attacked the injustices she saw in her society. By temperament perhaps even shyer than Zhâle, Parvin is the most public of the group by virtue of having published a large volume of her work for which she received critical acclaim and enjoyed popularity within her own lifetime. Even those such as Tâyere and Jannat who, in their poetry, did not deviate from the spirit of the Bâzgasht‑e adabi, overstepped the expectations of their society: Tâyere refused to recant her radically 309

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modern religious beliefs and her manifesto for women’s emancipation, which she expressed in her frank essays on women’s rights. And Jannat, by interacting on a level footing with some of the most renowned male literati of her day (many of whom she engaged with both orally and in print), showed that in the first decades of the twentieth century, the sun was beginning to set on the hitherto male-dominated arena of Persian poetry.

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CHAPTER SIX TRANSLATIONS OF EUROPEAN POETRY AND THEIR RECEPTION Parvin Loloi

1. Introduction Translation from European languages into Persian began with the establishment, in 1851, of Dâr-al-Fonun (‘Polytechnic Institute’) under the influence of the French. Originally, the translations were of an educational and historical nature, but soon other kinds of prose translation gained ground, particularly in the form of European novels and plays, mainly from French. By the end of the nineteenth century a large number of European texts existed in Persian. They played a crucial role in the modernization of Iran, not only culturally but also politically. Early twentieth century translations constituted a continuation of this trend, which still continues today. Translation has, of course, always played an important role in Persian culture— within ancient, medieval and modern literary systems alike.1 Since the middle of the nineteenth century, contact with Europeans had been on the increase and with it came an acute need to understand and absorb European social, political and literary systems. Many of the early translators were graduates of the Dâral-Fonun and of schools established by Western missionaries. At this time Iranian students who were sent to the West for education mainly went to France. It was by such elite and upper class members of society that translations from European languages were chiefly 1

Ahmad Karimi-Hakkak, “Persian Tradition,” Routledge Encyclopedia of Translation Studies 2 nd edition, eds. Mona Baker and Gabriela Saldanha, (London and New York, 2009), pp. 493–501.

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made. They were also made by political refugees, who settled or lived for short periods in other European countries, as well as in Turkey and Egypt. As a result a great number of translations were made from the chief European languages, primarily French, but also from English, German, Russian, Italian and other languages. Some European texts were translated indirectly, as it were, via Turkish or Arabic versions. It was, however, the French socio-political system, alongside its literature, that became the driving force in the modernization of Iran, which led eventually to the Constitutional Revolution of 1905–11. The success of the Constitutional Revolution, after several years of upheaval, finally brought about the abandonment of the old regime and the establishment of a parliamentary system. With this new dawn in Persian culture, there was felt to be a need for change in the centuries-old poetical system. The early twentieth century also saw the Bolshevik Revolution of 1917, and prior to this in 1907, the Anglo-Russian treaty whereby Persia came under the influence of these two foreign powers, from West and East. During World War I (1914–18), Iran, despite its neutrality, became a battleground for four powers: Russia, Britain, Ottoman Turkey and Germany. The effects of the war were devastating, and this, combined with a weak government and the partial disintegration of the country, angered Persian intellectuals. As a result, a large number of writers, including a number of poets, found themselves defending the integrity of their country in the face of adverse and violent political events. The role of the press prior to the Constitutional Revolution, and up to the end of Qajar rule and during Reza Shah Pahlavi (1925–41), was very important in the modernization of Iranian culture. Reza Shah, who ruthlessly closed all the privately run journals, nevertheless supported government sponsored ones which continued to print translations from European literature. The relative freedom that the Constitutional government brought about gave rise to a large number of journals and literary magazines—short and long lived—being published. They were mostly edited and managed by the Western-educated elite, amongst whose number were the intellectual poets/translators. Such figures continued to write and print translations from European literature and to press on with the modernization of the 312

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poetical system. Unfortunately, there has as yet been no systematic study of these translations; in the following pages I will examine the significant changes that some of these translations brought about in a very deeply rooted poetical system. Changes occurred after a long period of assimilation and the Europeanization of Persian culture in general and of poetry in particular. Translations of European poetry eventually revolutionized the nature and esthetic principles, as well as the subject matter, of Persian poetry. The poets of this period had to find a language to express the social and political realities of the time as well as their contradictory emotions. Persian poetry, however, had been in decline since the fall of the Safavid dynasty in 1722. Much of the poetry written from then to the middle of the eighteenth century was in the Indian style (Sabk-e Hendi) which was overtly exaggerated in all ways, from its mediocre style to its excessive imagery and fanciful figurative language. Poets mainly in India, and, the Central Asian countries, as well as a small number in Iran followed this style. From the middle of the eighteenth century, however, a group of Iranian poets who thought that their rich poetical heritage had been lost and probably in direct opposition to the Indian style, started writing and emulating the old masters such as Hâfez and Sa’di. Their aim was to revive the traditional poetical style. In their efforts they, generally, employed the meter and rhyme scheme of the classical forms (esteqbâl) and borrowing (tazmin) rhetorical devices as well as appropriating quotations of lines or half lines from the old masters. This form of poetry has become known as bâzgasht-e adabi (‘literary return’). It is thought to have been first initiated by MirSayyed-Ali Moshtâq of Isfahan (c. 1689–1757) and the poets of his literary circle.2 The poetry of the bâzgsht period was very imitative and backward looking as well as lacking in the eloquence and vivacity of the old masters emulated. The poets of the early twentieth century particularly of the Constitutional Revolution had to find a language which could express the social and political realities of the time as well as their contradictory emotions. The poetry of the Return Movement (dowre-ye bâzgasht) of the early nineteenth 2

William L. Hanaway, in Encyclopædia Iranica, s. v. Bāzgašt-e Adabi.

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c­ entury, however, had a strong hold on the psyche of some poets and it was extremely difficult to shake this off. In the classical poetry, and more particularly in the lyrics, one has to deal with typified characters rather than individuals. No distinct or specific feature emerges from among the host of types—such as the beloved, rivals, wine-servers, false preachers, bigoted ascetics—who inhabit the body of Persian poetry. Concerned mainly with subjective truth the poet is generally detached from reality; consequently he treats real objects and phenomena not as entities in themselves but as abstractions. He shuns the topical and eschews portraiture, moving largely in a world of symbols, types and abstractions.3

The twentieth-century poets, on the other hand, had to find a language and a diction which was objective and could portray and express the realities of the time and the contradictory emotions arising from the socio-political situation. They found this in the simple and eloquent language of the translations from European languages. They employed idiomatic, colloquial language as well as the occasional slang idioms of everyday life to speak to the ordinary people in the traditional poetical forms.

2. The Role of the Press The political upheavals of the early twentieth century, and the relative freedom that the constitutional government brought about, encouraged the intellectuals of Iran to set up their own newspapers and journals. It was through the large number of such journals that young poets in Iran became familiar with European poetry. Almost all the translations from European poetry, along with the new patriotic and political poetry, were first published in these periodicals, whose most important aim was to educate and instigate interest among the young poets through translations of European po3

Ehsan Yarshater, ‘Persian Letters in the Last Fifty Years,’ in Critical Perspectives on Modern Persian Literature, ed. Thomas M. Ricks, (Washington, 1984), p. 450. (I am indebted to Professor Yarshater’s studies on Modern Persian Literature.)

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etry and, in the process, to change the poetic and esthetic concepts so as to revive and modernize a stale poetical tradition. The earliest article on this subject appeared anonymously in Sur‑e Esrâfil, on April 29, 1908 and was entitled Tajdid‑e hayât‑e adabi (‘Literary Revival’). The article opens with the statement that poetry is the “highest of the literary arts and that the literature of every nation provides the best measure of its past advancement or decline and the best guide to its future prosperity.” The author goes on to paint an outline of the literary history of Iran and states that despite the general decline that marks the poetry of the recent centuries, the best poets have always met their social responsibility by instilling morality in the populace, by spreading knowledge of human sciences, and by attempting to moderate the excess of power. The essay then reiterates the position which by now has become the standard narrative of literary history in Iran.   Nor is this idea concealed from anyone, that in the past four or five centuries when the Voltaires, the Rousseaus, the Diderots, the Schillers, the Bacons, the Pushkins, the Chateaubriands, the Hugos and thousands of other men of letters and poets enriched the literary universe of the European nations, raising the standard of prose and poetry to the level of Raphael’s paintings and Michaelangelo’s sculptures by embodying in them precise human thoughts and expressing through them delicate truths of existence, our literature in general and our poetry in particular have remained stagnant or have declined, and our men of letters have engaged themselves only in slavish imitation of the classics and in juggling the words of the classical poets [sho’arâ-ye kelâsik] back and forth.   And this stagnation or decline, which without any notable exception has continued for five centuries in Iran, with the clarity of a mirror, made manifest the literary demise and moral decadence of the nation.4

The recommendations of the author here are precisely those followed by other journals such as Bahâr, established in 1910 by Mirzâ Yusof Khân Âshtiyâni (E’tesâm-al-Molk) (b. Tabriz, 1874; 4

Ahmad Karimi-Hakkak, Recasting Persian Poetry: Scenarios of Poetic Modernity in Iran, (Salt Lake City, 1995), p. 63. (Since I have not been able to see several of the important periodicals of the time, I am greatly indebted to Professor Karmi-Hakkak’s erudite work.)

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d. Tehran 2 January 1939). E’tesâmi was educated privately and knew French, Arabic and Ottoman Turkish well. It was through Ottoman and Arabic sources that he first became familiar with European Literature. He was a prolific translator and has left about forty volumes of translations from Western poets and novelists. He translated Victor Hugo’s Les Miserables as Tirbakhtân (1924), and Friedrich Schiller’s Kabala und Liebe as Khodâ va eshq (1907).5 E’tesâmi wrote and translated most of the materials published in Bahâr. These included fables from La Fontaine and other European authors, often published anonymously. These translations are very hard to come by today but a selection of them has been reprinted in the second volume of Mehdi Hamidi’s Daryâ-ye gowhar (Tehran, 1954). The first volume also contains a selection of his translations, although Hamidi does not specify that they are translations, since they are not identified as such in Bahâr. The second volume reprints translations from such varied poets as the Italians Vittorio Alfieri (1749–1803) and Giacomo Leopardi (1798–1837), the American Walt Whitman, the Frenchman Victor Hugo, an English poet by the name of Smith, the German Heinrich Heine and others. Alfieri is best known for his dramatic work, his plays being, like those of many other European dramatists of the years between 1500 and 1800 written in verse. The first piece included in volume two of Hamidi’s book is entitled Neveshtan (Writing). It is an excerpt from Book Three (Chapter two) of Alfieri’s treatise Del principe e delle lettere (‘The Prince and the Letters or Literature’). It is entitled Se le lettere possano nascere, sussistere, e perfezionarisi, senza protezione (‘If Letters/Literature can be Born, Exist and be Perfect, without Protection’).6 Alfieri’s treatise is at once a defence of liberty and a defence of letters, conceived as being in themselves a noble instrument for the attainment and the defence of liberty. In one long chapter Alfieri discusses the specific services that may be rendered in the common cause, by the epic poet, 5 6

H. Moayyad, in Encyclopædia Iranica, s. v. Eʿteṣāmī, Mīrzā Yūsof Khan Āštīānī, Eʿteṣām-al-Molk. Vittorio Alfieri, Scritti Politici e Morali, ed. Pietro Cazzani, Vol.I, (Asti, 1951), pp. 200–207.

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In E’tesâmi’s translation the author addresses the would-be writer and poet: You who would like to be a ‘great writer’ will not be satisfied by accepting patronage which will demote literature. Educate yourself with good virtues and a strong will, so that you will be able to scatter the corrupt clouds from mankind’s horizon. … Good speech (Goftâr‑e khub) and good behavior (Kerdâr‑e khub) have to be our companions at all times. It was only Athens that saw united at one single period, the balmy spring of precious science, liberty, increase in wealth, and refined ethics; and in a short time all the material and mystical virtues were gathered there. This strange mixture which was made of contradictory elements did not, however, last long. The greed for luxury and refinement overcame the grace of creativity and the arts. Freedom, material integrity, bravery and courage were gradually dismantled. At this time Rome was competing with Athens, but did not take over from Athens. Roman literature and ethics did not exceed the ordinary. Rome did not possess any great writer before Cicero, Catullus, Horace and Virgil. Simultaneously with the rise of these poets in Rome, the light of patriotism was extinguished and instead the burning dawn of slavery lifted its veil in Athens. The Augustan writers called his time the ‘Golden period’. They colluded with tyranny and shackled constitutionalism with chains.

E’tesâmi then translates a passage on the qualities of a poet, whose merits exceed calculation, if the poet “is able to guide the intellect and cognition”: Nations who have survived many centuries, as well as seeing different types of customs and government, have also seen variations in their art of poetical eloquence (balâghat) and elocution (sokhanvari). Writers of one period do not have the same esteem in another period.

E’tesâmi’s version then affirms that poets who are fully blessed with poetic talent, like Dante, are not dependent on patronage. Dante is praised because he did not seek protection from anybody; rather, being 7

Ernest Hatch Wilkins, revised by Thomas G. Bergin, A History of Italian Literature, (Cambridge, Massachusetts, 1974), p. 373.

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LITERATURE OF THE EARLY TWENTIETH CENTURY condemned to poverty and cruelty, he was homeless (khâne be dush) and a wanderer. Despite this his poetry has a particular meaning and eloquence that the work of his predecessors such as Horace and Virgil, who were close to the emperor Augustus, did not possess.

This extract emphasizes the merits of independence of thought and life for a poet, and to prove this point the translator writes: Socrates and Plato were among the philosophers who created Ancient Greece; Homer and Aeschylus, Demosthenes, Euripides were all great writers of their time. They were not the lowly retainers of their kings, and did not steal a loaf of bread from the table of their emperors. It is because of this that their generosity of thought remained free from the dangers of patronage. Among the later writers were such thinkers and poets as Locke, Bayle, Rousseau, Machiavelli, Milton, Petrarch, who demonstrated their respect for human rights and enlightened everybody with their wisdom and truth. These people never had any dealings with their kings. On the other hand poets such as Molière, Corneille, Racine, Ariosto, Tasso and the like, who attached themselves to the courts, despite having an exalted position in their culture, were nevertheless forced to write panegyrics and thus lower their own esteem.

This extract finishes by encouraging poets bravely to cast away fear and thus attain the elevation of their spirit and thought independently, and therefore attain eternity through their pen.8 Among the poets translated, Esmit shâ’er‑e englisi (Smith the English Poet) is initially a puzzling figure, and no information regarding him is provided. He can be identified, however, as Horatio Smith (1779–1849) a minor humorist and poet. E’tesâmi’s translation is entitled Be Yek mumiyâ’i-ye Mesri (‘To an Egyptian Mummy’) which is a reasonably accurate translation of the original’s title “Address to A Mummy.” Smith’s poem is in thirteen stanzas of six lines each. The translation reprinted in Hamidi’s book is in prose. Only ten of the original thirteen stanzas are translated; each is separated from the next by a dividing line. To illustrate the methods of this kind of translation I quote the first stanza, in the origi8

Daryâ-ye gowhar, ed. Hamid Hamidi, Vol. 2 (Tehran, 1954), pp. 6–9. (Unless otherwise stated the translations are my own.)

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nal text, in Persian, and in my literal translation of the Persian text. The first stanza of Smith’s poem reads thus: And hast thou walk’d about, (how strange a story!) In Thebes’s streets three thousand years ago, When the Memnonium was in all its glory, And time had not began to overthrow Those temples, palaces, and pillars stupendous, Of which the very ruins are tremendous.9

E’tesâmi’s translation of the stanza is as follows:

‫شگفت داستانی سه هزار سال پیش هنگامیکه مجسمه ممون در بحبحه فخر و عظمت خود‬ ‫ این ستونهای مهیب موقر را تصاریف ایام ویران نکرده بود‬،‫ این قصور‬،‫ این معابد‬،‫میزیست‬ 10.‫تو در کوچه های شهر “تبس” گردش میکردی‬ A back-translation of this into literal English might read thus: What a strange story! Three thousand years ago when the statue of Memmon lived at the height of its glory and grandeur; these temples, these palaces, these formidable columns were not yet destroyed by time’s clutch, you took a leisurely walk in the streets of Thebes.

Translations like these are numerous in the journals of the time. Of course we do not know from which languages the above were actually translated since E’tesâmi knew neither Italian nor English. The Alfieri piece seems to be a free adaptation of the original, but the second, as can be seen, is a simple, elegant and faithful prose translation. This was a noticeable trend in the early twentieth-century Persian translations of European texts, a trend which had already started in the nineteenth century. Persian translations of the late nineteenth to early twentieth centuries, irrespective of the genres of their originals, were almost always turned into simple, but eloquent, prose. We can see a tinge of Persianization in the version from Alfieri, where the translator’s emphasis on “good speech and good behavior” of course echoes the Zoroastrian tenets of “good speech, good deeds, and good thoughts.” Such a pattern continued well into the twentieth century. The main purpose of   9 Horace (Horatio) Smith, Poetical Works, Vol. 1, (London,1846), p. 12. 10 Daryâ-ye gowhar, p. 17.

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these varied t­ranslations (and some of the original articles of the same kind) was to educate and encourage young writers and poets to be independent in thought and purpose, thus instigating change and modernization. Mohammad-Taqi Bahâr (1886–1951), was by far the most notable of the poets of the early twentieth century. He was born in Mashhad and educated in the early stages of his life by his father, who was the poet laureate (Malek-al-Sho’arâ) at the shrine in Mashhad. He replaced his father as poet laureate after his death in 1904. He was a politically motivated poet and a strong advocate of modernization, but also a staunch believer in the traditional poetic forms. For his political ideas and activities he was imprisoned and exiled several times, but he also served in the parliament for many years and became poet laureate at the court of Reza Shah for a time. He and a group of like-minded friends and literary leaders, such as Abbâs Eqbâl Âshtiyâni, Gholâm-Rezâ Rashid Yâsami, Sa’id Nafisi and others, established a literary society by the name of Dâneshvari (Seekers of Knowledge), a name later changed to Dâneshkade (‘The Place/Faculty of Knowledge’), which published a journal of the same name. It was the second literary journal, after Bahâr. Its first issue was published in April 1918 and it lasted for exactly a year, until April 1919. There were twelve issues of the journal in total—the last two published together in one volume. The leading article of the first issue, entitled Marâm‑e mâ (‘Our goal/ideology’), sets out the journal’s vision. The aim is: to create and encourage formal, as well as thematic, innovations in literature in order to reflect contemporary life, but without breaking completely from traditional norms established by great masters of the past. The editors are also pledged to adopt in Persian prose useful elements from the works of Western authors.11

Like its predecessor, Dâneshkade, published many translations. Amongst them were lyrics or lyrical passages from longer poems, scenes from dramas, anecdotes, and a variety of texts from a range of European languages. Works by Schiller, Dastkesh, az Shiler (‘The Glove by Schiller,’ in no. 4, August 24, 1918, 203–4), sections 11

Nassereddin Parvin, in Encyclopædia Iranica, s. v. Dāneškada.

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of one of Schiller’s dramatic narratives were serialized in issues 6 (October 24, 1918, 320–24) and 7 (November 25, 1918, 380–84); Se Hendi (‘Three Indians’) by the German poet Nicholas Lenau; as well as a section of Dante’s Divine Comedy entitled Madkhal‑e Jahannam (‘The Entrance to the Inferno’, in no. 9, January 21, 1919, 483–85); and a section of an essay by Rousseau entitled Vejdân (‘Conscience’ in no. 10, February 10, 1919, 552–54).12 Dâneshkade, more than any other journal, was successful in changing the perception of poetry within the framework of the traditional system. It saw itself as a mediator between she’r va nasr‑e qadim (the old poetry and prose) and she’r va nasr‑e jadid (‘the new poetry and prose’). The second of these concepts was seen as she’r va nasr‑e orupâ’i (‘European poetry and prose’). These two, or in other words the classical Persian tradition and the European, particularly post-Renaissance French literature, became its pre-occupation. The mainly Europeanized tone of Dâneshkade was justified in the second issue by a question posed in a note “Perhaps our readers would ask why Dâneshkade has given priority to the great literary figures of the West and does not introduce the Eastern— our own—great men.”13 In its defence it observes: Yes, our great men are more dear to us on all counts. However, a knowledge of other nations’ poets and literati will be just as suitable to us. We know our own great men. Let us [have the chance to] know the great men of other nations as well, just as the Europeans have gained knowledge of our great men.14

One important aspect of Dâneshkade, as well as of many other journals published both inside and outside the country, such as Irânshahr (Berlin), Kâve (Berlin) Eqdâm, Now Bahâr and others, was the “literary competition.” In these usually one or two prose translations of either short fables or aphorisms and short quotations from European poets and writers—usually with no indication of where they came from—were given, and then the readers were 12 Karimi-Hakkak, Recasting …, p. 299, n. 31. 13 Ibid., p. 106. (Karimi-Hakkak discusses in detail the role of Dâneshkade on pp. 102–113). 14 Karimi-Hakkak, Recasting …, p. 107.

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encouraged to compose poems around the subject of these translations. The aim was for new subjects to be introduced into the traditional poetical system. Many of the poets of the time, including Bahâr himself, responded to these invitations and produced poems which, in many cases, became naturalized into the Persian poetry of the time and later. This practice had an important impact on the evolution of twentieth-century Persian Poetry. Another aspect of these journals was the introduction of short biographies of European writers, designed to broaden the knowledge and sensibilities of the educated class, including the poets.

3. The Literary Debate The literary debate is an important issue in the dialogue between the traditionalists and the radicals, or, to put it another way, between those who wanted to take a gradual path towards the modernization of the poetical tradition and conventions, such as Bahâr and other members of the Dâneshkade society and, on the other hand, those who believed a complete break with the traditions of Persian poetry to be desirable. Among this latter group the voice of Taqi Raf’at was the most prominent. Raf’at who was a member of the Democratic party of Azarbaijan contributed to its journal, Tajaddod (‘Modernity’). He became its general editor in September 1920. Raf’at was educated in Istanbul and was proficient in French, Ottoman Turkish, and Persian. He composed poetry in all three languages.15 Tajaddod’s main concern was with politics, but a great deal of attention was also paid to cultural and literary matters. In a special column devoted to “Modernity in Literature” (tajaddod dar adabiyyât) the paper exemplified its enthusiastic advocacy for radical change and innovation in the traditional Persian literature by compositions from Taqi Raf’at, Shams Kasmâ’i, and Ja’far Khâmene’i … These innovations, however, led to a heated debate between Tajaddod and some papers and journals in Tehran …16 15 Âryanpur, Az Sabâ tâ Nimâ, (Tehran, 1971), Vol. II, p. 437, n. 1. 16 Nassereddin Parvin, in Encyclopædia Iranica, s. v. Tajaddod.

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Tajaddod, however, is considered unique in Iranian journalism. Using such terms as ‘literary despotism,’ ‘forces of cultural reaction,’ and ‘the dam of conservatism’, Raf’at created a model for discourse on literature wherein advocates of gradual change were aligned with undesirable political elements. More than anyone, Raf’at is responsible for the interlocking of literary and political discourses in modern Iran, which is still a feature of Iranian literary culture. In his time the rhetoric worked to push the issue of literary change through a decisive phase. … [T]he linguistic node thus created took another turn when it was reformulated by Nima [Yushij], and eventually found its manifestation in the contemporary poetry of Iran.17

The literary debate, however, had already started in 1917, when Ali-Asghar Tâleqâni, a young European-educated intellectual published an article entitled Maktab‑e Sa’di (‘The School of Sa’di’), in Zabân‑e Âzâd (‘Liberated Language’). Tâleqâni had attacked Sa’di’s validity as a great poet, in abusive language which caused political chaos and resulted in the “suppression of Zabân‑e Âzâd, and eventually contributed to the fall of the government of the time …”18 Sa’di is, of course, thought of as a great master of language (ostâd‑e sokhân) in Persian poetry. His Bustân and Golestân have been revered almost as much as the Qor’an and their moralistic tales and poetry have served for centuries as teaching materials in schools. In defence of Sa’di and his position in Persian literature many journals in Tehran wrote passionate articles, and thus a vociferous debate started between the traditionalists who were keen to preserve the classical poetical system and modernize only as regards subject matter, and the radicals who wanted a complete break with the past but could not really offer anything substantial in the form of modernization. Taqi Raf’at took the matter in hand in a series of articles published in Tajaddod (nos. 70–74) under the title of Osyân‑e ­Adabi (‘Literary Revolt’). Tâleqâni, who had attributed the backwardness of the country to reliance on classical masters such as Sa’di, is seen as both a literary and social enigma. He writes that: 17 Karimi-Hakkak, Recasting …, p. 111. 18 Ibid., p. 124.

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LITERATURE OF THE EARLY TWENTIETH CENTURY The most significant claim of the frenzied hostility (khashm‑e shuride) of “Maktab‑e Sa’di” is that “the origin of all our national and social misfortunes lies, only, and only in the inconsistencies which are inherent in the principles of our national education and the corruptness (kharâbi) of the code of our social upbringing, which, like termites, has been gnawing at our national foundation for the last eight to nine hundred years.

Raf’at then advises his readers that this, if not a frank truth, … is a truthful cry, which is poured out of an afflicted breast with all the social ills of our society …Listen with all seriousness to the passionate words of this writer: the principles of Iranian national education and codes of social behavior, unfortunately, rely only on a few classical and modern books which have occupied the minds and thoughts of all classes of society and have gained a higher place than the Divine Book (Qor’an) … At the head of these books is the Collected Works of Mosleh-al-Din Sa’di, which with boldness, I would like to call “The Collected Works of Demise” (Kolliyât‑e tanazzol-bakhsh) … The writer of “Maktab‑e Sa’di” is praiseworthy. He has bravely started a vital (hayâti) debate ­… political revolution in Iran needed this dialogue and this balance (tatamme) … and the young [writers] can now attack the despotic (estebdâd) and repulsive (ertejâ) literary fortress.19

Raf’at continues with his onslaught and argues that Sa’di did not write out of the same needs and the same aspirations as writers of the later period. He asserts that the disturbed youth of this age need to be taught “the meaning of life; to be shown the road to success and salvation ( jâdde-ye fowz o falâh), to give wings to their souls and mind … to wipe out the nightmare of destruction and decay, and not the words of Sa’di, Hâfez and Ferdowsi”.20 In response to Tâleqâni’s onslaught on Sa’di, Bahâr wrote an article entitled Sa’di kist (‘Who is Sa’di?’) which was published in his journal Now Bahâr. In this essay Sa’di is placed in his social and historical context, as part of an assertion that the continuity of literature is an important factor in the continuity of a culture, in spite of all 19 Âryanpur, Az Sabâ tâ Nimâ, II, pp. 438–39. (I have adopted the translation by Karimi-Hakkak for Kolliyât‑e tanazzol-bakhash.) 20 Âryanpur, Az Sabâ tâ Nimâ, II, p. 340.

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the upheavals that a culture might experience. Sa’di himself necessarily experienced troubled times as well, but he was also a student of Ferdowsi and Sanâ’i, as well as the Greek, the Arab, the Indian and the Persian philosophies; it is not, therefore, relevant to criticize Sa’di for the passive quality evident in his account of the human condition, or for his prevailing tolerance towards the injustices perpetrated by the tyrannical rulers of his time. Bahâr gives many examples of “Sa’di’s works written in praise of such virtues as faith, conviction, and perseverance and in vilification of vices like indolence, gluttony, and greed.”21 Bahâr argues that Sa’di was determined to guide his reader towards a better society. He is outraged at the vilification of Sa’di and other classical masters by some contemporary critics who are not able to offer any feasible alternative moral system or even a didactic scheme of their own: Those young people who have not benefited from the literature and arts of their own country, who are yet to comprehend European works, sciences, and arts, and who resort to four or five seemingly mystical and ascetic [sufi-maneshâne va tark‑e donyâ’i] statements [in the works of the classical masters] as reason for eradication of their excellent teachings must tell me what new guidance or fresh principles they would establish in their place, and what words they would substitute for their counsel. Would they set aside the books of Sa’di and Rumi to open up instead the books and essays of their contemporaries, which contain nothing but nonsense, insults, mistakes, and bad teachings? Those who denigrate and insult Sa’di, Rumi, and Hâfez without feeling shame before their spirits, what art [honar] and virtue [ fazilat] have they brought forth? Which books on what more modern and more useful pedagogical principles have they authored or compiled that they already declare the books of Iranian literati [odabâ-ye Irân] defunct?22

Karimi-Hakkak argues that Bahâr’s position here is both simple and forbidding. He counters all challenges to the authority of the past by asking the challenger to produce works that might fill the void which he sees arising as the tradition is rejected. Beyond this rhetorical question, he does not 21 Karimi-Hakkak, Recasting …, p. 125. 22 Ibid., p. 125.

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LITERATURE OF THE EARLY TWENTIETH CENTURY envision any critical attitude as itself capable of creating the impulse toward literary and cultural modernity.23

Bahâr has very often been criticized as too conservative in his view of the classical poetry—one who is not willing to diverge from the interpretation of the tradition. In response to Bahâr’s defence of Sa’di, on the other hand, Raf’at employs “the concept of translation to emphasize the breakdown of communication between classical poets like Sa’di and Hâfez, and their readers in modern Iranian society … He acknowledges the presence of a moral purpose in Sa’di’s works, but thinks it would be foolish to think it as translatable, let alone relevant, to the terms that govern the modern age”: A momentary pause over some stories in the Golestân would spare us having to belabor the point about our perception of the lessons which we can learn from the works of Sa’di. The first story teaches us that “a well meaning lie is better than truth which might lead to injurious consequences”; the fourth story suggests that “hereditary tendencies toward crime cannot be corrected through education”; the eighth story communicates [the idea] that “kings must eliminate ruthlessly those whom they fear …”; the fourteenth story claims that “a soldier whose ration is delayed has the right to desert the field of battle;” etc., etc.,24

The debate on Sa’di’s relevance continued, with a few further articles by Bahâr and Raf’at. The latter always succeeded in rebutting Bahâr’s arguments and insistently asked how Sa’di could be expected to “translate adequately the pain we feel today? (in dard râ … be khubi tarjome konad).” Sa’di, for Raf’at was “a kindly poet, an ingenious writer … and a modernist philosopher in his own age …”25 After the First World War, and almost two decades after the first Constitutional Revolution, the debate on Modernity in poetry continued between Bahâr and Raf’at in their journals Dâneshkade and Tajaddod, but by this time the need for modernity in Persian poetry was a generally accepted opinion. How to proceed with this process became, however, the subject of a heated debate; the argu23 Ibid., p. 125. 24 Ibid., pp. 126–27. 25 Âryanpur, Az Sabâ tâ Nimâ, Vol. II, pp. 442–43.

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ment between Bahâr and Raf’at epitomizes the antagonistic notions of modernism in poetry at this time. Furthermore their debate reflects many of the semantic complexities of an evolving social discourse at its most fluid stage. Throughout the post constitutional debate on literature, such terms as “literary change” (tahavvol‑e adabi), “literary modernization” (tajaddod‑e adabi), and “literary revolution” (enqelâb‑e adabi) held a variety of connotations often conveyed through an analogical logic. This logic was itself the vestige of a mode of thinking that had remained substantially unchanged, the desire to overcome its limitations notwithstanding. In the bipolar discourse thus created, “old poetry and prose” (she’r va nasr‑e qadim) was understood in terms at once contiguous and antithetical to an as yet largely undefined “new poetry and prose” (she’r va nasr‑e jadid) or “new verse and prose” (nazm va nasr‑e jadid). The latter concept was generally seen as akin to what was most often termed “European poetry and prose” (she’r va nasr‑e orupâ’i), even though the exact nature of the affinity was hardly a matter of agreement. In short, the language of the debate on modernity in the Persian poetry of the early twentieth century is intricate and opaque, subject to a variety of interpretations that come ultimately to depend on the interpreter’s own ideology and vision of modernity. As a result, the poetic discourse that emerges begins to throw all cultural products into two antithetical poles: the old and the new. The idea of relevance, understood as willingness to tackle socially significant topics in an ideologically correct way, appears to be the ultimate arbiter.26 Dâneshkade had, from its origins, a clear vision of how to proceed with the modernization of poetry. Under the editorship of Bahâr, it was multifaceted. As well as the materials mentioned above it published many articles on the literary history of Iran, and on European literature (mainly French). It envisioned a kind of poetry that would imitate both Persian and European models. The growing and insistent conviction that sources other than those belonging to the native tradition must be drawn on if Persian poetry was to be made fully relevant to a changing society was 26 Karimi-Hakkak, Recasting …, pp. 104–5.

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r­adically new. Bahâr presents his evolutionary vision in the first issue of Dâneshkade: The world is subject to revolutions. In this changeable and changing environment, from the oceans and deserts, from great countries to small families, from dress to words and idioms, everything is subject to mutation and change. It is therefore not surprising if changes occur in our literature, in our language, and in the way we express our intentions. At the same time, however, we do not wish to commit ourselves to a course of action before the evolutionary process commands us to do so.27

Bahâr is proud of his classical culture and considers that the Iran of the early twentieth century, with all its political ideology and patriotism, should also be proud of its rich poetical system and modernism should not turn “the pickaxe against the historical structures built by poets and literary figures who are our fathers and forbears.” They prefer to proceed gently, so that “while repairing the structures erected by them, we begin to lay the foundation for newer structures next to theirs.”28 The metaphor of “repairing” an old edifice while building a new one was taken up by Raf’at, a project he judged to be illogical and unsustainable: In the above lines you admit a few things. First, that you are afraid [to venture out], preferring to continue to live in your ancestral home. Second, that that structure is in need of repair and that you shall undertake such repair. Third, that next to the above-mentioned structure, you shall erect a newer structure. No mason or architect devises a plan of this sort. Such a thought will condemn you to failure.29

Raf’at then continues and describes, with determined assertiveness, his vision of a modern poet and modern poetry thus: Literary youth of Dâneshkade! With the most radical sense of modernism [mofrat-tarin hess‑e Tajaddod-parvari] and the most interminable of literary ideals [tulâni-tarin amal‑e adabiyye], call upon all your friends for help and without fear enter the field of battle. 27 Dâneshkadeh, no. 1 (April 21, 1918): pp. 3–4. (The quotation here is taken from Karimi-Hakkak, Recasting …, pp. 110–11. 28 Ibid., p. 111. 29 Ibid., p. 112.

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Translations of European Poetry Do not be afraid! Fight self-assuredly and incessantly! You shall not reach your goal easily … However, your unchanneled literary energies will give you a true notion of modernity. Having toiled long and hard, you may find on the blank draft pages before you a few awkward (inaccurate) words [chand ebârat‑e nâmowzun], a few disharmonies (unrhythmical) phrases [chand she’r‑e nâhamvâr]. But rest assured! Modernity is tantamount to a revolution. It cannot be poured into people’s eyes with a dropper.30

Through an inversion of Bahâr’s own words, Raf’at seeks to refute the argument that any movement towards literary modernity must necessarily go hand-in-hand with wider social changes, so that literature might keep the tastes and needs of its audience in mind at all times: Nor should you, friends of Dâneshkade, anticipate any assistance from popular sentiments [ehsâsât‑e omumiyye], the national character [akhlâq‑e melliyye], or the thoughts of the social body [afkâr‑e hayât‑e ejtemâ’iyye]. All such generalities are meaningless. Those very popular sentiments and national habits demonstrate a woeful indifference towards such events as the constitutional movement and towards civil liberties as well. If you fasten such heavy balls around your poetic talents [tab‑e she’r] and literary tastes [qarihe-ye adabi], you will end up making advancement impossible for yourselves. If you are poets and literary figures, realize that poets and literary figures must be leaders not followers.31

Already two opposing views of modernity in poetry are apparent. While Bahâr prefers that poets move slowly, in pace with society, Raf’at would like them to be brave and become leaders and instigators of literary change. Bahâr, in response to Raf’at’s refutation, published an article in the third issue of Dâneshkade entitled Enteqâdât dar Atrâf‑e Marâm‑e Mâ (‘Criticism Concerning our Ideology’) in which he elaborates on the modern poet’s duties towards “his ancestral poetic structures.” He reaffirms the policy of Dâneshkade and defends the idea of a gradual change in the literary system, a change which evolves alongside social change; he emphasizes that this is preferable to wilful experimentation, whereby changes 30 Ibid., p. 112. 31 Karimi-Hakkak, Recasting …, p. 112.

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in the poetic system are initiated without any social justification. Bahâr writes that: Contrary to those who, not knowing the meaning of advancement, believe that jumping up and falling back down on the ground constitutes progress, we regard natural evolution [takammol‑e tabi’i] and gradual perfection [takmil‑e tadriji] to be the only way for a nation to achieve real advancement. We believe a real revolution to be slow and too imperceptible [a process] to allow our revolutionary authors to exemplify it in their first perfunctory motions, their first harmonious or disharmonious [rhythmic or unrhythmic] [mowzun yâ nâmowzun], imitative or innovative [derivative or original] [taqlidi yâ ekhterâ’i] dance.32

With Bahâr’s article and the closure of Dâneshkade after a year, this debate came to a close; but Tajaddod, after a few years which coincided with the brutal suppression of The Democratic Party of Âzarbâyjân in 1918, recommenced publication. With the resurrection of Tajaddod and the later publication of Âzâdistân, the notion of “Modernity in Literature” (Tajaddod dar Adabiyyât) was revived and Raf’at, still full of passionate conviction, continued to persuade young poets to follow his principles and bring about total change.33 The debate between Bahâr and Raf’at is significant, as Karimi-Hakkak points out, because it makes apparent the complexities of literary culture in Iran in the early twentieth century: The discussion between an evolutionary and a revolutionary view of poetic change illustrates an atmosphere of cultural and esthetic polyvalence where not only relations between poetry and society but also the very basis of poetic signification begins to be a matter of open contestation. Varying degrees of tolerance for rupture, the search for innovation beyond established thematic and generic boundaries, and particularly the linkage between esthetic value and the presentation of sociopolitical issues signal the leap from elemental to structural changes. Of the two tendencies illustrated here, the gradualist position would not initiate formal and generic violation of the traditional poetic system, whereas the more radical position might do so to redress what it sees as a lack in the native tradition.34 32 Karimi-Hakkak, Recasting …, p. 113. 33 Âryanpur, Az Sabâ tâ Nimâ, Vol. II, pp. 451–52. 34 Karimi-Hakkak, Recasting …, p. 116.

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4. Political and Patriotic Poetry E. G. Browne wrote in the preface to his Press and Poetry of Modern Persia that [o]ne notable feature of the modern Persian Press is the large amount of excellent verse which is to be found in it, … [journals such as] the Bahâr of Mashhad, and Sur‑e Esrâfil, Irân‑e Now and other organs of the Tehran Press. Much of this verse is ‘topical’ referring to the stirring events of the recent Revolution and the principal dramatis personae; or patriotic, inciting the youth of Persia to deeds of heroism and self-sacrifice; or satirical. It is, in my opinion, of great interest both from the historical and literary points of view, and is often remarkable for its merit and its originality.

Much of this poetry, however, has not until recently received any serious critical study either in Iran or in the West, and as Browne asserts in the same passage, [c]ertain European students of Persian whose researches stop short at the period which, four hundred years ago, produced Jâmi, the most celebrated of the later ‘classical’ poets,… constantly assert that there is no modern Persian Poetry worth reading, a statement which I can only account for by supposing that they have not taken the trouble to look for it or read it, but which is nevertheless widely credited.35

This poetry, although written in the classical poetic forms and employing the language of the “Return Movement” (dowre-ye bâzgasht) was nonetheless significantly different. The political and patriotic poet of the revolutionary years found himself addressing the man in the street and not the courtly gatherings of the classical period. His topics, therefore, were not the idealized and abstract language and stylized characters of Hâfez and Sa’di, but the topical matters of the day. The poets of the constitutional period had to develop a language which could be understood by the common (and very often illiterate) man in the street, men who would gather round those with an education and listen eagerly to the reading aloud of a wide range of material, from translations to poetry 35 Browne, The Press and Poetry of Modern Persia, (Cambridge, 1914), pp. xiv–xv.

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and politically motivated articles. The journalistic language of the press adopted in poetry was an innovation unprecedented in Persian literature.36 At the same time, under the influence of European literature, other poetical forms and styles such as ballads (tasnif ) (which were inspired by Persian folk songs), social and political satire, humorous, and derisive verse also emerged. Among the constitutional poets Dehkhodâ, Bahâr, Âref, Lâhuti, Eshqi, Ashraf Gilâni (Nasim‑e Shomâl), and Iraj Mirzâ are the most notable; they all employed political and social topics in simple language within the framework of the traditional qaside, ghazal, robâ’i, and other forms. The rhetorical devices were, however, new. Bahâr himself follows this practice. A staunch advocate of modernism and the constitution, he suffered imprisonment and was exiled for his political activities and his poetry. In the first two years after the Revolution, he published his poetry in secret. His well-known poem in mostazâd—a form popular with the poets of the time—denouncing Mohammad-Ali Shah was first published in the clandestine newspaper Khorâsân. The first two lines read thus:

‫کار ایران با خداست‬ 37‫کار ایران با خداست‬

‫با شه ایران ز �آزادی سخن گفتن خطاست‬ ‫مذهب شاهنشه ایران ز مذهبها جداست‬

Soroudi has translated the passage To discuss freedom with the shah of Iran is a folly To God we trust Iran’s destiny. Religion of the shah is not shared by any, To God we trust Iran’s destiny.38

Bahâr, like many others amongst his contemporaries, was greatly disturbed by the events of the first two decades of the twentieth century, and the dictates of Reza Shah Pahlavi (r. 1925–41). All of this is amply reflected in his poetry. He is best known for his ac36 See Ehsan Yarshater’s “Persian Letters in the Last Fifty Years,” Critical Perspectives on Modern Persian Literature, ed. Thomas M. Ricks, (Washington, 1984), pp. 448–57. 37 These lines are quoted from Browne, Press and Poetry, p. 260. 38 Sorour Soroudi, “Poet and Revolution …,” part. 1, Iranian Studies, Vol. XII, Nos. 1–2 (Winter-Spring 1979), p. 25.

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complished qasides, but he wrote in ghazals, mosammat, mostazâd, robâ’i and tasnif. As he was a strong believer in the classical style, all his poetry, even his translations, adhere to traditional classical forms. He translated from French, English, and Russian, very often through an intermediary language or versified prose translations. His diction however is in keeping with the trend of the time. The contradictory aspects of his beliefs in the modernization of the poetical system within the old classical system are strikingly evident in his poetry. One of the earliest political poets was Mirzâ Ali-Akbar Qazvini, known as Dehkhodâ (1879–1956). He was a scholar and poet as well as a social critic. He graduated from Madrese-ye Siyâsi (‘The School of Political Sciences’). His first employment was as a secretary to Mo’âven-al-Dowle Ghafâri Kâshâni, the Persian ambassador to the Balkans and he traveled with him to Europe, chiefly to Austria. He returned to Iran in 1905. He was appointed the literary editor of Sur‑e Esrâfil (He has been identified by Karimi-Hakkak as the author of the article quoted above). Sur‑e Esrâfil became very popular in its early years, partly because of its satirical series called Charand-Parand (‘Fiddle-Faddle’), written by Dehkhodâ. After the storming of parliament by Mohammad-Ali Shah Qajar (1907–9), fearing for his life Dehkhodâ went into exile, with the help of the British Officials. He suffered a great deal of hardship, living first in Paris, before moving to Yeverdon in Switzerland, where he published a second series of Sur‑e Esrâfil from January to March 1909. Dehkhoda eventually returned to Iran and after being elected a member of Parliament for Kermân and Tehran, he retired from public life during the strict censorship of Reza Shah’s rule and devoted the rest of his life to literary work. His Loghatnâme (‘Dictionary’) is still one of the best sources for Persian vocabulary.39 Dehkhodâ’s literary output is mainly in prose which has earned him a special place in Persian literature. The language of his relatively few poetical works, like that of his prose, marks the beginning of a significant change in Persian poetry. His qaside 39 ʿA.-A. Saʿīdī Sīrjānī, in Encyclopædia Iranica, s. v. Dehḵodā, Mīrzā ʿAlī-Akbar Qazvīnī.

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which has come to be known as “Remember …” (yâd âr) was the first political poem to be written in the Twentieth Century. It was published in the third and the last issue of Sur‑e Esrâfil on 8 March 1909 in Switzerland. It is an elegy written for his young friend Mirzâ Jahângir Khân Shirâzi, who was strangled with a rope by the agents of Mohammad-Ali Shah in 1908. The poem, in mosammat form, has been widely praised as innovative by both Iranian and European scholars and critics. It has the refrain of “yâd âr” (remember) at the end of each stanza. Karimi-Hakkak has offered an illuminating analysis of the poem—​ the first of its kind. He discusses some of the poem’s rhetorical, structural, and lexical characteristics, in order to illustrate the way in which the poem departs from the traditional methods of poetic composition. Karmi-Hakkak sums up the poem as an exploration … [which] can serve as an illustration of how a poet can take over the fields of discourse previously thought external to his craft and use them to modify, expand, or otherwise alter the tradition in search of meaning that he or she perceives as relevant.”40

Abu’l-Qâsem Âref Qazvini (1882–1934) was born in Qazvin and educated there. Because of his good voice he was sent for training as a rowze-khân (a singer and reciter of accounts of the Shi’i martyrs). This gave him training in some elements of classical music. About 1898 he moved to Tehran and became a well-known musician and poet. His concerts were well attended and his poems became very popular. At his hands the classical ghazals of Hâfez and Sa’di were transformed into political and patriotic expressions of the time.41 He also popularised the tasnif (‘ballad’) but again, in Ârefeian tasnifs we are presented with political and patriotic expressions which are unprecedented in Persian poetry. Karimi-Hakkak examines one of Âref’s ghazals in the light of its difference from the classical ghazal. Hakkak’s chosen ghazal is entitled Payâm‑e Âzâdi (‘The Message of Freedom’). The poem may not have had a title originally but was given one by the editors of Âref’s collected poems. It begins with this line: 40 Karimi-Hakkak, Recasting …, pp. 87–88. 41 J. Matīnī, and M. Caton, Encyclopædia Iranica, s. v. ʿĀref Qazvīnī.

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‫پیام دوشم از پیر می فروش �آمد‬ ‫بنوش باده که یک ملت به هوش �آمد‬ Karmi-Hakkak’s translation reads: Last night a message came to me from the wine-selling elder: Drink wine, for a whole nation has come to itself.

The first line is a quotation from Hâfez; the poem was sung in Autumn 1911 at an official gathering, in Tabriz, of the Literary Circle of The Democratic Party of Iran to celebrate the victory of the constitutionalists. E. G. Browne, who was present at the celebrations, describes the occasion in the preface to his Press and Poetry of Modern Persia, and writes that Âref “undertook the role of the minstrel, and, in a most charming and affecting manner, sung the poem which he had composed for this occasion.”42 This Karimi-Hakkak argues is very different to Dehkhodâ’s elegiac qaside in that it was written in celebration of a public occasion and not in remembrance of a martyred friend. Nevertheless, both poems are conceived as conscious departures from the traditional subject matter of the two forms. Âref and other poets of the period convinced their audiences that the qasida, or the ghazal, genres perceived as irrelevant to contemporary concerns, can be made relevant and effective and useful to common cause.43

Abu’l-Qâsem Lâhuti was born in Kermânshâh on the 12 th of October 1887 and died in Moscow on the 16 th March, 1957. He was educated in the traditional elementary schools in Kermânshâh. He joined the local branch of Jâme’e-ye Âdamiyyat (‘Society of Humanity’) which was the Masonic society founded by Abbâs-Qoli Khân Qazvini in 1904. With their help he moved to Tehran to pursue his studies. There he became fascinated by the ideals of the Constitution and the Russian Revolution, and became involved in political activity. He joined the Gendarmerie, set up with the help of Swedish officers, to protect and patrol the rural areas. He was 42 Browne, Press and Poetry, pp. vxi–xvii. 43 Karimi-Hakkak, Recasting …, pp. 88–99. The quotation is taken from p. 96.

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soon promoted to major and sent to Qom. In several skirmishes in Qom a number of people were killed and he had to leave the army and escape to Ottoman Turkey. He returned to Kermânshâh in 1916 and became active against the allied occupation of Iran; he also worked with the Bolshevik agitators amongst the Russian soldiers. He eventually settled in the USSR in 1923. Lâhuti’s poetry moved gradually from religious and mystical themes to the expression of political (and specifically Marxist) ideology. He moved from Moscow to Dushanbe in 1924 where he soon became a prominent literary figure and wrote the lyrics for the Tajik national anthem; he also translated into Persian the Soviet national anthem. His fame in the USSR grew so much so that for a time he became the vice-chairman of the Writer’s Association, with Maxim Gorky (1868–1936) as its chairman.44 Lâhuti’s poetry, like that of so many other poets of the time, was written in a simple and direct language to facilitate the forceful and accessible expression of his political views. He also experimented with variations on the ­traditional ghazal and robâ’i. In a few poems he employs sequential do-beyti … [which] [l]ater on, in 1920 s and 1930 s, … was considered a sign of ‘poetic modernism.’ Lahuti had employed this form already in 1908, making use of the then uncommon rhyme pattern of abba, cddc, and efff, gggh. The poem was written on the occasion of the Tabrizi’s victory over Mohammad-Ali Shah’s forces, which resulted in severe shortage of food in the city.45

The poem’s first stanza reads thus:

‫برگشت نه با میل خود از حمله احرار‬ ‫هی وارد تبریز شد از در و هر دشت‬

‫اردوی ستم خسته و عاجز شد و برگشت‬ ‫ره باز شد و گندم و �آذوقه به خروار‬

The lines are well translated by Soroudi: The camp of oppression, frustrated and tired, turned back, For freedom fighters did give them a blow. 44 Kāmyār Ābedi, Encyclopædia Iranica, s. v. Lāhutī, Abu’l-Qāsem. 45 Sorour Soroudi, “Poets and Revolution: the Impact of Iran’s Constitutional Revolution on Social and Literary Outlook of the Poets of the Time,” part. II, in Iranian Studies, Vol. XII, (1979), p. 248.

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Lâhuti is also well known for his many translations from Russian into Persian verse and prose. Among them are works by Alexander Pushkin, Maxim Gorky, and Vladimir Mayakovsky. In his translations, and in some later original poems, he employs free and blank verse as well as syllabic poems. For example his poem “Partizan” is in syllabic form.47 Mohammad-Rezâ Mirzâde Eshqi was born in Hamadan on 11 December 1894 and assassinated on 3 July 1923. His early education was in Hamadan, where he attended two European style schools. He learned “French as part of the curriculum,” but left school at the age of fifteen and traveled to Tehran and Isfahan. He returned to Hamadan in 1915, where he is thought to have started publishing a journal Nâme-ye Eshqi. There is however no record of this in any of the historical sources on Journalism in Iran. During the first World War and the occupation of Western Iran by the Russians, Eshqi, along with a number of intellectuals emigrated to Istanbul where he stayed for two years. On his way to Turkey he visited the ruins of the Sassanid Palace of Ctesiphon (Eyvân‑e Kasrâ). This visit affected him greatly and in Istanbul he wrote a play entitled Rastâkhiz‑e Shahriyârân Irân (‘The Resurrections of Persian Kings’). On his return to Iran he was a changed and radicalized man and became strongly nationalistic. Towards the end of his life, as been suggested by his friends, perhaps as the consequence of a mental breakdown, he encouraged violence as the means to purge the country of a corrupt and dictatorial government, which might have led to his assassination. Eshqi’s poems, like his plays and essays, are unprecedented in the way that he employs European poetic and dramatic genres specifically those of French. Eshqi, like many other intellectuals of the time, was strongly opposed to the 1919 Anglo-Persian agreement. In a qaside Eshqi satirizes the 46 Sorour Soroudi, ibid., pp. 248–49. Lâhuti, Divân, ed. Mohammad Abbâsi, (Tabriz, 1941), pp. 3–4 (other later examples can be found in his Divân, pp. 69–71). 47 Sorour Soroudi, ibid., p. 249, and p. 269, n. 24.

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Prime Minister of the time, Hasan Vosuq-al-Dowle. A strongly nationalistic poet, and one who was not immersed in the traditional poetical forms, Eshqi did not shun to employ European elements in his poetry, especially in his long narrative poem Se Tablow (‘Three Tableaux’), which as Karimi-Hakkak has demonstrated, shows a significant and historical change. Eshqi’s contribution to modernity is unique in that he succeeded in liberating Persian poetry from systemic constraints of the classical system of poetic signification. In such works as ‘Nowruzi-nâme’, Rastâkiz‑e Shahriyârân, and above all in Se Tablow, the first traces of systemic change in Persian poetry becomes visible … Eshqi’s vision of poetry as a focus for the expression of the immediate and unadorned, as opposed to the conventional and stylized, sensory perceptions imparts a sense of verisimilitude to his poems which may have struck his original readers as prosaic, but was later taken up by Nimâ Yushij and developed into an essential principle of modernist Persian poetry.48

The satirical poetry of this time was seen at its best in the work of figures such as Ashraf Gilâni and Iraj Mirzâ. They stood at opposing ends of society. Ashraf was very much influenced by the radical poetry of the Caucasian poet Ali-Akbar Sâber. Sâber’s poetry was published in his satirical journal Mollâ Nasr-al-Din. A large number of the poems published in Nasim‑e Shomâl are free adaptations of Sâber’s Turkish poetry. Although the material is borrowed from Sâber’s political satires, the style and mode of expression are original. Âriyanpur has compared some of Sâber’s originals with Ashraf’s versions and concludes that sometimes he takes too much freedom in translations and adds several lines of his own to the poem. This is particularly true of his poem “Maslahat” which is based on Sâber’s “Ulmo Ulmasun.” Âriyanpur, further asserts that Ashraf is not always successful in his translations as, for example, in ‘The Dialogue of Twelve Men in a Gathering’, a dramatic scene in which a dialogue is conducted between a lawyer, a doctor, a merchant, a mullah, a dervish, etc.49 E. G. Browne translates 48 Ahmad Karimi-Hakkak, in Encyclopædia Iranica, s. v. ʿEšqī, Moḥammad-Reżā Mīrzāda; also see Recasting …, pp. 212–31. 49 Az Sabâ tâ Nimâ, Vol. II, p. 70.

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some of Ashraf’s poetry and writes about the poems published in Nasim‑e Shomâl (1st August 1909) and one by Bahâr published in Irân‑e Now, August 24 of the same year, celebrating the victory of the Nationalists and the defeat of Mohammad-Ali Shah, observing that they are remarkable not only for their spirited words and meter and the wonderful tilt of the lines, but for a note of triumph and optimism which too rarely reveals itself in these poems. The beauty of both poems lies largely in the euphony of the phrases and the splendour of the rhythm and rhymes.50

Both of these poems are written in mostazâd form. Nasim‑e Shomâl, after a three-year suspension, resumed publication in Tehran from 1915 to 1934. During the Pahlavi Regime, reportedly there were rumors of assassination, and mental illness. Ashraf was eventually committed to an asylum and died there a few years later without his death being formally announced. Iraj Mirzâ (1874–1926), unlike Ashraf, was born into the ruling elite. He was the great grandson of Fath-Ali Shah. His father was the poet laureate to the crown prince Mozaffar-al-Din Mirzâ. He had a very good private education and at the Dâr-al-Fonun in Tabriz, Iraj Mirzâ was an accomplished linguist and knew French, Turkish, Arabic, and Russian. He worked in various capacities within the government, writing some panegyric qasides, like Bahâr. Despite his princely circumstances he did not care for his title, and did not exploit or enjoy any princely privileges. He married very young and after three years he lost both his wife and father; these losses and the tragic suicide of his son Ja’far-Qoli in 1917 are reflected in his poetry.51 Iraj was very influential because of his poetical innovations. His idiomatic tone of expression and almost conversational tone initiated an entirely new trend in Persian poetry, which some critics have referred to as journalistic style.52 50 Browne, Press and Poetry, pp. 216–20. The quotation is taken from p. 216. 51 Behrooz Mohamoodi-Bakhtiari, Encyclopædia Iranica, s. v. Iraj Mirzā, Jalāl-​a l-Mamālek. 52 Ibid.

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In the words of Professor Yarshater, Iraj was “singularly inventive and gifted … one of the most brilliant figures of modern Persian poetry.” His language, though deeply influenced by the popular idiom, is homogenous, even pleasing in texture. After writing for a time in the tradition of his predecessors, Iraj turned to writing predominantly satirical poems in simple, lucid and colorful everyday language. His style has an ease and fluency which have tested the power of many a would be imitator.”53

In his later poems he sharply criticizes and mocks some elements of the ruling party as well as the religious leaders of the day. He expressed his feelings boldly and pointedly. He has written several poems on motherhood which have served as school texts for many generations. Iraj also translated from several languages in the style and mode prevalent at his time. His favorite form was, however, the mathnavi (‘rhyming couplets’). His poem, “Zohre va Manuchehr,” which is based on Shakespeare’s poem “Venus and Adonis” is his best known long poem, and will be discussed later.

5. Poetry and Women’s Emancipation Another important aspect of these translations was their influence on women’s movement towards emancipation. Women in this period became active participants in the fight for emancipation during the first two decades after the Constitutional Revolution, until finally in 1936 the legislative unveiling (kashf‑e hejâb) was decreed by Reza Shah. During Reza Shah’s rule contact with the West increased, and women’s education expanded greatly. Schools for girls and teacher’s training colleges were founded. The first two decades of the twentieth century also saw the emergence of modern women poets, who through their poetry gave expression to their social conditions, their fears, and aspirations. The work of these pioneering women has remained largely unexplored. Shams Kasmâ’i 53 Ehsan Yarshater, “ Persian Letters in the Last Fifty Years,” p. 451.

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(1883–1961) was one such woman. Her family had emigrated to Iran from Caucasia in the early years of the Nineteenth Century and she spent part of her early married life in Russia, before moving to Tabriz, where she was the first woman to go about in public without a veil, and therefore “suffered a great deal at the hands of the ignorant people.”54 She can be considered the first female modernist poet of Iran. Much of her poetry has not survived, but some poems have been preserved in scattered issues of Âzâdestân. Âriyanpur quotes three of her poems in volume two of his Az Sabâ tâ Nimâ (pp. 456–58). Other women poets such as Zhâle Qâ’em-Maqâmi (1883–1946) and Zand-dokht Shirâzi (1911–52) wrote in condemnation of the veil and in protest at women’s social conditions. “In fact, poetry became a forum for demands for equal rights by a wide spectrum of women.”55 The most eloquent of the female poets of this time was of course Parvin E’tesâmi (1907–41). Parvin’s father, E’tesâm-al-Molk was, as we have seen, an affluent and enlightened man and the editor of Bahâr. His translation from Arabic of Qâsem Amin’s book The Emancipation of Women (1900), was published under the title Women’s Education, just a year after its publication in Egypt and was the first on the subject in Persian.56 It is not surprising to learn that Parvin herself received an excellent education. This began at home, before she attended the American missionary school (founded in 1874), where she also taught for some time after her graduation. Her father played a crucial role in her literary development. Unveiled, she attended his weekly literary gatherings and he took her along with him on all his travels within Iran and beyond. She composed her first poem at the age of eight or nine; her later work was published in her father’s journal, Bahâr.57 She is generally regarded as the most sensitive and one of the ablest of Persian poets of modern times. Her language is of the purest. She considerably widened the range of conventional imageries by drawing frequently on the scenes 54 Âryanpur, Az Sabâ tâ Nimâ, Vol. 2, p. 457, n. 1. 55 Milani, Veils and Words …, p. 31. 56 For more information on Qâsem Amin’s book see H. Elsadda, Encyclopædia of Islam (third edition), s. v. Amīn, Qāsim. Also see p. 296 of this volume. 57 Milani, Veils and Words …, pp. 102–6.

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Some of these fables and parables were versified versions of prose translations made by her father and published in Bahâr. In fact her father encouraged her in this task. Gholâm-Hoseyn Yusofi has identified many of these as versifications of La Fontaine, and her father’s prose translation of Horatio Smith’s ‘To an Egyptian Mummy’, discussed above as “be yek mumiyâ’i …” (To a Mummy …).59 In this activity she, in common with other poets of the time who versified earlier prose translations of European texts, played an important role in establishing a new phase in Persian poetry.

6. Domestication of the Foreign Dâneshkade published a series of articles by Rashid Yâsami and by Sa’id Nafisi entitled Enqelâb‑e Adabi (‘Literary Revolution’), in which the history of French literature between the sixteenth and the nineteenth Century was discussed. Comparisons were made between the Iranian Constitutional Revolution and the French Revolution; European Romanticism was viewed as offering parallels with the modern literary scene in Iran. To a large group of Iranian intellectuals, Western Romanticism, especially in its French form, was understood as breaking away from the rigidities of tradition. The Romantic poets of Europe had in fact turned to translations of classical Eastern poets, including Hâfez and Sa’di, in order 58 Yarshater, “Persian Letters …,” pp. 451–52. 59 Gholâm-Hoseyn Yusofi, Cheshme-ye Rowshan: Didâri bâ Shâ’erân, (Tehran, 1992), pp. 417–24. (My copy of the Parvin’s Divân does not include “be yek mumiyâ’i,” but Yusofi has identified Horatio Smith as the author of the original poem.)

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to enrich and revitalize the poetry of their respective languages. Ironically such a movement started in France and spread to other countries such as Britain and Germany and later to America. Orientalism played a significant part in the complex ideology of the Romantic Revolution.60 In effect exactly the reverse happened in early Twentieth Century Iran, as poets of the time such as Bahâr, Iraj Mirzâ, and Parvin E’tesâmi borrowed themes from Western writers and domesticated them to suit Iranian sensibilities. As yet there has been little comprehensive study of these translations and their full impact on the literary and social environment of the first decades of the twentieth century. Gholâm-Hoseyn Yusofi has been the only scholar in Iran to bring to attention the wide range of these translations and the poems based on them, though Professor Karimi-Hakkak’s book Recasting Persian poetry is also a seminal study of some of these poems. In encouraging a widening of the horizons of Persian poetry, Dâneshkade played an important role, as discussed earlier, particularly in its section entitled Eqterâh, or Eqterâh‑e Adabi (‘The Test of Literary Talent’), which was also a feature of other journals. Poets would write a poem based on the prose translation of a European text and the best would be chosen for publication in the respective journal. Bahâr, himself participated in this tests or competitions. The aim was the naturalization of a wide range of themes and subject into Persian poetry written in the traditional poetical system. These poems are considered as creative and thus original. With the exception of animal fables, all other verse translations are completely Persianized. The foreignness of names, more than likely, would not have appealed to a very traditional reader and audience. Also, poetically speaking, metonyms and metaphors are important dimensions of verse translation. Western metaphors which are familiar to the Western-educated reader would have been totally alien to Iranian readers of the early twentieth century; perhaps only a few Western-educated intellectuals would have been able to understand the complex metaphorical language of Western poetry. Iranian translators, rather than seeking to reproduce these 60 John Holloway, Widening Horizons in English Verse (London, 1966), pp. 30–57.

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alien metaphors, pursued a strategy well described by Octavio Paz, when he writes that the translator “composes a poem analogous to the original” and in so doing he is producing a “poetic creation.”61 We must not forget that the main aim of these translations was to educate as well as to revive a stale poetic system. Karimi-Hakkak examines three such translations by Bahâr, Iraj Mirzâ and Parvin E’tesâmi. In the introductory section of his Chapter four, entitled “From Translation to Appropriation,” he writes that: Iran witnessed a bewildering variety of literary borrowings from Western literary traditions. There were formal and generic imitations, blank verse renditions, and a good deal of prose and verse translations of European poetic works. Regardless of generic type and formal features of the original texts, their Persian renditions were often made to accord more or less with the formal and generic classifications present in the Persian literature of the time. … It was conceived as a sort of poetic improvisation on a topic thematized by some foreign text. Most commonly, the poet would take the narrative and moral purpose of the original text and compose a Persian poem on it, the product often taking the shape of a Persian qet’e (fragment) or mathnavi (rhyming couplets). The best known example is of this kind of borrowing remains Iraj’s unfinished verse romance, entitled Zohre va Manuchehr (Zohre and Manuchehr), which is a masnavi in form. In all likelihood, this poem is indirectly based on Shakespeare’s Venus and Adonis, or some prose version of the Greek myth in French. The literary journal Dâneshkade features scores of similar poems based on works by Boileau, La Fontain, Rousseau, Platen, Goethe, Schiller, and others.62

Iraj’s Zohre and Manuchehr, despite its fame, has been the subject of only minimal critical discussion. Shakespeare wrote the poem as a young man, before he had achieved fame as a dramatist. In Venus and Adonis he has humanized a Greek myth by building up and borrowing from various sections of Ovid’s Metamorphoses where 61 Octavio Paz, “Translation: Literature and Letters,” trans. Irene del Corral, in Theories of Translations: An Anthology of Essays from Dryden to Derrida, ed. Rainer Schulte and John Biguenet, (Chicago, 1992), p. 159. 62 Karimi-Hakkak, Recasting …, pp. 143–44.

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Venus and Adonis is scattered among other myths.63 It is true that the myth most probably existed in French, but so did Shakespeare’s poem. There were at least two translations of complete works of Shakespeare available at that time one of them by François Victor Hugo, the youngest son of Victor Hugo. Œuvres complètes de W. Shakespeare was published in ten volumes (Paris, 1889–94); volume fifteen holds translations of Shakespeare’s sonnets and poems. Victor Hugo wrote in the preface to the translations of his son that “he was both a poet and a scholar; a poet in translation, and a scholar in commentary.”64 Iraj might also have had access to a Persian version of Venus and Adonis. Yusofi writes in a note that Iraj might have translated the poem from a version by Lotf-Ali Suratgar published in Shiraz in Sepidedam journal.65 Âriyanpur compares several similar passages of Shakespeare’s poem with Iraj’s composition and concludes that “Zohre and Manuchehr is a totally independent poem and a beautiful and lively love song (tarâne-ye âsheqâne).”66 Indeed it is an independent poem in the same vein as other adaptations of the time. Iraj’s effort can safely be compared to that of Shakespeare in composing his poem. He has taken the narrative of the original poem whether from French, Persian or, as unlikely as it seems, from the original English and has composed a Persian poem in mathnavi form. What seems to have escaped most commentators on Iraj’s poem is its language. Venus and Adonis is written in a lively and playful idiom full of erotic imagery. Similarly, Iraj’s use of erotic and sensual language is unprecedented in a poem which talks of human love and passion rather than the classical subjective motifs of mystical poetry. His poem, like its original, is playful and expressive, and very much ‘domesticated’ within Iranian tradition.67 Karimi-Hakkak examines Iraj’s poem Qalb‑e Mâdar (‘Mother’s Heart’), which was written in response to a poetry competition 63 Shakespeare’s Poems, ed. Katherine Duncan-Jones and H. R. Woudhuysen, (London, 2007), pp. 127–1194. 64 The Life and Time of Victor Hugo, trans. Diana Snell, (London, 1969), p. 65. 65 Yusofi, Chashme-ye Rowshan …, p. 362, n. 23. 66 Âryanpur, Az Sabâ tâ Nimâ …, Vol. II, p. 405. 67 (The poem needs a through examination both as an adaptation of a foreign text and as a poem in its own right.)

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in the journal Irânshahr, published in Berlin in 1923 and Bahâr’s poem Ranj-o Ganj (‘Toil and Treasure’) which is based on La Fontaine’s Le laboureur et ses enfants. Bahâr’s poem was based on a prose translation of La Fontaine’s fable in Dâneshkade. Since Bahâr did not know French, it is likely that his version is an adaptation of the prose translation. Karimi-Hakkak, examines the method of composition of both these poems, and writes that “[l]ike Bahâr’s ‘Toil and Treasure,’ Iraj Mirzâ’s ‘A Mother’s Heart’ has been so totally absorbed in the culture of twentieth-century Iran that virtually all its foreign traces have been eradicated.”68 André Lefevere writing on translations methods in Chinese writes that [c]ultures that are relatively homogenous tend to see their own way of doing things as ‘naturally,’ the only way, which just as naturally becomes the ‘best’ way when confronted with other ways. When such cultures themselves take over elements from outside, they will ­… naturalize them without too many qualms and too many restrictions. … The translations take the place of the originals. They function as the originals in the culture to the extent that the originals disappear behind the translations.69

This holds true of most of the Persian translations made in this period. Parvin E’tesâmi’s Julâ-ye Khodâ (‘God’s Weaver’) “is unique in one important respect. The poet, a woman, turns the poem into an expression of her own condition as a woman poet in a highly patriarchal society.”70 God’s Weaver is based on an essay entitled Azm va neshât‑e ankabut (‘The Spider’s Determination and Vivacity’) by the American journalist Arthur Brisbane, which was translated by Parvin’s father E’tesâm-al-Molk and published in his journal Bahâr. Parvin E’tesâmi’s poem, a mathnavi, is in her favorite debate form. “In some of her best known and most widely read compositions, the occasion for commentary or advice arises out of a debate between two emblematic entities opposed to one another 68 Karimi-Hakkak, Recasting …, p. 154. 69 André Lefevere, “Chinese and Western Thinking on Translation Studies,” Constructing Cultures: Essays on Literary Translations, ed. Susan Bassnett and André Lefevere, (Clevedon, USA, 1998), p. 14. 70 Ibid., p. 162.

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in an important character trait.”71 The poem is a debate between a spider and a ‘lazy person’. By the end of the poem the “spider’s simultaneous weaving and speaking comes to signify the activity of composition as the poet’s craft.”72 In the case of all the three poets discussed here, some poems have become widely known through their use as school texts in Iran ever since their publication. La Fontaine’s fables in particular have been very well received. In 1913 Ashraf Gilâni (Nasim‑e Shomâl) published a second edition of his Golzâr‑e adabi (‘The Literary Rose Garden’), in which he versifies thirty three fables from La Fontaine and one assumes Jean-Pierre Florian (1755–94), the French fabulist who imitated La Fontaine in his Fables (1792). The book was approved by the Ministry of Education for use in the second and third years of primary schools. In the introduction he writes that since there was no comprehensive book which included tales in simple verse for school children and they were left without such educational advantages, I have prepared this small book and offered it to schools. Most of these tales have been extracted from the works of the famous French writers, La Fontaine and Florian, and have been versified in Persian.73

One of Ashraf’s works is entitled “Aziz va Ghazâl,” a story of love between two young people coming from different backgrounds. It is written in a mixture of prose and verse. On close examination the narrative seems to be based on Shakespeare’s play Romeo and Juliet. As far as I am aware this has not previously been pointed out. Moral tales and fables such as these have been very popular, rather like Sa’di’s moralistic tales among the traditionalists and the public in general, but as we have seen in the debate on the validity of Sa’di in a modern culture, they have been thought of as backward looking by the modernists, including Raf’at. Raf’at and his friends who produced poetry outside the traditional poetic system 71 Ibid., p. 162. 72 Ibid., p. 175. 73 The book has been appended to Javedâne-ye Sayyed Ashraf al-Din Hoseyni Gilâni: Nasim‑e Shomâl, ed. Hoseyn Namini, (Tehran, 1984), pp. 792–876.

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were not generally received well at first. Their poetry, apart from being characterized by what was felt to be uncouth language was written in blank verse and stanzaic forms. Karimi-Hakkak examines Lâhuti’s Be Dokhtarân‑e Irân (‘To the Daughters of Iran’) in which the poet “mocks the notion of feminine beauty that informs the significatory and communicative processes of the lyrical genres of the ghazal and the qasida.”74 Raf’at’s poem Nowruz va Dehqân (‘Nowruz and the Farmer’), on the other hand, is discussed as an early imitation of the French Petrarchan sonnet.75, and also Eshqi’s Se tablow (‘Three Tableaux’) written as a mathnavi but presented as a trilogy.76 They were the pioneers of the New Poetry (she’r‑e now), which was established fully by Nimâ Yushij. Ali Esfandiyâri (1897–1960) was born in the remote village of Yush in the Caspian province of Mâzandarân to a landed farming family. His early education was in Yush. His family moved to Tehran when he was twelve years old. He attended the French school of Saint Louis where he became fluent in French. Under the protection of one his teachers, Nezâm Vafâ, he was introduced to poetry.77 He chose his pen-name of Nimâ Yushij in the early nineteen twenties. Nimâ has been considered the father of modern Persian poetry. Karimi-Hakkak divides his literary life into three distinct periods, each of which parallels a distinct socio-political period of early Twentieth Century Iran. The first two are relevant to this essay. The first phase of Nimâ’s life, according to Karimi-Hakkak, begins at the end of the First World War and terminates in 1925 with the accession of Reza Shah to the throne. Nimâ’s poetry during these years is replete with a sense of freedom and hope, and a romantic passion for change. Here we see a man familiar enough with his literary tradition to recognize the urgent necessity for change and daring enough to attempt it in his own poetry.78 74 Karimi-Hakkak, Recasting …, pp. 188–89. 75 Ibid., pp. 202–10. 76 Ibid., pp. 210–31. 77 Âryanpur, Az Sabâ tâ Nimâ, pp. 466–67. 78 Ahmad Karimi-Hakkak, An Anthlogy of Modern Persian Poetry, (Boulder, Colorado, 1978), quotation is taken from the introduction (unnumbered), p. 6.

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Nimâ’s early poems were unsuccessful imitations of the classical forms. In 1921 he published a volume of poetry, Afsâne (‘Legend’), which has been compared to Baudelaire’s Les Fleurs du mal, because it created a controversy similar to that of its French counterpart, and because, in terms of its impact on some of the younger Persian poets, it constituted a crucial turning-point in the development of Persian poetry. As Professor Yarshater puts it: Nimâ’s position in Persian poetry resembles that of Baudelaire in French poetry. In evaluating Baudelaire’s elevation of an imagery drawn from common life to the “first intensity” and creating “a mode of release and expression for other men,” T. S. Eliot writes, “This invention of language, at a moment when French poetry in particular was famishing for such invention, is enough to make Baudelaire a great poet, a great landmark.” The same could be said of Nimâ in the context of modern Persian poetry.79

Parts of Afsâne were first published in the journal edited by his friend Eshqi, Qarn‑e bistom (‘Twentieth Century’), and dedicated to his old teacher Nezâm Vafâ. In a short introduction to the poem Nimâ writes that “the structure of Afsâne is a free and natural dialogue … which in my view could belong to dramatic works.”80 Afsâne is a dramatic narrative which relates a love story. In form it is a mixture of the old and the new. Nimâ had not yet completely broken with traditional form. The poem employs a five-line stanza, in which only the second and the fourth lines are rhymed. The influence of the Romantic and Symbolist poets is apparent and yet at the same time this is a lyrical poem in the vein of the classical Persian masters such as Hâfez, Nezâmi and Khayyâm. In Afsâne one can detect the struggle of a young poet who is trying to free himself from the bounds of tradition. The simplicity of its language and its innovative use of imagery sets Afsâne apart from the poetry of the period. Karimi-Hakkak writes that: It is as if the poet has deliberately set out to awaken the reader to the newness of his poetic image and its significance beyond the literal 79 Yarshater, “ The Modern Literary Idiom,” Critical Perspective …, p. 43. 80 Quoted in Shams Langarudi, Târikh‑e tahlili-ye she’r‑e now, (Tehran, 1982), Vol. I, pp. 100–101.

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LITERATURE OF THE EARLY TWENTIETH CENTURY application to narrative. Legend is obviously the work of a lyric poet who has been reading not only the nature poetry of his own tradition, but also the works of Lamartine and Musset, and perhaps even Goethe and Byron. The lines ripple with a distinctly romantic passion for life in union with nature and a sense of suffering and despair over the harried chaos of the city. Like Goethe’s Werther, the lover of Legend is ultimately a victim not of circumstances of unfulfilled love, but of the incongruities of his own paradoxical nature. Like Wordsworth, the poet of Legend does not pause to catalogue the attributes of nature, for he likewise believes that too much description makes nature appear automatic and the poet a passive observer. Here natural objects are not merely the furniture of an earthly paradise, as they had been in classical Persian poetry; rather, they assume bold new attributes that make them agents of a living universe. In short, Nimâ is already evolving an attitude toward nature that would remain a touchstone of his own mature poems and of modern Persian poetry.81

Nimâ ignored both the controversy which Afsâne created in the press and the refusal of the traditionalists to acknowledge its value. He published his third volume of poetry, Khânevâde-ye sarbâz (‘The Soldier’s Family’) in 1926, a book in which he departs from the passionate tone of the earlier poem and concentrates on socio-political themes. Here the narrative concerns the desperate situation of the family of a soldier who is stationed at the Russian front fighting in a desperate and futile war. In this work Nimâ’s maturing style and his deep concern for social welfare is well demonstrated. This volume, like its predecessors, failed to attract the praise of the traditionalists who mocked Nimâ for abandoning the methods which they understood as essential to successful poetry; but some like-minded intellectuals were starting to take Nimâ seriously. With the publication of Khânevâde-ye sarbâz, the first phase of Nimâ’s life came to an end. The second phase started in 1926 with the death of his father and his marriage to a woman who shared his “vagaries and [became] a force in his life.” During Reza Shah’s reign, Nimâ withdrew to the quiet life of his village where he “wrote much and published little.” The autocratic rule of Reza Shah suppressed the aspirations of the 81 Karimi-Hakkak, An Anthology …, p. 6.

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intellectuals, and there was not much room for the expression of free thought and spirit. Nimâ spent this phase of his life “hard at work to define the limits, explore the possibilities, and map out the field of modern Persian poetry.”82 Nimâ was a theorist of the poetic art too, and his essays contributed much to the establishment of New Poetry. In the essay Arzesh‑e Ehsâsât (‘The Value of Feelings’), his central ideas on poetry, at this stage in his development, were published in two issues of Majalle-ye musiqi in 1938 an 1939, and reprinted later as a book. Nimâ here expresses his views on the nature of poetry: Poetry is power, the power of sense perception through which various images, in the manifestation, are charged with meaning and are thus made powerful …The poet who has a keen sense and the power of perception stands primarily in an emotional relation to his own life and his people’s … Poetry, of necessity, comes into contact with social life, and social problems. Every thinking poet is necessarily concerned with the life of the community.83

Karmi-Hakkak discusses the full range of Nimâ’s theoretical essays in Chapter six of his book Recasting Persian Poetry. It was the breadth of his knowledge of both Persian and European poetic traditions that impressed his followers and raised him from a shy village boy to the founder of Modern Poetry in Iran.

7. Conclusions In the early years of the twentieth century Iran was a complex society, both politically and culturally. While resentment, and associated patriotic sentiments, grew with the presence of the Western powers in the country, paradoxically the intellectuals possessed an insatiable appetite for knowledge of Europe in all its forms. The Translation Movement which had started in the middle of the nineteenth century and which eventually led to the Constitutional 82 Karimi-Hakkak, An Anthology …, p. 7. 83 Quoted in ibid., p. 8.

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Revolution (1905–11), continued and developed, so that a very considerable body of material was translated into Persian. The rise of the privately run journals, where many of these translations were first published, contributed greatly to the modernization of Iran in general and of Persian literature in particular. As poetry, since medieval times, had always been the major literary medium of the Persian language, naturally enough it now underwent a period of fundamental change, both stylistically and topically. The use of more realistic language emerged, so as to express the realities of the time in socio-political and patriotic poetry. This language itself was an emulation of the language of the translated texts. Women’s awareness of their own predicament in a very closed and deeply traditional society grew through the spread of education, initially from the end of the Constitutional Revolution to the fall of the Qajars in 1925, and then increasingly with the determined modernization of the country by Reza Shah. The emergence of women poets, in spite of social restrictions, was a related phenomenon which was a direct result of increased contact with the West, and of numerous translations which were produced in support of the movement. Perhaps the most crucial effect of the translation of poetry and other Western material is to be seen in the way it effected changes in a very rigid and homogenous poetical system. First, in subject matter and questions of poetic language, and through the domestication of foreign materials in the poetry of such notable poets as Bahâr, Iraj Mirzâ, Ashraf Gilâni and Parvin E’tesâmi. Then in matters of form and style at the hands of poets like Eshqi, Lâhuti and Raf’at, and eventually through the brave steps taken by Nimâ Yushij who emulated the vers libre of the French, the ‘New Poetry’ (she’r‑e now) was established in the literature of twentieth-century Iran. Thus the activity of translation from European languages (mainly French) and the reception of such translations, worked in diverse ways both to reflect and to change the complex social and cultural environment of the time. This Translation Movement succeeded in revitalizing a poetical system which had, in truth, run its course, even if it was still supported by the more conventional poets.

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CHAPTER SEVEN A HISTORY OF IRANIAN DRAMA (1850–1941) Saeed Talajooy

1. Introduction During the nineteenth century, Iranian authors and reformist administrators began to revise the expressive tools of Persian prose and explore contemporary cultural and political issues in essays, plays, novels, and poems, creating a cultural ambiance that led to the development of modern Iranian literature and theater in the twentieth century. Among the genres that engaged with these modern subjects and expressive forms, drama was foremost in absorbing and enhancing the new discourses on the rule of law, education, the position of women in society, human rights, etc. Indeed, Fath-Ali Âkhundzâde (1812–78) and Mirzâ-Âqâ Tabrizi’s (c. 1820 s–1890 s) plays, which were written between 1850 and 1871, were the first creative works to substitute mythical or allegorical figures for common characters engaged in topical conflicts. Prior to these plays, Iranians had for a long time experimented with taqlid comic forms, naqqâli dramatic recitations and kheyme-shab-bâzi puppet theater which often worked with folk narratives and clichéd characters. They had also begun to use the forms used for ta’ziye passion plays for non-religious subjects.1 However, the intensity of 1

For Iranian indigenous forms, see Beyzaie, Namâyesh dar Irân, [first published in 1965], (Tehran, 2001); Chelkowski, Ta’ziye: Ritual and Drama in Iran, (New York, 1979); Gaffari, “Evolution of Rituals and Theater in Iran,” Iranian Studies, 17: 4, (Autumn 1984), pp. 361–89; and Malekpour, The Islamic Drama, (London, 2004). On indigenous performances such as naqqâli and ta’ziya see respectively chapters ten and eleven by K. Y ­ amamoto, “Naqqâ-

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the historicity and realism of Tabrizi’s plays clearly transcended these forms, setting the stage for the cultural products of the constitutional era (1906–1911), which hailed the new discourses on nationalism, modernity, patriotism, colonialism, freedom of speech, human rights and education.2 The purpose of this chapter is to explore the early history of modern drama and theater in Iran from the mid nineteenth century to 1941 and put their development into historical perspective. The chapter will first survey the major indigenous performing traditions practiced in nineteenth-century Iran. It will then examine the development of drama as a literary form and theater as a communal phenomenon and technical endeavor.

2. Indigenous Performing and Carnival Traditions in Iran The most important indigenous performing tradition in Iran is ta’ziye (‘mourning act’) which refers to the dramatic forms associated with the annual mourning rituals that commemorate the martyrdom of the Shiite saint, Hoseyn and the male members of his family in Karbalâ during October 680. Though it may have its roots in the annual pre-Islamic mourning rituals for such sacrificial heroes as Zarir and Siyâvush or the spring fertility rites that associate mourning for martyrs with fertility, health and rebirth; its current form can be dated back to the establishment of Shiism

2

li: Professional Iranian Storytelling,” (pp. 240–57) and by P. Chelkowski, “Rowzat al-Shohadâ’: the Karbalâ Narrative as Underpinning of popular Religious Culture and Literature,” (pp. 258–77) Oral Literature of Iranian Languages: Kurdish, Pashto, Balochi, Ossetic, Persian & Tajik, ed. Philip G. Kreyenbroek and Ulrich Marzolph, (London and New York, 2010). For a reflection on this process highlighting the same ideas from another perspective, see Talajooy, “The Impact of Soviet Contact on Iranian Theater: Abdolhosein Nushin and the Tudeh Party,” Iranian-Russian Encounters: Empires and Revolutions since 1800, ed. S. Cronin, (London and New York, 2012), pp. 337–59, which examines the development of Iranian theater in the context of Iran’s contact with the Soviet Union.

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as Iran’s official religion in the sixteenth century when the annual rituals, known as Âshurâ ceremonies, began to function as a locus for the reinforcement of an imagined national identity based on religious cohesion. Initiated in the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries due to royal patronage, the process of dramatization involved a gradual transformation of the semi-dramatic aspects of these rituals into dramatic forms and the creation of passion plays about religious and mystical sacrificial heroes, including Ali, Hoseyn, or even Abel, John the Baptist, and Mansur Hallâj. Ta’ziye reached its zenith under the patronage of Nâser-al-Din Shah (r. 1848–96) during whose reign it generated about 2000 plays on more than 270 subjects, including secular and comic ones. Between 1873 and 1908 the most important performance space for these passion plays was Tekiye Dowlat or Tekiye Shâhi which has been praised for its grandeur and beauty.3 Ta’ziye has always been experimental and open to using modern technology, military uniforms and Western-style musical instruments or linking the plays to contemporary events. Technically it may encompass a variety of dramatic forms from expressionist and minimalist ones to grand-scale re-enactments. The audience knows the events and the outcome of the plays which are written and recited in verse. Costume and makeup are essential, but the scenery is usually minimal. A basin of water may stand for the Euphrates, a palm branch in a vase for a grove of palms, a black handkerchief for mourning. Yet during the nineteenth century it was also possible to see ta’ziye(s) of epic grandeur with hundreds of people performing. Since the unities of time, space and action were not observed, the characters might go from one city to another by circling the stage, the time was usually announced in the dialogue, and irrelevant plots were linked to major events in the history of Islam and other Abrahamic religions through goriz (‘digression’). This functioned as a flashback and flash-forward to promote Âshurâ as a turning-point in the spiritual history of mankind, prophesized by the foremost Abrahamic prophets. Ta’ziye plays are of three major types: pish vâqe’e (‘pre-events’) which reflect the events leading to the main catastrophe or the 3

S. G. W. Benjamin Persia and the Persians, (London, 1887), pp. 373–406.

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­history of minor characters joining the conflict; vâqe’e (‘events’) which recount the catastrophic events of Âshurâ; and gushe (‘asides’) which depict the leading characters involved in comic incidents. As noted above, there is also a technique entitled goriz (diversion), a short piece within the play, introducing a subplot that confirms the main plot by juxtaposition or depiction of similar cases, or links a historical event, far before or after the martyrdom of the Imam, to Karbalâ events. Goriz may bring several layers of narration into a play to intensify the moments of epiphany or may function as comic relief. During the late nineteenth century ta’ziye-ye mozhek (‘comic ta’ziye’) also became popular. It was usually performed on non-Muharram periods with a tragic counterpart from the Âshurâ events. Arusi-ye Belqeys (‘Marriage of Belqeys’), summarized below, for instance, was performed before Arusi-ye Qâsem (‘Marriage of Qâsem’) in which the groom was martyred by the forces of Yazid before the married couple were united: The Qoreish (the wealthy ruling tribe in Mecca before Islam) and the Jewish women hold a luxurious wedding party for Belqeis, to which they invite the gentle and generous Fatima, the daughter of the prophet. They are planning to show off their wealth and ridicule Fatima’s simple ways. Fatima who is aware of their intention decides not to accept the invitation, but the prophet asks her to go, insisting that God will help her. She dresses herself in her usual outfit and sets off for the wedding. But Gabriel and some heavenly angels appear and dress her in a magnificent dress from paradise. When Fatima enters the wedding with her usual composure and beauty clad in her magnificent heavenly dress, the jealous bride dies of a heart attack. Fatima, however, resuscitates her with her prayer. The miracle leads to the conversion of all the relatives of the bride and the groom to Islam.4

Arusi-ye Belqeys can also be classified with another set of plays called conversion plays, in which a pagan, a Jew or a Christian, converted to Islam due to a contact with one of the Fourteen Infallibles, watching a ta’ziye, or seeing Jesus Christ in Imam Hoseyn.5 4 Beyzaie, Namâyesh dar Irân, Tehran, 2001, p. 154. 5 For more on ta’ziye, see Beyzaie, Namâyesh dar Irân, pp. 113–57; Chelkowski, Ta’ziye: Ritual and Drama in Iran; and Malekpour, The Islamic Drama.

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Closely related to ta’ziye in its performing styles, but different in its functions is taqlid (‘imitation’), a generative term for a variety of comic forms practiced in various regions of Iran. From the earliest periods, dalqaks (‘clowns’) and motreb(s) (‘music entertainers’) functioned as providers of entertainment in courts. The work of these groups included telling jokes, dancing, signing, playing music and performing comic scenarios that had their public counterparts in the activities of traveling entertainers. With the increase of political stability under the Safavids (1501–1724) these groups of entertainers were joined by naqqâl(s) (‘the traditional raconteurs of heroic and religious poetry’) and itinerant entertainers and puppeteers to formalize the carnival and dramatic forms that characterized the popular performances of nineteenth-century Iran. As Bahram Beyzaie argues, it is also likely that the first people who embarked on dramatizing the events of Karbalâ were also from similar backgrounds and managed to create these forms only because they had extensively experimented with Iranian carnival and comic forms. This is demonstrated in the later rise of comic ta’ziye which, though based on religious stories was done in the same style as comic entertainments. During the heydays of these forms in the nineteenth century, the practitioners performed numerous folktale scenarios as interludes in a style similar to Commedia dell’arte. These entertainers traditionally performed on boards covering the shallow pools in the yards of Iranian houses and inns, and thus a main branch of their plays were called ruhowzi (‘on the pool’) or takhte howzi (‘pool board type’). They included witty improvisations based on folk and literary narratives, politically charged satirical anecdotes and cliché comic situations, which exaggerated the psychological, physical, and linguistic features in the life and speech of people from different professions, age groups, or regions of the country with different forms of dance reflecting their typical movements or gestures. Since the late nineteenth century with the translation of European comedies, they also made creative use of the plots of these comedies. The most popular form of taqlid was siyâh-bâzi (‘the black-face play’) which dramatized the relationship between a witty servant and his greedy, stupid master. If performing in the houses of high officials, the players avoided 357

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brash improvisations, crude jokes and sociopolitical satire. In coffee houses or private celebrations of normal families, however, the choice of the plays and the improvisations depended on the taste of the audience. In performance, taqlid used and still uses whatever is available. As in ta’ziye, the scenery is minimal, conventions are symbolic, and costume and make-up are essential. Women entered taqlid during the early 1920 s paving the way for the appearance of women in formal plays in the same decade. But historical evidence shows that during the nineteenth century, women also had their own taqlid groups who performed not only dance and song plays but also bawdy interludes of caustic anti-patriarchal improvisations. During the early twentieth century, taqlid players established small theater houses and Bongâh‑e Shâdmâni (‘Happiness Agencies’) where people could book the players for private performances.6 Closely associated with taqlid was kheyme-shab-bâzi (‘puppet play’), and its medieval counterparts, sâye-bâzi (‘shadow play’), or parde-bâzi (‘puppet shadow play’). They usually dramatized folk tales and had stock characters: Pahlavân kachal (‘the bald and wily but generous champion’), Negâr (‘the beautiful girl’), Div (‘the demon’), Mollâ-ye riyâkâr (‘the hypocritical clergyman’). Though moral, Pahlavân kachal, who may also be the ancestor of an early ­fifteenth-century Turkish puppet, Kargoz has a typically Iranian sense of humor which adds to his charm. Aleksander Chodźko’s Le theatre Persan (1839) contains an account of one of these plays that reflects their typical plots and occasional anti-establishment satire: Pahlavân Kachal betakes himself under the guise of a most pious Muslim to the house of a certain Âkhund, or rector of a parish. He sighs, weeps, groans, prays, recites verses, from the Koran or elsewhere, and quotes scraps of morality … The Âkhund, delighted 6

For more see, Beyzaie, Namâyesh dar Irân, pp. 157–204; Floor, The History of Theater in Iran, (Washington DC, 2005), pp. 32–63; Safa-Isfahani, ­“­Female-​Centred World Views in Iranian Culture: Symbolic Representations of Sexuality in Dramatic Games,” Signs, Special Issue on Women: Sex and Sexuali ty, Part 2, 6, 1, (Autumn, 1980), pp. 33–53; Beeman, Iranian Performance Traditions, (Costa Mesa, 2010); Jean Calmard, Encyclopædia Iranica, s. v. Chodźko, Aleksander Borejko.

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A History of Iranian Drama (1850–1941) with his visitor and edified by his religious zeal, begins to imitate and to emulate him. Pahlavân displays his theological knowledge, his acquaintance with … the practices of Islam, and recites legends [and poems] in favor of the virtue of giving alms … [Then he] begins to describe the delights reserved for the charitable in paradise … He sings of heaven and its huries [heavenly nymphs] with the grace of [deer] … of its splendid banquets and its sparkling wine. The Âkhund is in ecstasies. He tastes already those rivers of milk which never grow sour, and those seas of purified honey which never become dry. He reposes already under the perpetual shade, or couches whose linings are of thick silk interwoven with gold … He sees damsels advancing to meet him, with complexions like rubies and pearls, beauteous damsels with eloquent deep black eyes. He dances with delight … [Finally,] he gives Pahlavân … his purse, bids him buy a banquet, and produces Khullari, the most excellent wine of Shiraz … and a guitar [Târ] … [The play] is a vivid and never ill-timed representation of the Tartuffe of the religion of Islam.7

Another popular form in nineteenth century Iran was naqqâli (‘recounting’), a form of dramatic storytelling which dates back, at least, to the Parthian gusân(s). Parde-khân(s) were naqqâl(s) who carried parde, a painting of the key scenes of their stories that they described one by one while narrating and performing the scenes. A naqqâl who carried parde and specialized in religious stories was called parde-dâr. Naqqâl(s) performed on platforms in coffee houses or in bazaars.8 The use of legends from the Shahname and Shiite narratives made naqqâli a major form for the transmission of Iranian and Shiite myths and cultural values among the uneducated. Its use of narration on paintings also made it the only pre-theatrical form similar to cinema in which images functioned as a means of narration.9 Ta’ziye, taqlid and naqqâli had the potential to create a secular dramatic tradition. However, the conflicts of the final decades of 7 8 9

J. Mew, “The Modern Persian Stage,” The Fortnightly Review, LIX, January–June, 1896, pp. 905–6. See Gaffari, “Evolution of Rituals and Theater in Iran,” pp. 361–89. The paragraph on naqqâli echoes my description of the form in Saeed Talajooy, “Indigenous Performing Traditions in Post-Revolutionary Iranian Theater,” Iranian Studies, no. 44, 4, (June 2011), pp. 497–99.

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the Qajar dynasty and the desire of the intelligentsia and the Pahlavi dynasty for rapid modernization distorted the course of their development so that after the assassination of Nâser-al-Din Shah in 1897 ta’ziye went into a process of degeneration and taqlid was looked down upon by the intelligentsia who had from the 1850 s developed a taste for European drama.10 However, though Reza Shah prohibited all forms of religious demonstration including ta’ziye and demanded texts for taqlid plays to preclude the possibility of improvized satire against the state, the two forms never died. They continued a provincial life, indirectly influenced the works of many modern playwrights and experienced a degree of artistic revival from the 1950 s onwards. However, both forms gradually gave their critical function to Western-style drama, whose intellectual origins and developmental focus made it a major site for political and cultural resistance against tyranny, censorship and control in a process that I will examine in the next section.

3. The Rise of European-Style Drama in Iran (1850–1875) The earliest examples of Western-style drama with Iran-related subjects and characters occur in the plays of Fath-Ali Âkhundzâde, a pioneering intellectual with a firm belief in education and enlightenment as the main path for the liberation and development of Muslim countries. Spending most of his life in Georgia, Azerbaijan and Russia, and learning his craft by watching European plays in Russian theaters in Tbilisi, Âkhundzâde promoted this idea through six plays, a novel, and a number of poems and critical essays in Âzari Turkish, Persian, Arabic and Russian. Âkhundzâde’s plays are characterized by European comic forms, Iranian subjects and a Horatian satiric gaze with moral and socio-political intentions. His plays, like the typical plays of neoclassical style, in10 See Chelkowski, “The Literary Genres in Modern Iran,” Iran under the Pahlavis, (Stanford, 1978), p. 60; and Chelkowski, Ta’ziye: Ritual and Drama in Iran, pp. 8–10.

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cluding Molière’s, reveal the author’s attempt to observe the three unities and the rules of linguistic and cultural decorum. He also uses soliloquies and asides for characterization and for propelling his plots. Though he occasionally has problems with scene divisions, his plots are often well made, but following the performing traditions of the era for attracting a larger audience, he includes scenes of explosions, brings animals onto the stage or resolves the plots by incidental happy endings.11 Âkhundzâde’s pioneering contribution to the Iranian drama is Tamthilât (The Allegories) a collection of six comic plays he wrote in Âzari Turkish between 1850 and 1856. In 1970, Âkhundzâde, who had already had his plays translated into Russian and performed in Tbilisi and Moscow, asked the senior translator of the French Embassy in Tehran, Mirzâ Âqâ Tabrizi to translate them into Persian. This provided the incentive for the latter to produce the first Western-style plays in Persian in 1871, which, in turn, urged Âkhundzâde to produce the first critical article on drama in Persian. Âkhundzâde then contacted Jalâl-al-Din Mirzâ Qajar (1826–72) and through him found Mirzâ Mohammad-Jafar Qaracheh-Dâghi, the research secretary of the court, who translated the plays to Âkhundzâde’s satisfaction, censored the sharp criticisms of Mirzâ Âghâsi’s government in Monsieur Jourdain … and published them between 1872 and 1874.12 Western-style drama in Persian, therefore, owes its origins to the friendship between these three who represent the three sides of Iranian modernity in the nineteenth century: Âkhundzâde, the expatriate reformist; Tabrizi, the silent revolutionary; and Qaracheh-Dâghi, the faithful translator. Âkhundzâde’s first play, Mollâ Ebrâhim Khalil‑e Kimiyâgar (‘Molla Ebrahim Khalil, the Alchemist,’ 1850) reflects on the deception of the superstitious luminaries of Nokheh, Âkhundzâde’s maternal hometown, by an alchemist. Considering that the story of 11 For Âkhundzâde’s life and ideas, see Âdamiyyat, Andishehâ-ye Mirzâ Fath-Ali Âkhundzâde, (Tehran, 1970). For his drama, see Âkhundzâde, Tamthilât, (Tehran, 1970). See also H. Amjad, Ta’ âtr‑e qarn‑e sizdahom, (Tehran, 1999), pp. 27–98; and Malekpur, Adabiyyât‑e namâyeshi dar Irân, (Tehran, 2006), pp. 123–84. 12 For more see Âdamiyyat, Andishehâ-ye Mirzâ Fath-Ali Âkhundzâde, pp. 60–64.

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the play has been adapted from an actual event in Nokheh, one can assume that the enlightened poet, Hâji Nuri who functions as the playwright’s spokesman has been depicted in allusion to Âkhundzâde’s secular-minded teacher Mirzâ Shafi Vâzeh (1794–1852). His second play, Monsieur Jourdain, Hakim‑e nabâtât, va Mastalishah, Jâdugar‑e mashhur‑e Irâni (‘Mister Jourdain, the Botanist and Mastalishah, the Famous Iranian Sorcerer,’ 1851) is set in Karabakh. Fascinated by Monsieur Jourdain’s accounts of Paris, Shahbâz Beig decides to travel to Paris, but his mother hires a wizard who promises to destroy Paris for 100 gold coins. The play ends with the news of 1848 February Revolution in France, which sends Jourdain out shouting, ‘Paris is destroyed’. The third play, Vazir‑e Khân‑e Lankarân (‘The Premier of Lankaran,’ 1852) mixes political and romantic intrigue. A usurping governor intends to kill his nephew, the rightful ruler, claiming he is having an affair with his wife, but the governor’s ship sinks and the nephew, now the only successor, marries the governor’s sister-in-law, whom he has loved all along. Âkhundzâde’s fourth play, Khers‑e dozd afkan (‘The Thief-beating Bear,’ 1852) is a comedy of sentiments. Bairam, who loves and is loved by Parizâd, tricks his rival, Tarverdi into getting involved in a highway robbery to prove his bravery to Parizâd’s parents. But following a series of intriguing events, involving monkeys, bears, shooting and the police, Bairam’s essential goodness is revealed as he saves Tarverdi and is allowed to marry Parizâd. The play marks a turning-point in Âkhundzâde’s promotion of secular ethics, in which either due to Russian censorship or his own choice, he promotes the idea of adherence to secular law. Thus though he still ridicules the Russian commander and blames him for taking bribes, he seems to prefer the Russian rule over the rule of superstition, chaos and robbery. The same is seen in Mard‑e khasis (‘The Miser,’ 1853) in which Âkhundzâde explores the economic relations of a society in transition through a sentimental comic lens focused on a greedy merchant and a repenting highwayman. The butt of Âkhundzâde’s satire is the bragging, stingy merchant. To gain some money for marrying his beloved Suna Khânom; the repenting highwayman, Hediar Beik joins a greedy merchant to smuggle European goods, but he ends up being arrested, confessing to his mistake and being 362

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forgiven because Suna Khânom pledges for him and promises that he will never engage in illegal activities again. If The Miser marks Âkhundzâde’s best sentimental comedy for promoting the rule of law and secular ethics, his last play, Vokalâ-ye Moraffe’h (‘The Lawyers,’ 1854), voices his most caustic political satire. As one may expect, however, the play is set in Tabriz, and the satire is against the Qajars, not the Russians. Cautious when dealing with the Russians, he is openly critical of the lawlessness of the Qajars’ system. Mardân, a renowned lawyer, is determined to embezzle the inheritance Hâji Ghafur has left for his sister, Sakineh, but his plans fail as his fake witnesses refrain from corroborating his claims. The play openly associates religious hypocrisy and law with chaos, and secular law and ethics with prosperity. It highlights the precarious position of concubines and shows how hypocrites can abuse religious law to dehumanize and rob women and non-Muslims. Âkhundzâde’s plays are populated with people from all walks of life, but for him observing the requirements of his comic form, attracting the audience and focusing on moral edification have priority over political criticism. These qualities become prominent if we compare his plays with those of Mirzâ Âqâ Tabrizi and read the letter he wrote to Tabrizi to explain the shortcomings of his plays. Tabrizi’s plays are characterized by dark realistic satire against the Qajars and an avoidance of the happy ending. Their mixture of Iranian and European dramatic forms also makes them the first instances of the type of drama which may have naturally evolved from a more constructive encounter between the two. Whether due to unfamiliarity with the formal requirements of nineteenth-century European drama or because he found them limiting, Tabrizi does not observe the three unities. As in ta’ziye, his scenes merge with one another with little attention to the limitations of performance, and as in taqlid, his language is far from decorous. Yet his plays mark the first instances of writing various registers of Persian in dialogue, of depicting powerful women in key roles and in making dark, open-ended tragicomedies in which salvation is meaningless. Among the five pieces written by Tabrizi between 1870 and 1871, the fifth, a part of Resâle-ye akhlâqiye (‘A Dissertation on 363

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Morals’), is a dialogue on ethics, and the fourth, Âsheq Shodan‑e Âqâ Hâshem Khalkhâli (‘Âqâ Hâshem Khalkhâli Falls in Love’) can pass as a conventional comedy which differs from its European counterparts only in its high concentration of taqlid elements. Having heard about the decision of Sârâ’s father to marry her off to Hâjji Bâbâ’s son, Hâshem who insists on asking for her hand, is threatened by Sârâ’s brothers and beaten by the police. Sârâ also eats opium to end her misery. Desperate to save her, Sârâ’s mother goes to a magician who promises to lock Sârâ’s father’s tongue. Meanwhile Hâji Bâbâ becomes the executor of a stingy merchant’s will, marries the merchant’s wife and convinces his son to marry the merchant’s daughter. The play ends with Sârâ’s father agreeing to Sârâ and Hâshem’s marriage, and Sârâ’s mother expressing her satisfaction with the magician’s work. The play uses a cliché comic situation, but is significant in depicting women in central roles, which prior to this could only be seen in folktales. The other three, however, carry the seeds of a rebellion against power and control both in drama and in politics. Politics is similar to aesthetics in that it reaches out from its base of power to control what can be represented and how it is ordered and displayed in the public space. In Tabrizi’s drama one faces a crisis of aesthetics and politics in that while introducing the new form to the Persian-speaking people, being less schooled in formal theater than Âkhundzâde, he uses his creative impulse and experience with ta’ziye and taqlid to extend the form. He represents the politically and culturally unrepresentable in forms that are not normal for the drama of his period. His work is thus radical and breaks the hierarchies of representation in a carnivalesque manner that does not succumb to the pressure of formal aesthetics. To borrow from Jacques Rancière, this is where politics and theater come closest in their claim to the rearrangement of the sensible: The distribution of the sensible reveals who can have a share in what is common to the community based on what they do and on the time and space in which this activity is performed … it defines what is visible or not in a common space, endowed with a common language, etc. There is thus an ‘aesthetics’ at the core of politics that has nothing to do with Benjamin’s discussion of the ‘aestheticization of politics’

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Being a communal activity projecting competing discourses for consumption in the public space, theater as an art form harbors an aesthetic significance that makes it a space for the revelation of the aesthetics of politics with its eliminating and excluding power priorities. For Âkhundzâde the element of hope was necessary because his purpose was moral edification, but for Tabrizi the depiction of the socio-political reality of his time came first. His avoidance of lucky coincidences and poetic justice, therefore, depicts a political deadend that heralds the coming of a revolution. As for many practitioners who followed him, for Tabrizi drama is “a means to enhance the nation’s insight and educate people by examples, a form necessary for the development and prosperity … of the country, the people and their government.”14 As Kâmrân Sepehrân also indicates, it was this rebellious aesthetics that shocked Âkhundzâde. His critique of Tabrizi’s plays, therefore, was, from one perspective, to justify his own more cautious approach to the form. In Tabrizi’s plays, he saw an unexpected concentration of dissent that violated the borders of reality and theater and defeated Tabrizi’s reformist purpose by limiting the possible distribution of the plays. For him, performance was the ultimate purpose of a play, and Tabrizi’s plays, due to their extreme politics, technical oddities and non-euphemistic expression, were not performable or even publishable in nineteenth-century Iran.15 13

Jacques Rancière, The Politics of Aesthetics: The Distribution of the Sensible, trans. by Gabriel Rockhill, (London, 2004), 12–13. 14 Mirzâ Âqa Tabrizi, Panj namâyesh-nâme, ed. H. Seddiq, Tehran, 1975, p. 16. 15 For a detailed study of Tabrizi’s cultural endeavor in the light of Rancière’s theory, see K. Sepehrân, “Mirzâ Âqa Tabrizi va Siyâsat Zibâshenâkhti,” Jame’e-shenâsi-ye honar va Adabiyyât, Year 1, no. 2 (Winter 2010), pp. 198– 214. Âkhundzâde’s letter to Tabrizi is dated 28 June 1871. See Fath-Ali Âkhundzâde, Âsâr‑e honari-ye Mansur va enteqâdât‑e adabi Âkhundov, ed. H. Arasli and M. Araf, (Baku, 1958), pp. 356–73.

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Tabrizi’s more problematic plays seem to have been available in intellectual circles in Iran with no reference to their authorship, and prior to Ali Ibrahimov’s research on Âkhundzâde’s letters in 1955, they were attributed to Mirzâ Malkam Khân (1833–1908). Edward Browne, for instance, writes: Three more plays, written at a date unknown to me, by the late Prince Malkom Khán, … were partly published as a feuilleton (páwaraq) in the Tabríz newspaper Ittiḥád (“Union”) in 1326/1908. A complete edition, from a copy in the library of Dr F. Rosen … was published in 1340/1921–2 by the “Kaviani” Press in Berlin.16

The first play of the group, Ashraf Khân, Hâkem‑e Arabestân dar ayyâm‑e tavaqqof‑e u dar Tehrân dar seneh-ye 1232 (Ashraf Khân, the Governor of Arabestân during His Stay in Tehran in 1817) is set in Tehran. The protagonist comes to Tehran to pay the delayed tax of three years and guarantee the continuation of his rule by bribing the premier, but the courtiers from the lowest to the highest blackmail him to such an extent that he has to escape without being sure of the consequences. The second play, which is usually considered Tabrizi’s best play and is set in Borujerd is entitled Tariqe-ye hokumat‑e zamân Khân‑e Borujerdi dar seneh-ye 1236 (‘Zamân Khân‑e Borujerdi’s Approach to Governance in 1820–1’). To prove his worth to the people of Borujerd, Zamân Khân, the new governor, issues an order against thieves, charlatans, prostitutes and wine sellers. Soon, however, he runs out of money and has to recruit Kowkab, a prostitute, to blackmail Hâji Rajab. Tabrizi’s use of dramatic irony for the scenes of letter exchange and encounter between Hâji Rajab and Kowkab are superb, and the scene of the police attacking Kowkab’s house marks one of the best scenes reflecting on the abuse of power in the Iranian drama. The third play, Karbalâ raftan‑e Shâhqoli Mirzâ va ayyâm‑e tavaqqof‑e chand ruz‑e dâr Kermânshâh … dar seneh-ye 1233 (‘Shâhqoli Mirzâ’s Journey to Karbalâ and the Days of His Stay in Kermânshâh … in 1817–18’) is once more on the corruption and religious hypocrisy beleaguering Iran, but it also records the cruelty of the Iranian pseudo-aristocracy towards the members of their own families. 16

A Literary History of Persia, Vol. iv, p. 463.

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Determined to milk his brother to fund his journey to Karbalâ, Shahqoli Mirzâ visits his governing brother in Kermânshâh, but meets his match and has to disguise himself as a woman to escape the trap. An important element in Tabrizi’s plays, as seen in the use of dates and locations in their titles, is the author’s attempt to create real characters and embed them in a particular time and place. Tabrizi avoids sacrificing the particular for the allegorical. Tabrizi’s Tehran, Kermanshah or Borujerd are roughly as they were during the 1860 s and 70 s and the language he uses is as unrefined and close to everyday language as it gets. His plays, therefore, are modern in that they register the lives and thoughts of common and leading men and women in everyday situations while revealing the socio-political failures of a kingdom in decline. They also offer a panorama of the lives of ethnic groups in Iran by registering the relationship between the Kurd, Lor and Arab peripheries and the Persian-Turkish center, and marking the first instances of powerful women deceiving men and being deceived by them as they determine the course of their lives and of the dramatic narratives in which they appear.17

4. The Court and Western-Style Drama and Performances in Iran (1875–1890) Besides Âkhundzâde and Tabrizi’s works, the other major source of influence on the later development of European-style theater in Iran was the translation and performance of French plays in Dâral-Fonun technical school. Between 1868 and 1890, some independent scholars and some of Dâr-al-Fonun teachers translated some of Molière’s comedies and adapted them to Iranian taste by a­ dding 17 For more on Âkhundzâde and Tabrizi, see Âdamiyyat, Andishehâ-ye Mirzâ Fath-Ali Âkhundzâde; Malekpur, Adabiyyât‑e namâyeshi dar Irân, Vol. I, pp. 123–210; Amjad, Ta’ âtr‑e qarn‑e sizdahom, pp. 27–177; Sepehrân, Ta’ âtrcrâsy dar Asr‑e Mashrute, (Tehran, 2009), pp. 45–57; and Javânmard, Ta’ âtr, hoviyat, va namayesh‑e melli, (Tehran, 2004), pp. 55–119.

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Persian titles, proverbs, names and settings.18 As part of the cultural movement known as Nehzat-e Tarjome (Translation Movement) which expanded after the establishment of Dâr-al-Fonun to help transform the nature of Iranian education as well as Persian prose and dialogue writing, these texts enhanced the familiarity of the Iranian scholars with the form and encouraged the later translations of Shakespeare, Gogol and Alexander Ostrovsky in the 1890 s. In their earliest stage, without a space for their performance, these plays counted only as literary manuscripts, but their existence encouraged some of Dâr-al-Fonun teachers to begin thinking of performing them, a dream that finally came true in 1886. According to Âryanpur and Floor, since its construction in 1850–52, Dâr-al-Fonun technical school had had a small theater that had remained underused until 1886.19 Both Amir-Kabir, the founder, and Mirzâ Rezâ Mohandes, the architect of the school, were aware of the function of theater as a center for cultural activities,20 but, if they, indeed, saw to the construction of a theater in Dâr-al-Fonun, the reasons for its lack of use remain unclear. One simple explanation is that the space that was turned into a theater in 1886 was not intended to be a theater, but one may also argue that, as was the case with the closure of the place in 1891, this was due to pressure from bigots, who resisted most non-religious cultural activities in Iran. In any case, in 1886 Mozayyen-al-Dowle Naqqâsh-Bâshi (1843– 1932) was encouraged by Nâser-al-Din Shah’s order for the refurbishment or construction of this space to organize some of the interested teachers of Dâr-al-Fonun to perform the translations. The theater which seated three hundred people was exclusive to the teachers and courtiers associated with Dâr-al-Fonun.21 The trans18 See Browne, A Literary History of Persia, Vol. IV, (Cambridge, 1928), pp. 459–62. 19 Âryanpur, Az Sabâ tâ Nimâ, Vol. I, p. 336; Floor, The History of Theater in Iran, (Washington, 2005), p. 214. 20 See Fereydun Âdamiyyat, Amir Kabir va Irân, (Tehran, 1969), pp. 171 and 349. Âdamiyyat does not clarify whether the theater was built in 1851 or later. 21 See Sâne’i, Târikh‑e tarrâhi sahne-ye ta’âtr dar Irân (Tehran, 2002), pp. 27–33.

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lations included: Mirzâ Habib Esfahâni’s (1835–93) Gozâresh‑e mardomgoriz (1868) (Le Misanthrope), Mozayyen-al-Dowle Naqqâsh-Bâshi’s Tabib‑e ejbâri (1888) (Le Médecin malgré lui) and Mirzâ-Jafar Qaracheh-dâghi’s Arus-o-dâmâd (1889) (George Dandin ou Le Mari confondu). The translators and the texts of Gij (L’Étourdi) and Arusi-ye ejbâri (Le Mariage forcé), which Browne refers to, are not known, but they are usually attributed to Mohammad-Hasan E’temâd-al-Saltane (1843–96).22 There is, however, a translation of the latter play, entitled Arusi‑e jenâb‑e Mirzâ (Mirzâ’s Marriage) by Hâji-Mohammad Tâher-Mirzâ (1834–98) which was probably done in the late 1880 and a reference to the performance of Gij in Ta’âtr‑e Melli in 1912, in which the name of the translator is given as Mirzâ-Ali Khân, which may refer to ­Zahir-​ al-Dowle (1864–1923). Some of these were performed first by Dâral-Fonun students and teachers, and later, when the Shah was not satisfied, by professional taqlid actors who followed the scenarios but improvised the lines. During the five years the theater was active some Armenian troupes were also invited to perform for the royal family and the teachers. The occasional performances by Armenians and taqlid actors, however, enraged bigots, and the theater was closed in 1891. Mostafâ Osku’i explains the failure of the group in terms of their indifference to the conditions of people, which made them consider Molière’s plays as suitable for Iran: Their ideal works from the repository of western drama were Molière’s and from Iran the vulgar taqlid(s) of Karim Shireh’i and Esmâl Bazzâz … The main reason why Dâr-al-Fonun theater could not continue its work was this essentially wrong conception of drama. Later, when dramatists reflected their concern with people’s sufferings and ideals, no obstacles were mounted against the gradual growth of drama.23

22 Tabib‑e Ejbâri is also attributed to E’temâd-al-Saltane. See Âryanpur, Az Sabâ tâ Nimâ, Vol. I, pp. 267 and 341; and Malekpur, Adabiyyât‑e namâyeshi dar Irân, Vol. I, pp. 303–83. 23 Translation is mine. See Pazhuheshi dar târikh‑e ta’ âtr‑e Irân, p. 103.

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Osku’i, however, chooses to overlook a few points, including the tacit force of rebellion in Molière’s play. Written in a period that culminated in the age of enlightenment, Molière’s plays subtly challenge the positions of religious and royal patriarchs. This was partly why they were so appealing to Iranian intellectuals. Osku’i also ignores that where even Molière’s plays with their subtle avoidance of political satire were diluted to suit the taste of the Shah, it would have been impossible for the producers to think of performing plays of Hamlet or Antigóne type. The major supporter of this initiative, Nâser-al-Din Shah lacked the taste and the tolerance for politically charged artistic activities. He and later Mozaffar-al-Din Shah (1853–1907) visited Europe and desired to implement what they saw as European modernity in Iran. Yet failing to engineer the educational and administrative reforms necessary to modernize the country, they became obsessed with the dazzling tools of modern life, particularly those registering or projecting the image or the voice of man for posterity—photography, theater, phonograph and cinema. This brings our discussion to another important marker in the relationship between the politics and the theater. A political show, like a theatrical show, constitutes the acting and speaking of several leading figures in the public space while a greater number of participants watch or follow them, but it may also be created by the direct improvisation of people protesting on the streets. Thus if one describes pure democratic theater as the type which is the most rebellious and closest to the carnival, the one which narrows the distance between the audience and the players, in politics pure democratic action occurs with the inclusion of more voices in meetings and demonstrations prior to the moment that the increase in their number turn people into an irrational mob. In these cases when the police appear to scatter the people involved or the onlookers, they state, “Move along, there’s nothing to see here!” Thus ‘the police’ in the terminology of theater as politics, as Rancière argues, are the agents of any dominant cultural or political force that considers the gathering of people and their communal activities in non-official forms a hazard to the perpetuation of its rule and thus attempts to stop it by scattering the participants, 370

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denying their existence or disenfranchizing them by describing them as thieves and rascals.24 As such the policing of cultural and political activities in Iran, particularly those carrying non-religious and non-official forms, has always been of two major types: the official governmental type and the religious one with the two confronting or reinforcing each other depending on the extent of their power in any period. This precarious position makes theater, as a communal space formed for non-religious purposes, a locus of rebellion against dominant forms even if its content is not blatantly rebellious. These theater activities and the ones that followed in non-Muslim contexts during the 1880 s and 1890 s initiated a cultural space in which a modern translation-based self performed its desire for modernity on a European-style stage that was confined to the already transformed gazes of the royalty, the minorities and the intelligentsia, but the clergy, as the leaders of the people, who now sensed the danger of losing their hold on the popular imagination fiercely opposed the process. As to the theater at Dâr-al-Fonun, the proponents, who defined the modern modalities of selfhood in terms of mimicking the performance without the substance, rather than pushing for more modern schools that would in turn produce a real need for theater, wanted to have European theaters, and that without providing any cultural space for the production of new plays and for proper practicing and training, which professional directors and actors require. This urged a type of hybridity in which Nâser-al-Din Shah’s talented jesters learned the stories of Western comedies and improvized their dialogue. By supporting the performances, Nâser-al-Din Shah wished to create a small European space for himself, which naturally remained un-negotiated and underdeveloped. Thus, the main reason why the group failed was that it had only become feasible because of a royal patronage that had no tolerance for social and cultural criticism, a situation that annulled the possibility of producing anything in line with the needs of people. The second was that it was an unwanted practice placed in the pull of power between the political establishment and the religious one. 24 Jacques Rancière, Dissensus: On Politics and Aesthetics, pp. 36–37.

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5. Religious Minorities, Socio-Political Transformation, and Revolutionary Modernity: The Expansion of Western-Style Performances (1890–1918) The real space, in which the democratic function of the theater was growing, however, was the marginal space of the Iranian minorities who began to voice their presence and prepare the theatrical infrastructure for the rise of theater in the borders of social and political life in Iran. The liberal and later the socialist aspects of European modernity which were being negotiated among the intelligentsia found their way into Iran through European-educated intellectuals and political activists and theater practitioners from the Caucasus who began to perform their plays in Armenian communities in Azarbaijan, Gilân and Tehran. Though some of the proponents of these groups had affinities with Dâr-al-Fonun graduates and some of them performed for the members of the Iranian royal family, their theatrical demonstrations remained far from the royal domains of the Dâr-al-Fonun stage and the life of average Iranians. Yet with the increase in the number of educated people and independent investors pushing for reform through modern schools and newspapers in the 1890 s the tables turned. A number of theatrical groups used the contribution of a few playwrights and translators to produce Iranian, Russian, French and English plays in private spaces and to initiate a taste for theatrical performances. Armenians were the first performers of this unofficial Iranian stage with the late 1870 s marking the first years in which educated Armenians set up performing spaces in Tehran and Tabriz. In Tehran in 1878 they performed such plays as Ustâ Petros (Master Petros), Do gorosne (Two Hungry People) and Shushanik in Armenian and Persian, and in 1880 they launched the first theater society, Anjoman‑e dustdârân‑e ta’âtr (Society of Theater Lovers). The money from the tickets were in several occasions donated to Haigaziyan Armenian School, and in 1884 when the new school building was finished, a theater was launched next to it. The honorary headmaster, Ovanes Masihian (1863–1931), a court translator, 372

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translated several plays by Shakespeare and Molière into Armenian and Persian. Similar activities began from 1879 in Tabriz and from 1888 in Rasht and Isfahan and extended to Armenian villages around Salmas, including Haftvan where M. Avadisian built a theater and performed several plays between 1894 and 1900. Between 1900 and 1905 Qalehesâr, Paya Jug and Molhem also set up theater spaces and performed more than fifteen plays. In other major cities Armenians followed by launching occasional performances between 1890 and 1905. Despite suffering occasional pressures from their religious leaders or self-censorship due to fear of reactions by the government or Muslim radicals, these groups also launched training classes, built theaters, translated texts into Persian and Armenian and in the process prepared the stage for the expansion of Iranian-based theaters from private and semi-private spaces to public ones. Thus a process that began in the borderlines of Iranian identity expanded to major cities from Mashhad to Hamadan, and from Lahijân to Orumiye, making theater a major locus in which people appeared on the stage of life and politics.25 The process, as with other forms of theater for development all over the world, involved educational, moral, political and communal purposes, and, as with all prestigious artistic activities, it often contained charity aspects. Though the three pillars of the cultural transition to modernity have often been considered to be schools, newspapers and books, for Iranian intellectuals who required rapid results and lived in a country in which the rate of literacy was low, the third pillar was the theater, which could bring images, words and ideas together. In his periodical, Ta’âtr (Theater 1908), Mirzâ Rezâ Khân Nâ’ini (1873–1932), a cultural activist who later became a member of the second constitutional parliament, wrote: All thinkers … in the world agree that the transition from barbarism to civilization and cultural growth will not be possible ­without three requirements which are the pillars of civilization … First is 25 For more, see Huvian, Armaniyân‑e Irân, (Tehran, 2001), pp. 200–255; Sepehrân, Ta’âtrcrâsy dar Asr‑e Mashrute, pp. 81–105; and Huvian and Kouhestani Nejhad’s articles in several consecutive issues of Faslname-ye Ta’âtr, published from 1999 to 2001, “Armenian Theater Activities in Iran,” Faslnâme-ye Ta’âtr, No. 18–19, 20–21, 22–23, and 24–25, Tehran, 1999–2001.

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Nâ’ini’s ideas were typical of the intellectuals and journalists who wrote about theater during the 1900 s and 1910 s. Nâ’ini’s play published in his newspaper also reflects the close relationship between politics and theater. Extended beyond its planned five acts, it continued with seven acts to reflect the politics of his time, before his office was destroyed by cannon balls at the same time that the Iranian parliament was bombarded. Yet being primarily concerned with cultural enlightenment rather than artistic development, most theater critics, except Mohammad-Amin Rasulzâde (1884–1955) and Ahmad Molk‑e Sâsâni (1881–1967) paid little attention to the necessity of constructing the infrastructure to train actors, directors and have rehearsals to raise the quality of the performances.27 During the Constitutional Revolution (1906–1911), while the Qajar political system was collapsing, the launching of outdoor and indoor performing spaces also provided new public spaces for promoting new discourses on tradition, patriotism, liberty, colonialism, rights of women and minorities and education. Feeling the potential danger of theater for propagating political dissent and fearing the reactions of religious radicals, the state did not invest in constructing any space or helping theater practitioners. Thus most of the plays were performed in temporary spaces in Atâbak, Zellal-Soltân and Amin-al-Dowle parks or in the houses of influential cultural activists. These performances were often free or their income went to charity purposes such as improving the conditions of modern private schools.28 Even the influential cultural activists 26 Nâ’ini, Rezâ, Ruznâme-ye ta’ âtr va Sheykh Ali Mirzâ, Hâkem‑e Borujerd, eds. M. Golbon and F. Tâlebi, (Tehran, 1987), pp. 49–53. 27 See Malekpur, Adabiyyât‑e namâyeshi, volume II, pp. 249–62; and ­Kuhestâni-​ Nezhâd, Asnâd‑e namâyesh dar Irân 1, (Tehran, 2002, Vol. I, pp. 1–60 and Vol. II, pp. 1–171. 28 See Janati-Atâ’i, Bonyâd‑e namâyesh‑e Irân, (Tehran, 1977), p. 61.

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of Sherkat‑e Elmi-ye Farhang (The Educational Company of Culture, 1909–11), Mohammad-Ali Forughi (1877–1942), Abd-Allâh Mostowfi (1876–1950) and Soleymân-Mirzâ Eskandari (1881–1943) often held their performances in parks. Apart from the Armenian, Zoroastrian and Jewish groups, a number of intellectuals and artists from Muslim backgrounds began to set up theater groups in the early 1900 s. The first theatrical space of this type was the one launched by Anjoman‑e Okhovvat (Fraternity Society, 1899–1924). The center was a mystical society headed by Safi-Ali Shâh’s (1835–1899) disciple and successor, Ali Khân Zahir-al-Dowle, who became a constitutionalist in the late 1890 s. Once more the minority aspect was present, but, with Zahir-al-Dowle being the Shah’s uncle by marriage, this minority was now close to the center, suggesting the pressing of mainstream Iranian intellectuals to have a voice in Iran’s politics. Apart from the leaflets and newspaper reports of several plays, the documents on Anjoman‑e Okhovvat include the account of a pantomime performance in Zahir-al-Dowle’s house in 1907. The pantomime began with a motionless body as the personification of Iran being looted by the Russian and British ambassadors. Then a few patriots entered and enlightened a negligent Mohammad Ali Shah, Iran rose from the ground, shook hands with the Shah and together they kicked the exploiters out.29 Zahir-al-Dowle wrote and performed several agitation plays in Anjoman‑e Okhovvat, but among these only Kâbus‑e Estebdâd (‘Nightmare of Tyranny,’ c. 1909) has survived. The play records the suffering of Mashhadi Âzâd, who has been in prison for eighteen months because he has insulted the governor’s pedophilic confidant. When there is a riot in the city, the governor, determined to set him as an example, cuts his hand for an alleged robbery and releases him in the city, where a mendicant, ailing Âzâd finally meets his wife and children. Another group was Sherkat‑e Elmi-ye Farhang (‘The Educational Company of Culture’) which though performing in parks, used Emârat Mas’udiye as its main performing space. Headed by 29 As stated by Ahmad Pazhuh in his translation of E. G. Browne’s The Persian Revolution of 1905–1909, (Cambridge, 1910). See Enqelâb-e Irân, translated and annotated by Ahmad Pazhuh, (Tehran, 1959), pp. 451–52.

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Forughi, the group involved Soleymân Mirzâ Eskandari, Ali-­Akbar Dâvar, Abd-Allâh Mostowfi, Sayyed Ali Nasr and several others who became the leading politicians and theater practitioners of the following decades. Mostowfi writes that Dâvar, Mohammad Maleki and Mahmud Bahrâmi (Monshi-Bâshi) occasionally acted in roles similar to their actual roles in society.30 This interesting phenomenon suggests the similarity of the stage of the theater with the stage of political life in the constitutional era. Apart from occasional performances of European plays, translated by Forughi and Khalil Fahimi, the group performed original plays with such titles as Fruits of Knowledge and Impacts of Ignorance, Arrogant Customer, In the Court of Justice, Treachery of the Disguised Enemy and From Love to Patriotism. Though none of these have survived in their entirety, the titles suggest the educational nature of the plays. This educational and moral emphasis which neutralized some of the dogmatic criticisms against theater was also present in the plays performed in Ta’âtr‑e Melli (‘National Theater,’ 1911–16). Created by the writer and translator Abdol-Karim Mohaqeq-al-Dowle (d. 1915), the group, at first, performed its plays in the Hall of the Grand Hotel, but later launched Tehran’s first permanent theater on the second floor of Farus Printing House in Lâle-zâr. Here Mohaqeq-al-Dowle worked with Sayyed Ali Nasr (1893–1962) and several other young practitioners to stage translated plays by Molière, Gogol, Beaumarchais and Tolstoy and Iranian plays by Mortezâ-Qoli Fekri (1870–1917), Âkhundzâde and himself. Their printing house, Farus, also “played a role in the cultural activities of the period by printing political pamphlets and plays.”31 The theater also harbored performances by Armenian, Azari and occasionally Ottoman troupes, in which case pamphlets with the details of the plots were distributed among the audience.32 These highly intellectual origins made the theatrical activities of the first two decades of the twentieth revolution particularly con30 See Malekpur, Adabiyyât‑e namâyeshi, Vol. II, pp. 37–39. 31 Talajooy, “The Impact of Soviet Contact on Iranian Theater …,” (2012), pp. 338–39. 32 For more see Osku’i, Seyri dar Târikh‑e Ta’ âtr‑e Irân, (Tehran, 1999), pp. 159–76; and Malekpur, Adabiyyât‑e namâyeshi, Vol. II, pp. 31–55.

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cerned with promoting modernity in its liberal and socialist modalities, reforming the country’s educational structure, and criticizing dictatorship, corruption and political hypocrisy. Thus the leading playwrights of the era, including Fekri and Ahmad Mahmudi (1875– 1930) cared more for constructing their socio-political or cultural critiques than for the qualities of their works as performance pieces. Nevertheless, these performances, particularly those held in parks, functioned as vehicles for conveying modern ideas to the minds of average Iranians. For the first time, the right of theatrically animated lecturing and self-performance, the prerogative of the clergy, and that of role-playing, exclusive to naqqâli and ta’ziye actors, were being shared by secular activists. Along with the political periodicals which were read aloud in coffee houses and the public lectures delivered by political activists, these performances were unprecedented forms of communication that raised awareness and created more space for an imagined modernity that was to promote the social standing of Iranians from serfdom (ra’yat) to citizenship. They encouraged political engagement, self-government and public responsibility among the illiterate who formed more than 85% of the population. The agitation-propaganda plays juxtaposed modern and traditional forms of government and presented characters that revealed the depravity of ‘the old order’. The translated ones were selected from those European plays that emphasized justice and the rule of law or exposed the hypocrisy of traditional political establishments. Thus as is common in intercultural adaptation, function was given priority over form and the theatrical piece was performed in a context that transformed its European origins into something Iranian. “Culture,” as Carmel Camilleri argues, “is transmitted by … ‘social heredity’: a certain number of techniques by means of which each generation makes possible the later generation’s internalization of the common determination of the psyche and organism, which make up culture.”33 Since it involves reimagining the situation of annunciation in the source culture for a potential contemporary situation in the target culture, any act of theatrical translation involves 33

P. Pavis, Theatre at the Crossroads of Culture. Trans. by L. Kruger, London, 1992, p. 10.

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performing the self in an intercultural manner that violates the ­ alance of inherited cultural signs. In theater this violation becomes b particularly striking as it is the bodies of the actors on the stage and the mise en scene rather than just the language that carry the action and the narrative. Yet since a gross violation of cultural signs and codes might have alienated the audience, the performers needed to create hybrid sites of annunciation and establish links between the performing repertoires and cultural semiotics of both cultures. Thus though function was more important for these early public performances, the form itself began to play a significant role in offering models of modern human behavior. The Iranians of the late nineteenth and early twentieth century were exposed to a process of linguistic transformation, in which old words found new meanings and new words were coined to convey imported ideas or new concepts about nationhood, the rule of law, patriotism, citizenship, and the roles of people and religion in society. As with other concepts imported from Europe, people had to transform the underlying concepts of the form to what was more familiar and understandable. For the turn-of-the-century Iranians who had not yet been exposed to cinema, the impersonation of non-Iranian characters offered an intense form of identity negotiation for which the translators, directors and actors functioned as catalysts. Theater as a performing art bore similarities to ta’ziye in which models of heroic religiosity and heightened depravity reinforced religious ideals. It confronted the traditional constructs of Iranian society with a form that reminded people of those associated with traditional values. This hybrid conception was reinforced by the fact that though at times critical of religious hypocrisy, most cultural activists, including those involved in theater-making, couched their arguments about the necessity of reform in religious terms to avoid alienating the clergy and average Iranians.34 The new form was like ta’ziye in that it created a communal space where height34 See, for instance, Esfahâni, “Gharâ’eb‑e Avâ’ed‑e Melal” in Akhtar, 45, (1886), in which he regularly refers to the religious origins of drama. See also Âjudâni, Mashrute-ye Irâni, (Tehran, 2003), pp. 23–53, in which the author provides evidence of how the intellectuals of the nineteenth century interpreted Western ideas in Islamic terms. In contrast to Âjudâni’s criti-

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ened models of human behavior were contrasted. The difference was in the distance it created between the actors and the audience and its concern with topical issues. It was this function of theater, as a communal space for negotiating new models of humanity and criticizing outdated attitudes towards life, politics and society that made it dangerous for the totalitarian forces in Iran’s political and religious establishments. It functioned like ta’ziye and thus had the potential to influence the minds of the uneducated.

6. The Plays and the Playwrights (1890–1918) The late nineteenth century coincides with the rise of dialogue in newspapers and political pamphlets as a major way of communicating ideas in simple language. During the 1890 s, for instance, Abdol-Rahim Tâlebof Tabrizi (1834–1911) wrote his Ketâb‑e Ahmad (Ahmad’s Book) in which he put many of his enlightened ideas in the form of conversations with his son, Ahmad from whom he learns as he tries to teach him. Dialogue is also central to Mirzâ Aqâ Khân Kermâni’s play/story, Susmâr-al-Dowle (Crocodile of the Realm) in Se Maktub (Three Pamphlets, 1891–92) in which Kermâni in a style akin to Tabrizi’s gives a gloomy picture of people’s starvation and state corruption and cruelty in a provincial town. The early twentieth century also coincides with the rise of several Azeri playwrights, the performance of whose Iran-related plays in Tabriz, Tehran and Rasht in Turkish, and later in Persian, played a role in the development of drama in Iran. Narimân Narimânov (1870– 1925), the first important Azeri playwright of the period, contributed to the cause of the Constitutional Revolution by Nâder Shah (1899) which depicts the two extremes of Iranian kingship: the ineffectual clumsiness of Shah Soltân Hoseyn and the destructive resoluteness of Nader Shah. This realistic play which has detailed historical references is significant for our study in that it was translated into a highly cism, however, one can argue that this is often a necessary process for the digestion and recreation of imported ideas.

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performable Persian by Tâj Mah Âfâq-al-Dowle, whose publication of the play in 1906 made her the first female dramatist of the era. The second important Azeri playwright of the period was Jalil Mohammad Qolizâde (1866–1932), who began his theater activities with staging Âkhundzâde’s plays in Nakhjavan in the 1890 s. Qolizâde wrote and directed several plays and published the newspaper Mollâ Nasreddin in Nakhjavan and Tabriz during the 1900 s and 1910 s. Written as a realistic dark comedy, Mordegân (‘The Dead’, 1915), his masterpiece, is often mentioned among the best plays of the period. Karbalâ’i Fathollâh receives a letter from a dead relative in Mashhad informing him about the arrival of Sheykh Nasrollâh who has the divine power of reviving the dead. The villagers rush to welcome the man and provide him with young virgins so that he may bless their village by “blowing his divine breath into them.” In one interesting scene the villagers fight over who is to be revived because they are afraid the dead may reveal their treacheries. Meanwhile only Hâji Hasan’s daughter and his educated brother, the drunkard Eskandar oppose Nasrollâh’s exploitations. Eskandar also delivers Qolizâde’s caustic message when the news of Sheykh’s antiques in other villages arrives and he escapes. The works of Uzeyr Hajibeyov (1885–1948), the founder of the Azeri Turkish opera, were also important. Hajibeyov’s short comedy, Dar Âlam‑e Royâ (‘In the land of dreams’) which was translated and published in the Newspaper Taraqqi on 13 August 1908 is a clear indication of the degree of his involvement with the Constitutional Revolution. The play which ridicules the sycophancy of Iranian courtiers predicts the conquest of Tabriz by Sattâr Khân. Hajibeyov’s fame, however, came from his famous musical comedies Mashhadi Ebâd (1910) and Arshin Malâlân (1911) and his operas, particularly Leyli and Majnun (1907), Rostam and Sohrâb (1910), Shah Abbâs and Khorshid Bânu (1912) and Asli and Karam (1912) which were regularly performed during the first half of the twentieth century in Tabriz, Rasht and Tehran first in Turkish and then, after Shahrzâd’s and Kermânshâhi’s translations, in Persian.35 35

For more, see Malekpur, Adabiyyât‑e namâyeshi, Vol. II ; Osku’i, Seyri dar târikh.

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Mortezâ-Qoli Fekri (1870–1917) The first leading Persian playwright of the constitutional era was Mortezâ-Qoli Khân‑e Qâjâr (1870–1917) known also as Fekri Ershâd and Mo’ayyed-al-Mamâlek. Born in Tehran and educated at Dâr-al-Fonun, Fekri turned to journalism in 1906 after resigning from his last official post as the governor of Golpâygân. Fekri published three newspapers: Sobh‑e Sâdeq (Real Dawn, 1907–8), Polis‑e Irân (‘Iranian Police,’ 1909–10) and Ershâd (‘Guidance,’ 1912–17). The two first newspapers were modernist and socio-political, but the last one contained a section on theater, where Fekri published three of his five plays and wrote on theater activities. Between 1912 and 1917 Fekri performed his plays in his Sherkat‑e Namâyesh‑e Âli-ye Ershâd (‘The Theater Company of Ershad’) with the cooperation of actors from such cultural/theater societies as Ta’âtr‑e Melli and then Komedi-ye Irân (1916–22 and 1925–30?). Fekri’s first play, Sirus‑e Kabir (‘Cyrus the Great,’ 1912) has not survived. Among the four surviving plays, the first one, as one may expect, has issues with the presentation of action on stage and occasionally resorts to narration and long monologues. However, since unlike Tabrizi, Fekri had the opportunity to see the performance of his plays, the other two reveal original experimentation and discernible technical progress so that at his best, Fekri produces outstanding performance pieces that criticize the elite for betraying the ideals of Constitutional Revolution and using the absence of central power to accumulate wealth. Sargodhasht‑e Yek Ruznâme-negâr (‘The Fate of a Journalist,’ 1913) is a tragicomedy, focusing on the attempts of Europe-educated Khosrow Khân‑e Zand and his friend Yunes Khân‑e Ardebilizâde to launch a newspaper to confront the corruption beleaguering their country. The irony, however, is that they only manage to gain the publishing rights of their newspaper, Zelzele (‘The Earthquake’) with the help of a wretched journalist, Abolfavârs, and a crook, Mozabzab-al-Molk. Having put all their savings and inheritance at stake, they then encounter another unpromising situation. When they become popular by publishing a critical ­article, 381

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‘The Old Governors, the New Governors’, they are inundated by unscrupulous customers, Fokoli, Hâji-Bâshi, Khân‑e Malâyeri, Kâshi and Rashti who appear with taqlid-like comic accents and attitudes to insist on paying Khosrow and Yunes to write or not write about certain things or publish unfounded lies which may help them avoid problems or gain favors. The newspaper is then shut down by the police, and Khosrow and Yunes attend their first comic trial for publishing their critical article. In the final scene, the same customers arrive and offer to bring gunmen or demonstrators to reopen the newspaper. Kâshi, however, invites everyone, including the audience to go to his house to decide what to do. The unexpected openness and theatricality of the ending which has its origins in taqlid links Iran’s everyday life to the theatrical world of the play, but more significantly the stage becomes the office of the newspaper and both function to create the absent public space necessary for the revaluation of Iran’s political and social life, where issues and differences are to be discussed and resolved. Fekri’s next play, Eshq dar piri (‘Love in Old Age,’ 1914) reveals another theatrically self-reflexive aspect of Fekri’s creativity in which the playwright becomes a part of the play to comment on the process of playmaking. Thus in the first part the audience sees a journalist/playwright, Fekri, going to visit his friend Farhâd and talking, in Farhâd’s absence, with Farhâd’s arrogant and retrogressive father, the landlord General Bakhsh-Ali, whose ideas and relationship with Farhâd and his employees provide Fekri with the material for his play proper. In the second part, Amir Tumân, who is made to look like General Bakhsh-Ali gives his teenage daughter, Tâvus, to the sixty-year-old rich Hâji Kalb-Ali. Tâvus’s cousin, Farhâd, who, like Fekri’s friend in the first part, has studied political science at Dâr-al-Fonun, loves Tâvus, but is unable to stop the marriage. Thus forced into an unwanted marriage, Tâvus commits suicide as a desperate form of resistance and Hâji who is shocked by his guilt and has truly loved Tâvus also ends his own life. The play may be read as a political allegory with a deconstructive approach to linking reality to fiction and to reflecting on the vicious unity of the uncontrolled power of landed warlords and the money of opportunist Bâzâri traders. It also presents the first in382

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stance of suicide in Persian drama, which became a recurrent subject in plays and novels written in the 1920 s and 1930 s. In Fekri’s case, with Tâvus symbolizing Iran, and Farhâd the honest, but powerless modern intelligentsia, the suicide seems to suggest and bewail the imminent demise of Iran in the chaotic scuttle for power that had replaced the tyranny of the Qajars. Fekri’s best play, Hokkâm‑e Qadim, Hokkâm‑e Jadid (‘Old Governors, New Governors,’ 1915) is a site of revelation for a series of concepts highlighted in Yunes’s long article which Khosrow recites in The Fate of a Journalist and in Fekri’s reference to the corrupted governors of Alengah and Suloqan in Love in Old Age. This inter-textual referencing which links the outside world to the world of the play is another innovative approach to playmaking that Fekri adopted from taqlid. Comparing the attributes of the two governors in 1901 and 1911, the three acts create a dark comedy in which the governors commit all sorts of atrocities to secure their interests. The first act which is set in 1901 shows how the cruel Mozakhraf-al-Dowle (Rubbish of the Realm), who, despite people’s protests, has remained in power by bribing the premier, is finally forced to stand down and escape along with his accomplices to avoid the angry people of Suloqan. Fekri then juxtaposes this in the second act with the arrival of the new governor of Lora and Shahrestânak in 1911. The governor, Mojâhed-al-Dowle (Holy Warrior of the Realm) keeps speaking about his services to the constitutional revolution, but he is actually Mozakhraf-al-Dowle’s son and reveals qualities that make him even worse than his father. As Hamid Amjad also argues, Fekri arranges the arrivals and actions in a particular way to suggest that during these ten years the four people that escaped from Suloqan have been moving from one post to another. The only things that have changed are their appearances and their words.36 The same is emphasized in the third act, which reveals another aspect of state corruption. Deposed from his position, Mojâhed-al-Dowle arrives in Tehran in 1913 to confront one of his victims, Hâji Mohammad Tork, in court and be acquitted as Hâji comes in to grapple with him. 36 Fekri Ershâd, Hokkâm‑e Qadim, Hokkâm‑e Jadid: Se Ta’ âtr, ed. Hamid Amjad, (Tehran, 2000), p. 206.

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Fekri’s last play, Se ruz dar mâliye (‘Three Days in the Finance Ministry,’ 1915) is also similar in its use of disjointed parallel acts, but here instead of focusing on comparison and contrast, he is concerned with revealing the different aspects of a corrupt system. Indeed as Beyzaie explains, the structure of Fekri’s last three plays reminds the reader of Brecht’s political drama in which the acts are linked by the comparison and contrast or the juxtaposition of unrelated events that suggest the totality of a situation and have analytical rather than narrative links.37 Fekri’s plays, therefore, present the voice of the writer as a critic of the elite and reach towards the outside world to reveal a corrupt system.38

Ahmad Mahmudi (1875–1930) If we exclude Mahmudi’s first play, which is similar to Fekri’s in harboring suggestive references to external figures or events; the plays of the second great playwright of the period, are more self-contained and focused on the life of the individual and his/her rights, relationships, mistakes, desires and failures. Ahmad Mahmudi, or Kamâl-al-Vezâre, was born in Tehran in 1874. His first significant experience with theater was his involvement in launching Komedi-ye Irân in 1915–16, which marks a major step in the professionalization of the Iranian theater. Before he could start his work as a dramatist, however, his job, as the head of the Grain Distribution Office brought him into conflict with Hâji Khân Esfandiyâri, which resulted in his imprisonment for an alleged involvement with Komite-ye Mojâzât (The Committee of Punishment). In 1918 a few months after he was released from prison, Mahmudi wrote Hâji Riyâ’i Khân yâ Târtof-e Sharqi (Hâji Riyâ’i Khân or Tartuffe of the East) and had it performed in the Hall of the Grand Hotel. According to Âryanpur, the performance was a success and 37 Amjad, Ta’ âtr‑e qarn‑e sizdahom, p. 210. 38 For more, see Fekri Ershâd, Hokkâm‑e Qadim, Hokkâm‑e jadid: se ta’ âtr, ed. Hamid Amjad, (Tehran, 2000); Amjad, Ta’ âtr‑e qarn‑e sizdahom, pp. 179–286; Malekpur, Adabiyyât‑e namâyeshi, Vol. II, pp. 155–82.

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most people could easily identify Hâji Khân Esfandiyâri as the source of inspiration for the creation of Hâji Riyâ’i.39 Posing as a charitable philanthropist, the rich Hâji Riyâ’i is studying medicine to add another aspect to his pretentions. As he is learning about extreme starvation, he asks his servant, Dorubeyg (Mister TwoFaced), to fetch him a starving beggar from the street. The servant brings his own wife who has been hungry for three days, but Hâji who has been dishonored in front of his teacher, Doctor Châplus (Doctor Sycophant) punishes him by forcing him to return the worn-out coat he has just given him. Then as Hâji is lying to a journalist about his charitable activities, the doctor announces that Hâji’s son has died from hunger. Mahmudi’s compression of the time into just one morning and his juxtaposition of Hâji’s lies with the actualities of his life create powerful comic situations, particularly so because the subject of the play reflected the people’s experience of famine in the Dam Pokhtak Year (1917–18).40 Furthermore, Mahmudi’s depiction of hypocrisy transcends the defiling of the antihero to demonstrate that he is just the ultimate example of an epidemic problem in Iran. Though functioning as foil characters for Hâji, the doctor and the servant regularly lie in front of Hâji and pretend to believe his lies. Following the success of this play, Mahmudi wrote several stories and nine plays between 1918 and 1930 and launched occasional performances in the garden of his house. Among these plays, Ostâd Nowruz‑e Pine-duz (‘Master Nowruz the Cobbler’) has been published and two have disappeared, but the manuscripts of the other six are in the possession of his grandson, Kiyumars Mahmudi.41 These plays, however, are reportedly different in that they have fewer explicit references and have instead focused on the travails and failures of individuals in their cultural milieu. Master Nowruz the Cobbler, Mahmudi’s masterpiece, is one of the earliest plays in which the 39 Y. Âryanpur, Az Sabâ tâ Nimâ, 1971, p. 295. 40 During the famine of (1296 Islamic Solar calendar) 1917 ad, the government set up special places in the capital where Dam Pokhtak (rice cooked along onion and broad beans) was distributed among the poor. As a result, the year became famous as Dam Pokhtak Year. 41 H. Amjad, 2000, p. 293.

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life, failures and dreams of common individuals are highlighted to reveal the emptiness of certain cultural practices. Nowruz, a poor cobbler, with two wives and two children, and an insatiable appetite for new wives, manages to woo a young widow, Âlamârâ by promising to divorce both of his wives. His roughneck friend, Dâsh Esmâl advises him to send his two wives away to trick Âlamârâ into the marriage. Yet when he pledges his house to borrow money from the usurer Hâji Tanzili, his wives find out and attempt to stop him first through magic and prayer, and then by gathering a gang of neighboring women, who attack the wedding, scatter the drunken roughneck guests and beat Nowruz up. The play marks one of the earliest instances of diegetic use of popular music and song and putting scheming and drunken roughnecks on a Western-style Iranian stage. Unlike Âkhundzâde’s critique of superstitions in Monsieur Jordan, it also does not leave the message unspecified. The women, here, prioritize action over inaction and prayer, and change their circumstances by kicking Nowruz out of their lives. Hamid Amjad who has seen the manuscripts of Mahmudi’s other plays explains that in the last lines of Nowruz-shekan (New Year Breaker, 1919), a character who has been observing the events of the play as the playwright’s spokesperson states that in his previous play he had tried “to enlighten the people of the third and fourth classes, to their religious, cultural and political responsibilities in a language close to their own,” but now he was more concerned because he observes the same blind mistakes and failures among “the educated elites from the upper classes of his society.”42 This concern is also reflected in Mirzâ Bargozide-ye Mahrum-al-Vekâle (‘Master Elected Deprived of Delegation,’ 1923), in which the antihero, who has nothing but his beautiful daughter to raise money for his parliamentary campaign, puts her on sale among three feudal landlords. A report about the performance shows that though he had avoided direct political referencing, Mahmudi faced serious problems when he performed the play in Mashhad and had to leave the city due to an official order. Mahmudi’s concern with people’s moral, cultural and psychological failures was essential to the rise 42

H. Amjad, “Tajaddod va namâyesh‑e Irâni: Fekri va Mahmudi,” forthcoming.

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of modern drama. It took Iranian drama one step away from direct politics towards a more detailed evaluation of the cultural attitudes that perpetuate the failures of Iran’s political systems.43

7. Authoritative Modernity, Archaist Nationalism and Censorship: Iranian Drama and Theater between 1918 and 1941 Towards the end of the First World War, Iran went through a period of famine and turmoil and was under the threat of colonization by the British. This created a strong desire for stability which corresponded with the rise of Reza Khan, whose ascension to power from 1921 and then kingship from 1925, transformed the nature of Iran’s journey towards modernity. This was primarily due to his authoritative attitudes towards nation-building, centralization and development, which pushed Iran towards an era of rapid modernization. If the political life of the constitutional era and its theater are characterized by the presence of a multiplicity of voices with different political views in different languages, what came afterwards was more centralized and controlled, and therefore, limited and at times distorted. Despite these setbacks, the Iranian theater rose in professional standards and produced some of its best plays in the first decade of Reza Shah’s rise to power. The nature of this change may be clarified if we compare Mohammad-Ali Shah’s attitude towards Anjoman‑e Okhovvat with Reza Shah’s towards Anjoman‑e Irân‑e Javân (‘The Society of Young Iran,’ 1921–23). Both of these were made of educated cultural activists who launched occasional plays and had explicit political aspirations. Yet whereas the activities of the first group resulted in the bombardment of their center during Mohammad Ali Shah’s Coup against the parliament, the ideas of the second group, which was headed by Ali Akbar Siyâsi, earned them a hearing with Reza Khan, the initiator 43

For more on Mahmudi, see Amjad, Ta’ âtr‑e qarn‑e sizdahom, pp. 287–330; and Malekpur, Adabiyyât‑e namâyeshi, Vol. II, pp. 183–205 and 345–410.

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of the 1921 coup, who adopted their ideas and made some of them the leading directors of the following decades.44 Essential to the rise of modern theater during the reign of Reza Shah was the state’s attitude to the secularization of the public life, which though limited political freedom to a minimum, provided more space for such cultural activities as theater, music, and dance which had remained restricted due to religious pressures. The period between 1918 and 1941 is, therefore, characterized by the rise of musical performances, professional theater companies, emphasis on décor, costume and directorial standards, the establishment of the first actor training institutes and the first appearance of Moslem women on mixed public stages. It was also important that Reza Shah adopted the ideals of Iranian “archaist nationalism” as the official discourse of his state, and promoted the idea that Iran was to be transformed into a modern powerful country by following the models of Iranian Pre-Islamic empires. Thus during this era, one can also observe a rise in the number of historical plays which, though at times crude and propaganda-like, provided the opportunity for playwrights to reconsider the past to transform the meaning of the present. The theater companies of the period which performed the best plays of the period included the following: –– 

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Komedi-ye Irân (1916–1930?), which was headed by Sayyed Ali Nasr, performed Persian and European plays twice a month in the Hall of the Grand Hotel, which, Bâqerov, its owner, rented to different theatrical groups; Komedi-ye Akhavân (1924–30 and 1931–35), which was headed by the famous comedian Mahmud Zahir-al-Dini (1899–1935), combined Iranian and Western-style performances based on plays by Molière and Zahir-al-Dini himself. The group which hired any available space for its plays performed its most famous play, Sar Khâr (‘Pain in the Neck’) in Cinema Tamaddon in 1927; Jâme’e-ye Bârbod (Barbod Society, 1926–57) which was headed by Esmâ’il Mehrtâsh (1904–70) was primarily a music institute, which also performed historical and romantic musicals.

44 See Siyâsi, Gozâresh‑e yek zendegi, Vol. I, (Tehran, 2007), pp. 85–87.

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–– 

––  –– 

Its employment of leading musicians and professional stage designers such as Seyf-al-Din Kermânshâhi (1876–1932) and Mohsen Soheyli helped raise the standards of performance in Iran. The group hired spaces during the first decade of its work, but after 1939 it had a permanent stage; Estudiyo Derâm‑e Kermânshâhi (‘Kermânshâhi Dramatic Studio’ 1929–1932), which was headed by Kermânshâhi, launched the first training courses in Iran and performed some of the best plays of the period, including Kermânshâhi’s adaptations of Uncle Tom’s Cabin, Khosrow and Shirin, Mashdi Ebâd and similar works in Neku’i theater; Kolup‑e Musikâl (‘The Musical Club,’ 1923–1928?) which was headed by Ali-Naqi Vaziri (1887–1979) was based in the Music Art School and performed Vaziri’s musical plays; Kânun‑e San’ati (‘San’ati Center,’ 1932–1937), which was headed by Rezâ Kamâl Shahrzâd (1898–1937) and Pari Âqâbâbiyân (1900–1955?) was also important in being the first place in which Abdol-Hoseyn Nushin (1906–1971) began his theater activities.

There were also several groups launched by Zoroastrian, Jewish and Christian theater practitioners. Ârdâshs Nazariyân (Armenian), for instance, launched Ta’âtr‑e Sirus in 1929 and Arbâb Aflâtun Shahrokh (Zoroastrian) opened Ta’âtr‑e Nakisâ in 1930. Though headed by non-Muslim directors, these groups were not exclusive and hired Muslim actors and directors for different types of plays. The Jewish Hey’at‑e Komedi-ye Omid‑e Bani Esrâ’il‑e Tehrân (‘The Comic Theatrical Society of Tehran’s Children of Israel,’ 1923), however, was more exclusive and focused on performing biblical stories. With the gradual tightening of censorship standards during the 1930 s, the nature of theatrical activities in Iran changed. The texts had to be confirmed and the playwrights and directors faced serious setbacks in controlling the socio-political content of their plays and the language of performance. Prior to this period, the primary language of performance was Persian, but Armenian, Turkish, Russian and even French troupes may have appeared in Iranian playhouses. The most important aspect of censorship, however, 389

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was socio-political rather than linguistic. The official pledge document below which was produced in 1932 by the dramatist and theater practitioner Grigor Yaqikian clarifies the extent of this political policing that contracted the public space of Iranian drama after a period of wild expansion. Hereby, I, G Yaqikian pledge to the observance of the followings: 1. To perform my piece Salime without any changes or addition after making the necessary corrections and registering it with the office of Publications at the Ministry of Culture; 2. To inform the Glorified Ministry of Culture in case I decided to give the piece to someone else; 3. To apply for the presence of an official representative in a rehearsal at least two days before the performance; 4. To be liable for legal prosecution by the Glorified Ministry in case I violate any of the above.45

Central to the Pahlavi’s discourse of “archaist nationalism” was the idea of the king as the father of the nation, without whom the nation would disintegrate. Translated into an official ideology, this meant that any criticism against the king or the state was like an act of treason or a blasphemy that would harm the ideals of a free and prosperous Iran. Despite these limitations, Iranian theater practitioners continued working, partly because the state supported any activity that raised the standards of secular performances or signified the grandeur of Ancient Iran. But this general support was also reinforced in the case of theater by two important events that occurred in 1934. The first of these which urged the state to commission a film on Ferdowsi’s life was the celebration of the Millennium of Ferdowsi in October 1934 during which leading practitioners such as Abdol-Hoseyn Nushin and Zabih Behruz performed their adaptations of several Shahname legends. The second resulted from Reza Shah’s official visit to Turkey in June 1934, during which he was particularly engrossed by Ahmet Adnan’s revisionist adaptation of the legend of Fereydun, Özsoy, in the Istanbul Opera House. Adnan’s adaptation celebrated the friendship of Iran and Turkey 45 Ali Mir-Ansâri, and Mehrdâd Ziyâ’i, Asnâd‑e namâyesh dar Irân 2, (Tehran, 2002), p. 88.

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by reconstructing the legend so that Fereydun’s three sons, Iraj, Tur and Salm were reconciled with each other at the end. Captivated by the spirit of the performance and the beauty of the opera house, upon his return Reza Shah ordered Tehran’s mayor to build an opera house and launch an actor training school. The construction began in 1935, and Ali Daryâbeygi who had been assigned as the coordinator of the training school employed two leading musicians, a literary scholar, a choreographer and a make-up artist to launch Kelâs‑e Ta’âtr‑e Shahrdâri (‘The [Tehran] Municipality’s Theater School’), the first formal theater school in Iran. The center performed several plays, including Oscar Wild’s Salome and Mo’ez-al-Din Fekri’s Leyli and Majnun, but with the suspension of the building work on the opera house in 1938 and the establishment of Honarestân‑e Honarpishegi-ye Tehrân (‘Tehran Acting School’) in 1939, its activities were discontinued. Closely related to this surge of interest was also the official invitation that brought Vahram Papazian (1888–1968)—an Armenian theater practitioner who had worked in Turkey, Armenia and Russia—to Iran. Encouraged by Reza Shah’s interest, Doctor Mirzâ’iyan, the MP for the Armenians, who had links with Iran’s Red Cross Organization (Sâzemân‑e Shir va Khorshid) invited Papazian, to provide theater training and perform some plays for charitable purposes. In Tehran Papazian joined a group of Iranian actors to stage Don Juan, Othello, Hamlet and some other plays in Persian, but he himself performed his roles in Armenian or French. The plays, however, did not easily pass through the censor. In Hamlet, for instance, the eponymous hero was not allowed to kill his uncle, the king, but had to wait for him to leave the scene with no fear.46 They also had some negative impact on the development of Persian as a stage language because for a few years before the launching of acting classes by Nasr and Nushin, some actors uttered the words of tragedies with a degree of Armenian accent to make it different from the street language that they used for their comedies.47 46 Mostafâ Osku’i, Seyri dar târikh‑e ta’ âtr‑e Irân, (Tehran, 1999), p. 501. 47 Abbâs Javânmard, Ta’ âtr, hoviyat, va namâyesh‑e melli, (Tehran, 2004), p. 189.

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Though Iranian drama had managed to adopt some of the modalities of everyday Persian that worked well on the stage, the case of having the actors to actualize the plays on the stage was a major priority for many practitioners. With this shortcoming in mind, Sayyed Ali Nasr used his influence to gain state support to launch the Tehran Acting School in 1939. Thus Abdol-Hoseyn Nushin for declamation and speech, Rafi Hâlati for make-up and design, Mo’ez-al-Din Fekri for Music, Rezâzade Shafaq for psychology, and a few others for literature, costume and choreography, came together in the school to reinforce the foundations of Iranian theater and enhance the standards of acting for the following decade.48

8. The Plays and the Playwrights (1918–1941) No survey of Persian drama during the early twentieth century can claim to discuss all the major playwrights of the period. The list is extensive and the types of drama produced are varied to such an extent that one can call it an age of expansion and reformulation. As a result, here I have included only those playwrights and plays that have directly influenced the growth of drama in Iran or present significant perspectives on Iranian life.

Mohammad-Rezâ Mirzâde Eshqi (1893–1924) Mohammad-Rezâ Mirzâde Eshqi (1893–24) is primarily known as a poet and a journalist: the poet of Nowruzi-nâme, the editor of Nâme-ye Eshqi and the Twentieth Century newspapers, and the man who declined becoming the mayor of Isfahan in 1301 (1922) to continue writing his caustic critiques against state corruption. His most significant contribution to Persian literature, however, was writing three plays which presented a powerful egalitarian 48

See Ayyubi, Ali Nasr, (Tehran, 2006); Osku’i, Seyri dar târikh, pp. 233–340; Malekpur, Adabiyyât‑e namâyeshi dar Irân, pp. 264–68.

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discourse and three operettas which created a taste for operas and made “archaist nationalism” a major subject of drama in the following decades. Thus ironically though Eshqi himself fell victim to Reza Khan’s bid for power, the operetta template he invented became the most favorite form for the state that Reza Shah created. Though crude and experimental in comparison to the later examples of the form, these operettas are special in their peculiar language which aspired to make Persian poetic expression more realistic and to introduce the idea of the characters’ journey in time and from the mundane to the bizarre or fantastic. Eshqi probably borrowed the form from goriz technique in ta’ziye, but he used it for a secular function that made it a favorite dramatic template for commenting on Iran’s cultural identity. Eshqi’s first acquaintance with theater and with the ideal of revolutionary social democracy went back to his school years in Hamadan, where he attended the French Alliance School in which drama was a regular extra-curricular activity. He wrote his first play, Jamshid‑e nâkâm yâ bichârezâde (‘The Unhappy Jamshid or the Son of the Downtrodden,’ 1914) to mourn his brother’s suicide and bewail the country’s drift from the ideals of the Constitutional Revolution, for which he blames the essence of aristocracy. Yet the play contained such a powerful concentration of anarchic dissent that in 1919 the censor filed it as a piece of non-performable rubbish, though it was technically no worse than the other plays produced in the era. The play traces the fate of Jamshid, an enlightened patriot, and Meqrâz-Mirzâ, a rich hypocrite, from Paris to Tehran. It showed how Meqrâz-Mirzâ, the son of a former tyrant aristocrat and current revolutionary, became a governor by his unscrupulous activities and destroyed Jamshid’s hopes for himself and a better Iran. Jamshid’s suicide then resulted in his parents’ untimely death and his brother’s prayer, which reflected Eshqi’s ideal for a revenge against Iran’s treacherous aristocrats.49 Thus unlike the other plays written to critique the outcomes of the revolution, Eshqi’s creates an egalitarian tension that calls for a constant revolution until poor peasants can have the same opportunities as their rich lords. If Fekri 49 See Eshqi, Namâyeshnâme-hâ, ed. Ali Mir-Ansâri, (Tehran, 2007), pp. 50–106.

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criticizes the elite and Mahmudi explores the personal and social failures of the elite and the poor; Eshqi revolutionizes the aesthetic limits of the arts by expanding ‘the sensible’ and bringing the rich and the poor face to face in a locus where the enlightened poor provide the criteria of being truthful and patriotic. The replica of Eshqi’s brother, the educated intellectual Jamshid, also appears in Halvâ-al-Foqarâ (‘The Pudding of the Poor,’ 1921). Here he criticizes people’s superstitious beliefs in the person of Mr Gereftâr and defends the transformation of poetic expression by arguing that Iranian life and Persian poetry should be released from false beliefs, old clichés and mohumât (‘unclear nonsense’). Thus Eshqi extends his egalitarianism to poetry, which for him has to become understandable to all. Prominent among Eshqi’s operettas is Rastâkhiz‑e Salâtin‑e Irân dar Kharâbehâ-ye Madâ’en (‘The Resurrection of the Iranian Kings in the Ruins of Ctesiphon,’ 1916). Indeed the subject matter and the performances of the play in Isfahan, Tehran and Mashhad in 1920 made it one of the most significant plays of the period.50 In the play Eshqi arrives at the ruins of Ctesiphon and, inspired by the grandeur of the place, sings a lament on Iran’s fall and its current ‘weakness and ignorance’. Following this prologue, he falls asleep and has a vision in which Khosrowdokht, an ancient princess appears to sing of her inability to recognize Iran as it is. Then Cyrus, Darius, Anushirvân, and finally Khosrow and Shirin arrive to sing of Iran’s glories during their reigns, lament its current conditions and pray for Zoroaster’s help. Zoroaster then appears with long hair in a celestial attire to call for the rise of the East against the colonial West and to deliver the glad tidings of a better world which will come if Iran regains its power. Then a cradle with Iran’s flag and the seeds of the great sons of Iran’s future descends from the sky and Eshqi sings:

‫ب بد به بیداری خدایا یا به خواب؟‬ ‫�آنچه من دیدم در این قصر خرا‬ ‫دیدم اندر ماتم ایران زمین‬ ‫پادشاهان را همه اندوهگین‬ ‫ای خدا دیگر برس بر دادمان‬ ‫ننگ خود دانندمان اجدادما ن‬ .‫دید عشقی خواب و تو تعبیر کن‬ ‫وعدۀ زرتشت را تقدیر ک ن‬ 50 See Khâleghi, Sargodhasht‑e musiqi-ye Irân, Vol. I, (Tehran, 1974), pp. 280–86.

394

A History of Iranian Drama (1850–1941) God, was what I saw in this ruined palace In wakefulness or in a dream, (as a solace)? I saw the kings all sorrowful, For the land of Iran, sad and mournful. Our ancestors consider us their shame. God, save us from this state, this bad name. Make Zarathustra’s promise our fate. Eshqi had a dream; you make it our true state.51

Eshqi’s Kafan‑e Siyâh (‘Black Shroud,’ 1919) follows the same lines of thought by bringing the traveller face to face with Iran’s past and with Khosrowdokht to bewail the fate of half of Iran’s population who have to cover themselves in black chadors as if they were dead. The operetta, however, suffers from long monologues that make it more like a narrative poem. The concern with the fate of Iranian women is also central to Bachche-ye gadâ va doktor‑e nikukâr (‘The Beggar Child and the Philanthropist Doctor,’ 1922) which combines prose and verse to recount the story of the talented Ghazâl. Qorbân-Ali has tricked a teenage girl into believing that he can teach her magic, and now she has to dress herself as a beggar-boy to earn a living for him. After a series of encounters with different Iranian types, she finally ends up working for and falling in love with a young physician who trains her as a doctor, assuming she is a boy. When Qorbân-Ali shows up to take her backed by an official letter, Ghazâl’s actual father, Hâji, arrives in the doctor’s office for treatment and recognizes her as his lost daughter. Having discovered her gender and her love, the doctor also falls in love with her and the two marry with Hâji’s blessing. Though hastily drawn and taqlid-like in its form and narrative, the play uses a transvestite situation to expand Eshqi’s egalitarianism to women and children and argue that social problems can be solved by universal education. Eshqi’s final piece is Ide’âl‑e Pirmard‑e Dehqâni (‘The Ideal of the Provincial Old Man,’ 1923–24), an operetta, which consists of three parts and carries Eshqi’s revisionist and anarchic vision to its most striking extents. Written in response to Farajollâh Bahrâmi’s 51 The translation is mine.

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call in the newspaper Shafaq‑e Sorkh (‘The Red Sunrise’), the play offers Eshqi’s cure for a society, characterized by tyranny, discord, corruption and exploitation. Unlike most contributors to the call, however, Eshqi’s response reveals his disagreement with the idea of having an authoritative centralized state as the ultimate cure for Iran. Instead, he offers an exaggerated ironic call for Eyd‑e Khun (‘Blood Holiday’) which as discussed in one of Eshqi’s former articles on the subject, reminds the reader of the carnival celebrations of Mir‑e Nowruzi, the Iranian equivalent of the European Lord of Misrule. In this New Year carnivalesque purification festival, an ordinary man was dressed and hailed as a king who ordered people around and mocked the authorities for a few days and was then kicked out of the town.52 In other words, Eshqi is calling for a carnivalesque re-evaluation of power so that no one can remain in power after a certain period of time. Once more though exaggerated and sarcastic in his intentions, Eshqi argues for an egalitarian, meritocratic system that shatters all social hierarchies. Eshqi’s play-like piece, therefore, is to justify his reasons for such a call. The first part recounts the poet’s observation of Maryam’s love affair with a handsome young man who seems to be an honest, loving youth. The second recounts the poet’s discovery of Maryam’s suicide when, according to those who tell the story her lover proved to be a crooked opportunist and abandoned her despite her pregnancy. The third marks the poet’s encounter with Maryam’s father, a wise, honorable man from Kermân who has lost everything because of his ethical and patriotic values. The old man offers a personal history of the Constitutional Revolution, the death of his sons during the conflicts, the rise of treacherous opportunists to power, and the betrayal and death of his daughter. Then in the end he offers constant revolution against corrupted statesmen as the cure for the abuse of power. Eshqi thus adds another aspect to his egalitarian discourse by moving along the provincial man from the periphery to the center and from the pre-revolution Iran to the time of Reza Shah to prove that power in any sense corrupts. His argument, therefore, is that rather than 52 See Beyzâ’i, Namâyesh dar Irân, pp. 53–55.

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calling for an authoritarian central state, the country needs to find a method to curb power.53 Following Eshqi’s operettas, Habib-Allâh Shahrdâr (Moshir Homâyun, 1886–1970), Ali-Naqi Vaziri, Mohammad Javâd Torbati (1906–1970), Sayyed Jalâl-al-Din Shâdemân and several others produced a number of musical plays which mixed their original poems and plots with those of Ferdowsi, Sa’di, Hâfez, Nezâmi and others to depict romantic and moral subjects. In Fereshte (1933), Hoseyn-Qoli Moste’ân experimented with moral romantic subjects extracted from his own stories. In Ctesiphon (1932) Shams-al-Din Tondarkiyâ (1909–87 practiced his pure Persian and his new style of poetry. In Bâzâr‑e Makkâre-ye Irân (‘Iran’s Sales Fair’), Bahârmast brought sociopolitical subjects to the form and wrote about lower class people. Arbâb Shahrokh Aflâtun and Qodrat-Allâh Mansur, on the other hand, focused on love and patriotism in musicals such as Mâdar‑e Vatan (‘Mother Homeland,’ 1923). Alongside these there appeared opera adaptations of the Shahname legends which set the stage for similar adaptations in the following decades. Influential in performing these was Kermânshâhi whose suicide in 1933 deprived Iran of one of its best directors and stage designers.54

Hasan Moqaddam (1897–1925) Though Reza Shah’s era is marked by the gradual growth of Iranian theater and the rise of romantic and historical operas, the plays of the period suggest a gradual decline in the production of significant plays on socio-political subjects. Indeed, the most remembered play of the period, Ja’ far Khân az Farang Âmade (‘Ja’far Khân Has Come from Europe,’ 1921) was written before Reza Khan reached the peak of his power. Hasan Moqaddam (1897–1925) was a friend of Abu’l-Qâsem Lâhuti and Eshqi, but whereas the former opted for an armed rebellion that made him a lifelong fugitive living in 53 For more, see Eshqi, Namâyeshnâme-hâ, pp. 171–259; Sepehrân, Ta’ âtrcrâsy, pp. 169–215; Malekpur, Adabiyyât‑e namâyeshi, vol III, pp. 53–63. 54 For more information, see Malekpur, Adabiyyât‑e namâyeshi, Vol. III, pp. 53–80.

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Tajikistan and the latter for a poetic and journalistic rebellion that resulted in his assassination, Moqaddam was a proponent of Horatian satire and gradual enlightenment and reform. His play, which set the template for a host of plays and later films, therefore, is a balanced, well-structured comic piece focused on the return of an upper middle-class youth from France and his attitudes towards the coherent, but stagnant social relationships that he had left behind. As a character, Ja’far Khân heralds the beginning of an era in which the educated intellectual appeared to be neither a hero nor a villain. Ja’far Khân is gray rather than black or white. Thus he bears no similarity to Eshqi’s extremes, the patriotic Jamshid and the crooked Meqrâz-Mirzâ. Though kind and intelligent, he is burdened with mimicry and is wily and hypocritical. Obsessed with the superficial signs of modernity, he has missed its essential requirements. While his uncle and the other embodiments of traditionalism are obsessed with Iranian conventions and superstitions, he is weighed down by pseudo-modern ones, such as having a dog or wearing a tie as signs of being civilized. Thus the play highlights the need for intellectual enlightenment by showing that both the traditionalists and the West-obsessed intelligentsia are superstitious. Moqaddam, thus, takes the issues that Jamâlzade raised through his Westernized character Âqâ-ye Faranagi-ma’âb in ‘Fârsi Shekar Ast’ into a private space to highlight the failures of cultural transition in Iran. Jafar Khân is a Westernized pedant whose presence as an innocent abroad enables the author to mount his satire against the West-obsessed intelligentsia, their traditionalist opponents, and the stagnation and corruption of public and private lives in Iran. The play is also significant in registering the modalities of language and the beliefs, sayings and practices of Iranians in the early twentieth century, a function which is also central to Mahmudi, Jamâlzâde and Hedâyat’s works. Moqaddam performed the play in the Hall of the Grand Hotel with the help of Madam Varturian who was one of the first female Iranian directors. The success of the play urged Moqaddam to write a sequel, entitled Irâni-bâzi (‘Life, Iranian Style’) in 1924, which, nevertheless, remained unfinished due to Moqaddam’s death. Here Moqaddam depicts Iran’s chaotic public life by 398

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showing a much changed Ja’far Khân traveling from one ministry to another to receive job offers which have nothing to do with the degrees that he claims to have. The play ends with the actors dancing to the Iranian national anthem.55

Rezâ Kamâl (Shahrzâd) (1898–1937) The most renowned playwright of the period is Rezâ Kamâl (Shahrzâd) who began his theater activities by launching a theater troupe. The most renowned playwright of the period is Rezâ Kamâl (Shahrzâd) who began his theater activities by launching a theater troupe. Their first performance was Elâhe (‘The Goddess,’ 1918) in 1919 written by Madame Saeo Âqâbâbiyân. In the course of the next two decades he translated several plays, including Oscar Wilde’s Salome and wrote more than ten plays, among which his first, Parichehr and Parizâd (1922) was an early success. Cursed by an old woman, Parichehr ends up becoming the king’s wife, but the old woman who now pities the girl helps Parizâd, her lover, to join her in the palace as her sister. Their relationship is discovered and both are condemned to death. Following Parizâd’s execution, Parichehr dies of sorrow, filling the executioner’s eyes with tears. The repentant king then delivers a speech about his mistake, and the chorus sings about the centrality of love in life. The last scene implicitly reflects on the consequences of unbridled power and reinforces a former scene in which the king is lost in the forest, thinking that since he has wronged his people, everyone he sees may be his enemy. Shahrzâd’s rich, performable language and his experiment with dance, song and chorus were remarkable, but another reason for the play’s success was Madame Âqâbâbiyân’s performance as Parichehr, which marked her artistic rebirth as Pari, the jewel of the Iranian stage and its first female star.56 55 For Moqaddam’s works, see Ayyubi, Hasan Moqaddam, (Tehran, 2006); and Javânmard, Ta’ âtr, hoviyat, va namâyesh melli, pp. 119–59. 56 See Sa’id Nafisi’s description of her performance in Kuhestâni-Nezhâd, Asnâd‑e namâyesh dar Irân, Vol. I, section 2, pp. 22–23. Âryanpur, Az Sabâ tâ Nimâ, Vol. II, pp. 311–13, Vol. III, pp. 436–37.

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Shahrzâd’s Khosrow and Shirin (1929) is also significant as one of the first attempts to create Shakespearean characters in an Iranian play. His masterpiece, however, is often considered to be Shab‑e hezâr-o-yekom (‘The One Thousand and First Night,’ 1930). Donyâzâd, the sister of the legendary Shahrzâd, saves her from execution and hides her until the king begins to miss her stories and her voice and understand the consequences of his cruelty. Thus Shahrzâd appears in the midst of his sorrow and resumes her stories. With this twist in the plot, the playwright brought three of the most famous Iranian actresses and singers of his time onto his stage: the singer Moluk Zarrâbi as Shahrzâd, the actress Madam Lalateriyan as Donyâzâd, and the dancer/actress Pari Âqâbâbiyân as the dance star. Shahrzâd’s playwriting career gradually declined in the second half of Reza Shah’s era and came to a sudden end in 1937 when the depressing conditions of Iran, his unrequited love for Pari Âqâbâbiyân and his career failures pushed him towards suicide.57

Gerigor Yaqikian (1880–1951) Gerigor Yaqikian was born in the Armenian regions of the Ottoman Empire, but after 1907 he spent most of his life in Rasht and Tehran, got involved in local and national conflicts as a journalist, translator, novelist, and cultural activist, and in time became an influential contributor to the socialist side of Iranian nationalism. The first extant reference to Yaqikian’s involvement with Iranian theater is the leaflet of a charity garden party which mentions the performance of his play, Fâje’e or Râh‑e khuni (‘Disaster or The Gory Path’) by Henchakian Social Democrat Party in Mas’udiye Park in Tehran on 2 July 1911. The date marks the beginning of a productive dramatic career that extended to 1936. Yaqikian wrote 57 For more information see Abu’l-Qâsem Jannati-Atâ’i, Zendegi va âthâr‑e Rezâ Kamâl Shahrzâd, (Tehran, 1954); Kamâl-Shahrzâd, Namâyeshnâmehâ-ye Târikhi, ed. A. H. Quchibeik, (Tehran, 2009); and Pâkravân, “Rezâ Kamâl Shahrzâd,” Faslnâme-ye ta’ âtr, no. 13, (1370/1991), pp. 72–94.

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thirteen plays on historical and social subjects in Persian, but since he had learned Persian as an adult, he urged his actors to edit them during their rehearsals. Despite their linguistic limitations, Yaqikian’s historical plays are unique in their perspectives because, unlike many plays produced during the period, they transcend the limits of archaist nationalism to promote a more inclusive idea of national belonging in which common people, ethnic minorities and women play a more important role for the survival of the empire than the Persian nobles. In Jang‑e mashreq va maghreb (‘The War of the East and the West,’ 1922), for instance, he picks up elements from the Shahname and Greek histories to glorify Âryubarzan, the commoner army commander, and Darius’s daughter, Homâ, who attempts to assign Âryubarzan as the commander of the Iranian army. The protagonists, however, fail to overcome the machination of noble hypocrites surrounding the king. Yaqikian’s historical masterpiece is Anushirvân‑e Âdel va Mazdak (‘Anushirvân the Just, and Mazdak,’ 1923), which exists in two versions and was first performed in Rasht in 1924. The first version which was published in 1930 chronicles the conflict between the two without prioritizing any of them over the other. Mazdak is a revolutionary priest who uses the court to propagate his ideas, but fails to succeed as the clergy and the nobility unite with the crown prince Khosrow to dethrone Mazdak’s major supporter King Qobâd. The repenting King then returns to power, forgives his daughter and wife who have been supporting Mazdak and condemns Mazdak to execution. The most striking scenes are the ones in which Âzarmidokht, Qobâd’s daughter, explains the Empire’s failures, which pushed her towards believing in Mazdak and the one in which the souls of Mazdak’s followers appear to him in the dungeon to blame him for his mistakes. In the first version, Yaqikian condenses the history of the conflict to reveal the nature of power relations in Iran rather than to explain whether Mazdak was right or not. Though the support of the king, his wife and his daughter contributed to the increase in the number of Mazdakis, in the end, due to their royal blood, the three remained exempt from punishment while Mazdakis were massacred in their thousands. 401

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This dissenting voice, however, seems to have created problems for Yaqikian because in the second version, published in 1931, Yaqikian improved the dialogue but depicted Mazdak as a corrupt womanizer who exploited the treasury for his own purposes. Apart from Shâpur‑e Sâni‑e Zollaktâf va Juliyân (‘Shapur the Second and Julian,’ 1931), which shows signs of a turn to anti-Arab archaistic nationalism, most of Yaqikian’s plays between 1928 and 1936 are focused on family and moral issues. The only exception is Meydân‑e dehshat (‘The Field of Fear,’ 1931) which, though containing romantic and family elements, is an anti-war patriotic piece that shows how the heroic Sohrâb sacrifices his health for his c­ ountry and loses his beloved Jamile to his opportunist cousin Bahâdor. Like many other contemporary works, the play ends with a suicide to offer a striking end for the handicapped Sohrâb and suggest Yaqikian’s pessimistic evaluation of Iran’s conditions.58

Sayyed Ali Nasr (1893–1962) Sayyed Ali Nasr is referred to as the father and the first director of Iranian theater, but during his career as a theater practitioner and a leading government official, he also wrote about fifty plays which as a rule avoid political commentary and use simple characterization and moral conflicts for cultural enlightenment. Apart from his Ferdowsi (1921) and Ester va Mordkhâi (1939) which carry the markers of archaist nationalism, all these plays are set in contemporary Iran and employ various modalities of Persian to deal with people of different classes in their everyday lives and habits. His masterpiece is Ajab Pokeri (‘What a Poker Game!’), a play that, as Malekpour explains, works like Harold Pinter’s best plays to reveal the cultural failures of two families from the educated middle class during one of their weekly poker meetings. Nasr’s plays left a huge impact on the development of Iranian plays in terms of plot arrangement and dialogue, but their cautious approach to cultural 58 For more information see Tâlebi, Zendegi va âsâr‑e namâyeshi-ye Gerigor Yaqikian, (Tehran, 2001).

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criticism prevented them from achieving the status that they could have potentially achieved due to their performability. As the titles of some of them, such as The Impacts of Opium, The Sycophant, or The Forced Marriage show, they are also too preoccupied with miniature depictions of cultural problems to become timeless studies of Iranian life. They are, nevertheless, among the best places for studying the cultural discourses and the preoccupations of Iran during the first half of the twentieth century.59

Arbâb Aflâtun Keykhosrow Shâhrokh (1875–1940) Arbâb Aflâtun Keykhosrow Shâhrokh (1875–1940) was the son of Arbâb Keykhosrow Shâhrokh, the head of Society of Zoroastrians and their representative in the parliament (1909–40). His contribution to the development of drama and theater in Iran included the foundation of Nakisâ Society and the Summer Playhouse of Zoroastrians, which staged some of the best performances of the era such as Shakespeare’s The Merchant of Venice (1928). Most of Shahrokh’s plays are historical or legendary with such titles as Eshq va Sharaf dar Irân‑e Bâstân (‘Love and Honor in Ancient Iran,’ 1927), Abu Moslem Khorâsâni (1931) or Bizhan and Manizhe (1931), which suggest his tendency towards archaist nationalism. Among these Mâdar‑e Vatan (‘Mother Homeland,’ 1933) is a direct propaganda piece which reviews Iran’s history to glorify the rise of Reza Shah as Iran’s savior. But Shâhrokh also had a taste for topical comedies and tragedies in which the moral and social failures of modernists and traditionalists were highlighted. Among these, Shabân‑e Tire (‘Dark Nights,’ 1930) examines polygyny and Yek Eshtebâh (A Mistake, 1931) reflects on arranged marriage. Shâhrokh’s Doktor‑e Jâhel, Zan‑e Khoshgel va Mekânik‑e Nâshi (‘The Ignorant Doctor, the Beautiful Woman and the Novice Clumsy Mechanic,’ 1933) is also important due to its influence on mainstream Iranian cinema. It follows the relationships of Catharine, a cunning French woman, 59 See Ayyubi, Ali Nasr, and Malekpur, Adabiyyât‑e namâyeshi, Vol. III, pp. 155–60 and 481–97.

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with Mohsen, a medical student, and then Salim from Paris to Tehran in a dramatic context that brings a car onto the stage and like other comic plays by Aflâtun makes regular use of occupational humor, songs, music and dance.60

Mir Seyf-al-Din Kermânshâhi (1876–1932) Mir Seyf-al-Din Kermânshâhi, who had been trained as a stage designer and director in Moscow, produced several adaptations and wrote four plays between 1925 and 1932. Kermânshâhi was the first Iranian who planned and worked with models for designing his stage. He had a rather universal understanding of human rights and Iranian theater. His Uncle Tom’s Cabin (1931) was the first anti-racist play with an American context produced in Iran. Hile wa Haqiqat (‘Treachery and Truth,’ 1932) was the first Iranian play on the colonization of India. Kermânshâhi also had a taste for simple morality-style operettas with symbolic subjects. Hosn‑e Surat yâ Hosn‑e Sirat (‘Beauty of the Face or the Beauty of the Soul,’ 1931), for instance, reflected on an educated girl’s choice of husband. Her clear understanding of modern values enables her to see that most of the men surrounding her are obsessed with modern pretentions and preoccupied with her beauty, education or money. Thus she finally chooses Manuchehr whose honesty and diligence make him transcend these superficial aspects. Pul yâ Vojdân (Money or Conscience, 1932) deals with the subject of happiness in life in an abstract way with such characters as Conscience, Person, Money, Heart, Stomach, Lungs, Flowers, Nightingale and Angels. His most interesting play in this template is Samm‑e Zendegâni (‘The Poison of Life,’ 1932) an educational play in which a teacher brings onto the stage the embodiments of different professions to teach the son of an opium-addicted landlord about the requirements of work and life in the modern world.

60 See Malekpur, Adabiyyât‑e namâyeshi, Vol. III, pp. 167–84; Mostafâ Osku’i, Seyri dar târikh‑e ta’ âtr‑e Irân, (Tehran, 1999), pp. 275–78.

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Being under suspicion for his education in Moscow and his uncommon theater productions, Kermânshâhi had a difficult time fitting in the tense cultural atmosphere of the early 1930 s with its destructive rivalries for limited resources and official pressures for politically correct plays. Towards the end of his life in 1932, for instance, after a month of rehearsals, he had to call off his performance of Shâdmân’s Leyli and Majnun because just a few days before the opening night Shâhrokh staged Mo’ez-al-Din Fekri’s adaptation of the story to revenge Kermânshâhi’s employment of Nakisâ actors. In any case, Kermânshâhi committed suicide in 1932, leaving many people with the suspicion that he had done so under pressure from the police who had, according to some of his colleagues, required him to leave the country or stop his theatrical activities.61

Sa’id Nafisi (1895–1966) Sa’id Nafisi is primarily known as a scholar of Persian literature, but from the early days of his career he had a passion for drama, was a founding member of Irân‑e Javân Club and cooperated with Moqaddam and Shahrzâd in several occasions. Apart from producing several articles on theater, he also wrote two plays, one of which, Âkharin Yâdgâr‑e Nâder Shâh (The Last Memento of Nâder Shah, 1922), is considered an important contribution to the cause of Iran’s archaist nationalism. The play is set during the first Iran-Russia war in 1812. Allâhyâr, an old veteran, who fought with foreign forces along Nâder Shah, is so furious at his son’s evasion to join Abbâs Mirzâ’s army that he suffers a heart attack. As the war continues, the Iranian army is defeated, but since Mirzâ Massih, the physician, has asked Maleknâz not to give any bad news to her grandfather, Allâhyâr remains unaware. When the Russians enter their city, Allâhyâr, who has just awakened from a nightmare and had 61 See Nafisi, Akharin yâdgâr‑e Nâder Shâh, (Tehran, 1926); Osku’i, Seyri dar târikh‑e ta’ âtr‑e Irân, pp. 268–75; Malekpur, Adabiyyât‑e namâyeshi, Vol. III, pp. 193–200; and Sâne’i, Târikh‑e tarrâhi Sahne-yeta’ âtr dar Irân.

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a vision about his conversations with Nâder Shah, sees them in the street and suffers a terminal heart attack just as he draws his sword to confront them with ‘Where is Nâder?’. Written in 1922, the play was published in 3000 copies in 1926 as a contribution to the anti-Qajar propaganda that celebrated the coronation of Reza Shah as the first Pahlavi king. Despite this role, however, the play was more concerned with cultural rather than political criticism and had positive dramatic qualities in its use of language and suspense. Written in 1931, Nafisi’s second play, Bâlmâske (‘Masked Ball’) is similar in its dramatic qualities, but this time Nafisi contributes to the cultural discourse on West-obsessed pretentions of some rich families in Tehran. A lady who fails to convince her husband to attend a masked ball finally dresses up Mashhadi Taqi, their servant, to go with her. Building on this comic situation, Nafisi reviews the cultural practices and pretentions that determined the nature of social relations and guaranteed success in the 1920 s.62

Zabih Behruz (1890–1971) Zabih Behruz was another literary scholar who wrote plays. Behruz who had studied Arabic, Persian and English in Cairo and Cambridge published his first and most renowned play, Jijak Ali Shâh in Berlin in 1921. Combining elements from Tabrizi, Fekri and Moqaddam’s comedies, the play reflects on the extent of corruption under the Qajars, but it also brings in Karim Shire’i, Nâser-al-Din Shah’s famous jester, to include broad verbal and practical humor and makes use of humorous, occupational diction and local accents to poke fun at various Iranian types from Westernized fools to court officials. In 1924 after he returned to Iran from a teaching position at Cambridge, Behruz wrote Dâstân‑e Professor Sholkon-Haim va Professor Seftkon-Yerg (‘The Account of Professor Loosen-ItHaim and Tighten-It-Yerg’) which pokes fun at racist and biased ideas of Orientalists. Shâh‑e Irân va Bânu-ye Arman (‘The Ira62 See Malekpur, Adabiyyât‑e namâyeshi, Vol. III, pp. 160–65 and 409–35.

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nian King and the Armenian Lady,’ 1927) is a film script based on Nezâmi’s Khosrow and Shirin and written in a refined and poetic prose. Râh‑e Mehr (The Path of Love, 1931) combines the same poetic prose with conversational broken verse to produce one of the earliest mystic pieces of Iranian drama. It builds on a series of encounters between a Rend (cunning mystic) and a religious Khâje in which the Rend produces visions for the Khâje to release his will from bigotry, pretention, ignorance, greed, and obsession with reputation. Though very simple and brief, Shab‑e Ferdowsi (‘Ferdowsi’s Night,’ 1933), which became Behruz’s contribution to the celebrations of Ferdowsi’s millennium in 1934, reveals Behruz’s preoccupation with the revival of Iran’s cultural heritage and with purifying Persian from its Arabic, Turkic and French loanwords. Concerned about people’s indifference to the Mehregân Festival, Ferdowsi comes home and is cheered up by his wife, Farangis, who celebrates the night with him. The mood then changes as he hears the sound of people’s songs, music and dance from outside, and begins to compose the legend of Bizhan and Manizhe.63

Sâdeq Hedâyat (1903–1951) Sâdeq Hedâyat, the renowned Iranian fiction writer joined the club of Iranian playwrights with three plays. Though reflecting racist, anti-Arab sentiments typical of the intellectual zeitgeist of the period, these plays transcend the dictates of Iranian archaist nationalism: the first one by focusing on upper-class Iranian families rather than on royalty and the second one by revealing the internal failures that made resistance against Arab hegemony impossible. Parvin Dokht‑e Sâsân (‘Parvin, Sâsân’s Daughter,’ 1930) is set in Ray during the Arab invasion of 643. Chehreh Pardâz, the 63 See Ayyubi, Zabih Behruz, (Tehran, 2006); Mohammad Rezâ Bigdeli, “Ahvâl va afkâr‑e Zabih Behruz,” Kelk, no. 100 (Azar 1377 / December 1998), pp. 33–42; Malekpur, Adabiyyât‑e namâyeshi, Vol. III, pp. 210–19 and 497–526; see also Pâkdâman, “Zabih Behruz,” Negin, 79, (1350/1971); Y. Âzhand, “Zabih Behruz va Namâyeshnâme-hâyash,” Ta’atr, no. 13 (Spring 1370/1991), pp. 33–52.

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artist and Parvin, his daughter, are urged by Bahrâm, their servant, to evade the Arabs by traveling eastwards to Central Asia (Turân) and China, but they refuse. Parvin’s fiancé, Parviz, a member of the army, then arrives telling them of the havoc that the Arabs have caused in the land. He takes Chehreh Pardâz’s last portrait of Parvin and goes to encounter the Arabs in a final battle. The city is then captured, and Parvin is taken to the Arab commander, but after a long argument with the translator about the new religion, she rejects the commander’s advances and ends her own life with his dagger. Hedâyat’s second play, Mâziyâr (1933) traces the last days of the eponymous hero in his battle against the Abbasids. The play focuses on the romantic relation between Mâziyâr and Shahrnâz and on Mâziyâr’s betrayal by his brother Kuhyâr and the courtiers Simru and the son of Rabn. The plot, however, suffers from some loose ends. The scene of Mâziyâr’s wine drinking with Hasan Ebn‑e Hoseyn, for instance, is contrived and is more a compliment to the Arab commander’s cunning than to Mâziyâr’s bravery. Hedâyat’s last play, Afsâne-ye Âfarinesh (‘The Myth of Creation,’ 1930/1946) is a puppet play that pokes fun at the Abrahamic myth of creation by using Turkish and Russian suffixes for the main characters, turning the conversations between Monsieur ­Satan, Creatorov, Gabriel Pasha and others into bickering over trivial subjects, and highlighting the love of Adam and Eve.64

Other Playwrights Apart from the above who are known as the major voices of Iranian, there were also numerous other playwrights and theater practitioners who contributed to the development of drama and theater during the first four decades of the twentieth century. Abdol-Rahim Khalkhâli, Afrâsiyâb Âzâd, Taqi Raf’at, Mehdi Nâmdâr, Ebrâhim Nâhid and others wrote and produced plays during the 1920 s and 1930 s. Among these less known playwrights, there 64 For more information see Katouzian, Sadeq Hedayat: The Life and Legend of an Iranian Writer, (London, 2002), p. 41.

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were also several women. If we exclude Vajih-al-Molk Amir Akhtiyardini’s mystical piece, Soleymân and Belqeys (1931) and Medhat Tehrâni’s adaptation of the legend of Fereydun’s sons (1932), most of these women wrote on contemporary subjects in plays that link personal and family issues to cultural and national ones and comment on the necessity of universal education and the impacts of superstitions, arranged marriage and polygamy. Seddiqe Dowlatâbâdi’s Hess‑e Mâdari yâ Zendegi-ye Târik (‘Maternal feelings or the Dark Life,’ 1929), for instance, highlights the limitations that illiteracy and patriarchy impose on the lives of Iranian women. Maleke Rahmdel’s Tamaddon‑e Nesvân (‘Women’s Civilization,’ 1926), for instance, focuses on how a girl escapes an arranged marriage with a traditional Qajar prince. Mahbube Nâhid’s Mowlânâ va Arbâb (‘Mowlânâ and the Landlord,’ 1934), on the other hand, focuses on a Tartuffe-like situation in which a superstitious landlord nearly loses everything he has by trusting an unscrupulous hypocrite who poses as a holy mystic. Or Badr Monir Alavi’s Mohassele-ye Fadâkâr (‘The Sacrificing Student,’ 1935) is about a girl who escapes to her uncle’s house to go on studying despite her foster mother’s disagreement and manages to save her foster sister after the foster mother is dead.65

9. Conclusions Between 1850 and 1941, modern drama, which was born with Âkhundzâde’s and Tabrizi’s works, went through several stages of transformation in which theater practitioners and dramatists gradually inserted the standards of Western-style drama and performance into Iran’s cultural life. The cultural and colonial encounters that led to the Constitutional Revolution and the Revolution itself played an important role in the process, particularly because most politically motivated practitioners found theater a powerful 65 For more on women playwrights, see Kâzeri, Zanân‑e namâyesh-nevis, (Tehran, 2005). For sample plays see Dowlatâbâdi’s in Mir-Ansâri and Ziyâ’i, Asnâd‑e namâyesh dar Irân, Vol. II, (Tehran, 2002), pp. 465–83.

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tool for embodying and conveying the ideas that they wished to propagate among their fellow-countrymen. Yet this was not just a political endeavor, for many of these practitioners were also engrossed by the allure of the form in which the self could embody the other to translate a multiplicity of indigenous identities into their modern counterparts. The historians of Iranian modernity and literature often overlook the importance of drama and theater as a cultural space for reformulating the culture. Or if they do pay attention to theater, they only refer to the socio-political content of a handful of plays such as Hasan Moqaddam’s Jafar Khân Has Come from Europe (1921) or Sâdeq Hedâyat’s Parvin Dokht‑e Sâsân. Thus more often than not they ignore its cultural function as a public form and its potential to transform the aesthetics of class, gender, and religious life through structural and subject experimentation. As a result, we often forget that modern drama has been since its first appearance, the bastion of experimentation from which Iranian fiction, cinema and poetry have extracted many of their new forms and ideas. As the rich array of the plays and theater performances summarized above reveals, by 1941 Iranian drama had produced many interesting plays and was on the verge of entering a new era. It only needed a relative relaxation of censorship to flourish. Numerous actors who had been trained in the Tehran Acting School and a number of dedicated directors and playwrights were already at work to enhance its standards. The semi-colonial period that followed, however, transformed the nature of performance in Iran. With the rapid transformation of life through direct encounters with Westerners in Iranian streets, the rise of cinema, the rise of political parties and the mushrooming of newspapers, most of the plays of the previous era seemed outdated and the leading practitioners, such as Nushin preferred to focus on staging translated plays. The next decade, therefore, was an age of expansion for theater rather than drama and although a great number of translated and original plays were produced in the short span between 1941 and 1953, few great plays were written. Nushin and Nasr strengthened the foundations of acting and theater in Iran. 410

CHAPTER EIGHT EARLY TWENTIETH-CENTURY JOURNALS IN IRAN: RESPONSE TO MODERNITY IN LITERARY REVIEWS Kamran Talattof

1. Introduction In Europe, following a rise in the number of books, magazines, and scholarly journals published in the early nineteenth century, literary magazines and reviews also began to flourish. As periodicals broadly concerned with literary products, literary magazines often publish short stories, poetry, essays, book announcements, biographies, and literary criticism. In Iran, by contrast, such journals, which began to appear around the turn of the twentieth century, were initially the prime vehicle for conveying reformist ideas and promoting new and Western thought, not necessarily because of the value given to didactic literature but because of the connection they made between modernization of the language and literature and modernization of the society.1 In 1909, ninety-nine new journals including newspapers and reviews were published, and while almost all of them were concerned with reform, very few dealt with literature directly.2 Substantial reports and reviews about Persian literary works began to appear a little later in the journals towards the last 1

2

For an analysis of this connection see chapter 2 “Persianism: The Ideology of Literary Revolution in the Early Twentieth Century,” The Politics of Writing in Iran: A History of Modern Persian Literature, by Kamran Talattof, (Syracuse, 2000), pp. 19–65. The Persian equivalent of a review or the French word revue would be majalle.

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decades of the Qajar dynasty (1779–1925). Still, none of these early journals could be classified as a literary journal per se, even though a great majority of them featured topics related to literature. Even if they did not proclaim any literary interest, many of their articles written about politics, civilization, and modern issues were accompanied and indeed supported by poetry either from the classical period or newly written for that purpose. They used literary genres such as poetry, folk verse, and humor to convey their social message. Because of this blurred boundary regarding the treatment of literature in the early journals, an analysis of the body of work produced by the cultural and political journals is also necessary. This chapter demonstrates that the rise of Iranian journals—particularly the ones that may be characterized as literary reviews—in fact coincided with a call for social change and modernization of the country by intellectuals who had come into contact with Western thought in Europe, Caucasia, the Ottoman territories, India, or elsewhere. This body of journalistic work and its associated literary activities were responses to the Western paradigm as the result of the increasing contacts between Iranians and the outside world. A survey of the strength as well as the shortcomings of some of the articles and entries in these journals confirms an argument I have made elsewhere that modernity and literary modernity never truly unfolded in that period and that any attempt to promote the discourse of modernity was hampered by numerous obstacles.3 One obstacle which can be detected in the issues of these journals is that religious tradition is often praised alongside the newly learned Western ideas on modernity. Furthermore, another related reason for the failure of the rise of a pervasive discourse of modernity and for the absence of a consequent successful modernization process was that any public and theoretical discussion of modern ideas and philosophies lacked the necessary academic, intellectual, and national debate over the seminal subjects of sexuality save for some scattered and discontinued efforts by a few men and women on the general ideas about gender equality. The silence of these journals 3

See Kamran Talattof, Modernity, Sexuality, and Ideology in Iran: The Life and Legacy of a Popular Female Artist, (Syracuse, 2011).

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on issues of sexuality is amazing to a modern reader; that silence allowed a fundamentalist, religious notion of sexuality to endure, imposing a medievalist notion of sexual identity on private lives.4 If applied to the notion of literary modernity, these contemplations may reveal the true nature of literary modernity as it was pursued in those very few journals which devoted some of their efforts to literary issues or in many more journals which used literary genres to promote modern ideals. These journals were published not only in Tehran and other Iranian cities but also across the diaspora communities. Even if they were published in provincial cities in Iran, they still showed an astonishing tendency toward addressing an international audience beyond Iranian borders. A good number of these publications, particularly those in newspaper format, were bilingual or even trilingual. This trend in responding to national and broader discursive issues has continued to this day. Yet, despite their global tendency, these journals did not address issues related to sexuality. Very much like the literary activities in general, literary journals had a close affinity with the dominant discursive and ideological paradigms of their times—whether religious, nationalist, or Marxist—thus causing an inconsistent pursuit of modernity. Nevertheless, they were not highly professional, disciplinary, entrepreneurial, or related to the concerns of their community. Later, a number of journals such as Tarbiyat, Pârs, Adab, Nasim‑e Shomâl, Armaghân, and Dâneshkade (a more recent publication), which were more inclined to feature literary works and issues, appeared on the scene with more connection to the readers and more aspiration to professionalism. These have often been referred to by scholars and historian as literary journals, but as we will see, except and, only to some extent, for Pârs, Armaghân, and Dâneshkade, such a designation might not be completely accurate. They were only able to create a connection between the literary elite and their readers in the context of the need for social change. A good number of journals (often short-lived) were published by literary associations (often named after their literary activists 4

Ibid.

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who founded them) in the following periods that promised to focus on literature proper.5 Indeed, it seems that the appearance of the literary associations and societies was a prerequisite for the appearance of highly focused literary journals. A review of the contents of these journals also confirms the arguments that their concerns were intellectual, that they reacted to their social and historical situation, and that they responded to the introduction of modernity, and that their response was not a whole hearted adaptation of the original ideas of modernity such as rationalism, individual sovereignty, political equality, sexual equality, and sexual identity. In some cases, the relation to their associations resembles that of a party and its official organ. In all cases, sexuality was not discussed. 5

For example, in Isfahan, Dâneshkade was published by the Dâneshkade Association established by Abbâs Sheydâ in 1913 and Akhtar was published by a group led by Adib Farahmand in 1926; Ghonche by the Sâ’eb Association led by Hamid Mosaddeq in 1956; Golhâ-ye zâyande rud by Sa’di Anjoman led by Ahmad Ghafurzâde in 1966; and Nâme sokhanvarân-e Sepâhân by Sarâ-ye Sokhanvarân, established by the Ministry of Education in 1970. In Tabriz, Omid was published by Loqmâniye in 1901. Taqizâde cooperated with this association. Adab was published by Mohammadiye Association in 1920 with the cooperation of Yahyâ Âryanpur. Ganjine Ma’ âref was published by Majma-ye Adab in 1922. Mahtâb was published by the Âzarbayejân Association, and Gh. Râdi Âzarakhshi worked with it. Armaghân‑e adab was published by the Shahriyâr Association. In Tehran, Dâneshkade was published by an association by the same name in 1919. Such experts as Sa’id Nafisi, Rashid Yâsami, and Ebrâhim Olfat wrote for the journal. Armaghân was published by the Iran Society in 1920 under the supervision of Hasan Vahid Dastegerdi and with the cooperation of Malek al-Sho’arâ Bahâr. It was the official journal of the Hakim Nezâmi (the twelfth-century Iranian poet) Society in 1932, which was established by Vahid Dastgerdi and in cooperation with Rahi Mo’ayeri. Âfâq was created by the Dâneshvarân Society in 1921. Bâgh‑e Sâ’eb was established by the Sâ’eb Association in 1959. Qalam was published by the Qalam Association under the leadership of Z. Rahnamâ and with the cooperation of Nafisi, Hekmat, and Hashtrudi in 1960. The Vahid Association published the journal Vahid in 1964. The Farhang Association published Farhang in 1915, edited by Hoseyn Judat. See also Yahyâ Âryanpur, Az Sabâ tâ Nimâ; and Mohammad Sadr Hâshemi, Târikh‑e jarâ’ed va majallât‑e Irân (Isfahan, 1985). Many other cities including Shiraz, Qom, Kermânshâh, Rasht, and Mashhad had at one point or another a literary association which also published a literary journal.

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2. Early Literary Journals Iran during the late Qajar period was suffering from numerous social, cultural, and political problems. Disastrous military defeats, assassinations, fierce competition for control of the policy, cultural backwardness, and incompetence of the traditional forces who were controlling all aspects of life are just a few examples given by historians. Traditional writers, preoccupied with imitating the great poets of the classical period, failed to address the urgent questions of their time. The journals (including those with an interest in literature) of this period only addressed these problems as they promoted some ideas derived from Western modernity as substitutes for the dysfunctional social system, even though it was Nâser-alDin Shah himself who first ordered the publication of newspapers. Some of these journals were written in beautiful handwriting by such calligraphers as Rezâ Kalhor and accompanied by the drawings of such artists as Sani-al-Molk.6 The universalist character of the journals was stronger in the beginning. In the early period and since “newspapers” appeared first in 1837, the dailies and monthlies, whether featuring politics, news, or literature, reflected an international characteristic.7 They sometimes published materials in more than one language and 6

7

For more information on these aspects of Persian journalism and their historical circumstances, see the following sources. Sadr Hâshemi, Târikh‑e jarâ’ed va majallât‑e Irân; Nâser al-Din Parvin, Târikh‑e ruznâme-negâri-​ ye Irâniyân va digar Pârsi-nevisân, (Tehran, 1988); Zahrâ Bâqeriyân Nezhâd Isfahâni, Ruznâme va ruznâme-negâri dar Irân, (Isfahan, 1992); Farid Qâsemi, Târikh‑e ruznâme-negâri-ye Irân: majmu’e-ye maqâlât, (Tehran, 2000); Kâve Bayât, Asnâd‑e matbu’ ât, 1286–1320 H. Sh., (Tehran, 1993); Sayyed Farid Qâsemi, Râhnamâ-ye matbu’ ât‑e Irân, (Tehran, 1992); and Sayyed Mohammad Mohit Tabâtabâ’i, Târikh‑e tahlili-ye matbu’ ât‑e Irân, (Tehran, 1997). Also, a special issue of Irân-nâme included many scholarly articles on the history of Persian journalism; Irân-nâme, Vol. 16., No. 2 and 3, (Spring and Summer 1998). In his book on history of journalism by Iranians and other Persian speakers, Nâser-al-Din Parvin has provided substantial information about journals published in India, Bengal, the Ottoman Turkey, Egypt, Afghanistan, Caucasia, and France. Ibid.

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were ­distributed almost simultaneously in more than one country.8 Other common characteristics of these journals were their preoccupation with Western ideas, the concept of progress, and their attempt to understand the ideas of modernity. Obviously, a very few journals such as Oqiyânus, Ey Mollâ Amu, Fekr, and Ordu-ye Homâyun also supported the ruling autocracy. Nevertheless, the circulation of any of these journals, which numbered around eighty-six around the turn of the nineteenth century, is not known to have passed three thousand.9 Aside from a few well-known but small and temporary official or non-governmental publications (such as the newspapers Vaqâ-ye Ettefâqiye and Ruznâme-ye Dowlat‑e Elliye-ye Irân), Akhtar (named after its founder and editor) is the first and a relatively long-lasting journal that began its publication around 1875 in Istanbul and claimed an interest in literature. But in reality, it did not dedicate more space to literature than other early journals which did not have such claims including Ruznâme-ye Mellat‑e Saniyye Irân (known also as Ruznâme-ye Mellati), Pârs, Tarbiyat, Adab, Mo’âref (published by an association with the same name), and Bahâr. Some of these were short-lived, however. In 1866, Ruznâme-ye Mellati published thirty-four issues on an inconsistent schedule and featured articles about classical and contemporary Persian poets who wrote in the classical style. However, Âkhundzâde wrote an article entitled “Qeritika” (Critique) in which he offered an evaluation of the journal and criticized many of its aspects from a nationalist and modernist point of view.10 He even criticized the use of the picture of a mosque as an emblem for the journal. He wrote, “A mosque is not an inclusive Iranian   8 The first newspaper was published in 1838; it had two sections: one on the East and one on the West covering some news of Iran, Turkey, and Arab societies. Ruznâme-ye elmiye-ye dowlat‑e elliye-ye Irân published materials in Persian, Arabic, and French. The literary journal Pârs was entirely bilingual, writing in Persian and French. Some, like Hekmat, which began publication around the turn of the twentieth century, had subscriptions in places as far away as the United States.   9 See sources in notes above. 10 It was written on 25 March 1871. See M. Âkhundzâde, Maktubât, (Mard‑e Emruz, 1985).

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cultural product. … On the contrary, the ancient architectural heritage such as Persepolis is.”11 He goes on to criticize the editor for providing too much information about the background “an insignificant” poet published in that issue, and he provides a structural analysis of one of his poems which resembled the work of many others who wrote in the classical style at that time. “The poem,” Âkhundzâde wrote, “lacks beauty in the word choice and beauty in content, and it suffers from bad rhyming and rhythm.”12 Even though the editor wrote a reply to the author of the essay, the newspaper never published it. One would think that perhaps the fate of that journal, and by extension Persian literary reviews, would have been somewhat different in the following years if that self-censorship had not occurred. The exchange could have given rise to an open debate about the intellectual cause, nationalism, the role of Islam, modernity, and freedom of expression in that decade. In fact, Iraj Parsinejad states that the essay was the first literary criticism in its modern sense in that it moved away from the traditional discussion of solely literary figures or prosody.13 This is in line with Âkhundzâde’s frequent statements appearing in his Maktubât, where he praises Ferdowsi as a true poet, European progress as a model, and denounces religion as superstition. Tarbiyat, a weekly established by Mohammad-Ali Tarbiyat, a man of letters, education, and culture and managed by Mohammad Hoseyn Khân Forughi (known as Zokâ-al-Molk), was published during Mozaffar-al-Din Shah’s reign from 16 December 1896 to 14 March 1907. Other prominent men of letters contributed to this journal. It too had an eye on its international readers; it gave the price of the journal for not only Iran but also Europe, Ottoman territories, and Egypt on the very top of each issue. 11 Iraj Afshar, Nasr‑e Fârsi-ye Mo’ âser, (Tehran, 1951). 12 Ibid. 13 Iraj Parsinejad, Mirza Fath Ali Akhundzadeh and Literary Criticism, (Tokyo, 1988). One may also count Mirzâ Âqâ-Khan Kermâni, Malkam-Khan, Zeyn-al-Abedin Marâghe’i, Abd-al-Rahim Tâlebof, Abbâs Eqbâl Âshtiyâni, Mohammad-Taqi Bahâr, and Fâteme Sayyâh among the pioneers who showed interest in modern literary criticism.

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E. G. Browne in his discussion of Tarbiyat states that Persian literary activities just after the turn of the century belonged to two categories: the field of political and patriotic poetry, and the field of Persian journalism (press). He particularly mentions Bahâr (in Mashhad), Sur‑e Esrâfil, and Irân‑e Now as containing excellent verses.14 Indeed, most of Tarbiyat’s writings, including those in this journal, can be perceived as some of the earliest modern literary criticism. However, here too, a broader cause seems to have been the incentive behind the publication of Tarbiyat. In its very first issue, the editor writes:

‫هر کس حرفی سودمند داشته باشد بوسیله این جریده میتواند بگوید و در راه حب وطن گامی و‬ .‫ این ورقه مشتمل بر هر گونه مطلب مفید است‬.‫راهی بپوید‬ Anyone who has anything beneficial to say can say it through this journal and take a step on the path of love for nation. This journal includes every useful topics.15

In fact, the first article after the announcement of the publication of the journal is about the cure that Europeans had found for the plague (pestilence). Yet, every issue expresses an interest in religion, which sometimes is enunciated in religious poetry. Also, some of the articles seem to be there just by chance. To give an example, the first page of No. 300, published 10 December 1903, has the usual logo consisting of the Arabic words “Hova-al-Mo’in” (He is the help) in the masthead.16 Alongside the usual information about the journal, it includes two short maxims. The first starts with this simplistic axiom: “If one has wealth, he is required to protect it and if he does not have wealth, he needs to acquire it”17 and then elaborates upon this statement. This is followed by a simple description of “Qal’a-ye Hamra” (the Red Castle), mostly through reference to a medieval book.18 In a later issue, the journal tries to provide a comparison between the ethics of Iran and Europe but fails to 14 E. G. Browne, The Press and Poetry of Modern Persia, (Cambridge, 1914). 15 “Elan,” Tarbiyat, Vol. 1, No. 1, (December 1901), p. 1. 16 Tarbiyat, Vol. 6, No. 300, (December 1903), p. 1. 17 Ibid. 18 Ibid.

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provide substantial information even judged by the standard of its own time. Perhaps the only dictum which might have had some functional use at the time was its statement that “despite personal differences and animosities, Europeans are united when it comes to their national exigencies.”19 Despite some scholars’ view that Tarbiyat was a major literary outlet and despite the background of its contributors, an examination of its various issues indicates that it hardly focused on poetry, prose, or literary criticism at all. In contrast to other journals, which used poetry as a means to criticize the social condition, Tarbiyat mostly wrote in an old style of prose. When it focused on literature, it showed a strong religious sentimentality that eclipsed literary aspects. For example, one entire issue (No. 7) was devoted to the publication of two long poems in praise of the Shi’ite twelfth Imam.20 It did occasionally feature book announcements, but the books were often not literary in nature. Overall, in addition to its strong conservative religious tone, its writing style was also antiquated and traditional, and its reformist ideas aligned somewhat with those of the ruling governments. This style was maintained even when an article praised Europe’s or Japan’s modern achievements. It published original poems by contemporary poets, but these too often belonged to the genre of eulogy. The quality of the print improves toward the end of the journal’s life, but it retained its plain format to the end. Nonetheless, Tarbiyat occasionally featured creative writings and translations of Western fiction. It also presented medical news and medical advice. Some issues start with an entry that supposedly quotes a French scientist on some moral, esthetical, or scientific matter. Other issues feature a serialized article entitled Tahzib al-Akhlâq (‘Refinement of Morals’), a type of writing which was in vogue at that time in Iran, India, and other Muslim societies to promote reform and awareness of modern topics. Thus, contrary to some who believe this journal was important from a literary point of view, a study of its numerous issues indicate that historical, social, and political, and religious topics feature 19 Tarbiyat, Vol. 9, No. 397, (10 May 1906), p. 1. 20 Sadr Hâshemi, Târikh‑e jarâ’ed, Vol. II, Isfahan, 1948–53, p. 116.

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more prominently than literature. And no doubt, it avoided any mention of any issues related to sexuality or, even, gender relations. As a Persian-French journal and a more substantial publication than Akhtar in terms of the size and number of pages, Pârs began its publication in Istanbul in 1921 with help from Khân Malek Sâsâni. Its aim was to “inform Westerners about Persian literary works.” It was a novel concept to publish a bilingual journal (Persian and French in Istanbul) twice a month, each issue containing thirty-two pages with so narrow a purpose as the promotion of Persian literature and “providing westerners with fresh materials” from the “gardens of Persian letters.”21 A. Lâhuti (and A. Nowruz) edited the Persian segment of the journal, and H. Moqaddam was responsible for the French part. It published not only classical Persian poetry but also new poems by rather obscure poets from different parts of Iran. The French section brought together materials from a number of different genres including French poetry, criticism, translation, and plays. In one of its inaugural issues we read: In order for the western nations to benefit from Persian literary works and for the eastern nations to benefit from western literary thoughts, for the first time a bilingual journal in Persian and French will be published in Istanbul, the crossroad of East and West. On the one hand, it will feature research about the works of poets and scientists of the past which can benefit our own people as well as foreigners and by introducing contemporary poets and literary activists to the literary world to save their work from being forgotten and by publishing western literary works in the world conquering Persian language. On the other hand, to enliven the exhausted literary sprits of the West, it offers the pleasant gift of old and new Persian literature to help them to enliven their body and spirit in the garden of Persian literature.22

Pârs then went on to publish thirty-two-page issues bimonthly. Hasan Moqadam, a politician, worked with Abu’l-Qâsem Lâhuti, a poet and activist, editing it and perhaps also with the administrative affairs of the journal. In addition to these Western-­ 21 Akhtar, p. 1. Also, Vatan and Sedâ-ye Irân were published in French with the aim of promoting Iranian culture abroad. 22 Pârs, No. 1, (1300 HS), p. 1.

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educated politicians and literary scholars, a few other authors such as Hoseyn-Qoli Kalhor, Mirzâ Sâlek, Mirzâ Bidel, Heydar Ali Kamâli, Fasih-al-Molk, Tohid Vesâl, and Mirzâ Delmaqâni published their work in the journal. Apparently, it also enjoyed the cooperation of Luis Boura and André Gide. A look at the background of these activists and thinkers confirms the journal’s broader intellectual preoccupation with the problematics of the introduction of the concept of modernity. More than other journals in that early period, Pârs indeed devoted more space to literature, but it too focused on social issues in the light of the debates about modernity.23 In that regard, the journals Irân, Vatan, Zabân‑e Âzâd, Tamaddon, Sedâ-ye Irân, Estakhr, Golestân, Bahârestân, Asr‑e Âzâdi, Râh‑e Nejât, Akhgar, Dâneshgâh, Gol‑e Zard, and Farhang, published in different provincial cities in Iran, were also effective in determining the course of literary activities over the following decades, as they too were preoccupied with literature as a vehicle for debate on the broader social issues. They commonly displayed a desire for literary modernity that was less concerned with petit politics but was more interested in grander ideas of change. In fact, because they were published regionally, in communities smaller than Tehran, these journals could not have been less involved with national politics. However, like most national journals, they were concerned with the intellectual issues related to modernization of the country and culture and of course without paying attention to any aspect of sexuality or gender discrimination. Like other Persianists of their time, they purposely published their materials in a spoken or simplified language, believing that they could reach a wider readership among the ordinary people for whom the 23 Other journals with the same pattern of representation include the shortlived lithographic journals of this time, Eblâgh, Ehtiyâj, and Ahsan al-Akhbâr va Tohfat al-Akhbâr. Only Eblâgh mentions that it will publish articles that may benefit the Iranian civilization. This includes the journals published in provincial capitals such al-Hadid, which was first published in 1897. It changed its name to Mojâhed, Irân‑e Now in subsequent years and to Adâlât after the Constitutional Revolution. Examples of the journals of this time published in Europe and elsewhere outside Iran were Qânun, Hekmat, Sorayâ, and Parvaresh. They all helped foster the rise of the constitutional revolutionary discourse.

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official language of the court and the ruling elite was not easily comprehensible.24

3. Journals of the Constitutional and Post-Constitutional Period As the early journals helped the rise of the constitutional revolutionary movement, which led to the establishment of a parliament, the revolution too fostered the rise of numerous new journals which benefited from the relative freedom of expression wrought by the revolutionary condition. There were too many of them to mention here, but it can be said that, because of the exigencies of the time, most of them focused on political issues related to parliamentary ideas, law, and civilization; and yes, they used poetry as a favorite medium of expression. For example, Bahârestân expressed much political and social criticism and anti-British sentiment through poetic expressions (as well as literary prose) in almost all of its published issues. Such enunciations eventually caused the closure of the journal by post-constitutional authorities. At this time too, many journals maintained their international character and were published in one place and read in many other places, while preoccupied even more extensively with the issues of reform and the state of modernity. This was the time of growth in journalism because most of the national debates occurred in the pages of magazines, monthlies, weeklies, dailies, and even nightly tracts.25 Of those paying some attention to literature and literary 24 Nâser-al-Din Parvin has discussed the use of such simplified language by looking at Sherâfat journal. See Nâser-al-Din Parvin, “Dar bâre-ye kârbord‑e zabân‑e mohâvere dar ruznâme-ha va mo’arrefi-ye ruznâme-ye sherâfat,” Irânshenâsi, Vol. VIII, No. 3, (Autumn 1996), pp. 518–33. 25 The reformist and universalist characteristics of the journals of this period were evident in the publications outside Tehran as well. Chehrenamâ (published in Egypt since 1904) was read in all Persian-speaking communities. The cities of Mashhad with its Now Bahâr (1910) and Samarqand with its Ayene (since 1913) contributed to the proliferation of new literary ideas. Now Bahâr was published by Malek al-Sho’arâ Bahâr and named after an

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modernity, Habl-al-Matin, Ta’âtr, and Sur‑e Esrâfil were most prominent.26 For example, Habl-al-Matin (published first in 1893 in Calcutta in India and later with branches in Tehran and Rasht) continued its circulation after the Constitutional Revolution in an area stretching from Iran to Tajikistan.27 Often the entries included a couple of lines from famous poets such as Sa’di and Hâfez. Mo’ayad-al-Eslâm, the publisher of Habl-al-Matin, also proposed to create places in Iran where people could assemble to read this journal. These places later were known as Qarâ’at-khâne (the house of reading) where journals were placed for free access.28 A consistent theme in Habl-al-Matin, introduced in the very first issue, was its denunciation of ethical corruption.29 In an uncanny way, the situation portrayed fourteen volumes later, resembles some descriptions of Iran today in terms of the crisis in ethics and spirituality while journalism still continues to thrive despite all limitations. It reads, Ethical and moral corruptions have deprived Iranians from their rights, have divided the clergy, have distanced us from humanity, have given primacy to self interest, have caused decline in our ­religiosity, have expelled the love of nation from hearts, have given a bad taste to national pride and to religious rule, have caused the earlier Constitutional-era journal published in Mashhad with great promises which it could not deliver during its short life. For information on these journals, see Sadr Hâshemi, Târikh‑e jarâ’ed, Vol. II, pp. 190, 194. 26 For detailed information about Sur‑e Esrâfil, see Sorour Soroudi, “Sur‑e Esrâfil, 1907–08: Social and Political Ideology,” Middle Eastern Studies, Vol. 24, No. 2, (Apr. 1988), pp. 230–48. 27 Sadr Hâshemi, Târikh‑e jarâ’ed, Vol. II, pp. 200, 213. In addition to Sadr Hâshemi’s work on the history of Iranian journalism, see also, Nâser-alDin Parvin, Târikh‑e ruznâme-negâri-ye Irâniyân va digar Pârsi nevisân, (Tehran, 1988); Zahrâ Bâqeriyân-Nezhâd Isfahani, Ruznâme va ruznâme-negâri dar Irân, (Isfahan, 1992); Farid Qâsemi, Târikh‑e ruznâmenegâri-ye Irân: Majmu’e-ye maqâlât, (Tehran, 2000); Kâveh Bayât, Asnâd‑e matbu’ ât, 1286–1320 H. Sh., (Tehran, 1993); Sayyed Farid Qâsemi, Râhnamâ-ye matbu’ ât‑e Irân, (Tehran, 1992); and Sayyed Mohammad Mohit Tabâtabâ’i, Târikh‑e tahlili-ye matbu’ ât‑e Irân, (Tehran, 1997). 28 See Rezâ Hushmand, “Qarâ’at khâne-hâye Irân” in Ketâb‑e mâh, no. 86 and 98, Bahman and Esfand 1383, pp. 146–48. 29 See Habl-al-matin, Vol. 14, No. 1, p. 5.

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LITERATURE OF THE EARLY TWENTIETH CENTURY nation to hate the government and the government to despise the nation, have forced the government to concede to foreign powers, have enforced the foreign intervention, and have caused the government to look like this.30

During this period, a journal that had thus far identified itself with literature, Adab, was published in three different cities at separate times. It was established in Tabriz by Mohammad Sâdeq Amiri (Adib-al-Mamâlek), who also later edited two other journals in Tehran. Being a prolific poet, he published some of his own work in various issues of the journal.31 A weekly entitled Adab was published in Mashhad during 1900–1902 using a primitive format and with no typesetting. In addition to Mashhad, it was distributed in other cities in Iran and in India, Russia, the Ottoman Empire, and Europe. In addition to poetry and simple literary discussions, it covered the historiography of not only Iran but also other countries. The discussion of other countries was often for the purpose of comparison with Iran and the promotion of the ideas of reform. For example, a long serialized article in the first issues (which were only eight pages long each) states that “in America, you cannot find a five-year-old girl who cannot read and write.”32 This positive and idealistic view of the West is reflected in many of the articles and reports. In another wishful entry, upon reporting on the Shah’s visit to Europe, a piece reads, “there is no doubt that after the Shah’s visit to Europe, all the necessary means for our country’s progress will be provided.”33 Not only do some of these entries include poetic expression in support of the article’s main idea but also they sometimes include separate short poems which appear among the entries. In November 1898 in Tabriz, a journal came into existence entitled Jaride-ye adab, which was published three times a month for about eight years. Despite being described as a scientific journal, it held literary significance for publishing poetry and for its own 30 31 32 33

Habl-al-matin, Vol. 14, No. 1, p. 5. Sadr Hâshemi, Târikh‑e jarâ’ed, Vol. I, p. 80. Adab, (Mashhad, 1900), p. 2. Adab, (Mashhad, 1900), p. 7.

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beautiful style of writing and handwriting. It remained highly religious and connected to the ruling elite in Tabriz and the court of the Qajar Crown Prince which was always located in Tabriz. It promoted reformist religious ideas by discussing philosophical, literary, and cultural topics. Under the authority of Loqmân-al-Dowle, the president of the Loqmân School, the journal soon changed its name to simply Adab. It extended its readership to places as far away as the United States and featured news from America on a regular basis. Throughout its existence, until 11 July 1906, it went through minor changes as it continued publishing “scientific, literary, political, commercial, and historical items that are not against religion and state.”34 Sur‑e esrâfil (published weekly between 30 April 1907 and 20 June 1908) was perhaps the most popular of this era’s newspapers.35 As many have reported, it was read by ordinary people during the critical time of revolution and political upheavals. After the murder of its manager, Jahângir Khân Sur-e Esrâfil, which occurred when the newly established parliament was bombarded by the state and its foreign supporters, the journal resumed publication in Switzerland under the leadership of Ali-Akbar Dehkhodâ (1879–1956). While the three issues published in exile were radically critical of the regime and social conditions, they also published poetry and reviews of classical works. The contributors, including the prominent Dehkhodâ, began to use an even more accessible variety of Persian styles for the masses in writing both poetry and prose in order to encourage criticism of social problems, realizing the wish of the editor of Ma’âref in its first issue when it asked for contributions to be devoid of literary mistakes, figurative exaggerations, and formalistic flatteries (aghlât‑e lafziye va eghrâghât‑e ma’naviye, va tamaloqât‑e rasmiye).36 An example of what Sur‑e Esrâfil 34 Jaride-ye adab (Tabriz, 1898), p. 1. 35 Its publication was interrupted when the newly created Parliament was bombarded by the Qajar government and just before one of its founder/editors, Mirzâ Jahângir Khan, was executed. The journal managed to publish three more issues in Switzerland during the time Dehkhodâ was living in exile. 36 Sadr Hâshemi, Târikh‑e jarâ’ed, Vol. III, p. 129.

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published in the light of its effort to reform the language is Dehkhodâ’s own poem entitled “Vatan” (homeland):

‫كه در لانه ماكيان برده دست‬ ‫ چو خون از رگ �آن دم جهيد‬،‫كه اشكم‬ ‫وطن داری �آموز از ماكيان‬

‫هنوزم زخردی به خاطر در اس‬ ‫ت‬ ‫به منقارم �آن سان به سختی گزيد‬ ‫پدر خنده بر گريه ام زد كه هان‬

I remember from my childhood I reached into a bird nest The bird bit my finger, it bled causing me to shed tears As I cried, my father laughed and said learn from the birds how to love your nation.

Though the poem uses some of the old motives and metaphors, its theme is novel, as is the allegorical approach to addressing a rather contemporary fixation. And even though the poem follows classical prosody, it does modify it to make the rhyming system simpler and shorter. It represents the styles of many such poems written in that period.37 However, as Soroudi explains, the progress in Persian language and literature was another indicator by which Dehkhodâ and Sur‑e Esrâfil gauged “the excellence or deterioration of a society.”38 As mentioned, hundreds of journals were published in provincial capitals all over the country.39 For example, Nasim‑e Shomâl, published in Rasht by Sayyed Ashraf Gilâni, can be considered a literary journal in a broad sense because it featured poetry as

37 Âref Qazvini (1882–1934) also wrote on a similar theme. His poem published reads: ‫اندر وطن كسی كه ندارد وطن منم �آن كس كه هيچ كس نشود مثل من منم‬ Mohammad-Taqi Bahâr (Malek al-Sho’arâ) also wrote on this topic:

‫ وطن در خطر است‬،‫ت ای وطن خواهان زنهار‬ ‫بلبل شيفته خوب سخن در خطر اس‬ ‫خانه ات يكسره ويرانه شد ای ايران ی مسكن لشكر بيگانه شد ای ايرانی‬

38 Sorour Soroudi, “Sur‑e Esrâfil, 1907–08: Social and Political Ideology.” 39 Referring to Edward Browne and Rabino, Yahyâ Âryanpur mentions that the number was significantly larger than Browne’s recorded 371. Some believe that after Tehran, Orumiye, Tabriz, and Shiraz were the first cities in which local journals were published. See Sayyed Farid Qâsemi, “Ruz­ nâmche-ye matbu’ât,” Bokhârâ, No. 3 (November 1998), pp. 168–71.

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much as social criticism and humor.40 It began its publication in September 1907 and after a period of being banned, it began to be published in Tehran in 1915.41 Having written humorous poetry with nationalistic themes, Gilâni was an iconic figure in that critical post-constitutional period. One of the reasons for the popularity of his poetry was its simplicity, to the extent that people of all walks of life could read and enjoy it. It was sometimes read by groups of people in public places.42 Along with Iraj Mirzâ and Dehkhodâ, Gilâni played a role in informing people of the social and political situation through his humor. One of his poems reads,

‫درد ایران بی‏دواست‬ ‫درد ایران بی دواست‬

‫دوش می‏گفت این سخن دیوانه‏ای بی‏باز خواست‬ ‫ که از دیوانه بشنو حرف راست‬:‫عاقلی گفتا‬

Last night, a madman was saying quite freely: “there is no remedy to Iran’s malady.” A wise man said: “hear the truth from the madman, there really is no remedy to Iran’s malady.”

Indeed this poem too breaks away from the restrictions of the classical period particularly with regard to its nationalistic themes, epitomizing the situation created after the contact between Iranian intellectuals and Western modernity through which lens they would see their society’s problems. However, such thinkers went only that far and could not offer a systematic and comprehensive alternative presentation of the discourse on modernity. Sayyed Ashraf Gilâni, who also wrote under other pennames, is a good example because his poetry often condemned the feudal landowners and their foreign supporters and offered a defense of the downtrodden social groups in their struggles. He aptly discussed society’s ills, but he never conveyed any substantial argument about the core meanings of the project of modernity. In order to escape the accusation of being an infidel by the religious establishment, 40 For a discussion of humor and satire in the Constitutional Press, see Ali Gheissari, “Tanz dar matbu’ât‑e dowre-ye mashrutiyat,” Irân-nâme, Vol. 23, No. 3–4, (Fall and Winter 2007), pp. 333–53. 41 Sadr Hâshemi, Târikh‑e jarâ’ed, Vol. IV, p. 295. 42 Yahyâ Reyhân, Majalle-ye yaghmâ, (Shahrivar, 1339).

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he and his like often also ended up defending their centuries-old religious paradigms rather than shattering or remolding these in modern ways as well. One issue of Nasim‑e Shomâl features a line in large font reading

.‫ما به هیچکس و به هیچ حزبی متکی نیستیم بجز خدای بزرگ‬ We rely on nobody and no party except on great God.43

Was that very necessary? Did not Âkhundzâde become popular despite his secularism? It might not even be too much to expect those intellectuals to address some aspects of sexuality. After all, Iraj Mirzâ soon came up with a contemporary discourse on lewd (and thus futile) sexuality, and his career survived. So whether these journals could be considered literary reviews per se or not, they did help fill a gap between the literary elite’s mode of thinking and the general readership’s need for change, and they could only go so far. It was, after all, the first time that poetry (now concerned with contemporary social issues such as homeland, education, politics, freedom, social justice, and to a lesser extent in some women’s journals with gender equality) was disseminated on such a massive scale; poetry was no longer produced for the consumption of the court or the literary elite itself. It was with that realization that Mohammad-Ali Shah’s government embarked on an attack on the journals and the press following its bombardment of the newly created parliament. This caused the intellectuals and journalists to disperse rapidly. Some, such as Mirzâ Jahângir Sur‑e Esrâfil, were murdered; he died in a garden, apparently on the order of the Shah. Others, such as Mosâvât and Dehkhodâ, went into self-imposed exile. However, the attack on freedom of speech did not last long, at least in that case. After the fall of Mohammad-Ali Shah in 1909, the intellectuals returned to their work and began publishing the same journals or new ones including many, again, in the provincial capitals. It is in this period that we witness the birth of what can be considered true literary reviews in their most contemporary sense. 43

Nasim‑e Shomâl, No. 1, (30 May 1943), p. 1.

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Indeed, the word majalle at that time seems to have been considered an equivalent for the French word revue. In the first decades of the twentieth century, a few such journals with the word adab (belles-lettres, literature) in their titles were published in Tehran (Majalle Adabi by Sa’d-al-Molk and al-Adab which later changed its name to Ferdowsi), Kermân (Majalle Adab by Ahmad Ruhi), and Tabriz (Majalle Adabi by a group of high school students and edited by Yahyâ Âriyanpur). The Tehran-based al-Adab began publication in 1918. Despite its name, the journal devoted its pages to non-literary subjects. al-Adab was published by Mirzâ Mohammad Vafâdâr in Tehran, who changed its name to Ferdowsi. The journal recruited contributions from students at the American School for Higher Education.44 However, it was Tehran’s Armaghân that gained a significantly high status. Armaghân was published in January of 1911 on a monthly basis. Hasan Vahid Dastgerdi (as well as Hoseyn Sâne’i and Mirzâ Na’imi) worked with this journal, and it became one of the most long-lasting literary journals ever published in Iran, ceasing publication only after the 1979 Revolution.45 The journal chose a moderate approach to social change and political problems and pioneered the publication of a number of articles that dealt with prosody, prose writing, aesthetics, and translation issues. Dastgerdi was certainly a unique literary figure in terms of his modern approaches toward classical literature and editorial work on classical masterpieces. To this day, I believe, his method in editing Nezâmi Ganjavi’s Five Treasures (Panj Ganj) seems fresh and quite objective. He also contributed to editorial works on the writings of Rumi, Bâbâ Tâher, and Owhâdi. His contemporary approaches helped to direct the publication of the journal even after his death in 1943.46 Dastgerdi had also founded two literary associations, Anjoman‑e Adabi-ye Irân and Anjoman‑e Hakim Nezâmi, and he 44 Sadr Hâshemi, Târikh‑e jarâ’ed, Vol. IV, p. 64. Y. Armajani, Encyclopædia Iranica, s. v. Alborz College. 45 Sadr Hâshemi, Târikh‑e jarâ’ed, Vol. I, p. 121. 46 See Yahyâ Âryanpur, Az Sabâ tâ Nimâ, Vol. II, pp. 322–25, 423–29; and Sadr Hâshemi, Târikh‑e jarâ’ed, Vol. I, pp. 121–36.

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used his journal Armaghân as a forum for literary exchange among the members of these literary societies. The range of the topics the magazine featured was very wide, covering not only classical literature but also history, social affairs, modern science, and technology, as well as issues related to health, nutrition, and medicine. As in previous cases, many of these topics were expressed in a poetic manner or supported by poetic expressions. Even the announcement of the publication of the journal in its first issue was written in verse. These three lines from the entry stand out:47

‫چاپار سروش �آسمانی �آورد به خاکش ارمغانی‬ ‫ور گنج دگر کسان گشاید هم صاحب گنج را نماید‬ ‫بسم‌الله اگر حریف مائی‬ ‫مائیم و نوای بی‌نوائی‬ The heavenly courier brought to earth a gift If the journal presented other works it would acknowledge their authors. It is me, tune, and indigence come forward if you are a rival.

In the first line, the meaning of the word armaghân as a gift is played out, and the second line concisely sets out a policy for the journal. The poem is written in Nezâmi Ganjavi’s style, and in fact the third line is from Nezâmi’s Leyli and Majnun, playing brilliantly on the word navâ. Many articles in Armaghân come close to being perceived as book reviews or criticism. For example, an article by Yasrebi praises Nafisi’s book on Rudaki but also offers an extensive list of the mistaken translations of Arabic texts in the book.48 An analysis of other entries in subsequent issues of Armaghân demonstrates the nature of literary reviews in the post-constitutional period and perhaps even the reason behind the longevity of this particular journal. The article after the announcement is entitled “Poetry and Poet,” and in it, the author presents a philosophy of poetry based on a mix of views belonging to Plato, The Koran, 47 Armaghân, Vol. I, No. 1, (1919), p. 1. 48 Armaghân, Vol. XXII, No. 3, (1921).

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Nezâmi, and Aristotle, all of which are featured in Nezâmi’s works. In doing so, the article expands on the meaning of poet to include such speakers and writers as orators, educators, and even scientists.49 The next entry is a humorous piece but very much based upon literary issues. However, after that, there is a serious article on the history of Persian literature entitled “The Four Literary Periods.” Its author, Vahid Dastgerdi, believes that because of the dominance of the Arab caliphs, the history of Persian literature before Islam became obscured.50 He referred to the first three Islamic centuries as the centuries of “literary autumn,” very much like the concept of “two centuries of silence” later promoted by ‘Abd-al-Hoseyn Zarrinkub. The article includes the analysis and exemplification of a few definitions/concepts of classical Persian literature which are used to explain each of these periods. In this part, the journal seems to be interested in structural theories and analyses. One of these “periods” is named “Asr‑e Ertehâl” (era of displacement or decline), which the articles states started in the fourteenth century. In this period, the poets appropriated the earlier poets’ work without giving them credit. To explain this, the author offers the following anecdote.

‫دلقک مشغله غزل معروفی را از خواجه بنام خویش در مجلس ناصرالدین شاه خواند گفتند این‬ ‫غزل را از خواجه دزدیده ای گفت نه چنین است بلکه خواجه از من دزدیده گفتند تو در زمان‬ .‫خواجه نبودی گفت اگر بودم نمیگذاشتم بدزدد‬ The working clown at the court of Nâser-al-Din Shah recited a famous Ghazal poem by Hâfez as his own. They told him that he had stolen the poem from Hâfez. He replied, “This is not so. In fact Hâfez has stolen it from me.” They said you did not exist at the time of Hâfez. He replied, “If I existed, I would not have let him steal my poem.”51

The article goes on to describe and exemplify the other periods or eras which many may contest by today’s findings and views of the history of Persian literature. 49 Ibid., p. 6. 50 Ibid., p. 12. 51 Ibid.

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The next sections include the presentation of “the works of the contemporaries,” a piece on morality translated from French, a segment of the Book of Ardashir, a short history of photography, a piece on the nation’s wealth, and a medical article on health. The article on wealth, entitled “Wealth is the Soul of a Nation,” confirms a positive and optimistic notion of nationalism (a sort of manifestation of love for nation rather than ardent prejudice against imagined enemies) that the journal is also trying to promote through literary endeavors and by emphasizing the use and improvement of material as well as the human resources of the country. These subjects also appear in the next volumes and indeed throughout the life of the journal. Occasionally, other new topics and themes appear as well. For example, Dastgerdi made an effort to defend women’s rights, though obviously without referring to the issues related to gender or sexuality.52 He published poetry by women and encouraged its submission for publication. One such notable entry belongs to Fâteme Soltân Adib-al-Zamân Farahâni, who wrote under the penname Shâhin. The journal also featured poems addressing Iranian women’s situation and issues. One such poem reads:

‫شوند از اثر دانش امهات وطن‬ ‫ز روح و جسم بود جنبش و حیات وطن‬

‫چو دختران وطن علم و دانش �آموزند‬ ‫زنان به جسم وطن روح و مردها جسمند‬

If our daughters of the nation learn science and knowledge they become important mothers of the nation Women are the soul of the nation, men the body the soul and the body together move and enliven the nation.53

Such a treatment of women is very typical in subsequent articles published in the journal up to the end of its publication, reflecting Vahid Dastgerdi’s support for women’s movements. However, this 52 For information about how the constitutional journals portrayed women and treated their rights see, Roshanak Mansur, “Chehre-ye zan dar jarâ’ed‑e mashrute,” Nime-ye digar, Vol. 1. No. 1, (Spring 1984), pp. 12–30. Also see, Hossein Shahidi, “Women and Journalism in Iran,” Women, Religion and Culture in Iran, eds., Sarah F. D. Ansari and Vanessa Martin, (Richmond, 2002). 53 Armaghân, Vol. II, No. 4, p. 7.

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support as mentioned never went far enough to include a discussion and debate on women’s sexuality or women’s agency; it did go so far as to ask for reform of the women’s situation and equality so that they could provide more support for men in their quest for nation building. The improvement in the situation of women was seen mostly as a necessary step toward improving society. Failing to reach this level of understanding of the core values the emphasis on the self meant women failed to achieve a true realization of the ideals of modernity.54 Thus, even though the journal Armaghân too covered several areas of human knowledge and activities as diverse as medicine, dressing for dance, ethics, lying, jealousy, deceit, grudge, etc., it emphasized literary issues over other topics, making it the most significant of the journals that can be characterized as literary reviews in this and the following periods. Vahid Dastgerdi compounded his efforts by helping Taqi Raf’at in editing Âzâdistân, a modernist literary review first published in 1920. In its short life, Âzâdistân too advocated literary modernity, but not a true and thorough modernization of society.55 Majalle Âftâb, which began its publication on 21 March 1911 supported by Anjoman‑e Âftâb (Sunshine Society), was similar to Âzâdistân in terms of its short life, publishing only eight issues. Mahmud Sanjari, Mohammad Olfat, Âqâ Najafi, and Fathollâh Vazirzâde cooperated with this journal. In the eight published issues of Âftâb, readers were offered information on education and other aspects of daily life and installments of the translation of Samuel Smiles’ Self-Help.56 It strived to educate and enlighten its readers in multiple fields. The word âftâb (sunshine), which also appeared in the titles of several other Persian periodicals such as Âftâb‑e Sharq (The Eastern Sunshine, 1933 by Majd Navabi in Kermân), stood as a metaphor for new ideas related to freedom and democracy, the 54 For discussion of the relationship between the discourse of sexuality and the true realization of principles of modernity, see Talattof, Modernity, Sexuality, and Ideology in Iran. 55 Sadr Hâshemi, Târikh‑e jarâ’ed, Vol. I, p. 149. 56 See Browne, The Press and Poetry, pp. xiii, 15, 26, 31–32; and L. P. Elwell-Sutton, “The Iranian Press, 1941–1947,” Iran, 6, (1968), p. 75.

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enlightenment, if you will. However, these very topics were often only alluded to and not aggressively discussed or argued for in the contents of such journals. In April 1910, the journal Bahâr, which focused more on Persian as well as Western literature, began its publication as another literary review, albeit less effective than Armaghân in terms of its productivity and popularity.57 Bahâr was published by the well-educated Mirzâ Yusof (E’tesâm-al-Molk), an author, poet, literary scholar, translator, politician, librarian, and the father of the renowned poet Parvin E’tesâmi. Being a translator himself, he was able to create a space in his journal for both Persian and European literatures. The journal published poems such as those of E’tesâm, Parvin E’tesâmi, and Rashid Yâsami, as well as essays and translated works such as those of Lermantov.58 Soon, Bahâr faced competition from the literary journal Vafâ, published by the lyricist Nezâm Vafâ. Bahâr too published translated works, but mostly from French and German. In fact, some of the new Persian poems published in Vafâ seem also to have been inspired by French lyricism.59 Dâneshkade was the next major literary review, published by an association of the same name and under the leadership of Malek-alSho’arâ Bahâr. It produced twelve issues each year from April 1918.60 Each issue (published in 500 copies) contained between fifty-four and sixty-six single-column pages, so it offered its readers a variety of topics, including translated French literature. Mohammad-Taqi 57 Other journals that were published before or at the same time as Bahâr and that covered literature include Sharq, Ra’d, and Bohlul. In other cities, Shafaq (Tabriz), Khorâsân (Mashhad), Tâze Bahâr (Rasht), and Zâyande Rud (Isfahan) devoted their pages to mostly political and issues, seeking more freedom in society. Bahâr published very critical poetry in Khorâsân in May 1909. One of them read:

‫کار ایران با خداست‬ ‫مملکت رفته ز دست‬

‫با شه ایران ز �آزادی سخن گفتن خطاست‬ ‫شاه مست و میر مست و شحنه مست و شیخ مست‬

58 Sadr Hâshemi, Târikh‑e jarâ’ed, Vol. II, p. 26. 59 For the connection between early modern Persian poetry and French free verse, see Ahmad Karimi-Hakkak, Recasting Persian Poetry: Scenarios of Poetic Modernity in Iran (Salt Lake City, 1995). 60 Sadr Hâshemi, Târikh‑e jarâ’ed, Vol. II, p. 270. See also Nâser-al-Din Parvin, Târikh‑e ruznâme-negâri-ye Irâniyân va digar Pârsi nevisân.

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Bahâr was a leading literary activist of the time, and he was able to recruit the cooperation of such luminaries as Gholâm-Rezâ Rashid Yâsami, Ali-Asghar Hekmat, Sa’id Nafisi, and Abbâs Eqbâl. This distinguished team contributed to the quality of the journal and was influential in the literary development of the period even though other significant thinkers such as Taqi Raf’at criticized the content of the journal in his contributions to Tajaddod, another literary journal published by Sheykh Mohammad Khiyâbâni in Tabriz. Dâneshkade’s objectives, according to the editor’s essay in the first volume, were to create and encourage formal, as well as thematic, innovations in literature; address contemporary issues; uphold the greatness of the masters of the classical Persian poetry; promote Persian prose; and even adopt lessons from the works of Western authors. For the latter part, the journal published translated works of Johann Friedrich Schiller, Alexander Dumas, and Jean de La Fontaine. The editor and writers of the journal truly believed in the necessity of introducing the works of great Western writers. Among the important Persian features was the serialized fictional work entitled Saltanat (Monarchy).61 Though Tajaddod was in agreement with most of these activities, it opposed Dâneshkade 61 For more information on these journals, see Nāser-al-Din Parvin in Encyclopædia Iranica, s. v. Armaghān. He lists the following items as sources: Fehrest‑e majallât dar ketâb-khâne-ye âstân‑e Qods‑e Razavi (Mashhad, 1361 S. / 1982), p. 127; I. Afshar, “Jarayânhâ-ye adabi dar majallât‑e fârsi,” Râhnamâ-ye ketâb 20/11–12 (1356 S. / 1978), pp. 770–72; Âryanpur, Az Sabâ tâ Nimâ, Vol. I, pp. 233–52; Vol. ii, pp. 222–35; M.-T. Bahâr, Divân, ed. M. Malekzâde, 4 th ed., Vol. 1 (Tehran, 1358 Sh. / 1979), p. q; A. Mehrad, Die deutsche Penetration pacifique des iranischen Pressewesens 1909–1936 (Frankfurt am Main, 1988), p. 71; M. Mohit-Tabâtabâ’i, Târikh‑e tahlili-ye matbu’ ât‑e Irân (Tehran, 1366 Sh./ 1987); F. Moshiri, “Yadegârhâ-i az Malekal-Sho’arâ Bahâr,” Âyande 8/3–4 (1361 Sh. / 1982), pp. 190–91; M. ­Nafisi, “Negâh-i gozarâ be majallât‑e adabi-ye Irân,” Sokhan 26 (Âzar 1356 Sh. / December 1977), pp. 215–16; A. Niku-Hemmat, Zendegâni va âthâr‑e Bahâr (Kermân, 1334 S. / 1955), pp. 11–12; Sadr Hâshemi, Târikh‑e jarâ’ed, Vol. II, pp. 270–72; B. Sartippur and K. Khodâparast, Fehrest‑e majallehâ-ye mowjud dar ketâb-khâne-ye melli-ye Irân (Tehran, 1357 S. / 1978), p. 115; No. Sims-Williams, ed., Union Catalogue of Persian Serials and Newspapers in British Libraries (London, 1985), p. 114; and M. Soltâni, Fehrest‑e majallehâ-ye fârsi az ebtedâ ta sâl‑e 1320‑e shamsi (Tehran, 1356 Sh. / 1977), pp.  49–50.

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arguing that a literary modernity would not be achieved without an overall modernization of society: opposing the dominant belief.62 Literary activists of these periods managed to keep a distance from the state. But they could not claim to be entirely disconnected from the debate on the issue of reforms, because they had already engaged in promoting modernization themselves. Since the Constitutional Revolution, when the first signs of literary reform began to appear in reaction to the literary decadence of the Qajar period and as a response to Western literary modernity, new writers such as Taqi Raf’at (d. 1920) campaigned for reforms including efforts against the artificiality and arbitrariness of the old prose.63 Literary journals continued to emphasize the necessity for the use of a simple Persian and indeed encouraged their contributors to write in a language that could be understood by ordinary people. Journals such as Sur‑e Esrâfil, which continued its publication through this period, and the authors associated with them, actually helped to create a more modern, flexible language.64 They believed that the process of modernization depended to a large extent upon the simplification of the Persian language and its release from the influence of Arab-Islamic culture. These journals invented words such as bakhsh-nâme (bylaws), pârlemân (parliament), sabt‑e ahvâl (office of identity registration), burs (stock), and rowshanfekr (intellectual) which they thought were necessary for the presentation of modern ideas and Western concepts. These new ideas and concepts, in turn, increased the necessity for new journals published after the Constitutional Revolution. Numerous journals after the Constitutional Revolution, particularly those in the 1920 s and 1930 s, championed the rise of secular 62 Other journals shared one or the other approach but did not enter the debate. The journal Dâneshkade, published in Isfahan in 1924, was a true literary review; and Derakhshân, also in Isfahan, began publication under the management of Fazl-Allâh Kâmgâr in 1930 with the same concerns. 63 Hasan Taqizâdeh, Adib al-Mamâlek Farahâni, and Zeyn-al-Âbedin Marâghe’i also had this tendency. 64 These journals were not alone. Others—such as Pârs (Persia), Parvin (Pleiades), Peykar (Figure), Bâmdâd (Morning), Bahâr (Spring), Tâze Bahâr (New Spring), Chante (Satchel), Pâ Berahne (Bare Foot), Chehre Namâ (Mirror), and Ganjine (The Treasure)—also contributed to this development.

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ideas, social activities, and advocacy of freedom. This list is extensive and instructive. A number of sources, including Sadr Hâshemi’s books, list the titles of some other journals that dealt with literature. These include Majalle-ye Adabi (‘The Literary Journal’) published in 1918 with a direct emphasis on Persian literature by Sa’d al-Molk in Tehran; Âmuzesh va Parvaresh magazine published in 1925 and run by Ali Asghar Hekmat (with the cooperation of such literary notables as Suratgar, Habib Yaghmâ’i, and Mohsen Shâmlu) in Tehran; Â’ine began in 1926 by Hoseyn-Ali Hekmat in Shiraz; Akhtar established in 1918 by Mohammad Tahmâsebi in Tehran; Okhovvat begun in 1926 by Ali Ne’mati in Kermânshâh; Majalle-ye Adab published in 1919 by Ahmad Ruhi in Kermân; Majalle-ye Adabi established in 1933 in Tabriz; Ârmân begun in 1922 by Sh. Partow in Shiraz; Osul‑e Ta’lim va Tarbiyat published in 1920 in Tehran; Eqbâl published in 1920 by Mohammad-Bâqer Mohit in Tehran (a long-lasting one for thirty years); Partow published in 1922 by Mohammad-Ali Khorâsâni with the cooperation of Sa’id Nafisi in Tehran; Parvin published by Abd-al-Rahim Khalkhâli and Mohammad-Rezâ Mosâvât on 16 February 1916 in Tehran; and Peymân published in 1933 by Ahmad Kasravi in Tehran. Peymân did not claim to have a literary emphasis, but its contents were often related to literature and literary issues. It published its first issue on 22 November 1933. The list of other smaller journals is also extensive. For example, Ârmân was published in 1930 by Shirâzpur and in collaboration with such literary figures as Sa’id Nafisi, Nasrollâh Falsafi, Kasâ’i Marvazi, Mohammad-Taqi Bahâr, Rashid Yâsami in Tehran. Asrâr al-Ansâr began publishing in 1911 but did not last long. It once published an appendix on literature that filled fifteen pages. Âsmân began publishing in Tehran in December 1923 and was interested in literature and even published some translations of French fiction. Âyande published by Mahmud Afshâr on 29 April 1925 was a political and literary journal which benefited from the cooperation of Badi-al-Zamân Foruzânfar, a distinguished scholar and author. Pazargad published six issues between 1925 and 1926 in Shiraz, and it mentions a dedication to literature. Peyk‑e Sa’âdat‑e Nesvân, managed by Ms. Rowshanak Nowdust from April 1927 to 437

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July 1928 in two issues in Rasht, is one of the early women’s journals that devoted some of its efforts to literature. Tohfat al-Odabâ, begun in 1931 and published in Isfahan, referred to literature in its very name (The Gift from the Literati). This list also includes many more journals with a variety of orientations. Dabestân in Mashhad was a scientific and literary journal in 1922. Zabân‑e Irâni had literary entries in 1920. Sepâhân, published in Isfahan in 1922, was a historical and literary journal. Sepidedam, published by Lotf-Ali Suratgar in Shiraz in 1922, leaned toward literary issues. Sharq (one of a few journals under the same name published in different times) was edited by Sa’id Nafisi and was published first in 1924, continuing on and off until the 1930 s. It featured literary works and issues. Mas’ud Farzâd, Abdol-Hoseyn Meykade, Bozorg Alavi, and Nasrollâh Falsafi translated European literary works for this journal. Shafaq‑e sorkh, established by Ali Dashti in Tehran on 2 March 1922, published numerous literary articles. Tufân (and Tufân‑e haftegi), edited by Farrokhi and published first in the early 1920 s, was a political journal, but it featured many literary pieces. Tufân was perhaps somewhat responsible for promoting a realistic prose style later to be used by most contemporary fiction writers. In the promotion of this style, Tufân published the translation of Russian authors such as Pushkin and Tolstoy. Farrokhi, the editor, traveled to Russia and participated in the anniversaries of the October Revolution. Forugh in Rasht (1927–28) by Ebrâhim Fakhrâ’i devoted itself to literature and Gilaki’s works. Qand‑e Pârsi (Persian Sugar) was published in 1905 in Aligarh, India, under the management of Mohammad Ahsan-Allâh Khan (known as Besabeq). The only information available about this journal is what another Persian journal published in Egypt wrote in praise of it at that time. The journal of Kânun‑e sho’arâ may be considered a literary review in some ways. It was published in Tehran in 1934 by Asadollâh Sâber Hamadâni and regularly published the works of contemporary poets along with their biographies. Gol‑e zard (Yellow Flower) was a literary publication in Tehran which began in April 1918 under the management of Mirzâ Yahyâ Khan (known as Reyhân). Ganjine Ma’âref appeared in Tabriz on 24 October 1922 and concerned itself with literary and philosophical issues. Modarres‑e Fârsi be438

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gan publication in Mumbai India in 1883 in Persian and English and devoted significant space to Persian grammar, literature, proverbs, and other literary issues. Morabbi began in 1927 in Tehran under Ali-Akbar Salimi and published translated literary works as well. Nâme-ye Adab was published monthly in Tehran starting in 1930. Nâme-ye Pârsi was established by Mirzâ Abu’l-Qâsem Âzâd Marâghe’i in Tehran on 19 June 1916. It was the first journal to write all its materials in what it considered to be pure Persian. Nâme-ye Honar published by the Ministry of Guilds and Arts in Tehran in 1927 and continued intermittently until 1937. Nasim‑e Sabâ was published in Tehran by Hoseyn Kuhi-Kermâni in 1923. It featured many literary articles for more than a decade and also published local poetry. Now Bahâr was managed by Malek al-Sho’arâ Bahâr in Mashhad in 1910 and began publication in Tehran seven years later. It characterized itself as a political literary journal. Finally, Yaghmâ also contributed to the literary discussions of the time. Namakdân (‘Saltshaker’) was established by Abdol-Hoseyn Âyati in 1929 and published until 1936, edited by Ahmad Kasravi, the famous literary and social critic. It considered itself a literary magazine but it was also very critical about the social and political issues of its time. Namakdân was one of a few journals that in the 1920 s took on the cause of the purification of the sweet Persian language. In fact, Kasravi has remained one of the most ardent advocates of pure Persian, publishing numerous works devoid of Arabic and other foreign language words. In the 1920 s, three journals were published in Europe that directly or indirectly helped promote Persian literature. Kaveh benefited from the writings of many exiled intellectuals. Irânshahr (1922–27) devoted some effort to promoting literature and publishing criticism and reviews. Farangestân was published in Berlin by the young Iranians living there in May 1924.65 It was after the revolution that we witness the appearance of literary reviews with more specialized and educated staff and writers 65 See Sadr Hâshemi, Târikh‑e jarâ’ed, Vol. 1, pp. 19, 166, 336, 350; Sadr Hâshemi, Târikh‑e jarâ’ed, Vol. 2, pp. 48, 66, 93, 110, 277; and Sadr Hâshemi, Târikh‑e jarâ’ed, Vol. 3, pp. 5, 24, 28.

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following Western models of analysis. In that regard E. G. Browne’s Persian students and associates initially played a role in promoting a systematic approach to literary studies.66 Scholars such as Nafisi, Forughi, Hekmat, Foruzânfâr, Yâsami, Eqbâl, Bahâr, Mohit, Kasravi, Partow, Mahmud Afshâr, and Suratgar were all involved with journals and reviews. But this was also the time when such great names as Sâdeq Hedâyat, M. A. Jamâlzade, and Sh. Partow appear on the literary scene to actually embark on a new style of fiction writing. A new type of confrontation was looming.

4. Early Journals for Women In the post-Constitutional Revolution era and seven decades after the beginning of Persian journalism, Iran witnessed the publication of a number of important journals by women. These women’s journals initially strove to avoid politics because instantly they knew that there was much work to do in the areas of women’s education, health, social situation, etc. Journals such as Dânesh (1910), Shekufe (1913), Jahân‑e Zanân (1920), Dokhtarân‑e Irân (1931), and Âlam‑e Nesvân (1921), published in Tehran or provincial capitals, remained loyal to such stated goals and even drew inspiration from the situation of women in Western societies and Japan. However, they differed on such seminal issues as the necessity of veiling. Then Zabân‑e Zanân (1920) showed a deep interest in politics. Moreover, some of its contributors understood that in order to improve women’s situation, they had to discuss issues such as women’s health or relations between men and women. What was most common among them was the absence of literary issues in their pages. Only 66 In fact, if we look at journals such as Andishe, Irân‑e emruz, Âyande, Bâkhtar (later Bâkhtar‑e Emruz), Bahâr, Pazargad, Partow, Parvin, Peymân, Tohfat al-Odabâ, Tazakkor, Taqaddom, Jahân‑e dânesh, Haqiqat, Khâvar, or Kânun‑e sho’arâ (by the Association of the Poets in Tehran in 1934), which were published over these decades, we can notice an increase in the tendency toward literature as we move forward and an increase in the number of Browne’s Iranian associates involved in this type of activity.

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Majalle Jam’iyat‑e Nesvân‑e Vatankhâh (1923) dedicated some effort to Iranian women’s writings as well the works of some European female writers. It showed high regard for Western civilization, particularly in the way it acknowledged women’s rights. A few scholars have discussed these journals and their contribution to the women’s movement.67 Nonetheless, I believe they played a significant role in promoting the ideas of modernity and were extremely significant because, by their very nature, they had to at least touch upon such issues as polygamy, veiling, women’s health, and women’s role in society. They provided examples from Western societies without any nationalistic or ideological preoccupation. Some of their editors were in fact educated in the West and were aware of the magnitude of the work ahead of them. However, in the final analysis, women’s valuable early twentieth century activism—as reflected in the pages of these eight or so women’s journals published at the time—often had to be limited in the criticism of the existing social conditions and hardly had the chance to cover the details and depth of the issues of modernity.

5. Modernity versus Tradition The Constitutional Revolution brought together a variety of different forces with different goals. Intellectuals were thereby immensely inspired by liberal nationalist tendencies and Western democracy. Soon thereafter, modernization became an urgent issue under Reza Shah (1925–41), who ended the reign of the incompetent Ahmad Shah (1909–25) in February 1921, thus terminating the rule of the Qajar dynasty altogether. Reza Shah encouraged secular social and literary activities and boldly attempted to eliminate what he considered to be obstacles to progress and modernization. Those forces remained, however, well into Reza Shah’s rule. 67 For example see Hossein Shahidi, “Women and Journalism in Iran,” Women, Religion and Culture in Iran, and Rowshanak Mansur, “Chehre-ye Zan dar Jarâ’ed‑e Mashrute,” Nime-ye digar, Vol. 1. No. 1, (Spring 1984), pp. 12–30.

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As I have written elsewhere, a literary debate arose at this time that changed the way literature had thus far been produced and consumed in Iranian society, a debate that was now influenced by diverging ideologies.68 The new writers who thought modernization should be pursued more boldly and more urgently confronted the traditionalists in a more organized way. The older generation, of course, already had their own organizations—i. e. Maktab‑e Sa’di (Sa’di’s School) and Anjoman‑e Nezâmi (‘Nezâmi’s Society’)— and they published articles in journals such as Now Bahâr (‘New Spring’) and Âzâdistân (‘The Free Land’). The modernists created comparable formal organizations such as Dâneshkade (‘The Place of Knowledge’), and informal groups such as Rab’ah (‘The Four’) led by Sâdeq Hedâyat in an opposition to a group called Sabâ’ah (‘The Seven’), which included some scholars and activists of the older generation. They also organized themselves around journals such as Nâme-ye Pârsi (‘Persian Letters’), Farangestân (‘Europe’), Elm va Honar (Science and Art), and Kâveh (‘Kâveh’).69 Modernists and traditionalists confronted each other by writing in support of and against the necessity of literary change. Nâme-ye Pârsi (Persian Letters) published an article by A. Âzâd Marâghe’i stating that the traditionalists have “mixed up the fluent sweet Persian language with the bitter foreign Arabic and in doing so they 68 Kamran Talattof, The Politics of Writing in Iran: A History of Modern Persian Literature, (Syracuse, 2000). 69 Other such journals included Dâneshkade (‘The Place of Knowledge’), Zabân Âzâd (‘Free Expression’), Tajaddod (‘Modernity’), Musiqi (‘Music’), Kâve, Armaghân (‘Souvenir’), Âyande (‘The Future’), Yâdegâr (‘For Remembrance’), Yaghmâ (‘Plunder’), Taqaddom (‘Priority’), Mehr (‘The Sun’), Peymân (‘Promise’), and Irânshahr (‘Iran’), which were all published in Tehran. Farhang (‘Culture’) was published in Rasht, and Dabestân (‘School’) in Mashhad. See Âryanpur, Az Sabâ tâ Nimâ, and Sadr Hâshemi, Târikh‑e jarâ’ed, for more information. It should be mentioned that Sâdeq Hedâyat was active with the Musiqi journal in its early issues and collected folk songs for the journal. His efforts created a connection between literature and music in this journal, which continued in the later music journals such as Rudaki. However, of all the journals, Sokhan and its editor Parviz Khânlari played the most significant role in the systematic study of the history of Persian language and in the promotion of a standard language. Sokhan also played a role in the later episode of Committed Literature.

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have cut their own roots. Worse than that, they are still sleeping and do not see how others are sacrificing themselves for the fluency and progress of this language.”70 Farangestân went as far as to suggest, intrepidly so, to “use Latin instead of Arabic if a need for new words exists.”71 Another journal, Elm va Honar, in order to “strengthen the nationhood” published the translation of the pre-Islamic Zoroastrian text Gathas by Ebrâhim Purdâvud hoping to preserve and promote “Persian literary treasures.”72 Kâveh, named after a mythical blacksmith who once saved an Iranian kingdom, published the first short stories of Mohammad Ali Jamâlzade who also advocated a reform in the language. In the first issues of Kâveh’s second period, Taqizâde wrote, “the journal’s ideology and goal is to promote Western life style and to struggle for the preservation and purity of Persian language and literature and its script (writing system).”73 As the debate persisted, the traditionalists argued that any innovation in the language would be to its detriment. The modernists argued that such fears were groundless. Kâveh, whose writers strongly supported the change of Persian script from Arabic to either Latin or one of the ancient Iranian alphabets, published an article in which two pieces of writing were compared. The author illustrated how awkward and repulsive the old prose looked in comparison to the new prose. Later the journal published another article which compared old and new poetry and came to the same conclusion about the necessity of change in the language. The traditionalists responded harshly to these claims in a series of articles in Âzâdestân (‘The Free Land’). The debate raged in this way until publication of the essay “Modernist Manifesto,” which was nothing short of a call for a literary revolution. In it, the journalist and literary activist Taqi Raf’at wrote, “We are in the most critical period. What we want is modernity in literature, no less than the modernity we want in the world of ideas and technology.”74 70 Nâme-ye Pârsi, n. 8. 71 Nâme-ye Pârsi, n. 9 and Farangestân. 72 See Elm va Honar (Science and Art) (Jul./Aug., 1928). 73 Elm va Honar, n. 8, and Kâveh. 74 Âryanpur, Az Sabâ tâ Nimâ, Vol. II, pp. 230, 456–69.

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6. Committed and Radical Journals Directly or indirectly sponsored by the political parties and mostly leftist ideologies, a newer generation of journals such as Ruzgâr‑e Now (‘New Era’), Payâm‑e Now (‘New Message’), Jahân‑e Now (‘New World’), and Mardom (‘People’) politicized poetry, prose, and literary criticism to an even greater degree during the rule of Reza Shah and Mohammad-Reza Shah. They introduced Soviet authors and other international committed writers to provide examples to follow and to convey a message about the urgent need for a new society and a new political system. Most translation activities in this period addressed this need. These journals completely reversed the approach in which the Western elite were praised models, an approach which began in the travelogues of such thinkers as Mohammad Ali Hazin Lâhiji in the 1740 s. Literary journals such as Faslhâ-ye Sabz (‘The Green Seasons’), Ârash (‘Ârash’), Ketâb‑e Jom’e (‘The Friday’s Book’), Ketâb‑e Zamân (‘The Book of the Time’), Daftarhâ-ye Zamâne (‘The Books of the Era’), Andishe va Honar (‘Arts and Ideas’), Alefbâ (‘Alphabet’), Sadaf (‘Shell’), Sokhân (‘Speech’), Nashriye-ye Kânun‑e Nevisandegân‑e Irân (‘The Journal of the Association of Iranian Writers’), and Vizhe-ye Honar va Adabiyyât (‘For Art and Literature’) published and promoted committed literary works and criticism. These journals were especially successful in keeping constant contact with their audiences through an informal network. Indeed, that is how these journals were able to support themselves financially, since they refused financial assistance from the government. Jong‑e Esfahân gained popularity in the literary community of the time even beyond the city of Isfahan. Hushang Golshiri (1937–2000) published his early works including Shâzde Ehtejâb (‘Prince Ehtejâb’) in this literary journal. News Bulletin of the Kânun‑e Nevisandegân‑e Irân (‘The Association of Iranian Writers’) and The Friday’s Book edited by Ahmad Shâmlu discussed and debated many revolutionary issues and current events. Collectively, these journals contributed to the rise of the revolutionary movement of 1976–79 which culminated in the Islamic Revolution. 444

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In this period, some older literary journals and some newer ones were less concerned with politics and more focused on literature and literary activities. Of these one may mention Shabâhang, Nâme-ye Farhang, and Dâneshkade, and Zabihollâh Safâ was involved in all of these.75

7. Conclusions This analysis leads us to some broader conclusions about the birth and development of literary journals and, in general, journalism in Iran. It seems that the rise of such activities in the early period was motivated by the desire either to promote new ideas related to modernity or to counter the spread of such ideas. This was even true with regard to women’s journals or literary reviews published by local literary associations.76 Such an intellectual incentive to promote certain ideas or ideologies also explains why the journals, even those published in the provinces, held grandiose aspirations such as being able to reach readers beyond their local communities, even beyond Iran’s formal borders, without any commercial justification. This stands in contrast to the way journalism developed in the West, which for the most part was rooted in community or entrepreneurial needs. This Iranian exigency and the ensuing dichotomy reached a peak in the first decade of the twenty-first century and in the 1970s with the committed literary movement. These highly intellectual motives have continued to shape the nature of literary reviews to this day. That is, very much like literary activities in general, literary journals since their inception have shown a close affinity to the dominant ideological paradigms of their times whether that be nationalism, Marxism, or feminism. Thus, literary journals, just like all journals in general, with the exception of a few popular art and a fewer academic publications, 75 Sayyed Farid Qâsemi, “Safâ va Matbu’ât,” Bokhârâ, No. 6 (June 1999), pp. 168–71. 76 Publications of various literary societies have been mentioned above. Women’s journals included Dânesh, Shekufe, Zabân‑e zanân, Nâme-ye bânovân, Âlam‑e nesvân, and Jahân‑e zanân.

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were inconsistent in pursuing their goals and often ­detrimentally interrupted if not utterly thwarted by government censure and closure of presses. Sometimes they did not even serve their cause. Very early, however, the expression of these desires became repetitive, sounding almost like a vicious circle. Many claimed to be literary modern journal without having anything new or substantial to say. Dastgerdi commented on this situation in an article entitled “Literary Modernity or Literary Revolution.” He wrote, “Literary modernity in its real sense is different from what these [false] advocates are claiming.”77 And he goes on to explain in eight parts what he understand as literary modernity. Moreover, the specific causes promoted by the journals have changed in response to the dominant oppositional ideological discourse and according to overarching social political changes. Literary journals have also often morphed in correspondence to the broader literary changes.78 However, whether the review journals advocated a nationalist, reformist, Marxist, Islamic, or feminist cause, they seem to have always been dealing with a crisis—an intellectual crisis, often caused by the paradigmatic contacts between ideologies and discourses, often ending in some sort of arbitrary imposition of ideas and power.79 It is perhaps appropriate to end this chapter with an anecdote from Nasim‑e Shomâl using the wit of Mollâ Nasr-al-Din (also known as Hujâ) published on 11 July 1942 in which the author criticizes the dictatorial behavior of the authorities even during the time that the ruling elite had made some moves toward democracy. “They ask Molla if he is stronger now or when he was young. He thinks a while and says his power is the same because when he was young he could not move his mortar and he still cannot do it.”80 The author concludes that nothing has changed. Nearly seventy years later, we can read similar stories in 77 Vahid Dastgerdi, “Tajaddod‑e adabi yâ enqelâb‑e adabi,” Armaghân, Vol. 5, No. 9–10, p. 451. 78 For an explanation of the literary changes during the contemporary period, see Talattof, The Politics of Writing in Iran. 79 For the explanation of paradigmatic contact and paradigmatic response, see Talattof, Modernity, Sexuality, and Ideology in Iran. 80 “Nâbud Bâd Diktâtori,” Nasim‑e Shomâl, Vol. 27, No. 14, (11 July 1942), p. 1.

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today’s journals. All inspirational writers, valuable literary associations, and productive literary journals that now really exist in and outside of Iran, and all of the changes they wrought in the Persian language to make it more accessible, in literary style to answer the contemporary needs, and in literary analysis to serve their causes, have been part of the ongoing and highly challenging process to achieve literary and social modernity.81 This problematic process still continues as this generation, too, has to take into account the ever-present religious ideology in all aspects of life.

81 For a discussion of literary modernity and its early attempts, see Karimi-​ Hakkak, Recasting Persian Poetry.

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CHAPTER NINE THE HISTORY OF CHILDREN’S LITERATURE (1900–1940) Zohreh Ghaeni Across the world, the history of children’s literature is connected to the current cultural perspective about children’s education, and must be understood in relation to the state of education within the country and the challenges it was facing.1 The first children’s books in Iran were religious and didactic: whatever their merits as literature they cannot be omitted. The first printed children’s books were used in traditional schools, or Maktab-khâne, and in the contemporaneous ‘modern’ schools. Written for educational purposes, these books were affected by the prevailing attitude to education.

1. Formative Era During the Constitutional Era, Iranian children’s lives were influenced by the struggle between modernists and traditionalists. Inspired by Western philosophers, Iranian modernists were familiar with scientific and cultural developments in Europe and many believed societal changes began with the evolution of the educational system. The idea of building modern schools was born as these 1

This chapter’s main source is Târikh‑e adabiyyât‑e kudakân‑e Irân (‘The History of Children’s Literature in Iran’) by Mohammad Hadi Mohammadi and Zohreh Ghaeni, Vol. 3 and 4 (Constitutional Era 1847–1920) and Vols. 5–7 (Modern Era 1920–1960), Tehran, 2004–2006. Also see the entry written by the editors of the Encyclopædia Iranica, in Encyclopædia Iranica, s. v. Children vii. Children’s Literature.

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modernists’ chief mission in the second half of the 19 th century. Given the lack of public hygiene and the high rate of child mortality, the prevention of fatal diseases through vaccination and by establishing medical institutions was essential before education could be addressed. Foreign missionaries were the first to establish hospitals and medical centers, followed by the government’s vaccination projects. At that time smallpox was one of the most common fatal childhood diseases. Amir-Kabir (1807–1852), also known as Mirzâ Taqi Khân Amir-Nezâm, the reformist Prime Minister under Nâser-al-Din Shah, successfully spearheaded the project to vaccinate Iranians against smallpox and saved the lives of many thousands of Iranian children. The idea of establishing modern schools was based on a number of factors. Iranian society became familiar with modern education through Zoroastrian schools maintained by Indian educators, through the creation and spread of Assyrian, Armenian, Christian and Judaic schools by foreign missionaries, especially Americans, and the travels of some Iranian intellectuals in Europe, Ottoman Turkey and Central Asia. Through books and periodicals, intellectuals and reformists began to criticize the traditional education system. They wrote and spoke about the old system’s failure to respond to the essential needs of future generations and its inability to prepare them for the modern era. The traditional educational system, which dated back to the beginning of the Islamic period, continued to the end of the Qajar period. In Qajar-era traditional schools, or maktab-khâne, children were taught by illiterate and semi-literate teachers called ‘Mullahs’ to read the Qur’an and a few folktales. One of the advocates of a new educational system was Mirzâ Hasan Roshdiye (1850–1943), the founder of modern schools in Iran. Roshdiye studied at the French teachers’ college in Beirut. He then visited some new modern schools in Ottoman Turkey and went on to Yerevan in the Caucasus, to establish a modern school there in 1883. Roshdiye invented a very simple method to make students literate quickly. When Nâser-al-Din Shah visited the school on his way to Europe, he invited Roshdiye to return to Iran and establish similar schools there. Roshdiye’s first school in Iran was 449

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in Tabriz. He was strongly opposed by fundamentalist clergymen and the maktab-khâne mullahs. Bolstered by some high-ranking members of the bureaucracy, intellectuals and his own fortitude, Roshdiye established new schools in several Iranian cities and laid the foundation for a modern education system. Because these radical changes threatened the economic and social status of traditionalists—the ulamâ (clerics), the bazâris (merchants), and members of the king’s court—reformists were forced to implement changes conservatively. Among the modernists who tried to change conditions by publishing their ideas through books and liberal newspapers were Jalâl-al-din Mirzâ, Mirzâ-Yusof Khân Mostashâr-al-Dowle, Mirzâ-Taqi Kâshâni, Mirzâ-Yahyâ Dowlatâbâdi and several women such as Bibi Khânom Astarâbâdi, Maryam Amid (Mozayyen-al-Saltane) and Tubâ Âzmude. Jalâl-aldin Mirzâ’s (1827-1872) Nâme-ye khosrovân is a textbook on Persian history in ‘pure Persian’ free of Arabic words, “intended for the general public (mardomān), especially children.” The author wrote this book with French textbooks in mind.2 The reformists’ mission for a new educational system was not very clear. One goal was to introduce new sciences for a modern and industrialized Iran, another was teaching children about the concepts of human rights and moral and civil rights. But a heavy veneer of religious and moral lessons covered these goals, to appease the conservative factions. Those responsible for preparing textbooks for the new schools tried to appease both traditionalists and modernists. The shadow cast by the traditionalists could not be ignored. These books reflect the multiple outlooks in Iran’s traditional but changing society, and illuminate the formation of a new children’s literature in Iran. At that time, some maktab-khânes taught fragments of classic literature such as Sa’di’s Bustân and Golstân, and selected folktales, in addition to the Qur’an. In some cases the teacher (maktabdâr or mullah) was illiterate, and the teaching was simply based on memorizing. 2

For more information on Nâme-ye khosrovân see Abbas Amanat and Farzin Vejdani, Encyclopædia Iranica, s. v. Jalāl-al-Din Mirzā.

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The reformist educators believed classic literature was too complicated for children to understand and folktales included offensive and unsuitable language as retold by ordinary and illiterate people. Because the fairy and folk-tales were considered inappropriate reading material for children, and the source of corruption, reformists tried to push them to the margins. Instead, Western-trained teachers and writers translated Western stories and fables, mostly from Aesop’s Fables, for children to promote good manners and morals. Socially and politically engaged literature such as Siyâhatnâme-ye Ebrâhim Beyk (‘Ibrahim Beyk’s Travel Diaries’) by Zeynal-Âbedin Marâghe’i, Sargodhasht‑e Haji Bâbâ-ye Esfahâni (‘The Adventures of Haji Bâbâ of Isfahan’) by James Morier, translated by Mirzâ Habib Esfahâni (1914) and two books by Abd-al-Rahim Tâlebof Ketâb‑e Ahmad (1893) and Masâlek-al-Mohsenin (1904) made their appearance. Written in colloquial language, these works criticized various aspects of society including the traditional education system. The appearance of translated works with their use of straightforward colloquial language to reach more and more people began to affect the newly evolving style of children’s literature in Iran. Up until then, children’s books were written in prim formal language, but they were swept up in the movement to simplify adult literature.

2. Literature of the Maktab-khâne The first children’s books published after printing houses came to Iran were very cheap, slim lithographic pamphlets, printed on poor-quality paper without any binding and with primitive illustrations. These were sold as popular literature for poor children. These books were called bachche-khâni or maktab-khâne’i and were used as textbooks. They covered different subjects, from short and very simple Persian folktales to religious folktales, moral religious tracts and narratives and adult folk novels. Folktales, which were mostly recounted in rhymes, were the back-bone of m ­ aktab-​ 451

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khâne’i literature. They had very simple plots, and were based on the everyday lives of people. Most of the folktales were in the genre of animal folktales and their structure was similar to fables, ending with some advice from the narrator. The most popular and famous folktales published in different illustrated versions were: Shangul va Mangul, Khâle Suske va Âghâ Mushe, Arusi-ye Khâle Qurbâghe, Gorg-o Rubâh, Jâm-o Qaliyân and religious folktales such as Âgh‑e vâledeyn, Hasaneyn and Zâmen‑e Âhu. Shangul-o Mangul are the names of two little goats in an old Iranian version of the tale familiar as The wolf and the seven little goats by the Brothers Grimm. The maktab-khâne’i version is in rhyme. Various illustrated versions were printed when lithographic printing became widespread in Iran. In one undated version, before beginning the tale, the narrator recalls his childhood, and mentions how his mother entertained him with this tale. Khâle Suske-o Âghâ Mushe (‘Auntie Beetle and Mr. Mouse’), is a very old and popular Iranian folktale, told for centuries by grandmothers and mothers, about a cockroach looking for a proper husband. At last she finds a mouse (mush) as a good partner, because he will only use his very smooth tail to slap her if they ever have a fight. One of the oldest lithographic versions of this folktale was narrated in rhyme by Mollâ Abd-Allâh in Isfahan in 1889. Gorg-o Rubâh, (‘The wolf and the Fox’) is a folktale in rhyme about a gardener whose garden is attacked by a wolf and a fox. The gardener wants to punish them, but the fox tricks him and escapes and only the wolf is punished. Lithographic illustrated versions of this folktale were published many times. One surviving copy is dated in 1933. Arusi-ye Khâle Qurbâghe (‘The Wedding of Auntie Frog’), a folktale narrated by Mirzâ Sheydâ and printed lithographically without a date or place, is about an unfaithful frog who lives with her husband a turtle, in a river. The narrator finishes the tale by condemning women’s disloyalty and men’s weakness. Jâm-o Qaliyân (‘The Cup and the Hookah’) is a rhymed debate between these objects, about their usefulness. Published in 1935, one version was narrated by Mohammad Hasan Rezvân. Another illustrated lithographic account of this folktale dates back to 1943 452

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and states on its back cover: “For the entertainment of children.” Debates of this kind have always been very popular in Persia. An old example of this genre is a piece of oral literature from Mesopotamia, Drakht‑e Âsurik (‘The Âsurik Tree’).3 One of the oldest stories for children, composed in the Parthian language and written in Pahlavi script, The Âsurik Tree is a versified contest for superiority between a goat and a palm tree. Their debate lays out their benefit and value in man’s daily life. But there was one tree, quite tall. With the hardest wood of all. Shouting out: Here I am, here I am Here I am—the great heroic palm. Here I am—strongest and most robust. Here I am—tall as a ladder and young. Here I am—full of life and strong. Is there anybody, wise and bright, Who dares to come close and fight? (…) The goat reached the Euphrates river (…) Shouting out: I am dying for a fight, Are you ready to fight? The goat with black horns, The goat with the short tail, Was angry at what he heard (…).4

A newer version of the Âsurik Tree called Raz-o Mish or Mow-o Mish (‘The Grapevine and the Ewe’) has been found among lithographic maktab-khâne’i books as well. The undated illustrated version of this book (about 1900) is reliable proof that although it seems to disappear for centuries, the Âsurik Tree continued to be retold for children with the details changing according to climate and geographical features. In Raz va Mish the palm has become a grapevine and the goat is an ewe. Ahmad Tafazzoli writes: “This 3 4

Ahmad Tafazzoli, Târikh‑e adabiyyât‑e Iran pish az eslâm, (Tehran, 1997), pp. 256–259. The Legend of the Palm Tree and the Goat, retold by Mohammad-Hadi Mohammadi, translated by Hurâ Yâvari, in The Best Children’s Books in the World: A Treasury of Illustrated Stories, (New York, 1996), pp. 112–13.

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story is a version of versified contests over precedence and has the characteristics of oral literature, but is not as eloquent or as high in literary quality as Drakht‑e Âsurik.”5 Among religious narratives, Âgh‑e vâledeyn (‘The Parents’ Curse’) was the most popular, read by every child. This story was narrated in the streets in the form of ta’ziye (‘passion play’ or ‘­religious street theater’) for children and adults. Thought to date from the Safavid era, it recounts the story of a boy cursed by his mother to a bad fate because he treats her harshly. He is sent to hell and condemned to burn. Through the Imams’ intercession, his mother forgives him. Various lithographic versions of this book were published from the early 1900 s to the 1950 s. Another folktale of this genre is Hasaneyn (a term referring to the second and the third Shi’ite Imams, Hasan and Hoseyn). It is about the childhood of these Imams when they studied in a maktab-khâne. They were tricked and kidnapped by an old witch and finally saved by Gabriel. Another religious folktale, Zâmen‑e âhu (‘The Doe’s Benefactor’), dates back to the Safavid period. In this simple tale, a hunter wants to kill a doe that has a fawn. Imam Rezâ convinces the hunter to release her. There are several undated illustrated lithographic versions of this folktale. Romantic epics retold by ordinary people were another genre used in maktab-khânes. Of these, Hoseyn‑e kord Shabestari, Amir Arsalân, Nush-Âfarin-nâme, Shahzâde Hormoz, Hormoz-o Gol, Bahrâm-o Golandâm, Falak-nâz, Khosrow‑e divzâd and Salim‑e Javâheri, were the most popular. In addition to folktales, some classical literature such as Sa’di’s Golestân and Bustân were considered appropriate teaching material in maktab-khânes. These books were criticized by education reformists because of their inaccessible language.‌

5

Ahmad Tafazzoli, Târikh‑e adabiyyât‑e Irân pish az eslâm, pp. 256–59.

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3. Children’s Literature before 1920 The reformists who established modern schools had to prepare entirely new reading material and textbooks for children. The first textbooks were those prepared by foreign religious missions for their modern schools, attended by religious minorities. Iranian pedagogues wrote several books for learning the alphabet using a simple, new method and learning language through short and simple stories and fables. Before the educational authorities published uniform textbooks in 1920, schools chose a variety of text-books according to their teachers’ tastes. Bedâyat‑e ta’lim (‘Beginning Instruction,’ 1903), Kefâyat‑e ta’lim, (‘Elementary Instruction,’ 1905) and Nahâyat‑e ta’lim (‘Advanced Instruction,’ 1897) were written by Mirzâ Hasan Roshdiye, a pioneer of Iran’s modern education system. They were published to promote Roshdiye’s method for teaching literacy to children. Dozens of books were published for first grade students in modern schools. Two of the more notable were Eqbâl‑e Nâseri (1884), an illustrated alphabet book by Aflâtun ebn‑e Eskandar Kermâni, a follower of Mânekji Hâtariyâ (1813–1890) who founded Zoroastrian schools in Iran; and Nakhost-nâme (‘The First Book,’ 1913) by Mâte’us Khân Melik Yâns, an illustrated alphabet and language learning book. In addition to language learning books, a considerable number of books were published by the reformist intellectuals in support of their goal of changing the education of future male elites. Their authors were mostly high-ranking Western-educated members of the bureaucracy. They used non-fiction and fiction genres to prepare appropriate books for the new era. Published in 1892, Ketâb‑e Ahmad or Safine-ye Tâlebi (‘Ahmad’s Book’) by Abd-al-Rahim Tâlebof, is one of the first non-­ fiction books written for children and young adults. Ketâb‑e Ahmad is organized around a dialogue between Ahmad, the author’s imaginary son who asks many questions about scientific discoveries and progress. Tâlebof has said that he was inspired by Jean Jacques Rousseau’s Emile. 455

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Abd-al-Rahim Tâlebof was born in Tabriz and studied Russian in Tbilisi. “He enjoyed much respect and influence for his authorship of articles in clear and simple Persian that championed modern social and political thought, the rule of law, and the study of sciences.”6 In addition to its scientific information, Tâlebof used Ketâb‑e Ahmad to present a model of moral and virtuous behavior for society’s male elite. The book’s polished and polite language is characteristic of that era’s children’s books, but its dialogue form, between a boy and his father, was new in Iranian children’s literature. It has been described as a simple scientific story filled with useful information for educational purposes.7 Christophe Balaÿ states that it was very popular among Constitutional Era intellectuals and school children in Tabriz.8 The structure used in Ahmad was more or less followed by other writers of that time to convey their ideas through stories. These authors firmly believed children’s and young adults’ books had to be instructive. They never imagined books could be merely read for enjoyment. One example is Ketâb‑e Ali (‘Ali’s Book’) written by Yahyâ Dowlatâbâdi in 1898. Dowlatâbâdi was one of the intellectuals who supported Iran’s Constitutional Revolution. Educated in the West, Dowlatâbâdi was an activist and educational theorist, who was twice elected to Parliament. Ketâb‑e Ali too is a dialogue between a father and his son. The father criticizes traditional schools and praises the merits of modern schools. Ganjine-ye dânesh (‘The Treasury of Science’) by Mirzâ Yusof Khân Mostashâr-al-Dowle, was published several times between 1873 and 1901. The book’s fictional dialogue between a teacher and his students was used to present scientific and historical subjects. Given the preponderance of books on etiquette and instructional books, the children’s literature of the Constitutional Era could be called didactic. This literature drew on three main sources: books on etiquette or moral guidance, classical Persian literature and translated fables from European sources. 6

Iraj Parsinejad, A History of Literary Criticism in Iran (1866–1951), (Bethesda, MD., 2003). 7 Âryanpur, Az Sabâ tâ Nimâ, p. 295. 8 Ch. Balaÿ, La genèse du roman persan moderne, (Tehran, 1988), p. 275.

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The advice books of this period offered moral guidance, and rules for eating, sleeping, studying and performing religious duties, and how to speak and behave as a good citizen in modern society. Much simpler in language than earlier versions, they usually included words of wisdom and values from Iranian poets and some advice from Western philosophers such as Jean Jacques Rousseau. Examples include Bustân‑e adab (‘The Garden of Manners,’ 1886), by Dordi Saghar; Tarbiyat-nâme (‘The Guide to Manners,’ 1891) by Khalil Saqafi, also known as A’lam-al-Dowle, Akhlâq‑e Mozaffari (‘Mozaffari’s Morals,’ 1898) by Mirzâ Aqâ Khân Navâ’i Nabil-al-Dowle, Pand-nâme-ye Yahiyaviye (‘Yahiyaviye’s Advice,’ 1897) by Amir Nezâm Garrusi and Pand-nâme-ye Mollâ Firuz (1900) by Firuz ebn‑e Kâvus.

4. Classical Literary Tradition as Children’s Literature Books based on Iranian classics were a second type of children’s books in this period. The intellectual reformists considered the classics, which included moral and religious tales and fables, as the backbone of education, teaching manners and giving advice to children. Classical literature such as Sa’di’s Bustân and Golestân, Kalile va Demne and Rumi’s Mathnavi were the most popular sources. The instructional tone of these short stories and fables made them ideal teaching material for children at that time. They are still considered proper reading material for children and are used in current textbooks. Mirzâ Mahmud Yusof Mâzandari known as Meftâh-al-Molk, a high-ranking employee in the Foreign Ministry, was another author of children’s books at that time. He published several illustrated books then taught in schools. Mathnavi-ye atfâl (‘The Mathnavi for Children,’ 1891) is a retelling of Rumi’s masterpiece in simple language. Meftâh-al-Molk, who simplified the book for children, wrote: “Only the fables which are appropriate and close to the understanding of children have been chosen, with some s­uitable 457

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i­llustrations to encourage them.”9 Rumi usually included philosophical dialogues in his stories, but Meftâh-al-Molk has omitted these, and the mythical parts. In another of his books, Ta’dib-al-atfâl (‘Disciplining Children,’ 1876), Meftâh-al-Molk discarded the traditional structure of fables. Although primitive and crude, his stories are modern in structure and language. Ta’dib-al-atfâl is a collection of short moral stories illustrated by Mohammad Naqqâsh Esfahâni. Every story is finished with one piece of advice about the rules of speaking, eating and other everyday behavior. In his Introduction, the writer mentions he was inspired by a French source, without naming it.10 Alefbâ-ye mosavvar (‘The Illustrated Alphabet,’1885) illustrated by Mirzâ Abbâs Naqqâsh and Ta’lim-al-atfâl (‘Teaching children,’ 1904) are textbooks that Meftâh-al-Molk wrote for students in modern schools. The books of Akhlâq‑e asâsi (‘Fundamental Morals’) by Mohammad-Ali Kâtuziyân Tehrâni, published in three volumes from 1911 to 1913, were illustrated books based on the three most important sources of classical Persian literature. The first volume of Akhlâq‑e asâsi, entitled Kalile va Demne-ye mohazzab (‘The Refined Kelile va Demne,’ 1911), is a selection of classic Kalile va Demne fables retold and simplified by Kâtuziyân as a suitable book of moral instruction for children. The fables are illustrated by Hoseyn-Ali Khân and there is a glossary of difficult vocabulary in an appendix. The second volume of Akhlâq‑e asâsi is titled Marzbân-nâmeye mohazzab (‘The Refined Marzbân-nâme,’ 1913). In this illustrated book, Kâtuziyân retells some of the fables from the Marzbân-nâme, and important classic. The third volume, entitled Montakhab‑e Bustân‑e Sa’di (‘A selection of Sa’di’s Bustân’), is a collection of 70 anecdotes changed from verse to prose and in some cases shortened. Among the other examples of this literature are Sad hekâyat (‘One hundred fables’) a collection of fables compiled from several books and retold by Sayyed Ashraf-Ali 9 Mathnavi al-Atfâl, retold by Mahmud Meftâh-al-Molk, (1891). 10 Meftâh-al-Molk, Ta’dib al-Atfâl, (1908).

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Golshan-­Âbâdi; Riyâz-al-hekâyât (‘Anecdotes for Self-discipline,’ c. 1900); and Kelid‑e adabiyyât (‘The Key to Literature’) a selection of Mollâ Nasr-al-Din stories and Sa’di’s Bustân fables in verse and prose by Soltân Majid Ghani Taqizâde.

5. Translations from European Literary Sources The third primary source for children’s literature at a later date was translated European fables. Stories were drawn mainly from the Fables of Aesop, the famous philosopher of mid-6 th century bc Greece, and from the works of Jean de La Fontaine, the most famous French fabulist of the 17 th century. These were chosen because of their very simple plots and worldly wisdom. Gillian Avery believes, In European children’s literature there was one category of fiction however that appears always to have been unobjectionable. This was the corpus of tales traditionally known as ‘Aesop’s Fables,’ the only book that John Locke considered fit for children in 1693.11

Iranian pedagogues educated in Western countries and influenced by Locke and Rousseau’s attitudes, found Aesop’s Fables very useful for teaching moral lessons to children. More than half of Aesop’s Fables are about animals and a few are about plants and natural phenomena. The content of these gentle moral stories strongly appealed to Iranian educators who translated and illustrated versions of the fables from English and French to Persian and published them as children’s books. Hekâyât‑e del-pasand (‘Heart-warming Fables,’ 1878), a collection of more than 200 fables mostly from Aesop, translated by Mohammad-Mehdi Vâsef Rezâju’i was one of the first translations of Aesop’s Fables for children. According to the translator, it was “to 11 Gillian Avery, “The Beginnings of Children’s Reading to c. 1700,” Children’s Literature: an Illustrated History, ed. P. Hunt, (Oxford & New York, 1995), pp. 13–14.

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be taught in schools by the teachers who are concerned about the instruction and education of their students.”12 Aesop’s Fables continued to be a favorite among educators. In the early 1900 s, several textbooks that included fables from Aesop were published. Among the most well-known is, Anis-al-odabâ va atfâl (‘The Friend of Literary Persons and Children,’ 1901). This illustrated book includes 60 British short stories and Aesop’s fables, translated from English by Abd-al-Hamid ebn‑e Abd-al-Bâqi Saqafi known as Matin-al-Saltane. Two other important works were published with the same title. One, Akhlâq‑e mosavvar (‘The Moral Illustrated Book,’ 1901), included more than 130 fables, mostly from Aesop and was translated by Ebrâhim ebn‑e Mirzâ Ahmad Khân Sani-al-Saltane. A two-volume Akhlâq‑e mosavvar was translated by Mohammad-Ali Khân Mozaffari, who mostly relied on Aesop’s fables; they were published in 1913 and 1916. Sad pand (‘A Hundred Pieces of Advice) is another noteworthy retelling of Aesop’s tales compiled and translated by Mirzâ Ali-Asghar Khân in 1905. The works of Jean de La Fontaine were the other chief source of fables for Iranian educators. The first collection of La Fontaine’s folktales was published in 1661. It is said he was inspired mostly by Aesop. His other sources of inspiration were Sa’di’s Golestân and ancient Indian literature such as the Panchatantra and hence Kalile and Demne. Frâ’ed-al-nasâyeh: Tohfe-ye nowruzi (‘Nowruz Gifts’) is one of the children’s books with fables from La Fontaine translated into verse by Khalil TSaqafi (better known as A’lamal-Dowle) and published by Dâr-al-Fonun College in 1889. Khalil Saqafi studied medicine and served at the royal court, mostly during Mozaffar-al-Din Shah’s reign. He was the Deputy Minister of Education for a time. In the Introduction he states: “I have translated these fables for young children as a gift for Nowruz.”13 One retelling of the La Fontaine fables in verse, Jangalestân (Forest Land) by Hoseyn Dânesh, was published in 1912. He writes in the 12 13

Mohammad-Mehdi Vâsef Rezâju’i, Hekâyat del-pasand, (1846). Farâʿez al-Nasâyeh: Tohfe-ye nowruzi, Translated by Aʿalam-al-Dowle Khalil Saghafi, (1889).

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introduction: “because of their very useful advice, I have retold these fables in a special style in verse to appeal to children.”14 In spite of its weak prosody, this book was welcomed by the modern schools at that time. The works of François Fénelon, the French Roman Catholic archbishop, theologian, poet and writer, also attracted the attention of Iranian intellectuals and pedagogues. Fénelon was well known in Persia for The Adventures of Telemachus, a thinly veiled attack on the French monarchy, first published in 1699. Some of the fables he wrote when he tutored the 7-year-old Duke of Burgundy served as a guide for building the character of a future King of France. Nardebân‑e kherad (‘The Ladder of Wisdom’) is one of the children’s books compiled from Fénelon’s fables. It was translated and retold by Mirzâ Mohammad-Hoseyn Khân Forughi for children and young adults in 1900. Forughi, who was the head of the translation office at the royal court at that time, states in the introduction: “I was very fascinated when I read these fables which are written in Kalile va Demne style. They are treasures for the children of our country.”15 In addition to these English and French sources, some books included fables from classical Persian literature. One example is Sad hekâyat (100 fables, 1910) a children’s book of fables (not to be confused with the work with the same title by Golshan-Âbâdi) although its sources are not mentioned by compiler and translator Khalil Saqafi. Fables and works of advice were not the only translations made for children. When it was translated by E’temâd-al-Saltane in 1871 and published in installations in Merât-al-safar, Nâser-al-Din Shah’s newspaper, Daniel Defoe’s Robinson Crusoe was among the first novels to fascinate young Iranian adults. This novel was first translated and published in manuscript form by Mohsen Monshi in 1893 in Persian. There were many different translated versions of Robinson Crusoe through the years. All focused only on that part 14 15

Hoseyn Dânesh, Jangalestân, (1912). François Fénelon, Nardebân‑e Kherad, Translated by Abu ‘l-Hasan Forughi, (1900), p. 4.

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of the book which most appealed to adolescents—Robinson’s stay on the uninhabited island. After 1900 the most well-known translated versions of this work were produced by Mohammad-Taqi Fakhr Dâ’i Gilâni in 1938, Eqbâl Yaghmâ’i in 1955 and Bahrâm Farahvashi in 1956. Robinson Crusoe was one of the rare works that appealed to both adolescents and pedagogues. The works of Jules Gabriel Verne, the French author, who pioneered the science fiction genre, were admired very much by Iranian intellectuals, especially educators. They translated some of his works into Persian and published them as a series in newspapers or as books for young Iranian adults in the early 1900 s. Voyages et aventures du capitaine Hatteras (1864) translated by E’temâd-alSaltane in 1903, Michel Strogoff (1876) translated by Âvânes Khân and published in manuscript in 1894, L’Île mystérieuse (1874) translated by Mahmud Tarzi in 1914, Vingt mille lieues sous les mers (1870) translated by Yusof E’tesâm-al-Molk in 1902 and Le tour du monde en quatre-vingts jours (1873) translated by Mohammad-Ali Forughi and published in serial form in Tarbiyat Newspaper in 1900 were the first of Verne’s works translated to Persian. The author’s popularity would continue in the years to come. One of the best translated works that Iranian children and adolescents enjoyed in this period was Jonathan Swift’s Gulliver’s Travels (1726–1735). In 1901, Ali-Rezâ Motarjem-al-Saltane translated two of its four parts: A Voyage to Lilliput and Blefuscu and A Voyage to Brobdingnag. Both are retold in simple, fluent language in comparison to other translations of this period. Alexandre Dumas’s The Count of Monte Cristo and The Three Musketeers were also very popular. The first translation, by Mohammad-Tâher Mirzâ, was published in manuscript form in 1891 and printed in Tabriz in 1905. He also translated The Three Musketeers from French to Persian in 1898. The translation of European novels in Iran propelled Iranian writers to create novels. Adult novels such as Hâjji Bâbâ, Masâlekal-Mohsenin and Siyâhat-nâme-ye Ebrâhim Beyk and several other historical novels laid the groundwork in Iran for the introduction of novels for young adults. Qessehâ-ye ostâd (‘The Master’s Stories’) was written by Sayyed Jalâl-al-Din Asad-Âbâdi about 1896, 462

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and as a manuscript never published. Composed of four stories, this work lies somewhere between traditional stories and novels. One of the first novels for adolescents is Ketâb‑e sherâfat (‘The Book of Honor’) or Hekâyat Rezâ and Robâbe (‘The Story of Rezâ and Robâbe’) by Salim Gharebâghi, a long novel published in 1900. Inspired by Robinson Crusoe, it is about an Iranian merchant in the Safavid era who wants to emigrate to India by ship, with his family. The 12-year-old characters are named Rezâ and Robâbe. When their ship is wrecked, the merchant disappears but his wife and his two children reach an uninhabited island. The novel is about their adventures. Dâstân‑e shegeft-angiz va sargodhasht‑e yatimân (‘The Orphans’ Amazing Story and Adventure’) by Mirzâ Esmâ’il Khân Tabrizi, known as Âsef, is another novel for children and adolescents, published in India in 1927. It is about two girls, nine yearold Nâdere and seven year-old Jamile, who live in Sarâb, a small city near Tabriz. They have lost their mother and their stepmother abuses them. This romantic story, inspired by the Grimm brothers’ Hansel and Gretel, ends with the death of the younger girl and the older sister becoming insane because of their father’s cruelty.

6. Children’s Literature from 1920 to 1940 From 1920 to 1940, increasing literacy and the vast influence of Western culture in Iran began to diminish the importance of traditional children’s literature, while Westernized stories became more and more popular. Compared to Western countries, Iranian children and young adults at this time had very few books to read and almost no chance to enjoy literature. The children and adolescents of the modern society Rezâ Shah intended to establish were not satisfied with the repressive, moral, didactic material available to them. They were seeking books that would allow them to identify with the protagonists. Children, specifically adolescents, were fascinated by the increasing number of Western novels translated into Persian. These opened a window to the Western world and were much more fascinating than traditional Iranian fare. In spite 463

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of the limited availability of these books, novels in various genres such as romance, crime and adventure were read eagerly by Iranian teenagers. The Adventures of Sherlock Holmes, and the Arsène Lupin book series were among the popular stories published as small, cheap, serial pamphlets or in the literature columns of popular newspapers. This new trend among young adults encouraged several publishers to publish such novels. There was a profit to be made, although some publishers, such as Mohammad Ramezâni, claimed to have cultural and educational aims. Ramezâni believed publishing these cheap serial pamphlets of novels helped children and adolescents improve their reading skills.16 Called ‘The Father of the Book’ in Iran, Mohammad Ramezâni established his publishing house in 1923. He published 200 books in nine years, of which 120 were translated Western novels. A large part of Ramezâni’s publications were for children and adolescents. The most popular among Iranian adolescents were translations of Maurice Marie Émile Leblanc’s novels about Arsène Lupin, a gentleman thief turned detective. One of Ramezâni’s most important achievements was publishing the serialized pamphlets called Afsâne (‘Legends’). From 1927 to 1932, 15,000 copies of these pamphlets were published every two weeks. These pamphlets, or small books, included translated short stories from famous writers such as Pushkin, detective and adventure stories, and fairytales and folktales for children. Ramezâni believed Afsâne was similar to a basket that entered a home every two weeks, filled with stories for all members of the family. These pamphlets played a critical role in promoting reading. Several publishers sought to reap as much profit as they could from this new demand for popular fiction. They produced crime, adventure and romance novels for young adults in cheap serialized pamphlets that children and adolescents could afford. Les Pardaillan was one of these. The work of French novelist Michel Zévaco, Les Pardaillan was translated by Hasan Nâser in 1924 and published biweekly in 48 numbers by Rezâ Ketâbchi and Sa’âdat Publishing House. 16

Farid Qâsemi, Ketâb, (Tehran, 2001), p. 13.

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Hoseyn Beriyâni Shabestari began publishing popular detective and adventure books in 1934, including some books that were very appealing to children and young adults. Robinson Crusoe, the Tarzan books, Treasure Island and King Solomon’s Mines are examples. Tarzan, who was one of the most popular fictional characters with Iranian youth in the first half of the 20 th century, was introduced to them through movies and books. Tarzan’s adventures, created by Edgar Rice Burroughs, appeared under titles such as Tarzan, Lord of the Jungle and were translated and published in series in the 1930 s. Robert Louis Stevenson’s Treasure Island, which was originally serialized in the children’s magazine Young Folks from 1881 to 82, was first translated into Persian by Abu’l-Qâsem Tâheri in 1937. The story was translated and published several times in the 1940 s and 1950 s. A well-known Iranian journalist and translator, Abu’lQâsem Tâheri also translated the adventure novels King Solomon’s Mines and Allan Quatermain by Henry Rider Haggard in 1937 and 1938. Both books were very popular. Another popular novel in this period was Victor-Marie Hugo’s masterpiece Les Misérables. It was translated by the famous Iranian translator Hoseyn-Qoli Mosta’ân, and first appeared in instalments in Irân newspaper in 1930. Warmly received, it was published as a 5-volume book in 1931. Jules Verne’s works were also very popular in the 1920 s. They were considered the “safest” books for children and adolescents by Iranian educators because of their peaceful contents, the moral lessons that were woven into the stories and the lack of female characters and love stories that could be “harmful” for adolescents. In the 1940 s a considerable number of summarized translated versions of Jules Verne’s works were published for children by the Guttenberg publishing house. The best examples, Michel Strogoff and Le tour du monde en quatre-vingts jours, were translated by Ardeshir Nikpur, a well-known translator of children’s books. Herbert George Wells, the English author, was also popular in Iran. Written in 1901, Wells’ The First Men in the Moon was one of his first books translated into Persian by Taqi Motaqi in 1934 in Isfahan. This summarized version was very much welcomed by the adolescents of that period. 465

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Only a few books were translated specifically for young readers in this period. One example is the Red Book series, a collection of stories translated mostly from French and published with red covers by Ferdowsi publishing house in 1930. Intellectuals who played a role in Rezâ Shah’s cultural policies and some independent thinkers were against children and ­adolescents reading adult literature. Ahmad Kasravi, a significant author and critic, condemned these novels as a source of corruption for Iranian young people.17 The intellectual pedagogues and those who served in the Ministry of Education were also not happy with this trend among adolescents. Inspired and influenced by Western children’s books, they started to pay more attention to writing and translating proper books for children and adolescents. In the early 1900 s, some intellectuals influenced by new views about psychology in Europe recognized children’s literature, including folktales and fairytales, as a tool for developing a child’s imagination. Mohammad-Bâqer Hushiyâr was educated in psychology in Germany, and was one of Iran’s first professors and scholars in child pedagogy and psychology. He insisted that folktales played an important role in the development of children’s imagination and he believed in promoting child development through literature in general. Hushiyâr’s views about the value of literature in children’s lives were published in magazines and journals, and prompted some pedagogues, such as Jabbâr Bâghchebân, to write children’s stories, drama and poems to provide preschool children with some enjoyable hours of reading. Jabbâr Bâghchebân, a pedagogue, writer, playwright and poet (1885–1966), wrote his first children’s stories and plays to support the linguistic, cognitive and personality development of his kindergarten students. Khânom Khazuk (‘Ms. Khazuk,’ 1928) and Gorg va chupân (‘The Wolf and the Shepherd,’ 1929), based on old folktales, are among his early published plays. Khânom Khazuk is a story about a black beetle who wanted to marry a mouse. This play included six scenes. Different animals such as a cow, a frog, a 17 Ahmad Kasravi, Dar pirâmun-e român. Taken from Peymân Monthly Review and Parcham Newspaper. Tehran: Peydâr Library, 1960.

466

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donkey and a bee come on stage and ask Khânom Kazuk to accompany them to the party that the mouse is holding. Pir-o torob (‘The Old Man and the Radish,’ 1932) is based on a Russian folktale and is an illustrated story about an old man who could not pull out a radish until his wife, children and dog and cat came to help him. In addition to these books, Bâghchehbân published books of his poems and rhymes, including Zendegi-ye kudakân (‘Children’s Lives,’ 1929), and Arusân‑e kuh (‘The Brides of the Mountain’) and Bâdkonak (‘Balloon’), both published in 1945. Published in 1929, Hâjji Lak Lak (‘Hajji Stork’), one of the first retellings of The Thousand and One Nights, is an example of the kind of literature considered appropriate for children by Iran’s European-influenced intellectuals. This 21-page book was illustrated by Fredrick Talberg, a German caricaturist who immigrated to Iran in the 1920 s. It is about a Caliph in Baghdad who buys a magic box from a peddler. The box changes people into animals when they chant an incantation. The Caliph and his first Minister chant the spell and change into Hajji Stork, but they forget the chant and cannot return to their original form. The epic stories of Shahname were another important source of material for children. The Story of Haft khân‑e Rostam was retold by Mohammad-Parvin Gonâbâdi, educator and writer, in 1930. Ali-Naqi Vaziri, Mohsen Fârsi and Abbâs Yamini Sharif were other writers who published books for children in this period. AliNaqi Vaziri, one of the first translators to select proper children’s folktales from English and French sources, published a collection in three volumes under the title Khândanihâ-ye kudakân afsâne hast (‘Legends are Children’s Reading’) in the 1940 s. This book was recommended by the Iranian educational system as useful reading material for students. Fazl-Allâh Mohtadi Sobhi (d. 1962), a children’s storyteller on the radio, was one of the first to gather old folktales and retell them for children. From 1944 to 1960, nine volumes of Mohtadi’s stories were published. Mohsen Fârsi, writer and translator of children’s books, published his first work, Afsânehâ-ye kudakân (‘Children’s Folktales’), a collection of Iranian, Egyptian, Greece, Italian and Indian folk467

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tales, at the end of 1940 s and continued his work for children’s books by publishing Boz‑e zangule pâ (‘The Goat with a Small Bell on his Foot’), an old Iranian folktale, and Dokhtar daryâ (‘The Little Mermaid’), a Hans Christian Andersen fairy tale. Abbâs Yamini Sharif (1919–1987), a pedagogue, poet and writer who wrote 30 books for children, published his first book Âvâz‑e fereshtegân (‘The Songs of the Angels’) in the 1940 s. Children’s literature was influenced by the realism genre in adult literature. Examples include Sag zarde (‘Yellow Dog’) by the pioneer of modern literature in Iran, Mohammad-Ali Jamâlzâde (1891–1997). Sa’id Nafisi, a journalist and writer who was inspired by French romantic writers, wrote several realistic short stories for adolescents between 1920 to 1940, such as Setâre-ye man (‘My star,’ 1923), Pust‑e kharboze (‘The melon skin’), Jenâyat‑e man (‘My Crime’) and Âshiyân kharâb (‘The ruined nest’). They were published first in newspapers and, in 1938, in a book with the title Setâregân‑e siyâh (‘The Black Star’). The promotion of realistic children’s stories and novels prepared the ground for realistic school stories in the following decades. The short stories of Rasul Parvizi in the 1950 s introduced a new genre in Persian children’s literature. In Shalvârhâ-ye vasle-dâr ( ‘The Patched trousers’), Ghese-ye eynakam (‘The Story of My Glasses’), Pâlto-ye hanâ’iyam (‘My Reddish Coat’), Zang‑e enshâ (‘The Composition Hour’) and Se yâr‑e dabestâni (‘The Three Primary School Friends’), Parvizi reflected the lives of Iranian adolescents from 1926 to 1940, in the Rezâ Shah period. These stories are the real mirror of students’ experience in modern city schools. Abd-al-Hoseyn San’atizâde Kermâni was one of the pioneers of science fiction for adolescents. Inspired by Jules Verne, Rostam dar gharn‑e bist-o-dovvom (‘Rostam in the Twenty-second Century’) was a novel published in 1934. In this story the writer has linked antiquity to modern times. Rostam, who is the hero of the classical Persian epic Shahname, appears in modern life riding a motorcycle rather than a horse. Fereshte-ye solh (‘The Angel of Peace’) is another science fiction work that Abd-al-Hoseyn San’atizâde wrote for adolescents in 1941. The main character is a young girl who criticizes World War II and loses her life bringing peace to her country. 468

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Because of the lack of context for the appearance and growth of the science fiction genre in Iran, both of Abd-al-Hoseyn San’atizâde’s novels were very unsuccessful imitations of Western ones. After the banning of the veil in 1934, which led to the presence of Iranian women and girls in social activities, some novels and stories were written for girls. A variety of views about women’s role in society were reflected in these stories. Shahrnâz, written by Yahyâ Dowlatâbâdi in 1926, is a story about a 14-year girl who marries early and faces many difficulties. Dokhtar‑e tire bakht va Javân‑e bolhavas (‘The Unfortunate Girl and the Debauched Lad’), written by Irândokht Teymurtâsh in 1930, is the story of a 14-year old girl who meets a boy on her way to school and is tricked by him. Zahrâ Kiyâ, one of the first female professors of literature, wrote two novels for girls when she was very young: Parvin and Parviz in 1931 and Rahbar‑e dushizegân (‘The Leader of the Girls’) in 1932. These were moral lessons and not literature to simply be enjoyed. A review of the periodicals published for children and adults between 1920 to 1940 shows that a considerable number of children’s stories were written or translated, and published by magazines and newspapers. There were special columns and pages allocated to children and adolescents, where adventures and exciting novels that appealed to young adults appeared. This was a transition period in which children’s literature gathered strength, to become more established and independent, and the increasing number of periodicals certainly contributed to this. The increasing number of translated works in this period distorted the development of Iranian children’s literature. This problem continued until the 1960 s, when the ‘Children’s Book Council of Iran’ and ‘The Institute for the Intellectual Development of Children and Young Adults’ were established as the two most important institutions for children’s literature. They tried to bring dramatic changes in Iranian children’s literature, by spreading an awareness of modern children’s literature and children’s need for literary books, by employing and encouraging a large number of writers and illustrators to prepare appropriate high-quality books for children, and by establishing children’s libraries in cities and villages around Iran. 469

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Bibliography Saqafi, Khalil. Tarbiyat-nâme, Tehran, 1891. Sayyâh, Hâjj Mohammad-Ali. Khâterât‑e Hâjj Sayyâh: Yâ dowra-ye khowf-o wahshat. Ed. Hamid Sayyâh, rev. S. Golkâr, Tehran, 1967. Sayyâh, Hâjj Mohammad-Ali. An Iranian in Nineteenth Century Europe: the Travel Diaries of Hâj Sayyâh (1859–1877). Trans. M. Nasser Deyhim, Bethesda, MD, 1999. Schirazi, A. EIr, s. v. Germany x. The Persian community in Germany. Scott Meisami, J. “Iran.” In R. Ostle, ed., Modern Literature in the Near and Middle East 1850–1970, London and New York, 1991, pp. 45–62. Sepânlu, M. A. Âref‑e Qazvini, shâ’er‑e tarâne sarâye melli, Tehran, 1986. —. Chahâr shâ’er‑e âzâdi: jostoju’i dar sargodhasht va âthâr‑e Âref, Eshqi, Bahâr, Farrokhi Yazdi, Tehran, 1990. —. Bahâr: Mohammad-Taqi, Malek-al-Sho’arâ, Tehran, 1996. —. Mohammad-Taqi Bahâr, Malek-al-Sho’arâ, Tehran, 1996. Sepehr, M. Irân dar jang‑e bozorg 1914–1918, Tehran, 1957. Sepehrân, K. “Mirzâ Âqa Tabrizi va siyâsat‑e zibâ-shenâkhti.” Jâme’eshenâsi-ye honar va adabiyyât, year 1, No. 2, Winter 2010, pp. 198–214. Sepehrân, K. Ta’âtrcrâsi dar asr‑e mashrute, Tehran, 2009. Seyed-Gohrab, A. A. “Magic in Classical Persian Amatory Literature.” Iranian Studies, Vol. 32, No. 1 (Winter 1999), pp. 71–97. —. “The Symbolism of Veiling and the Poetics of Unveiling in Early Modern Persian Poetry.” Khil’a: Journal of Dress and Textiles in the Islamic World 1 (2005), pp. 107–21. —. Mirror of Dew: The Poetry of Âlam-Tâj Zhâle Qâ’em-Maqâmi, Boston, 2014. Shafi’i Kadkani, M. R. “Adib Neyshâburi dar hâshiye-ye she’r‑e mashrutiyyat.” Jostâr-hâ-ye adabi 42 (1956), pp. 149–87. —. “Behtarin tasnif-sâz.” In Hâdi Ha’eri, ed., Âthâr‑e montasher nashode-​ ye Âref‑e Qazvini, Tehran, 1993. —. Advâr‑e she’r‑e fârsi: az mashrutiyat tâ soqut‑e saltanat, Tehran, 2001. —. “Vatan va jelve-gari-hâ-ye ân dar she’r‑e fârsi.” Fasl-nâme-ye yâd 63– 66 (2002), pp. 161–72, 176–90. Shahbazi, A. Sh. Ferdowsi: A Critical Biography, Costa Mesa, Calif., 1991. —. EIr, s. v. Ferdowsi, Abu’l-Qāsem iv. Millenary Celebration. Shahnavaz S. EIr, s. v. Khaz’al Khān. Shahvar, S. The Forgotten Schools: The Baha’is and Modern Education in Iran, 1899–1934, London, 2009. Shakespeare, William, Shakespeare’s Poems. Ed. Katherine Duncan-Jones and H. R. Woudhuysen, London, 2007.

493

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494

Bibliography Steingass, F. A Comprehensive Persian English Dictionary, London, reprint 1982. Stevenson, Robert Louis. Treasure Island. Trans. by Abu ‘l-Qâsem Tâheri, Tehran, 1937. Susmâr-al-Dowle. Ed. R. Rezâzâde Malek, Tehran, 1975. Swift, J. A Voyage to Brobdingnag. Trans. by Ali-Rezâ Motarjem-al-Saltane, Tehran, 1901. —. A Voyage to Lilliput. Trans. by Ali-Rezâ Motarjem-al-Saltane, Tehran, 1901. —. Gulliver’s Travels. Trans. by Ali-Rezâ Motarjem-al-Saltane, Tehran, 1901. Tabrizi, Mirzâ Âqa. Panj namâyesh-nâme. Ed. H. Seddiq, Tehran, 1975. Tafażżoli, A. EIr, s. v. Fahlavīyyāt. Taj-al-Saltana. Crowning Anguish: Memoirs of a Persian Princess from the Harem to Modernity, 1884–1914. Ed. Abbas Amanat and transl. by Anna Vanzan and Amin Neshati, Washington D. C. 1993. Talajooy, S. “Indigenous Performing Traditions in Post-Revolutionary Iranian Theatre.” Iranian Studies, No. 44, 4 (June 2011), pp. 497–519. —. “The Impact of Soviet Contact on Iranian Theatre: Abdolhosein Nushin and the Tudeh Party.” In S. Cronin, ed., Iranian-Russian Encounters: Empires and Revolutions since 1800, London and New York, 2012, pp. 337–59. Talattof, K. The Politics of Writing in Iran: A History of Modern Persian Literature, Syracuse, 2000. —. Modernity, Sexuality, and Ideology in Iran: The Life and Legacy of Popular Iranian Female Artists, Syracuse, 2011. Tâlebi, F. Zendegi va âthâr‑e namâyeshi-ye Gerigor Yaqikiân, Tehran, 2001. Tâlebof, Abd-al-Rahmân. Ketâb‑e Ahmad or Safine-ye Tâlebi, Istanbul, 1892. Taqizâde, S. H. Zendegi-ye tufâni. Ed. Iraj Afshar, second edition, Tehran, 1993. Tavakoli-Targhi, M. “Refashioning Iran: Language and Culture during the Constitutional Revolution.” Iranian Studies. Vol. 23, No. 1/4 (1990), pp. 77–101. —. Refashioning Iran: Orientalism, Occidentalism, and Historiography, New York, 2001. —. “From Patriotism to Matriotism: A Tropological Study of Iranian Nationalism, 1870–1909.” International Journal of Middle East Studies, Vol. 34, No. 2 (2002), pp. 217–38.

495

LITERATURE OF THE EARLY TWENTIETH CENTURY Tâyere (‘Esmat Khânom Tehrâni’). “Tâyere: name-hâ va neveste-hâ va ash‘âr hamrâh bâ barg-hâ’i az zendegi-ye u.” Nime-ye digar, Vol. II, number 3 (Winter, 1997), pp. 146–95. The Child Sailor among the Eskimos (Red Book series), Tehran, 1930. The Quran Interpreted. Trans. A. J. Arberry, New York, 1955. Tomiche, N. EI2, s. v. al-Mar’a. Towhidi, N. “Bâznegari dar qalamrow‑e jensiyyat,” Irân-Nâme 35 (1991), pp. 427–40. Tsuge, G. EIr, s. v. Āvāz. Vahidâ, F. “Râhyâbi-ye vâzhe-hâ-ye khâreji (farangi) be zabân va she’r‑e fârsi dar asr‑e enqelâb‑e mashrute.” Pazhuhesh-nâme-ye zabân va adabiyyât‑e fârsi 3 (2009), pp. 1–20. Vahman, F. Sad-o shast sâl mobâreze bâ â’in‑e bahâ’i: gushe’i az târikh‑e ejtemâ’i-dini-ye irân dar dowrân‑e mo’âser, Sweden [Stockholm], 2009, third print, 2010. Vanzan, A. EIr, s. v. Ḥāji Pirzāda. Vaziri, Ali-Naqi. Khândani-hâ-ye kudakân Afsâneh hast, 3 vols., Tehran, 1940. Vejdani, F. “Approaching the Masses: Folklore Studies, Ethnography, and Interwar Iranian Nationalism.” International Journal of Middle East Studies 44 (2012), pp. 507–26. Verne, J. G. Michel Strogoff. Trans. by Âvânes Khân, Tehran, 1894. —. Vingt mille lieues sous les mers. Trans. by Yusof E’tesâm-al-Molk, Tabriz, 1902. —. Voyages et aventures du capitaine Hatteras. Trans. by E’atemâd-alSaltane, Tehran, 1903. —. L’Île mystérieuse. Trans. by Mahmud Tarzi, Tehran, 1914. —. Le tour du monde en quatre-vingts jours. Trans. By Ardeshir Nikpur, Tehran, 1955. —. Michel Strogoff. Trans. by Ardeshir Nikpur, Tehran, 1955. Vosuq-al-Dowle, Mirzâ Hasan Khan, Divân, ed. I. Afshâr, Tehran, 1984. Wells, Herbert George. The First Men in the Moon. Trans. by Taqi Mottaqi, Isfahan, 1934. Wensinck, A. J. EI2, s. v. Āṣaf Barkhiyā. Yamamoto, K. “Naqqâli: Professional Iranian Storytelling.” In Oral Literature of Iranian Languages: Kurdish, Pashto, Balochi, Ossetic, Persian & Tajik, ed. Philip G. Kreyenbroek and Ulrich Marzolph, London and New York, 2010, pp. 240–57. Yamini Sharif, Abbâs. Âvâz‑e fereshtegân, Tehran, 1949.

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Bibliography Yarshater, E. “Persian Letters in the Last Fifty Years (1910–1950),” pp. 448– 57; “The Modern Literary Idiom (1920s–1960s),” pp. 42–62. In T ­ homas M. Ricks, ed., Critical Perspectives on Modern Persian Literature, Washington, 1984. —. “The Indian or Safavid Style: Progress or Decline?” In Ehsan Yarshater, ed., Persian Literature, Bibliotheca Persica, Albany, New York, 1988, pp. 249–88. Yavari, H. EIr, s. v. Fiction, ii(b) The Novel; ii(d) The Post-Revolutionary Short Story; ii(e) Post-Revolutionary Fiction Abroad; ii(f) By Persians in Non-Persian Languages. Yazıcı, T. EIr, s. v. Ḥabīb Eṣfahānī. Yohannan, J. D. Persian Poetry in England and America: a 200-Year History, Delmar, New York, 1977. Yusofi, Gh. H. Chashme-ye rowshan: didâri bâ shâ’erân, Tehran, 1992. —. “Setâyeshgar‑e mâdar.” In Gholâm-Hoseyn Yusofi, Cheshme-ye row­shan, Tehran, 1992. —. Dânesh-nâme-ye zabân va adab‑e fârsi, s. v. Charand parand. —. EIr, s. v. Čarand parand. Yusofzâde, A. “Negâhi be vaz’e musiqi dar dowre-ye Qâjâr.” Irân-Nâme 67 (1999), pp. 453–68. Zâre, Gh. and N. Niku-Bakht, “Angize-hâ-ye tavajjoh be Irân‑e bâstân dar she’r‑e asr‑e mashrute.” Fasl-nâme-ye pazhuheshhâ-ye adabi 15 (2007), pp. 139–53. Zarrinkub, A. H. “Irân beyn‑e now-ju’i va sonnat-garâ’i.” Naqd‑e adabi, Vol. II, Tehran, 1975, pp. 617–63. —. Seyri dar she’r‑e fârsi, Tehran, 1992. Zarrinkub, H. Chashm-andâz‑e she’r‑e now‑e fârsi: moqaddame bar she’r‑e now, masâ’el va chehre-hâ-ye ân, Tehran, 1979. Zévaco, Michel. Les Pardaillan. Trans. by Hasan Nâser, Tehran, 1924. Zipoli, R. “Poetic Imagery.” In J. T. P. de Bruijn, ed., General Introduction to Persian Literature. A History of Persian Literature, Vol. I, London, 2009, pp. 172–232.

497

INDEX Abdu’l-Bahâ (1844–1921) ​135, 250, 251, 252, 256 n. 73 Achaemenid dynasty (c. 700–330 bc) ​95 Âdamiyyat, Fereydun (1920–2008) ​ 276 Adib-e Pishâvari, Sayyed-Ahmad Shehâb-al-Din Razavi (1844–1930) ​92–93, 96–97, 187, 490–91 Qeysar-nâma ​96 Aeschylus (c. 525–456 bc) ​318 Afghâni, Jamâl-al-Din (1838 or 1839–1897) ​4 Afghanistan ​12, 79, 92, 116, 415 n. 7 Aflâtun ebn-e Eskandar Kermâni ix, ​397, 455, 478 Afrâshte, Mohammad-Ali ​239 Ahmad Shah Qajar (r. 1909–1925) ​ 10, 179, 441 Âjudâni, M. 3 n. 5, ​23 n. 56, 38 n. 22, 82 n. 109, 84 n. 112, 100 n. 140, 113 n. 151, 129 n. 173, 378 n. 34, 472 Akhtiyardini, Amir, Vajih-alMolk ​409 Âkhundzâde, Fath-Ali (1812–1878) ​23 n. 56, 38, 44, 57, 82, 142–44, 147, 156, 353, 360–67, 376, 380, 386, 409, 416, 417, 428, 471–72, 485, 489 Âl-e Ahmad, Jalâl (1923–1969) ​36

Alfieri, Vittorio (1749–1803) ​316, 319, 472 Amid, Maryam (Mozayyen-al-Saltane) ​450 Amin, Qâsem (1863–1908) ​296, 341 Amin-al-Dowle, Mirzâ Ali khân (1844–1904) ​135 n. 5, 374 Amiri, see Farâhâni, Adib-al-Mamâlek Amir-Kabir, Amir-Nezâm Farâhâni (1807–1852) ​5, 83, 167, 368, 449, 471 Andersen, Hans Christian (1805–1875) ​xi, 468 Anglo-Persian Agreement (1919) ​ 91, 155, 165, 337 Anglo-Persian Oil Company (founded in 1909) ​9, 18, 485 Anglo-Russian Convention of 1907 ​42, 91, 485 Anjoman 6 ​49, 240, 241 n. 3 Adabi-ye Dâneshkade ​34 Adabi-ye Irân ​429 Adabi-ye Tehrân ​244 n. 15 Âdamiyyat ​268 n. 118 Âftâb ​433 dustdârân-e ta’âtr ​372 Hakim Nezâmi ​429 Nezâmi ​442 Okhovvat (Fraternity Society, ​ 1899–1924) ​375, 387 Sa’di ​414

499

LITERATURE OF THE EARLY TWENTIETH CENTURY Anvari Abivardi, Owhad-al-Din Mohammad (d. after 1164) ​ 162–63, 304, 374 Ȃqâ Karbalâ’i (Ȃkablâi) ​169–70, Âqâ Najafi ​433 Âqâsi, Hâjji Mirzâ Abbâs Iravâni (1783–1848) ​173 Âqâbâbiyân, Pari (1900–1955?) ​ 389, 400 Arâqi, Sayyed Esmâ’il ​207 Arbâb Aflâtun Shahrokh ​389, 403–4 Arbâb Keykhosrow Shâhrokh ​403 Arbâbzâde, Hoseyn ​258 Âref Qazvini, Abu’l-Qâsem (1882–​ 1934) ​viii, 26 n. 64, 40–41, 426 n. 37, 473, 483, 487, 493 Âref-nâme ​25, 69 ghazal ​101–2 tasnif ​103–10 Arghun, Mortezâ-Qoli (Mokremal-Soltân) ​266 Ariosto, Ludovico (1474–1533) ​318 Âriyanpur, Yahyâ ​45, 58, 103–4, 124, 338, 341, 345, 368, 384, 429, 473 Armenians ​19 n. 49, 116, 137, 140, 156, 372–73, 375–76, 389, 391, 400, 407, 449, 481 Arusi-ye Belqeys (‘Marriage of Belqeys’) ​356 Arusi-ye Qâsem (‘Marriage of Qâsem’) ​356 Aryan(s) ​18, 92, 116, 156 dynasties ​90 race ​43, 93, 235 Aryanism ​92 Asad-Âbâdi, Sayyed Jalâl-al-Din ​ 462, 473 Âshtiyâni, Hâjji Mirzâ Hasan (d. 1901) ​3–4

Âshtiyâni, Mirzâ Esmâ’il Khân ​ 248 Âshtiyâni, Mirzâ Yusof Khân (E’tesâm-al-Molk) (1874– 1939) ​315 Âshurâ ceremonies ​355, 356 Associations, see anjomans Astarâbâdi, Bibi Khânom ​51, 450 Vices of Men (1894–95) ​51 Âsurik Tree (Drakht-e Âsurik) ​ 453–54 Attâr, Farid-al-Din (d. c. 1221) ​304 Avadisian, M. ​373 Âvânes Khân ​362, 496 Avery, Gillian ​459, 473 Âzâd, Afrâsiyâb ​408 Azeri ​40 n. 24, 58, 118, 124, 130, 137, 140, 143 playwrights ​379–80 Azhdarpanâh, Y. ​304 Âzmude, Tubâ ​450 Azod-al-Molk, Ali-Rezâ Khân ​8, 486 Bacon, Francis (1561–1626) ​315 Bâghchebân, Jabbâr (1885–1966) ​ 466, 474 Baghdad ​12, 213, 467 Bahâ’i 5 n. 11, ​20 n. 50, 241, 247 n. 36, 248–53, 473, 475–76, 478, 488, 493, 496 Bahâ’ullâh (1817–1892) ​250, 253 Bahâr, Mohammad-Taqi Malek-alSho’arâ (1886–1951) ​viii, xv, 17 n. 42, 34, 35 n. 12, 38–42, 44–45, 47–48, 79, 81, 85–86, 90 n. 120, 93, 98, 100 n. 140, 110, 114–15, 128, 130–31, 140, 159, 173, 175, 177, 181, 184–88, 193–94, 206–10, 214 n. 113, 215, 244, 259 n. 86,

500

Index 268 n. 119, 280 n. 175, 295, 305, 320, 322, 324–30, 332, 339, 343–44, 346, 352, 414 n. 5, 417 n. 13, 422 n. 25, 426 n. 37, 434–35, 437, 439–40, 474, 478, 480, 483–84, 486, 492–94 Âyne-ye ebrat ​79, 98 clandestine political poetry ​185 Jomhuri-nâme (‘The Republic Saga’) ​184, 209–10 Kârnâme-ye zendân (‘Prison Report’) ​215 political poem ​207, 209, 215 Bahrâmi, Faraj-Allâh ​212, 395 Bahrâmi, Mahmud (Monshi-​ Bâshi) ​376 Bakhtiyâri, Hoseyn Pezhmân (1900–1974) ​244 n. 23, 245, 269 n. 125, 284 n. 189, 285–87, 288 n. 206, 290–91, 474, 490 Baudelaire, Charles Pierre (1821– 1867) ​349 Les Fleurs du mal ​349 Bayle, Pierre ​318 bâzâris, see merchants Bâzgasht-e adabi (‘Literary return’ or ‘Neo-classicism’) ​ 97, 98 n. 136, 164, 309, 313, 331, 494 Behâdhin, M. E. ​303, 304 n 275 Behbahâni, Abd-Allâh (1840– 1910) ​6, 20–22, 135, 472 Behbahâni, Simin (1927–2014) ​142 n. 32, 143 n. 36, 145 n. 43, 242, 268, 269 n. 122, 287, 298, 304, 475 Behruz, Zabih-Allâh (1890–1971) ​ ix, 156–57, 390, 406–7, 473, 475, 488–89, 494

Beriyâni Shabestari, Hoseyn ​465 Berlin ​11, 45, 91–93, 130, 156, 216, 220, 226, 259 n. 84, 321, 346, 366, 406, 439, 478 Beyzâ’i, Nâder ​248 n. 38, 249, 250 n. 48 and 50, 252, 475 Binesh, Taqi ​186, 199 n. 83, 475 Bolshevik ​176, 336 Revolution (1917) ​12, 312 Boura, Luis ​421 Brisbane, Arthur ​346 Brookshaw, D. P. ​52, 73 Brittingham, Isabella D. ​249 n. 42 and 45, 251, 253 n. 63 Browne, Edward G. (1862–1926) ​ xv, 82, 93, 139, 156, 165, 168, 170, 331, 335, 338, 366, 369, 418, 440 Burâq ​156 Burroughs, Edgar Rice (1875– 1950) ​465 Camilleri, Carmel ​377 Caucasus ​1–2, 20, 170, 372, 449 Charand-parand (‘Fiddle-Faddle’), see under Dehkhodâ chastity ​49, 57, 59–62, 64, 69–71, 199–200, 271, 292, 308 Chateaubriand, François-René de (1768–1848) ​141, 315 Les aventures du dernier Abencerage ​141 Chodźko, Aleksander Borejko (1804–1891) ​358, 475 Le Theatre Persan ​358 Cicero, Marcus Tullius (106–43 bc) ​317 colloquial language ​41, 114, 116, 144, 150, 152, 168–70, 210, 217, 280 n. 176, 314, 451 common law (orf ) ​292

501

LITERATURE OF THE EARLY TWENTIETH CENTURY Constitutional Revolution (1905– 1911) ​vii, viii, xvii, 5–7, 20, 25, 28, 30, 38–39, 58, 85, 90–91, 97, 114, 118, 133–34, 140–41, 145, 154, 164–65, 167, 187–89, 206–7, 217, 219, 261, 312–13, 326, 340, 342, 352, 374, 379, 380–81, 383, 393, 396, 409, 421–23, 436, 440–41, 456, 471–72, 483–84, 487, 490, 492, 494–95 Constitutionalism ​23, 99, 131, 170, 173, 212, 317, 480, 486 Cossack Brigade ​7, 149, 473 Persia’s ​2, 14, 149, 214 n. 111, 473 Ctesiphon (Madâ’en) ​64–65, 79, 111–12, 337, 394, 397 Curzon, Lord George Nathaniel (1859–1925) ​3, 12, 180 cypress ​68 n. 88, 107, 109 Dabashi, H. ​299, 479 Dânesh, Mirzâ Rezâ Khân (Prince Arfâ’, 1854–1937) ​244 n. 16 Dante Alighieri (c. 1265–1321) ​317, 321 Divine Comedy ​321 Dâr-al-fonun (‘Polytechnic Institute’) ​31, 134, 311, 339, 367–69, 371–72, 381–82, 460, 473 Dashti, Ali (1894–1982) ​155, 211, 438, 476 Dastgerdi, Hasan Vahid ​10, 93–94, 178, 187, 244, 414 n. 5, 429, 431–33, 446, 471, 476 Dâvar, Ali-Akbar(1867–1937) ​23, 185, 376 Defoe, Daniel ​461, 477

Robinson Crusoe ​461–63, 465, 477 Dehkhodâ, Mirzâ Ali-Akbar Qazvini, also known as Dakhow (1879–1956) ​113, 116, 118, 127, 129–30, 149, 159–60, 168–70, 187, 193–94, 207, 215, 217, 332–33, 335, 425–28, 477 charand-parand (‘Fiddle-Faddle’) ​116, 149, 159, 160 n. 84, 168–69, 333, 497 Loghat-nâme ​333 democrat(s) ​10, 173, 178, 194 democratic Party ​167, 219, 259 n. 84, 269, 400 party of Azerbaijan ​322, 330 party of Iran ​335 theater ​370 Demosthenes (384–322 bc) ​318 Devellu, Allâhyâr ​243–45 dictatorship ​166, 178, 181, 377 didactic (literature) ​xvii, 36, 81, 99, 146, 149, 154, 215, 242, 304–5, 325, 411, 448, 456, 463 Diderot, Denis (1713–1784) ​315 donkey ​26, 163–64, 180, 182–83, 185, 193, 209, 238, 467 Burâq as a ~ ​156 Dordi Saghar ​457, 477 Dowlatâbâdi, Hâjji Mirzâ Yahyâ (1863–1939) ​152, 450, 456, 469, 477, 488 Dowlatâbâdi, Seddiqe ​276 n. 152, 409 dress ​71, 109, 191, 199, 247, 293, 328, 356, 359, 396, 406, 433, 493 code ​xx, 24, 25, 28, 476 European 24, 217, 252 n. 57, 270

502

Index Dumas, Alexandre (1802–1870) ​ 140, 435, 462, 477 Dunsterville, Lionel Charles (1865–1946) ​12, 477

kafan-e siyâh (‘Black Shroud’) ​ 64–67, 75, 111, 112, 395 Se tablow (‘Three Tableaux’) ​ 112–13, 348 Eskandari, Soleymân Mirzâ E’temâd-al-Saltane (1843–1896) ​ (1881–1943) ​212, 214 n. 112, 141, 166 n. 13, 369, 461, 462, 375–76 477 Esmâ’il Khân Tabrizi, known as E’tesâm-al-Molk, Mirzâ Yusof Âsef ​463, 488 Khân Âshtiyâni (1874–1939) ​ Esmat Khânom Tehrâni, ‘Tâyere’ 131, 193, 295, 315, 341, 346, (1871–1911) ​viii, 247–57, 281, 434, 462, 496 309, 496 Euripides ​318 E’tesâmi, Parvin (1907–1941) ​viii, Europe ​1, 4, 9, 25, 30–31, 42–44, 185–86, 193, 241, 245, 287, 49, 85, 91–92, 96, 118, 130, 295, 297–309, 316–19, 341, 135, 140–45, 148–49, 157, 343–44, 346, 352, 434, 477 175, 217–18, 225, 233, 236, Ebn-e Yamin (c.  1287–1367) ​162 238, 244, 264, 294, 295, 333, Ebrat-e Nâ’ini ​187 342, 351, 370, 378, 381, 397, Egypt ​44, 84, 137, 296, 312, 318, 410–12, 417–19, 424, 439, 442, 341–42, 415 n. 7, 417, 422 448–49, 466 n. 25, 438, 467 European ekhvâniyât (‘fraternities’) ​188, ~ization ​217, 313, 321 191, 193 n. 75, 194 n. 76, 195, comedies ​357 198 n. 80, 483 comic forms ​360 Eliot, T. S. (1888–1965) ​349 constitutions ​21 Eqbâl Âshtiyâni, Abbâs (1897– dress ​24, 217 1956) ​141, 159, 320, 417, 435, language ​vii, xx, 85, 138, 287, 440, 471 311–12, 314, 320, 352 Eqbâl Yaghmâ’i ​462, 477 literary standards ​144 Esfahâni, Mirzâ Habib (1898– literary tradition ​144 1984) ​17, 139–40, 164 n. 8, literary values ​84 369, 451, 478, 480, 497 literature ​xx, 41, 262, 312, 316, Esfandiyâri, Hâji Khân ​384–85 327, 332, 434 Eshqi, Mohammad-Rezâ Mirzâde novel ​160, 311, 462 (1893–1924) ​viii, ix, 13, 16, plays ​360, 376, 377, 388 17 n. 42, 40–42, 57, 64–65, poetry ​ix, 36, 311, 313–14, 321, 327 67, 78, 81, 110, 131, 172–73, political thinking ​34 175, 177–79, 181–84, 187, progress ​47, 73, 417 189, 206, 210, 244, 280, 332, prose ​34, 138, 321, 327 337–38, 349, 352, 392–98, writers ​322 478, 489–90, 492–93

503

LITERATURE OF THE EARLY TWENTIETH CENTURY Eyn-al-Dowle, Abd-al-Majid Mirzâ (1845–1927) ​21

Fâteme Soltân Adib-al-Zamân Farâhâni, ‘Shâhin’ (1864– 1919) ​284 n. 188, 432 Fath-Ali Shah Qajar (r. 1797–1834) ​ Fables ​306, 316, 321–43, 347, 169, 186, 195, 240, 243, 339, 451–52, 455–59, 461, 485, 492 243, 339 Aesop’s ​451, 459, 460 Fath-Allâh Khân Akbar, known by La Fontaine ​346–47, ​ as Sepahdâr-e Rashti ​175 459–60, 479, 482 fatwa ​ 3–4, 21, 78 Fahimi, Khalil ​376 Fekri, Mo’ez-al-Din ​ 391–92, 405 Fakhr-e Ozmâ Arghun, ‘Fakhri’ Fekri, Mortezâ-Qoli (1870–1917) ​ (1899–1966) ​266–272 ix, 376, 381–84, 393, 406, Farâhâni, Adib-al-Mamâlek (also 472, 478 known as Amiri, 1860–1917) ​ Fénelon, François ​461, 478 32, 41–42, 47 n. 40, 82, 173, Ferdowsi, Abu’l-Qâsem (c. 934– 174 n. 30, 187, 284 n. 188, 1021) 34–35, 38, 81, 83–86, 88, 424, 436 n. 63, 471, 485, 491 98, 131, 143–44, 146, 151, 267 on Dutch tyranny in Indonesia ​ n. 116, 271, 324–25, 390, 397, 42–43 407, 417, 429, 478, 487, 493 on Japan’s victory over Russia ​ publishing house ​466 32 Shahname ​34–35, 81, 83–86, Farahvashi, Bahrâm ​462, 477 97–98, 131, 144, 146, 271, Farangestân ​439, 442–43 (see also 359, 390, 397, 401, 467–68, Europe) 492 Farhangestân (‘Literary AcadeFiruz ebn-e Kâvus ​457, 485 my’) ​18–19, 224, 235, 482 Firuze Palace ​248 Farrokhi of Sistân (c. 995–1037) ​ Floor, Willem ​49–50, 51 n. 52, 84, 97, 99 368, 479, 482 Farrokhi Yazdi, Mohammad Florian, Jean-Pierre (1755–1794) ​ (1889–1939) ​13–15, 41, 347 100–101, 110, 173, 175, 189, folktale ​357, 364, 449–52, 460, 207, 438, 478–79, 493 464, 466, 468 Farrokhzâd, Forugh (1935–1967) ​ the Grimm brother’s ​452, 463 73, 131, 242, 287–88 religious ​451–52, 454 Farrokhzâd, Purân ​245, 269, 478 Russian ​467 Fârsi, Mohsen ​467 Forughi, Mohammad-Ali (1877– Farzâd, Mas’ud ​223, 231, 438 1942) ​18–20, 85, 159, 375–76, 440, 462, 492 Fasl-e Bahâr Khânom, ‘Jannat’ (Irân-al-Dowle, 1878–1940) ​ Forughi, Mohammad-Hoseyn Khân (Zokâ-al-Molk, viii, 243–47, 478

504

Index 1839–1907) ​140–41, 417, 461, 478 fragment (qat’e) ​162–63, 185, 208, 215, 344 French Revolution (1789–1799) ​ 165, 342 Garrusi, Amir-Nezâm (1820– 1900) ​42 n. 28, 457, 479 genie (jinn) ​180, 186, 217 Germany ​10, 20, 43, 90–96, 312, 343, 466, 475, 493 pro-German sympathies ​vii, 20, 90, 92–94, 130 Ghaeni, Z. ​xxi Ghafâri Kâshâni (Mo’âven-alDowle) ​333 Ghani Taqizâde, Soltân Majid ​ 459, 485 Ghanizâde, Mirzâ-Mahmud ​45, 492 Ghanoonparvar, M. R. ​153, 298, 300, 479 Gharebâghi, Salim ​463, 479 ghazal ​vii, 36, 96, 100–104, 110, 131, 181, 186, 197, 208, 243, 244 n. 15, 246, 252, 261, 268 n. 119, 269, 271 n. 129, 277–79, 287, 296–97, 332–36, 347–48, 431, 480, 490 Gheissari, Ali ​99, 479 Gide, André (1869–1951) ​421 Gilâni, Sayyed-Ashraf-al-Din (known as Nasim-e Shomâl, 1871–1933) ​8, 41, 52, 110, 113, 116, 118–19, 123–24, 126, 130, 170, 217, 332, 338, 347, 352, 426–27, 479–80 Gökalp, Zia (1876–1924) ​114 Golshan-Âbâdi, Sayyed AshrafAli ​461, 492

Golshiri, Hushang (1937–2000) ​ 444 Gonâbâdi, Mohammad-Parvin ​ 467, 480 Gorky, Maxim (1868–1936) ​ 336–37 Gowhar Khânom (Shamsat-alSho’arâ) ​240 Great Britain ​1, 2, 7, 9–10, 18, 43–44, 82, 90–91, 94, 135, 139, 476 Grey, Sir Edward (1862–1933) ​8 Guttenberg publishing house ​465 Habib-Allâh Shahrdâr (Moshir Homâyun, ​1886–1970) 397 habsiyât (‘prison poetry’) ​45, 215 Hâfez, Shams al-Din Mohammad (c. 1315–1390) ​35–36, 38, 144, 155, 161–62, 186, 203, 207, 246, 277–78, 313, 324–26, 331, 334–35, 342, 349, 397, 423, 431, 476, 480 Haggard, Henry Rider (1856– 1925) ​465, 480 Hâji Nuri ​362 Hajibeyov, Uzeyr (1885–1948) ​380 hajv (‘satire’) ​162, 187 ~iyyât ​162, 187, 207 Hâlati, Rafi ​392 Hallâj, Hoseyn Mansur (875–922) ​ 247 n. 34, 355 Hallâj, Sheykh Ja’far ​219 Haravi, Ibn-Heshâm ​104 harem ​75, 294, 495 hat ​24, 25 Hâtariyâ, Mânekji (1813–1890) ​455 Hazin Lâhiji, Mohammad-Ali (1692–1766) ​444 hazl, see ‘lampoons’

505

LITERATURE OF THE EARLY TWENTIETH CENTURY Hedâyat, Mehdi-Qoli (Mokhber-al-Saltane) ​25, 157, 480 Hedâyat, Sâdeq (1903–1951) ​viii, ix, xii, xviii, xx, 147, 157–58, 166, 185, 221–23, 225, 228, 231–32, 234–38, 300, 407–8, 410, 442, 475, 478, 480–81, 483–84 Afsâne-ye âfarinesh (‘The Legend of Creation’) ​157, 225, 408 Alaviye Khânom (‘Mistress Alaviye’) ​viii, 227–29, 480–81 al-bi’that al-Islâmiya ila’alBilâd al-Afranjiya (‘The Islamic Mission to European Countries’) ​viii, 225, 236 Buf-e kur (‘The Blind Owl’) ​ 157–58, 220–21, 223, 475, 481, 488 dramatic satire ​223, 225, 229, 234 Farhang-e Farhangestân (‘The Dictionary of the Literary Academy’) ​224, 235–36, 481 Ghaziye-ye ekhtelât-numche (‘The Case of the Gabbing’) ​224, 232–33 Hâjji Âqâ ​224, 238 Mihanparast (‘The Patriot’) ​viii, 224, 234, 481 on critical edition of Khamseye Nezâmi (‘Nezâmi’s quintet’) ​224, 236 Payâm-e Kafkâ (‘Kafka’s Message’) ​222 Talab-e Âmorzesh (‘Seeking Absolution’) ​viii, 229, 480

Tup-e Morvâri (‘The Morvâri Cannon’) ​234, 238, 222 Vagh-vagh sâhâb ​viii, 223, 231, 480 hefz-al-sehhat, see hygiene Heine, Heinrich (1797–1856) ​316 Hekmat, Ali-Asghar (1893–1980) ​ 18–19, 115, 414 n. 5, 435, 437, 440 hell ​46, 152, 172, 200, 228, 454 Homer ​205, 318 Homoerotic relationship ​69 Horace ​317–18 Hoseyn Roknzâde Âdamiyyat (1899–1973) ​151 house of justice (adâlat-khâne) 6 house of reading (qarâ’at-khâne) ​ 423 Hugo, François Victor (1828–1873) ​ 345 Hugo, Victor-Marie (1802–1885) ​ 155, 315–16, 345, 465, 481 humorous poetry ​173, 190, 427 Hushiyâr, Mohammad-Bâqer ​466 hygiene (hefz-al-sehhat) ​43, 46–47, 257, 274, 449, 483 Ibrahimov, Ali ​366 Imagery ​28, 41, 67, 75, 83, 95, 102, 108, 131, 204, 261, 313, 345, 349, 471, 497 Imam Ali ​174, 227, 229, 240 Hoseyn ​229–30, 356, 454 Rezâ ​227, 454 Shi’a ​188, 194, 454 Twelfth Shiite (Mahdi) ​3, 23, 60, 240, 419 imitation ​38, 79 n. 106, 97, 243 n. 11, 305, 315, 344, 348–49, 357, 469

506

Index India ​2, 44, 91–92, 96, 116, 157, Bila dig bila choghondar (‘The 208, 234–35, 248 n. 39, 404, Beetroot Fits the Pan’) ​ 412, 419, 423–24, 438–39, 149, 216 463, 475 Dâr-al-majânin (‘The Lunatic Asylum’) ​150, 220, 481, 483 Indian ​321, 325, 449, 497 Dard-e del-e Mollâ Qorbân-Ali ascetics ​45 (‘Mollâ Qorbân-Ali folktale ​467–68 Pouring Out His Heart’) ​ literature ​460 149, 216 style ​39, 97, 313, 497 Dusti-ye khâle kherse (‘With subcontinent ​79 Friends Like That’) ​149 Indonesians ​42 Fârsi Shekar ast (‘Persian is Iqbal, Sir Mohammad (1877–1938) ​ Sugar’) ​148, 217, 398, 481, 92, 473 483 Iraj Mirzâ (Jalâl-al-Mamâlek, Qoltashan Divân (‘Squire Bul1874–1926) ​viii, xviii, xx, ly’) ​222 25, 41, 69, 78, 98, 171, 173, Râhâb-nâme (‘The Drains 186–93, 195–200, 203–6, 280 Saga’) ​222 n. 175, 332, 338–40, 343–46, Rajol-e siyâsi (‘The Political 352, 391, 417, 427–28, 475, Figure’) ​149, 218 478, 481, 483–84, 486, 489, Sar o tah yek karbâs or Isfah494 an-nâme (‘All of the Same Âref-nâme ​25, 69, 177, 188, Cloth’ or ‘The Isfahan 190–91, 198, 483 Saga’) ​222 Zohre-o Manuchehr ​188, Veylân-al-Dowle (‘Vagrant of 204–6, 340, 344–45, 478, the Realm’) ​149 480 Yeki bud yeki nabud (‘Once Iran and non-Iran (irân-o anirân) ​ upon a Time’) ​147–50, 85 216, 220, 481, 483 Islamic law ​22–23, 75, 77, 225, 256 Jandaqi, Yaghmâ (pen-name of Islamic Revolution (1978–79) ​91, the poet Mirzâ Abu’l-Hasan 444 Rahim, c. 1781–1859) ​164 Javadi, Hasan ​49–50, 482 Jalâl-al-Din Mirzâ Qajar (1826– Johannesburg ​20 1872) ​361 Jamâlzâde, Mohammad-Ali Kafka, Franz (1883–1924) ​215, 222 (1892–1997) ​viii, xx, 147–51, Kalhor, Hoseyn-Qoli ​421 166, 185, 215–22, 398, 440, Kalhor, Rezâ ​415 443, 468, 478, 481–84 Kamâl-al-Molk, Mohammad Amu Hoseyn-Ali or Shahkâr Ghaffâri (c. 1859–1940) ​205, (‘Amu Hoseyn-Ali’ or 243 ‘Masterpiece’) ​222, 481

507

LITERATURE OF THE EARLY TWENTIETH CENTURY Kamâli, Ahmad ​193–94 Kamâli, Heydar-Ali ​421 Kânun-e Bânovân ​269, 445 n. 76 Karbalâ ​3, 170, 209, 227, 229–30, 354, 356–57, 366–67, 476 Karim Shire’i ​369, 406 Karimi-Hakkak, Ahmad ​112, 298, 302, 305, 325, 330, 333–35, 338, 343–46, 348–51, 482 Karim-Khân Zand, Mohammad-Karim (r. 1751–1779) ​ 272 Kâshâni, Mirzâ Ali-Mohammad Khan ​129 Kâshâni, Mirzâ Taqi ​450 Kashani-Sabet, Firoozeh ​46–47, 483 Kasravi, Ahmad (1890–1946) ​ 35–36, 132, 143, 144, 167, 207, 437, 439, 440, 466, 483, 489, 491 Katouzian, H. ​xx, 25, 149, 157–58, 483–84, 492 Kâtuziyân Tehrâni, Mohammad-Ali ​458, 484–85 Kâzemzâde, Hoseyn (known as Irânshahr, 1884–1962) ​276 Kermâni, Mirzâ Âqâ Khân (1853–1896) ​38, 44, 82–83, 98, 129, 141, 144, 147, 156, 379, 471, 475, 489 Kermânshâhi, Seyf-al-Din (1876– 1932) ​ix, 389, 397, 404–5, 482 Khal’atbari, Âdel ​268, 269 n. 124 Khalili, Abbâs (1895–1971) ​152, 267–68 Khalkhâli, Sayyed Abdol-Rahim ​ 216, 408, 437 Khâmene’i, Ja’far ​260, 265, 322

Khâqâni Sharvâni, Afzal-al-Din Ibrâhim (c. 1126–1199) ​79, 152 n. 72, 162–63, 485 Khatibi, Parviz ​239 Khayyâm, Omar (1048–1131) ​xvi, 108, 110, 155 n. 72, 349, 476 Khaz’al, Sheykh (1861–1936) ​15, 493 kheyme-shab-bâzi, see puppet theater Khiyâbâni, Sheykh Mohammad ​ 258–61, 435 Khuzestan ​15, 45 Kiyâ, Zahrâ ​469, 486 Kiyânuri, Nur-al-Din (1915–1999) ​ 238 Knox D’Arcy, William (1849– 1917) ​9, 18, 491 Kuchek-Khân, Mirzâ (1880–1921) ​ 14 Kuhi-Kermâni, Hoseyn ​115, 439 La Fontaine, Jean de (1621–1695) ​ 316, 342, 346–47, 435, 459–60, 479, 482 fables by ​346–47, 459–60, 479, 482 Lâhuti, Abu’l-Qâsem (1887–1957) ​ 15, 41–42, 57, 66–67, 78, 110, 118, 124–26, 130, 173, 187, 258 n. 82, 332, 335–37, 348, 352, 397, 420, 471, 486 lampoons (hazl) ​161–65, 173, 185, 187, 189–91, 207–8, 215, 223 Leblanc, Maurice Marie Émile (1864–1941) ​464 Lefevere, André (1945–1996) ​346, 486 Lenau, Nicholas (1802–1822) ​321 Lenin, Vladimir (1870–1924) ​176 Leopardi, Giacomo (1798–1837) ​316

508

Index literary change (tahavvol-e adabi) ​ 327 literary despotism ​35, 323 literary devices xvii, ​72 n. 97, 159, 313, 332 literary modernization (tajaddod-e adabi) ​260, 327, 330, 473, 492 Literary Return Movement (­dowre-ye bâzgasht-e adabi) ​ 97, 313, 331 literary revival (tajdid-e hayât-e adabi) ​315 literary revolt (osyân-e adabi) ​323 literary revolution (enqelâb-e adabi) ​34, 173, 188, 201, 203, 203 n. 89, 260, 274 n. 145, 342, 411 n. 1, 443, 446, literary society ​34, 244 n. 15, 320 Locke, John (1632–1704) ​318, 459 Loloi, P. ​xx, 41 Loqmân-al-Dowle ​425 Loraine, Sir Percy (1880–1961) ​ 179, 212 love  xix, 32–33, 33 n. 6, 45–46, 53, 64, 69 n. 89, 100–105, 109, 113, 127, 137, 146, 149, 151, 153–55, 155 n. 73, 188, 193, 204–5, 220–21, 229, 246, 253, 256, 262, 271–72, 277 n. 167, 279–80, 281 n. 178, 287 n. 201, 289, 291–92, 296, 307, 345, 347, 349–50, 364, 376, 382–83, 395–97, 399, 400, 403, 407–8, 418, 423, 426, 432, 465, 483–84, 489 lullaby ​xix, 41, 113, 117, 119, 122–24, 126–27 Machiavelli, Niccolo (1469–1527) ​ 318

Mahmudi, Ahmad (1875–1930) ix, ​ 377, 384–86, 387 n. 43, 394, 398, 472 Mahsati or Mahasti (poetess from the 12 th century) ​162, 486 Majles, see Parliament Maktab-khâne ​x, 448–54 Maleki, Mohammad ​376 Malkam Khân, Nezâm al-Dowle (1833–1908) ​22, 23 n. 56, 82, 129, 135, 142–43, 168, 366, 417 n. 13, 489 Manuchehri of Dâmghân (d. c.  1040) ​84, 97 Marâghe’i, Zeyn-al-Âbedin ​38, 417 n. 13, 436 n. 63, 451, 489 Marat’s Ami du Peuple ​165 martyrdom ​19, 126, 229, 235, 247 n. 34, 354, 356 Mas’ud, Mohammad (1905–1947) ​ 152, 238 Masihian, Ovanes (1863–1931) ​372 Mason Remey, Charles (1874– 1974) ​249 n. 42, 250–51, 250 n. 52, 252 n. 57 Massé, Henri ​276 mathnavi (‘rhyming couplets’) ​98, 156, 163, 182, 201, 215, 277 n. 165, 340, 344–46, 348, 457, 492 Matini, J. ​307, 486–87 Mefâh-al-Dowle, Mas’ud Khân ​ 250 Meftâh-al-Molk, Mirzâ Mahmud Yusof Mâzandari ​250, 457–58, 487 Mehrtâsh, Esmâ’il (1904–70) ​388 Melik Yâns, Mâte’us Khân ​455, 487 mellat, see nation

509

LITERATURE OF THE EARLY TWENTIETH CENTURY merchants (bâzâris) ​4, 6, 21, 23, 115, 137, 149, 219–21, 258, 338, 362, 364, 382, 403, 450, 463 metaphor ​28, 41, 47, 65, 95–96, 109, 117, 151, 159, 187, 204, 253, 299, 343–44, 426, 433, 471 of the ball and the stick ​96 of the cat and the water ​28 city as a ~ for modernity ​151 metaphorical language 302, 343 medical ​47 of repairing an old edifice ​328 of the rose and the nightingale ​ 109 of the veil ​65 metonym ​52 n. 53, 126, 343 ~-cally ​109 Michelangelo (1475–1564) ​205 Milani, Farzaneh ​241–42, 259 n. 88, 296, 299, 301–2, 305–6, 309, 475, 487 Milton, John (1608–1674) ​318 Minovi, Mojtabâ (1903–1976) ​223, 237 Mir, Sirus ​59 Mirzâ Jahângir Khân (known as Sur-e Esrâfil) ​130, 334, 425, 428 Mirzâ Qajar, Abu’l-Hasan (Sheykh-al-Ra’is) ​141 Mo’ayyadzâde ​276 Moadel, Mansoor 2 Moayyad, Heshmat ​298–99, 302, 476–77, 479, 482, 487–88 Modarres, Sayyed-Hasan ​13, 180 modernism ​29, 59, 78, 218, 231, 327–28, 332, 336, 472, 482–83 modernists ​34, 178, 187, 347, 403, 442–43, 448–50

modernity in literature (tajaddod dar adabiyyât) ​259 n. 86, 322, 330, 443 Mohammad Shah (r. 1834–1848) ​ 22, 284 Mohammad-Ali Shah (r. 1907– 1909) ​7–8, 79, 165, 167, 169, 207, 243 n. 12, 332–34, 336, 339, 387, 428, 443 Mohammad-Hâshem Mirzâ, Afsar (Sheykh al-Ra’is, ​ 1879–1940) 186, 244 n. 15 Mohammad (the Prophet, d. ​632) 63, 76, 156, 188, 227, 240, 256 Mohandes, Mirzâ Rezâ ​368 Mohaqqeq-al-Dowle, Abd-al-Karim (d. 1915) ​376 Moharram ​24, 209 Mohtadi Sobhi, Fazl-Allâh (d. 1962) ​467 Mohtaram Eskandari (1895–1924) ​ 268 Molière, Jean-Baptiste Poquelin (1622–1673) ​139, 141, 318, 361, 367, 369–70, 373, 376, 388, 492 Monir Alavi, Badr ​409 Monshi, Mohsen ​461 Moody, Susan ​251 Moqaddam, Hasan (1897–1925) ​ ix, 166, 218, 397–98, 405–6, 410, 420 Mosaddeq, Mohammad (1882– 1967) ​239 mosammat ​94, 113, 169, 179, 184, 210, 333–34 Mosâvât, Mohammad Rezâ ​168, 437 Moshir-Salimi, A. A. ​269, 284–85, 488

510

Index Mosta’ân, Hoseyn-Qoli (1904– 1983) ​141, 155, 236, 465 Mostafâ Khân Nuri ​250 Mostafâ-Qoli Khân Devellu Qajar (Hâjeb-al-Dowle) ​243 Mostashâr-al-Dowle Tabrizi, Mirzâ Yusof Khân ​22, 23 n. 56, 118, 134 n. 4, 135, 142, 450, 456, 488–89 mostazâd ​38, 104, 179, 332–33, 339 Moste’ân, Hoseyn-Qoli ​397 Mostowfi, Abd-Allâh (1876–1950) ​ 10, 23, 179, 375–76 Mostowfi-al-Mamâlek ​10 Motaqi, Taqi ​465 Motarjem-al-Saltane, Ali-Rezâ ​ 462, 495 Mozaffar-al-Din Shah (r. 1896– 1907) ​4, 7, 79, 243 n. 12, 339, 370, 417, 460 Mozaffari, Mohammad-Ali Khân ​ 460, 472 Nâ’ini, Ebrat ​187 Nâ’ini, Mirzâ-Rezâ Khân (1873– 1932) ​373–74, 489 Nâ’ini, Mohammad-Hoseyn ​23 Nâderi, Amir-al-Sho’arâ ​71–72 Nafisi, Sa’id (1895–1966) ​ix, 141, 159, 276, 303, 320, 342, 405–6, 414 n. 5, 430, 435, 437–38, 440, 468, 489 Nâhid, Ebrâhim ​408 Nâhid, Mahbube ​409 Nâmdâr, Mehdi ​408 naqqâli ​353, 359, 377, 496 Naqqâsh-Bâshi, Mozayyen-al-Dowle (1843– 1932) ​368–69 Narimânov, Narimân (1870–1925) ​ 379

Nâser-al-Din Shah (r. 1848–1896) ​ 3–4, 83, 140, 142, 167, 169, 240, 248, 355, 360, 368, 370– 71, 406, 415, 431, 449, 461 Nâser-e Khosrow (d. ​1088) 155 n. 72, 304, 476 Nasr, Sayyed-Ali (1893–1962) ​ix, 376, 388, 391–92, 402–3, 410, 473 nation (mellat) ​100, 142, 416 League of ​18 National Front (political party) ​ 239 Nationalism ​ix, xvii, 78, 82, 114, 127, 131, 354, 387–88, 390, 393, 400–403, 405, 417, 432, 445, 483, 485–86, 495–96 Navâ’i, Mirzâ Aqâ Khân (Nabilal-Dowle) ​475, 488 Negârestân Palace ​169 nehzat-e tarjome, see ‘Translation Movement’ neo-classicism (bâzgasht-e adabi) ​ 39, 97, 188 neqâb (‘face veil’) ​62, 66, 199–200 (also see veil) Newspapers and periodicals Adab ​413, 414 n. 5, 416, 424–25, 429 Âdamiyat ​ 151 Akhgar ​421 Armaghân ​ 244, 413, 414 n. 5, 429–30, 433–34, 442 n. 69 Asr-e Âzâdi ​276, 421 Âyande-ye Irân ​268–69 Âzâdestân ​259 n. 84, 260, 261 n. 98 and 100, 263 n. 104, 265, 330, 433, 442, 490 Bahâr ​130–31, 295, 305, 315–16, 320, 331, 341–42,

511

LITERATURE OF THE EARLY TWENTIETH CENTURY Bahâr cont. ​346, 416, 418, 434, 436 n. 64, 440 n. 66 Bahârestân ​421–22 Chehre-namâ ​260 n. 95, 276, 422 n. 25, 436 n. 64 Dâneshgâh ​421 Dâneshkade ​320–22, 326–30, 342–44, 346, 413, 414 n. 5, 434–35, 436 n. 62, 442, 445 Dokhtarân-e Irân ​275–76, 275 n. 150, 276 n. 152, 284, 440 Dowlat-e Elliye-ye Irân ​416 Eqdâm ​267, 321 Ershâd ​381 Estakhr ​276, 421 Farhang ​421, 442 n. 69 Gheyrat ​129 Golestân ​421 Gol-e zard ​244, 421, 438 Habl-al-matin ​129, 276, 423 Hasharât al-arz ​13 Hébert’s (Jacques) Le Père Duchesne ​165 Irân ​175, 421 Irân-e Now ​124, 254–55, 331, 339, 418, 421 n. 23 Iran League Quarterly, The ​ 276, 276 n. 161, 277 n. 165 Irânshahr ​321, 346, 439, 442 n. 69 Jaride-ye Adab ​424 Kâve ​92, 130, 259 n. 84, 321, 442–43, 442 n. 69 Khorâsân ​332, 434 n. 57 Kushesh ​182, 212 Lesân-al-gheyb ​129 al-Manjelâb-al-Sudân ​225 Mellat-e Saniyye Irân ​416 Merât-al-Safar ​461

512

Mollâ Nasr-al-Din ​58, 170, 338, 446, 459 Mosâvât ​167 Nâme-ye Bânovân ​269, 445 n. 76 Nasim-e Shomâl ​58, 128, 130, 170, 338–39, 347, 413, 426, 428, 446 Now-bahâr ​79, 93, 128, 268 n. 119, 321, 324, 422 n. 25, 439, 442 Pârs ​413, 416, 420–21, 436 n. 64 Polis-e Irân ​381 Qânun ​3, 129, 142, 421 n. 23, Qarn-e Bistom ​16, 182, 349 Ra’d ​130, 175, 434 n. 57, 490 Râh-e Nejât ​421 Râh-e Now ​276 Sedâ-ye Irân ​420 n. 21, 421 Sepidedam ​345, 438 Setâre-ye Irân ​16, 151, 207, 212 Shab-nâme ​129 Sobh-e Sâdeq ​381 Sohbat ​130 Sorayâ ​129, 421 Sur-e Esrâfil ​128–29, 130 n. 175, 167–69, 315, 331, 333–34, 418, 423, 425–26, 428, 436, 494 Ta’âtr ​373, 423, 481 Tajaddod ​259, 264–65, 322–23, 326, 330, 435, 442 n. 69, 490 Talqin-nâme-ye irân ​129 Tamaddon ​421 Taraqqi ​380 Tarbiyat ​141 n. 25, 413, 416–19, 462 Towfiq ​186, 239 Tufân ​14, 99, 438 Vaqâ-ye Ettefâqiye ​416

Index Vatan ​420 n. 21, 421 Yaghmâ ​285, 439, 442 n. 69 Zabân-e Âzâd ​323, 421, 442 n. 69 Zabân-e Irâni ​438 Zabân-e Zanân ​440, 445 n. 76 Nezâm Vafâ ​348–49, 434 Nezâm-al-Molk (d. 1092) ​166 Siyâsat-nâme ​166 Nezâmi of Ganja, Elyâs ebn Yusof (1146–1209) ​34, 103, 143, 146, 151, 156, 236, 271, 349, 397, 407, 414 n. 5, 429–31, 481 Anjoman-e Hakim ​429, 442 Khamse (‘Quintet’ or ‘Five Treasures’) ​224, 429 Khosrow and Shirin ​271, 407 Leyli and Majnun ​430 Nikpur, Ardeshir ​465, 496 Nimâ Yushij (Ali Esfandiyâri, ​ 1897–1960) 36–37, 113, 131, 241, 265, 323, 338, 348–52, 472–73, 481–82, 494 Nosrat-al-Dowle Firuz ​13, 175 Nuri, Sheykh Fazl-Allâh (1842– 1909) ​22, 43, 170–71, 189, 480, 487 Nushin, Abdol-Hoseyn (1906– 1971) ​389–92, 410, 495 Obeyd-e Zâkâni (d. 1370) ​28, 162, 164 n. 8, 480 olamâ (‘clerics’) ​4, 13 n. 31, 20–21, 23–25, 165, 194, 199, 216, 219, 238 Olfat, Mohammad ​433 Omm-al-Khâqân ​167 Onsor al-Ma’âli, Key-Kâvus ebn-Eskandar ​234 Onsori (c.  961–1039) ​32, 489 Osku’i, Mostafâ ​369–70, 489

Ottoman ​133 court poetry ​114 Empire ​1, 400, 424 territories ​412, 417 troupes ​376 Turkey ​xvi, 264, 312, 336, 415 n. 7, 449 Turkish ​260 n. 95, 262, 263 n. 101, 316, 322 Ovid’s Metamorphoses ​344 Oxus ​162 Pahlavi dynasty (1925–1979) ​vii, viii, 17, 23, 28, 92, 133, 147, 151, 181, 244 n. 23, 271, 273, 298, 312, 332, 339, 360, 390, 406, 474, 476, 481, 484, 486 Papazian, Vahram (1888–1968) ​ 391 parliament (majles) ​10, 15–6, 21, 23 n. 58, 99, 142, 165, 171, 177, 195, 202, 219, 254 n. 68, 267, 296 n. 232, 476, 486 Parsinejad, Iraj ​143 n. 35, 417, 489 Partow, Sh. ​157, 437, 440 Parvizi, Rasul ​468 patriotism ​11, 21, 47, 85, 100, 127, 137, 144, 255, 281, 317, 328, 354, 374, 376, 378, 397, 495 Paz, Octavio ​344, 490 Persian Gulf ​8 Pesyân, Mohammad-Taqi Khân ​ 190, 192 Petrarch, Francesco (1304–1374) ​ 318, 348 Plato (c. 427–347 bc) ​318, 430 Poland ​94 political allegories ​224, 382 political poetry ​ix, xvii, xix, 165, 171, 173, 177, 185, 189, 206–7,

513

LITERATURE OF THE EARLY TWENTIETH CENTURY political poetry cont. ​209, 215, 245, 314, 333–34, 352, 418 political satire ​165–66, 168, 173, 189, 215, 332, 338, 358, 370 polygamy ​49, 62–63, 256, 409, 441 pornographic tales ​163 puppet theater (kheyme-shabbâzi) ​353, 358, 408 Purdâvud, Mirzâ Ebrâhim-Khân (1886–1968) ​81, 443 Pushkin, Alexander (1799–1837) ​ 315, 337, 438, 464

Qazvini, Mohammad (1877–1949) ​ 159, 220, 236 Qolizâde, Jalil-Mohammad (1866–1932) ​58, 380 Qorrat-al-Eyn, Tâhere (d. 1852) ​ 73, 252, 253 n. 62

Racine, Jean (1639–1699) ​318 Raf’at, Taqi (d. 1920) ​35, 35 n. 12, 322–24, 326–30, 347–48, 352, 408, 433, 435–36, 443 Ramadan ​237 Ramezâni, Mohammad ​464 Rancière, Jacques (b. 1940) ​364, Qâ’âni Shirâzi (1808–1854) ​40, 365 n. 15, 370, 491 164, 490 Rashtiyân, Mohammad-Hoseyn ​ Qâ’em-Maqâm Farâhâni (d. 1835) ​ 261 284 Rasulzâde, Mohammad-Amin Qâ’em-Maqâmi, Âlam-Tâj (1884–1955) ​374 (‘Zhâle’, 1883–1946) ​viii, Razavi, Taqi ​237 xiii, 45, 51–52, 73–75, 77–78, republicanism ​16, 181–84, 212, 284–294, 309, 341, 474, 490, 487 493 Reuter, Baron Julius de (1816– Qajar dynasty (1797–1925) ​xix, 1899) ​2 4, 5, 7, 16–17, 21, 23, 28, 37, Rey ​107 82, 97, 102–3, 114 n. 154, Rezâ Ganja’i ​239 131, 133, 135 n. 6, 149, 156, Bâbâ Shamal ​239 165, 178, 181, 186, 190, 213, Reza Khan, see Reza Shah Pahlavi 240, 243, 271, 300, 312, 360, Reza Shah Pahlavi (1878–1944) ​ 363, 374, 383, 406, 412, 415, vii, xvii, 13 n. 31, 14–20, 15 436, 441, 449, 472, 477, 479, n. 38, 19 n. 49, 23–25, 85–86, 482–84, 487–88, 497 91–92, 115, 133, 150–52, 158, qalandari motives and themes ​36 166 n. 12, 178–79, 181–82, Qaracheh-Dâghi, Mirzâ Moham184–85, 211, 214, 238, 259, mad-Jafar ​140, 361, 369, 472 260–61, 274, 275 n. 146, Qaside (panegyric) ​79, 96, 98, 277, 279, 302, 312, 320, 332, 131, 173, 178, 197, 208–9, 271 333, 340, 348, 350, 352, 360, n. 129, 279, 332–33, 335, 337, 387–88, 390–91, 393, 396–97, 339, 348, 492 400, 403, 406, 441, 444, 463, Qavâm-al-Saltane, Mirzâ Ahmad 466, 468, 474, 476 (1876–1955) ​15, 172, 189 Rezâzâde Shafaq ​276, 392

514

Index Rezvân, Mohammad-Hasan ​452, 491 Roshdiye, Mirzâ Hasan (1850– 1943) ​449–50, 455, 491 Rostam ​35, 271, 380, 467–68, 480, 492 Rousseau, Jean Jacques (1712– 1778) ​315, 318, 321, 344, 455, 457, 459 rowshan-fekr (‘enlightened thinker’) ​55, 489 rowze-khâni ​194, 230, 237, 334 robâ’i (‘quatrain’) ​99, 114, 246, 332–33, 336 Rudaki (d. c. 940) ​97, 430, 442 n. 69 Ruhâni, Gholâm-Rezâ (also known as R. Ajjene) ​186, 186 n. 57, 491 Ruhi, Sheykh Ahmad (1856–1896) ​ 129, 139, 429, 437 ruhowzi (‘on the pool’) ​357 Rumi, Jalâl-al-Din Mohammad Balkhi (1207–1237) ​xvi, 39, 155 n. 72, 161, 163, 207, 325, 429, 457–58, 492 Russia ​vii, xix, 1–2, 4, 6–12, 14, 17, 20, 32, 42–44, 82–83, 90–95, 118, 123, 125, 130, 133, 135, 145, 149, 154, 197, 258, 262, 312, 333, 335–37, 339, 341, 350, 354, 360–63, 372, 375, 389, 391, 405, 408, 424, 438, 456, 467, 476, 485, 495 Russian literature ​258, 262 Sa’âdat Publishing House ​464 Sa’di, Mosleh-al-Din (c. 1206– 1291) ​34–35, 38, 144, 146, 155 n. 72, 161–62, 166, 188, 203, 207, 243, 243 n. 11, 313,

323–26, 331, 334, 342, 347, 397, 423, 458–59, 476, 485, 492 Bustân ​35, 323, 450, 454, 458–59, 485 Golestân ​35, 140 n. 23, 156, 450, 454, 457, 460, 486 Maktab-e ~ (‘School of Sa’di’) ​ 35, 323–24, 442 Sabâ, Abd-al-Hoseyn ​195–96 Sabâ, Abu’l-Hasan ​195, 473, 494 Sâber, Adib-e (Sharaf-al-Odabâ Shehâb-al-Din, ​12 th century) 162 Sâber, Mirzâ Ali-Akbar Tâherzâde (1862–1911) ​40 n. 24, 58 n. 65, 338 Hop-hop-nâme ​40, 58, 118 Safâ, Zabih-Allâh (1911–1999) ​xv, 445, 483, 492 Safavid dynasty (1501–1722) ​17, 104, 313, 357, 454, 463 Safi-Ali Shah (1835–1899) ​375 sahl o momtane (‘easy and impossible’ or ‘inimitably simple style’) ​97, 188 Samarqand ​2, 162, 422 n. 25 Samarra ​225 San’atizâde Kermâni, Abd-alHoseyn (1895–1973) ​146, 468–69, 488, 490, 492 Sanâ’i of Ghazna, Majdud-al-Din Âdam (d. ​1131) 162, 304, 325 Sani-al-Saltane, Ebrâhim ebn-e Mirzâ Ahmad Khân ​460, 472 Sanjari, Mahmud ​433 Saqafi, Abd-al-Hamid ebn-e Abdal-Bâqi (Matin-al-Saltane) ​ 460, 473 Saqafi, Khalil (A’lam-al-Dowle) ​ 457, 460–61, 479, 492, 496

515

LITERATURE OF THE EARLY TWENTIETH CENTURY Sarmad, Sâdeq (d. 1973) ​38 Sâsâni, Ahmad Molk (1881–1967) ​ 374 Sassanid Empire (ad 226–652) ​64, 85, 95, 102, 255 satire ​viii, xx, 43 n.32, 63, 69 n. 91, 129–30, 149, 156, 160–61, 163–66, 168, 174, 177, 184 n.54, 185–87, 206–7, 216–19, 222–25, 229–30, 231 n. 141, 234, 238, 332, 338, 358, 360, 362–63, 370, 398, 427 n. 40, 479, 482, 494 Schiller, Johann Friedrich (1759– 1805) ​315–16, 320–21, 344, 435, 478 School ​xxi, 19–20, 24, 28, 30, 49, 57, 59–60, 63–64, 68, 71, 123, 125–26, 135, 153, 241 n. 3, 251, 252 n. 58, 256–57, 266, 268 n. 117 and n. 119, 269, 273, 274 n. 141, 277 n. 164, 297, 307, 311, 323, 333, 335, 337, 340–41, 347–48, 364, 367–68, 371–74, 389, 391–93, 410, 425, 429, 448–50, 455– 58, 460–61, 466, 468–69, 488, 493 American ​156, 266, 297, 429 American missionary ​341 Bahâ’i ​19, 256 n. 73, 488 Esmatiye ​273 French Catholic missionary ​ 153 Haigaziyan Armenian ​372 Jeanne d’Arc ​266 Loqmân ​425 Nâmus ~ in Tehran ​273 traditional ​448–49, 456 secularist intellectuals ​21

Sepehrân, Kâmrân ​365, 365 n. 15, 373 n. 25, 493 sexuality ​69, 412–14, 420–21, 428, 432–33, 433 n. 54, 492, 495 Shâdemân, Sayyed Jalâl-al-Din ​ 397 Shah Abd-al-Azim sanctuary 4, ​ 6, 24, 172 Shahrzâd, Rezâ Kamâl (1898– 1937) ​ix, 380, 389, 399, 400, 400 n. 57, 482, 489 Shakespeare, William (1564–1616) ​ 344–45, 368, 373, 400, 403, 478, 493 Romeo and Juliet ​347 Venus and Adonis ​204, 340, 344 Shâmlu, Ahmad (1925–2000) ​36, 131, 444 Shams Kasmâ’i (1883–1961) ​viii, 73, 258–59, 258 n. 82, 261, 263 n. 102, 265, 265 n. 107, 309, 322, 340 Shaybâni, Abu-Nasr Fath-AllâhKhân (c.  1830–1891) ​97, 98 n. 135 Sheydâ (pen name of Mirzâ Ali-Akbar Shirâzi, 1843– 1906) ​104–5, 244, 452, 473 Shiism ​21 n. 51, 480, 488 Shirâzi, Sayyed Mohammad-Rezâ ​ 167 Sho’ubi ​88–89, 88 n. 118, 489 Shuster, W. Morgan (1877–1960) ​ 8–9, 487, 494 siyâh-bâzi (‘the black-face play’) ​ 357 Siyâsi, Ali-Akbar ​387, 494 Smith, Adam ​168 Smith, Horatio (1779–1849) ​316, 318–19, 342, 342 n. 59, 494

516

Index Socrates ​318 Soheyli, Mohsen ​389 Soroudi, Sorour ​35, 113, 130 n. 175, 332, 336, 423, 426, 494 Soviet Republic / Soviet Union ​ 14–15, 20, 213 n. 110, 354 n. 2 Stevenson, Robert Louis (1850– 1894) ​465, 495 style ​xv, xvii, xxi, 15, 34, 36, 38–41, 138, 142, 148–50, 152, 164, 168, 186, 189, 210, 217, 221, 240, 246, 252, 264, 279, 304, 313, 332, 337–40, 350, 352, 355, 357, 367, 371, 379, 386, 398, 419, 425–26, 438, 443, 447, 451, 461 Arabicized ​37 baroque Persian prose ​142 classical ​41, 333, 416, 417 colloquial ​217 Erâqi ​304 European-~ drama ​ix, 360–61, 367, 371 Indian ​39, 97, 313, 497 Kalile va Demne ​461 Khorâsâni ​206, 304 neoclassical ​360 new of fiction writing ​440 new (poetic) ​36, 38–41, 67, 97, 129, 140, 264, 397 Nezâmi Ganjavi’s ​430 prose ​34, 142, 160, 217, 438 satirical160 simple morality-~ operettas ​404 Western-~ drama ix, ​360–61, 367, 409 Western-~ Iranian stage ​386 Western-~ musical instruments ​ 355 Western-~ performances ix, ​ 372, 386, 388

Suratgar, Lotf-Ali ​276, 345, 437–38, 440 Suzani Samarqandi (d. 1174) ​162 Swift, Jonathan (1667–1745) ​462, 495 Gulliver’s Travels ​462 Sykes, Sir Percy (1867–1945) ​12 ta’ziye (‘passion play’) ​227, 353– 60, 356 n. 5, 363–64, 377–79, 393, 454, 476 Tadayyon, Sayyed Mohammad ​ 211–12 Tafazzoli, Ahmad (1937–1997) ​114 n. 155, 453, 495 Tâheri, Abu’l-Qâsem ​465, 480, 495 Tâj Mah, Âfâq-al-Dowle ​380 Tâj-al-Saltane ​169, 169 n. 23 Talajooy, S. ​xxi Talattof, K. ​xxi, 134 n. 4, 141 n. 25 Talberg, Fredrick ​467, 480 Tâlebof Tabrizi, Abd-al-Rahim (1834–1911) ​38, 141, 145, 168, 379, 417 n. 13, 451, 455–56, 471, 489, 491, 495 Tâleqâni, Ali-Asghar ​35, 323–24 Taqizâde, Sayyed Hasan (1874– 1970) ​18, 85, 92, 130, 168, 236, 414 n. 5, 436 n. 63, 443, 483, 495 Tarbiyat, Mohammad-Ali ​165, 417–18, 475 Tarzi, Mahmud (1865–1933) ​462, 496 tasnif (‘ballad’) ​vii, 103–5, 103 n. 143, 108, 177, 177 n. 38, 332–34, 476, 493 Tehran University ​18–19, 283, 297 Tehrâni, Medhat ​409 Tekiye Dowlat / Tekiye Shâhi ​355 Teymurtâsh, Irândokht ​469, 481

517

LITERATURE OF THE EARLY TWENTIETH CENTURY theater ​ix, xxi, 46, 128, 136, 190, 353–54, 354 n. 2, 358, 360, 364–65, 367–76, 368 n. 20, 378–81, 384, 387–91, 393, 397, 399–400, 402–5, 408–10, 454, 479, 481, 490, 495 Thebes ​319 theological faculty (dâneshkade-ye elâhiyât) ​19 tobacco concession ​3–4, 6, 21, 485–86, 488 Tondarkiyâ, Shams-al-Din (1909–1987) ​397 Torbati, Mohammad-Javâd (1906–1970) ​397 Towfiq, Hoseyn ​186 Translation Movement (nehzat-e tarjome) ​351–52, 368 Treaty of Golestân (1813) ​2 Treaty of Turkmenchay (1828) ​2 Trebizonde ​82 Tude party ​153, 238–39, 354 n. 2, 495 tulip ​107, 109, 177, 193, 247, 267 turban ​162, 172, 176, 178, 191, 195, 199–200, 208, 217, 227 Turkey ​xvi, 10, 16, 25, 114, 116, 139, 264, 312, 336–37, 390– 91, 415 n. 7, 416 n. 8, 449 Udi, Abd-al-Qâder ​103 Vafâdâr, Mirzâ Mohammad ​429 Vahman, F. ​19, 496 Vâlâ, Lo’bat ​275, 276 n. 151 Vâsef Rezâju’i, Mohammad-­ Mehdi ​459, 481 vatan ​100, 177, 212, 271, 397, 403, 426, 489, 493–94 hobb-e vatan 47

Vatvât, Rashid-al-Din (d. c. 1177 or 1182) 162 Vâzeh, Mirzâ Shafi (1794–1852) ​362 Vaziri, Ali-Naqi (1887–1979) ​389, 397, 467, 496 veil ​19–20, 24–25, 24–25 n. 60, 27–28, 49, 57–75, 57 n. 61, 58 n. 62, 67 n. 85, 69 n. 90, 72 n. 97, 77–78, 124, 129–30, 199, 200, 235, 241, 250–51 n. 52, 252–53, 259, 259 n. 88, 274 n. 145, 280–81, 294, 294 n. 277, 298 n. 246, 299, 302, 308–9, 317, 340–41, 440–41, 461, 469, 476, 487, 493 Vejdani, Farzin ​114 n. 155, 115–16, 450 n. 2, 496 Verne, Jules Gabriel (1828–1905) ​ 141, 462, 465, 468, 496 Vesâl, Tohid ​421 Voltaire (1694–1778) ​315 Vosuq-al-Dowle, Mirzâ Hasan Khân (1865–1951) ​13, 14, 14 n. 35, 165, 175, 207–8, 244, 338, 474, 496 Warsaw ​93–94, 486 Wassmuss, Wilhelm (1880–1931) ​ 10 Wells, H. G. (1866–1946) ​465, 496 Whitman, Walt (1819–1892) ​316 Wilde, Oscar (1854–1900) ​399 Wilhelm II, German Emperor (1859–1941) ​92, 97 wine ​36, 104, 107–8, 120, 123, 189, 227, 254, 278 n. 168, 314, 335, 359, 366, 408 women ​viii, ix, x, xx, xxi, 19, 25, 26, 45, 49–54, 57–78, 98, 105, 111, 124, 129–30, 133, 135, 151–52, 154–55, 192, 197, 199,

518

Index 228–29, 240–42, 245, 251–57, 259–60, 263, 268–70, 273–77, 279–83, 285–88, 290–96, 298–99, 301, 306–10, 340–42, 352–53, 356, 358, 363–64, 367, 374, 386, 388, 395, 401, 409, 412, 428, 432–33, 438, 440–41, 445, 450, 452, 469, 471–75, 482–83, 485, 487–89, 492, 494 awareness ​352 clinic for ​251 education ​xx, 49–52, 71, 129, 249 n. 47, 250 n. 52, 251 n. 53, 252, 254–57, 268 n. 117, 272, 274, 277 n. 164, 280 n. 175, 282, 296, 340–41, 352, 404, 440, 473, 482 emancipation ​ix, xx, 74, 78, 131, 254, 269, 274 n. 145, 280 n. 175, 340–41, 474 journals ​xxi, 240, 428, 440, 440 n. 66, 445, 445 n. 76 liberation of (horriyat-e nesvân) ​252, 275 n. 146, 296, 472 Movement ​241 n. 3, 274, 274 n. 145, 340, 432, 441 of Mecca ​28 Patriotic Women’s League (Jam’iyat-e Nesvân-e Vatankhwâh) ​268 poets ​viii, 240–42, 245, 285, 294, 307, 309, 341, 352 Revolution Society (Jam’iyat-e Enqelâb-e Nesvân) ​ 273–74

rights ​xx, 64, 76, 241, 254 n. 68, 260, 260 n. 92, 273, 276 n. 152, 293, 295, 310, 341, 374, 432, 432 n. 52, 441, 492 sexuality ​433 Yaghmâ’i, Eqbâl ​462, 477 Yaghmâ’i, Habib ​437 Yamini Sharif, Abbâs (1919–1987) ​ 467–68, 496 Yaqikian, Gerigor (1880–1951) ​ix, 390, 400–402, 495 Yarshater, Ehsan ​340, 349, 494, 497 Yâsami, Gholâm-Rezâ Rashid ​ 141, 276 n. 152, 279, 320, 342, 414 n. 5, 434–35, 437, 440 Yusofi, Gholâm-Hoseyn (1928– 1990) ​342–43, 345, 497 Zahir-al-Dini, Mahmud (1899– 1935) ​388 Zahir-al-Dowle (1864–1923) ​369, 375 Zanddokht Shirâzi (1911–1952) ​ viii, 272–84, 273 n. 136 and n. 140, 274 n. 141 and n. 145, 275 n. 146 and n. 149, 276 n. 152 and n. 161, 277 n. 164 and n. 167, 278 n. 168, 280 n. 176, 281 n. 177, 309, 474 Zanjâni, Mehr-Ali Khân ​248 Zell-al-Soltân ​102–3, 374 Zévaco, Michel (1860–1918) ​464, 497 Zoroastrian ​22, 225, 319, 375, 389, 403, 443, 449

519