Sohrab Sepehri ~ Letter
to Ahmadreza Ahmadi
Dear Ahmadreza, enough of laziness, I know. But believe me I am
thinking of you. And thankful for your letters. I have intensely remained in
this city, a place with no trees and no birds. I have yet to hear birds
sing - since there is neither bird nor birdsong. In our very own Amirabad there
is a ton of chirping in every elm tree. New
York and
chirping? I have no expectations. I only am. And sometimes in this city I eat
goulash. As you loved to eat it and for you it was a substitute for
gourmet-sabzi. Goulash [however] is less inspired. One mustn’t grieve. One must eat
goulash, and walk, and look at everything along the way. Just like school
children who have a larger breadth of life. You know one must go towards…, or
begin. I begin sometimes. But it doesn’t always work. I still haven’t begun the
chair in my room. It needs time. Noah’s long life would have been nice. But one
must be content. And I am. For example ¼ of the cawing of a crow is enough for
me. I remember writing to someone: “I hear ¾ of a canary.” You see, I am more
content now. It is true, there is more volume to a caw, but it has less substance.
My mother use to say that [a crow’s] cawing is good for certain ailments.
I paint during the days. There is still room on the walls of the
world for pictures. So we must work faster. One must work. But one must not
inhale lamp smoke. There is a rougher and more pure smoke here, a long-lasting
smoke that can’t be washed away. When you walk along a street, sometimes a
friendly piece of smoke lands on your shoulder, and this is the only delicacy
about this city. Otherwise that crane that can be seen outside my window
can not sit in earnest on any one’s shoulder. It’s not becoming of a crane.
If it were to do this, it would be an embarrassment to its kind. One can not be
gentle in this city. And be bashful. And congratulate. One can not eat radishes.
Eating radishes among these massive buildings is a frivolous act. It is as if
you were tickling a skyscraper. One must learn its customs. It is customary
here for trees to have leaves. You can find mint in this city. But you must eat
it sincerely. It is not customary to lounge about. A person’s thoughts
mustn't stretch out on the ground. It is more suitable here to think from the
cement upward; or from the steel outward. I paint. But my painting in relation
to the galleries here is oblique. Painting is one of those activities, it
skins you alive. And still demands more. But you mustn't give in to it, because
it will get on top of you.
I have seen many who are giving a ride to painting. One must be
armed before beginning to paint. Sometimes I think poetry is kinder.
But one mustn't be too naive. I have known many who filed a
complaint with the police about poetry. One must be careful. I read poems
at night. Haven’t yet written any, but will do.
I paint. Read poetry. And see Oneness. And sometimes cook at home.
And wash dishes. And cut my finger. And for a few days I am held back from
painting. The food I cook tastes good only if there is a lot of salt, pepper
and a spoon of tolerance.
My mother’s cooking was so good. I use to criticize her even: that
the color of her spinach stew has turned black-and-blue. One understands too
late. How late did I realize that the human being is only for the moment.
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..........and that's it......................................................................
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..........and that's it......................................................................
Sohrab
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