Huh!!...Soulsmith is not a name !!!
.:: Who is CoolSoulSmith? ::. | ||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||
|
:: ~~~:: Sleepless in Melawati ::~~~
:: bloghome
::
::
| ||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||
|
Saturday, April 17, 2004Three PoemsBy Ahmad Shamlou Ahmad Shamlou (1925-2000) is recognized as one of Iran's greatest modern poets, writing in the new mode of expression pioneered by Nima Yushij. Born into a military family, he spent an itinerant youth being transferred from one remote town to another, with schooling left unfinished. During World War II, he was arrested by the occupying Allied forces and imprisoned for supporting the German war effort. On his release a year later, he was arrested again along with his father, and together they faced a firing squad and last-minute reprieve. In the 1950s he spent six months in hiding and another year in prison for his support of Mossadegh's nationalist movement. Eventually, in 1977, political oppression moved Shamlou to leave Iran, and he lived for two years in Princeton and in England. Like so many who at first believed that the revolution heralded new freedom and stability, Shamlou returned to Iran in 1979. Throughout these vicissitudes he wrote continuously. In addition to twelve collections of his own poetry published between 1948 and 1978, he has also written several plays and a major analytical survey of Iranian folklore Ketab-i Kucheh [Book of the Street], is the editor of an important edition of Hafez as well as other volumes of classical Iranian poetry, and has translated many French authors into Persian. Shamlou's third marriage lasted from 1964 until his death, and his wife Ayda figures prominently as the muse of many of his later poems. Translated from the Persian by Zara Houshmand Existence If this is life—how low! and I, how shamed, if I don’t hang my lifetime’s lamp high on the dusty pine of this dead-end lane. If this is life—how pure! and I, how stained, if I don’t plant my faith like a mountain, eternal memorial, to grace this ephemeral earth. -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Elegy on the death of the poet Forugh Farrokhzad Searching for you on foothills of mountains, on thresholds of oceans and meadows, I cry. Searching for you in windy passes I cry at the crossroads of seasons in the weathered wood of a broken window frame that contains a cloud-stained sky. ..... Looking for your portrait in this empty book— how long how long will pages keep turning? * To embrace the flow of wind, and love who is sister to death— eternity has shared with you this secret. And so you have taken the shape of a treasure: earned and enviable another kind of treasure which, claiming the earth, these lands in this way has made the heart embrace them. * Your name is a white dawn that passes over the sky’s brow blessed be your name!-- And so we repeat the round of night and day in this way even now . . . -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- The Fish I think my heart has never been like this so warm and red. I feel even in the worst moments of this fatal night several thousand sun-springs in my heart surge up from deep certainty. I feel in every nook and cranny of these salt flats of despair several thousand wonderfully wet forests suddenly spring from the earth. * Oh certainty gone astray, oh runaway fish in the ponds of slippery mirror within mirror! I am a clear lagoon; now through the enchantment of love, find a path from the mirror-ponds to me! * I think my hand has never been so glad, so grand: I feel in my eyes a cascade of bloody tears that stirs a never-setting sun to breathe a song; I sense in my every vein in every heartbeat now the bells of a passing caravan ring: wake up! * She came one night, naked, through the door like water’s soul At her breast, two fish, and in her hand a mirror her wet hair smelling of moss as if braided with moss. I cried out from the threshold of despair, “Oh, certainty now found—I won’t neglect you again!” All pages created with 100% recycled electrons Cuneiformby Kader Abdolah  Kader Abdolah (born 1952 in Iran) studied physics in Tehran and was active in the student resistance. He published two novels about life under the Khomeini regime before fleeing his homeland in 1985. At the invitation of the United Nations, he arrived in the Netherlands as a political refugee in 1988. He quickly mastered the language and has now written and published four books: The Eagles (1993), a collection of short stories which won an award for bestselling literary debut; The Girls and the Partisans (1995); The Journey of the Empty Bottles (1997); and Cuneiform (2000). In 1997, Abdolah received the Dutch Media Prize for his collected columns from De Volkskrant.
Cuneiform has been published in Germany, France, and Norway and will soon be published in Italy, Denmark, and Spain. Translated from the Dutch by Sam Garrett Hadjar bore seven children. Aga Akbar was the youngest, and he was born deaf and mute. She knew it even in the first month. She saw that he didn't react. But she didn't want to believe it. She never left him alone, and no one else was allowed to stay with him for long. For six months she kept that up. Everyone knew the child was deaf, but no one was allowed to speak of it. Until, finally, Kazem Khan, Hadjar's eldest brother, felt it was time to get involved. Kazem Khan was a free man whose habit it was to travel through the mountains on horseback. He was a poet who lived alone on a hill outside the village, but always had a woman. In the light of his window, the villagers saw a different woman every time. No one knew what he did, or where he went on his horse. When the light was on, people knew he was at home. The poet is home, they said then. Nothing more was known about him, but when the village needed him he was always there to help. At moments like those he was the voice of the village. When the riverbed suddenly filled and flowed over and the water ran into the houses in the village, he was there on his horse and knew how to stop the flood. When several children had died unexpectedly and the other mothers were fearing for their own, he suddenly appeared on horseback with a doctor behind him. And any bride or groom of the village was honored to have him show up at the wedding. It was this same Kazem Khan who came riding into Hadjar's courtyard. Without climbing down. he sat in the shade of the old tree and shouted: "Hadjar! My sister!" She opened the window. "Welcome, Brother. Why don't you come in?" "Will you come to me this evening with your child? I want to speak to you." Hadjar knew that he wanted to talk about her son, and realized she could no longer hide him. When evening came she bound her child to her back and climbed the hill to the house that the villagers called a fallen jewel among the old walnut trees. Kazem Khan smoked opium, which was generally accepted and even seen as a sign of his poetic nobility. He had prepared the burner, his pipe was lying in the fresh, warm ash, and the fine slices of yellowish-brown opium were on a plate. The samovar bubbled. "Take a seat, Hadjar. You can warm up some food for yourself in a bit. Feed your child if you like. What was his name again? Akbar? Aga Akbar?" Hesitantly, Hadjar handed the child to her brother. "How old is he? Seven, eight months? Go and eat, I'd like to be alone with him." She felt a heavy load on her shoulders. She couldn't eat, and she began to weep. "No, don't cry. Don't act so pitiful. If you hide him away, if you simply give up, you'll make him stupid. For the last six or seven months he's seen nothing, done nothing, he's had no real contact with his surroundings. Everywhere I go in the mountains I come across deaf, mute children. We have to let everyone talk to him. All we need is a language, a sign language. And we'll have to come up with it ourselves. I'll help you. From tomorrow on, you've got to let others to take care of your child as well. Let people make contact with him, each in his own way." Hadjar took her child into the kitchen. There, once again, she burst into tears. Tears of relief. Later, after Kazem Khan had smoked a few pipes of opium and was light and cheery, he came and sat beside her. "Listen, Hadjar. I don't know why, but I feel that I must have something to do with this child's life. I never felt that way about your other children. Especially since their father was that nobleman. And I want nothing to do with him. But before you go, I must tell you a few things, things that are important for your child's future. That nobleman must also know that I am Akbar's uncle." The next day Hadjar took Akbar to the castle. Never before had she shown one of her children to his father. She knocked on the door of his study and went in, with Akbar in her arms. She stood there for a moment, then laid him on the desk and said: "My child is deaf and mute." "Deaf and mute? What can I do to help?" It took a moment before Hadjar could look him straight in the eye. "Let my child bear your name." "My name?" he asked, then fell silent. "If you give him that, I shall never come here to ask you for anything again," Hadjar added. Still the nobleman said nothing. "You once told me that you favored me, and a few times you said you respected me. You said I could always ask you for what I needed. So now I'm asking you; let my child bear your name. Only your surname. I am not asking for an inheritance. Let Akbar's name be put on paper." "Feed the child, don't let him cry like that," the nobleman said after a while. Then he stood up, opened the window and shouted to his servant. "Bring the imam to me. Immediately. I'm waiting." The imam was not long in arriving. Hadjar had to wait in another room. The conversation took place behind closed doors. The imam wrote a few lines in his book. Then he drew up a document for the nobleman to sign. It was finished in no time. The imam went home on his mule. "Here, Hadjar. This is what you asked for. But there is one thing you must not forget. Keep this paper hidden, and keep it a secret. When I die, then you may show it to others." Hadjar hid the paper under her clothes and tried to kiss his hand. "You don't have to do that, Hadjar. Go home now. And come see me often. I have always said it, and I say it again. I do favor you, and I will always want to see you." Hadjar bound her child to her back again and left. As she went down the mountain, she knew that she was carrying a child with an old and important name: Aga Akbar Mahmoodi Gazanvia Gorasani. The document proved a worthless piece of paper, for when the nobleman died his heirs bribed the village imam to scrap Aga Akbar's name from the will. But that didn't matter, for Hadjar had not expected an inheritance for her child: the name alone was enough. His father was famous, and his roots lay there in that old castle on the mountain at Lalezar. When Akbar grew up, he married and had children. And although he was a lowly carpetmaker, he remained proud of his lineage. He carried the paper with his long name wherever he went. Akbar often talked about his father, and especially wanted his son Ismael to know that his grandfather had been an important man, a horseman with a rifle on his back. The nobleman was killed by a Russian. But exactly who his killer had been, no one knew. Was it a soldier? A policeman? Or a Russian thief who had sneaked across the border? The mountains where Aga Akbar and his forefathers lived were on the border with Russia, at that time a part of the Soviet Union. The southern side belonged to Iran; the northern slopes, with their perpetual deep snow, belonged to Russia. But what that soldier, or the Russian army was doing there in those mountains, no one knew. The only reminder of the murder was a story that lived on, thanks to Aga Akbar. Whenever he and his son were home alone, Akbar would tell the story to Ismael, who then had to play the horseman. He himself played the Russian soldier, with a long army coat and a cap with a bright red hammer and sickle. Ismael rode on a cushion and wore a wooden rifle on his back. Aga Akbar put on his coat and hat and hid behind a big cupboard. A rock on Saffron Mountain. Now Ismael had to ride his horse. Not too fast, not too slow, but with restraint, like a nobleman. He rode past the cupboard, and at that moment a head appeared. The horseman had to ride on for a few yards, until the soldier jumped out with a knife in his hand. He took two or three giant steps and planted his weapon between the shoulders of the horseman, who fell to the ground dead. The story was probably based on fantasy, but the death of his mother was one thing Aga Akbar had experienced for himself. "How old were you when Hadjar died'?" Ismael gestured. But Aga Akbar had no sense of time. "She died when a flock of strange black birds came to roost in our almond tree," he signed back. "Strange birds?" "I had never seen them before." "But when was that, when those black birds roosted in the tree?" Ismael signed. "My hands were cold and the tree had no leaves and Hadjar no longer spoke to me." "No, I mean, how old were you? How, how old were you when your mother died?" "I, Akbar. My head came up to Hadjar's breast." He was nine or ten at the time, Kazem Khan told Ismael later. Hadjar lay in bed and was deathly ill. And Akbar crawled under the blankets and held her tight. "Were you holding your mother when she died?" Ismael gestured. "Yes, that's right . . . but, how did you know?" "Uncle Kazem Khan told me." "I crawled under the blankets. Whenever she was sick, she would talk to me and hold my hand. But she wasn't talking any more, and she didn't move her hand either. I was afraid, very afraid, I stayed under the covers and didn't dare to come out any more. Then someone grabbed me, a hand from outside, and tried to pull me away. I held Hadjar's body tight. But Kazem Khan pulled me away. I cried." The next day the oldest woman of the family spread a white cloth over Hadjar's face. Men came with a coffin and took her to the graveyard. All pages created with 100% recycled electrons posted by CoolSoulSmith a.k.a Rinci|ak --------------------------- Wednesday, April 14, 2004Malaysia Boleh Again!!! The Sarah Marbeck wayWORLD EXCLUSIVE: The Becks affair - stunning model tells of new two year affair. MORE cheating, MORE sex, MORE txts I'm Becks' lover No2 By Neville Thurlbeck The News of the World can sensationally reveal that David Beckham bedded a SECOND mistress behind his wife's back. 
BEAUTY: Beck's second mistress> She is barrister's daughter Sarah Marbeck. And in a shattering world exclusive interview, Sarah tells how he seduced her with the same techniques he used on his other lover Rebecca Loos. Sarah's testimony reveals for the first time the WHOLE TRUTH about David's marriage to Victoria. It explodes any thought that his fling with Loos was a one-off mistake and exposes the Beckhams' ‘perfect family life' as a troubled, affair-ridden sham for over TWO YEARS. News of this second affair will come as a bolt from the blue to millions of fans and a bodyblow to Posh. Malaysian-born beauty Sarah said last night: "Sleeping with David Beckham was a momentous day for me, not just a one-night stand. "I certainly didn't take our affair lightly and nor did he. This is probably the most famous father, family man and husband in the world and he changed my life. "I know I meant something to him because, on and off, we continued our relationship month after month after month. When we made love David told me, ‘I know what we're doing is wrong, but I can't help it'. Evidence 
FIRST NIGHT: Sarah and Becks at Singapore party where they met "The first time he took me to bed he kissed me everywhere. I looked down and there was David Beckham kissing my breasts! David Beckham!" In the week since the News of the World revealed his affair with his former PA in Spain, the Beckhams put on a carefully-staged show of unity on the alpine ski slopes of Courchevel and David tried to dismiss an affair as ‘ludicrous', while never actually denying it. But, like Rebecca, who reveals her story for the first time in the News of the World today, Sarah has the hard evidence to support her story. He sent her hundreds of erotic and sometimes filthy TEXT MESSAGES. At one stage he was texting Sarah and Rebecca at the SAME TIME. Becks SEDUCED Sarah on a Man United tour of the Far East He got her a seat to watch him play Italy in England and MET her "all hot and sweaty" in the players' tunnel. He MADE LOVE to her at the team hotel that night. At the time, Posh was PREGNANT with baby Romeo. Pool Sarah's close friend and representative, top Australian lawyer Michael Brereton, said: "Sarah has thought long and hard before telling her story. What she has to say is true and hugely significant. Beckham is an idol to millions—his fans should know the truth." 
INVITATION: Coveted card that gave Sarah access to VIP party Becks and 29-year-old Sarah first set eyes on one another at a party thrown by Singapore socialites Frank and Mavis Benjamin during Man United's pre-season tour of the Far East in 2001. It was July 26. They had their picture taken ...four hours before they had sex. Sarah, who has worked for Armani, Gucci and Calvin Klein, explained: "I was invited to the party through my modelling agency. The Benjamins have a palatial house, and I first saw David as I was walking down the stairs to the pool. He just stood there staring at me. So I went up to him and said, ‘Hi, how do you find Singapore weather?' He complained ‘It's a bit hot." "I started laughing at his outfit — all the players had been told to wear white T-shirts and shorts. He agreed, ‘We all look stupid'. Soon, David asked me to meet him in the private movie theatre under the house. He'd obviously checked the place out. "We sat at the back and I asked, ‘How's your wife?' He said, ‘She's fine, yeah, she's well'. Then he said to me, ‘Look, I don't usually do this but I'd really like your company later tonight. Will you come to my room on your own?'" He gave her his room number at the Shangri-La Hotel but the conversation was cut short when a bodyguard came into the room and told Beckham that the United bus was ready to leave. "I didn't know what to do," said Sarah. "I stayed at the party another half an hour thinking about it, then, I thought, ‘Right, I'm going to go through with it'. "I ran back to my apartment and got changed into T-shirt and wide-leg purple cargo pants. I didn't wear any make-up because I didn't want him to think I was getting dressed up for him. But I did put on nice lingerie ‘just in case'-black lacy Calvin Klein bra and knickers." At the hotel, Sarah discovered she was expected. She was escorted to a room and suddenly received a startling insight into the secret world of soccer stardom. She explained: "There were some players I didn't recognise. They told me to sit with them for a while and someone would be seeing me soon. I asked them why the secrecy and they just said this was the way it always was. "Then this big bodyguard came in and said, ‘Ok, are you ready? I'm going to take you up now. But I'm going to have to take your bag and shoes'. He was treating me like a terrorist. We went up a couple of floors and knocked on a door. "David opened it and gave me a big smile. He closed the door behind me and said of the security, ‘Look, I'm really sorry. That's just the way it is. Would you like a cup of tea?" Becks told Sarah that United boss Alex Ferguson always made sure alcohol was taken out of mini-bars. "It was a bit awkward at first," she said. "I sat in a chair and he sat on the bed, the TV was on. Then I said, ‘Well, now what?' Without saying anything, he gently took my hand and led me to the bed. He lay down and asked me to lie down too." As she settled on to the coverlet, Sarah noticed a card on the table from the hotel. It read: "Welcome David Beckham. Please give our best wishes to your wife and child." She had little time to feel uncomfortable. "After a few seconds he started kissing me," she said. The couple then spun around so that, while they were still pressing their hips together, his feet were in front of her head and his hands could slide up her cargo pants. "I liked it," she said. "Then he started kissing my legs before he turned me round again and started kissing my hair and neck. He said he loved my neck and kept saying how beautiful and long it was. I was becoming very aroused. Massage "Then he gave me a very slow full body massage. It was so sexy. He kept saying he loved my long legs. "He slid his hand inside my trousers and said he thought the fabric of my knickers felt nice. ‘Can I see them?' he asked. "By now I certainly wanted him to see them. I sat astride him and began to explore his body too. I could feel he was very aroused. "We fantasised on the bed about having sex. I told him I'd like to be taken by surprise and to be made love to fast and furious while he held my face in his hands. It made him more and more excited. "He said he wanted to make love to me and said if I did, I'd never want another man. But it wasn't cheesy, it was wonderful. "Our hands were everywhere, inside each other's clothes. Then he took my top off and when we were both naked we made love. It was perfect, really passionate. "I've no idea how long it lasted-when you're in bed with David Beckham you're not looking at the clock, believe me. He liked to be on top and that was absolutely fine by me." Flawed Sarah, who now lives in Australia, added: "He said he felt he'd been hit by a sledgehammer from the first time he saw me. He said he loved the way I tied my hair back." His other mistress Rebecca Loos also recalls being impressed by the compliments he showered on her too. But Sarah thought every word was for her. It was 3am before she was ready to go home and asked for the bodyguard to return her belongings. "David wanted me to stay the night," she said-echoing another line he would regularly give Rebecca, "but I needed to be on my own to get my head together." Today Becks is expected to play for Real Madrid against Atletico Osasuna, and Posh plans to be there to see him in another choreographed show of unity. But Sarah has hundreds of text messages which show that unity is flawed. She said: "The first time he said he loved me was after we spoke on the phone and he said he didn't think the lines were safe so he'd send a text. He sent one saying, ‘I love you'. She had no idea then that the next time they'd have sex would be on the other side of the world-with Becks' team mates just feet away... All pages created with 100% recycled electrons posted by CoolSoulSmith a.k.a Rinci|ak ---------------------------
|
|||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||
FastCounter by bCentral |
||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||
