Pity’s Wild Thing

I’m Depressed

I am depressed. O so depressed.
I go to the porch and extend my fingers
Over the taut sky of night.
The lamps that link are dark, O so dark.
No one will introduce me to the sunlight
Or escort me
To the sparrows’ gathering.
Commit flight to memory,
For the bird is mortal.

– Forugh Farrokhzad, Translated from the Persian by Michael C. Hillmann

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4 responses to “Pity’s Wild Thing

  1. You can’t be depressed if you write a poem. I think. So the contradiction there is quite compelling. And the final idea of committing light to memory is similarly very rich, as flight implies defeat, but we are wishing to embrace it by committing it to memory? And embracing is itself passionate as is “commit”….so this is an impassioned plea to embrace defeat??? Reminding me of those moments in one’s 40’s when it becomes clear that life does not really get any better…as a matter of fact the full realization that it is a “downhill slog till death” broken by occasional minutes of joy, or beauty or just ironic hilarity…. I guess this poem took me where it was going.

  2. or uphill as the case may be…a life always uphill.

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