In dictionaries Noruz is described as ‘’new day’’, ‘’the national day of Iranians’’ or ‘’fiesta of the beginning of the year’’. But has this day retained the spirit of the new or sense of a unique day over the past three decades?
Perhaps we can call this particular Noruz, marking the year 1389 on the Persian calendar, a unique one. It is special, as during the past thirty years Iranians could not have foreseen a year like the one they are leaving behind -- graced both with sadness and hope. For my generation, that of the revolution, the years gone by had some thrills though repetition and everydayness was also the norm. In the past three decades years, even the change in seasons and the smell of spring wouldn’t please us; it was only one season following another. The Noruz of the 80’s and 90’s, as well as that of the last nine years, fluctuated between hope and frustration. But the Noruz of 2010 is different. It is more distressing than in previous years but the color of hope is also there.
The past nine months have been educational for all of us -- a classroom where we went through a state of psychological and socio-political transformation. Pressures, depression and hope in the past nine months make this Noruz different and the coming year, in a way, more hopeful than the past. This is a hope that we keep whispering to ourselves these days; maybe the coming year will be a good one, maybe the broken hearts of mothers, the expectant eyes of the prisoners, the stricken souls of Iranians and the green grass of Haft Sins will change this new year and the years to come
Anyhow, the memory of the past winter is unforgettable. Thirty one years ago {Ahmad Shamlou}, whose oeuvre we revisit more often these days, wrote a poem for the beginning of spring, whose sour taste is too strong for our palate today. Let me repeat it here to relive the good and bad memories we have in common:
The Seventh "S"*
is the crimson of an apple,
Alas,
there is little
on this traditional spread,
that brings joy.
There is strong wine in the hollow of the cup,
Lo, There is little intoxication In that drunkenness.
The green sprouts on that bottle
Framed by the window --
aah,
I am so distant
That it seems like a lifeless sign.
And a kind word
In the early morning encounter --
Woe,
Behind that communion
There is no smiling heart.
Another spring is upon us,
Yes,
But there are no names
For the winters thus passed.
There are no names.
Footnote
The traditional New Year Spread in Iran includes seven items whose first letters start with the letter "s" or "sin" in Persian.These are alternately sib ("apple"), a cup of serkeh ("vinegar"), a flower sonbol ("hyacinth"), a clove of seer ("garlic"), some sekeh ("coins"), a few fruits of senjed ("oleaster plant"), and samanu ("a sweet made of wheat germs and flour"). Always present are also a mirror, a Koran, a plate or bottle where green spouts have been grown and a glass-bowl of red fish.
Translated by the author, except for Shamloo's poem.
در فرهنگهای لغت نوروز را «روز نو» معنی کردهاند،«جشن ملی ایرانیان»،«عید اول سال». اما آیا در سه دهه گذشته این روز سرشار از این حس نویی بوده است؟ حس روزی یگانه؟
نوروز امسال را شاید بتوان یگانه خواند، یگانه از آن رو که طی سی و یک سال گذشته نوروزی چنین غمآلود و اینچنین امیدبخش برای ما ایرانیان قابل تصور نبوده است. سالهایی که رفت، برای نسل من، نسل انقلاب، گرچه خالی از تلاطمات و هیجان نبود اما تکرار و روزمرهگی نیز بخشی از آن محسوب میشد، سالهایی که گاه تغییر فصل و بوی خوش بهار چندان دلخوشمان نمیکرد. هرچه بود فصل نویی بود در پی فصلی دیگر. نوروزهای دهه۶۰ و۷۰ و نوروزهای نُه سال گذشته در نوسانی میان امید و یأس طی شد. اما نوروز ۸۹ از جنس دیگری است. جنساش شاید غمگینتر از نوروزهای گذشته باشد، اما امیدش پُر رنگتر است.
نُه ماه گذشته مانند نُه ماه تحصیلی مدارس برای همه ما یک کلاس درس و گذران یک مقطع روحی و اجتماعی و سیاسی آموزنده بود. فشارها، رنجهای ماههایی که گذشت، نوروز امسال را متفاوت ساخت و سال پیش رو را از جهاتی امیدبخشتر از سالهای پشت سر کرد، چیزی که مدام زمزمهاش کنیم: شاید سال نو سال نکویی باشد، شاید دل داغدیده مادران، چشمان منتظر زندانیان و دربندان، دلهای مضطرب ایرانیان و سبزههای سبز هفت سین سفرهها، سال ۸۹ و سالهای پس از آن را رنگی نو رقم زنند.
با این حال، اما، یاد زمستانی که گذشت از خاطرمان نمیرود. سی و یک سال پیش {احمد شاملو}، که این روزها زیاد یادش میکنم، در آستانه بهار قطعهای را سرود که تلخیاش برای ذائقه میخوش این روزهای ما سنگین است، اما به هر تقدیر تکرارش مرور خاطرات نه چندان دور و نه چندان شیرین مشترکمان است:
