Original subtitles

♪ I've sat in a corner ♪

♪ And fished with Jacques Cousteau ♪

♪ So sensitive ♪

♪ So sensitive ♪

♪ The French are so sensitive ♪

Rosie? Is that you?

Yes, Granny! I'm late for work.

Oh, my goodness.

You've been invited to a poetry festival in Iran?

In Iran?

Oh, my god! That's weird!

Exactly.

You entered a poetry festival in Iran.

I didn't.

If I'd enter a poetry festival, which I wouldn't,

it would be in Paris...

Paris, France,

the land of my soul.

Yeah, okay.

Don't really get the whole French connection,

but whatever.

I'm your closest friend,

and I didn't even know you wrote poetry,

so what gives with that?

Well, it's a private thing that I do.

Nothing special.

Right, nothing special.

Well, how'd you get invited, then?

Oh... my... god.

You're published?

Self-published.

I-I only printed about three of them.

Published, dude!

I can't believe you didn't tell me.

I don't know.

Sorry! It's just too personal.

Intimacy issues, or what?

Hey, watch where you're mopping.

: Hey, you two. Stop slacking off.

You're a major poet diva, man.

I don't know if I want to go.

You don't know if you want to go?

I don't want to wear a scarf.

You're kidding, right? You're wearing a scarf.

I don't want to cover my head.

It's not romantic.

Your lies are pathetic.

What if they hate me?

How can they hate you?

They invited you, didn't they?

You are going.

You know you are going. You know you want to go.

Why do you always put me through this?

This is a total fate thing,

and you know it!

Yeah, I know.

Feel the fear, and do it anyway.

It's all gonna come together.

The universe is unfolding.

Hungry, working girl?

I got jawza. Fresh-made.

Café au lait?

Uh, no, thank you.

What's this?

Rosie Ming.

"My Eye Full:

Poems by a person who has never been to France."

Ooh, ah! Rosie!

A book! You've written a book.

Our Rosie is an author.

A poet.

Oh! Our Rosie is a poet.

Let me see. I want to see.

Ooh, ah! Rosie!

It's no big deal.

It's just a little book of poems I printed.

Wah!

This is big deal!

You sneaky girl.

You never tell me you write poems.

I didn't know if you'd like them.

What do you mean?

We like you.

J'adore les artistes.

Check out the second page, Grandma.

Oh!

You dedicated it to me.

Well... you inspire me.

One day,

we will go to France together.

Uh... there's one more thing.

I've been invited

to an International Poetry Festival.

No.

Fantastic.

Formidable!

Stephen?

Stephen, our Rosie is famous already!

And we didn't even know she was a poet.

: Champagne?

We've had it since you were born.

We were saving it for a special occasion.

You are going to see the world.

Now, where's this festival?

Don't tell me.

I already know, you clever girl.

- France. - Iran.

I... ran?

Yes, I've been invited to a poetry festival in Shiraz.

No.

Not Iran.

I know.

Why? Why Iran?

Why not Paris?

Why not anywhere else in the world?

Why did you enter a contest in Iran?

It's not a contest.

It's a... It's a festival.

They found me.

They found my work.

They found you?

You don't go.

Not Iran.

Gloria, she is an adult.

We can't stop her.

Rosie?

Do you want to go?

I have to go.

For your trip.

You don't want to take any chances.

Thanks, Granny.

♪ There is a place you know ♪

♪ Lucky luck luck lucky luck lucky luck ♪

♪ There is a place you don't know ♪

Are you sure

you don't want us to come in

and wait with you?

No,

you guys go on home.

Don't worry, I'll be fine.

Really.

Oh... Rosie!

Oh, Granny.

Are you gonna be all right?

You're our little girl.

What will we do without you?

Oh, come on.

You'd think I've never been away before!

: You've never been away before.

What are these?

Iranian money. Toman.

What were you thinking

you were going to do for money over there?

Grandpa, I can take care of myself.

Always carry cash. Cash is king.

Thank you, Grandpa.

You may need this later.

Rosie...

you make us proud.

And come back safe.

I love you guys... more than anything.

Don't worry. I'll come back.

I hope that's true.

Joon-soo Oh,

Frances Yen,

Michael McLennan,

please proceed to Gate 37.

Your plane is boarding.

Michael McClellan, your plane is boarding.

I want a gabbeh.

I'm not bringing you back a carpet!

Oh, you are so.

Oh, my god. Do you know how heavy those things are?

I'm your bestie.

Well, how much money do you have?

$12.

Salaam.

What does that mean?

"Hi! Pleased to meet you."

I've been practicing.

You're conflicted, dude.

Uh... Salaam.

Reason for visit?

I'm invited to a poetry festival in Shiraz.

I'm a poet.

Ah... I'm a poet too.

Iran is the land of poets.

How long?

Oh, pretty short...

about a minute, out loud.

30 lines on the page.

I don't want to bore anyone.

Your stay.

Oh, uh, one week.

Enjoy your stay in our country.

Shiraz is a very beautiful city.

Be sure to visit the Tomb of Hafiz.

All right, thank you.

Salaam.

Salaam.

Hi, I'm Rosie.

Dietmar.

Did you fly in from Vancouver too?

Paris.

Oh, Paris! I love Paris.

But you're not French.

Obviously not.

Why are you wearing that?

I... like it.

Interesting choice.

So how far is Shiraz?

Chi migi?

: Why are they holding up scorecards?

This is a slam.

A slam?

Yeah.

A slam?

Yeah.

Oh.

Hello. Salaam.

Welcome to Iran.

Welcome to our festival.

Ah. Salaam.

How are you finding your stay here?

Oh!

Uh, well, it's a lot to take in.

Of course. But you fit right in.

I see you're a Muslim.

No.

But you're wearing the chador.

Is it bad?

Oh, no. Don't worry.

It is interesting

to see foreigners

taking a more traditional approach to hijab.

Unusual. But beware...

A lot of men may ask

for your hand in marriage.

Cute little girl with a hijab. Woo!

: Oh... okay.

Our next performer this morning is Rosie Ming

from Vancouver, Canada.

She is going to read to us

from her first book of published poems,

"My Eye Full:

Poems by a person who has never been to France."

Salaam.

: Salaam.

: ♪ I need to know I need to know ♪

♪ If you need a house like Edgar Allen Poe ♪

♪ There's a white picket fence ♪

♪ Like the one you swore you'd never have ♪

♪ There's a garden needs tending ♪

♪ And a trimmed hedge waist-high ♪

♪ A farmhouse with a rocking chair ♪

♪ That sent chills up Magritte's spine ♪

♪ When he touched the right arm ♪

♪ The French are so sensitive ♪

♪ I want to be a writer ♪

♪ But how can I ♪

♪ When these simple rooms offer so little distraction? ♪

♪ Must I write about the pattern on the pillow? ♪

♪ Must I think of adjectives about the weather? ♪

♪ Why here? ♪

♪ Why there? ♪

♪ Why now? ♪

♪ I have sat in a corner ♪

♪ And fished with Jacques Cousteau ♪

♪ My own imagination igniting only in front of a television ♪

♪ Or hovering above a book ♪

♪ Have you ever made up a joke? ♪

♪ Have you ever told a story? ♪

♪ I saw a picture ♪

♪ It spoke to me of a thousand words ♪

♪ They were... not mine ♪

Chador.

Was it that bad?

Interesting technique.

I'm here to introduce to you

Di Di,

one of the Misty poets from China.

He began writing during the Cultural Revolution.

After his exile,

his poetry turned to themes of isolation,

homelessness, rootlessness, and language.

Mah...

Asb.

Pao mah bu ceng gui

du shi wan wu hui

ta bian yi du ta xiang tu

zhui ren mian bao yu xin

kong you shang heng xing zi qing.

Bar poshte asb.

Bedone bargasht.

Who is that guy?

Well, maybe you can't write,

but at least you can listen okay.

You should take a page from Di Di.

Short poem good, long poem bad.

I enjoyed your reading.

It was very... musical, very refreshing.

I'm way better with a guitar, really.

Way, way better.

I thought you were fine,

especially for your first time.

This is your first time at a festival, isn't it?

I'm not really a poet.

You are a poet!

That is why you are here.

You must have an admirer here in Iran.

Someone found your poetry very compelling.

That is how you were brought to our attention.

I only got a "one."

Ah, yes. The "one."

I very much enjoyed

your reading,

but in Iran,

it is not so accepted

for women to sing

unaccompanied in public.

It's too... provocative.

No. No, no. Don't be embarrassed.

How could you know?

And I think they get carried away

because this is one place in Iran

where their full vote counts.

What do you mean?

You will find women

are very strong here in Iran.

We call them Shirzan. Lioness.

But their voices are not always heard in this country.

Really?

Mm. It is very complicated.

Excuse my rudeness.

I am Cyrus Kazimi,

director

of this poetry festival.

Az... ashnayi ba shoma khoshvaghtam.

You speak Farsi!

Nah.

Well, only a few words.

My father was Persian.

He must be very proud of you.

A poet!

Actually, I wouldn't know.

He disappeared when I was a girl,

and I never heard from him again.

I have no idea how he felt about anything.

Oh, my goodness.

Bitter thought.

A Persian father? Abandon his daughter?

Impossible!

Well, he did.

It's okay. I've dealt with it.

His loss.

"Ming" doesn't sound

like a particularly Persian name.

Ming is my mother's name.

His name is Ardalan.

Mehran Ardalan.

"Ardalan" is a very well-known

family here in Iran.

In Shiraz.

Really?

We are very interested here in the Persian diaspora.

I will make some inquiries.

Maybe we can find someone who knows the family.

That is, uh, if you would like.

Poets, please meet at the van.

You go off now. Enjoy your tour.

So... complications?

What isn't complicated?

Your father is Persian?

I don't even know my father.

Boo-hoo. Neither do I.

My father abandoned me when I was seven.

Yeah. Mine too. So what?

Why are you so... rude?

Iran is a very old land.

Older than Islam, older than Judaism,

older than sand.

3,000 years ago, Persians settled Shiraz

and brought their Zoroastrian civilization.

In 559 B.C.,

Cyrus the Great created an empire

comprising Iran, Armenia,

and Asia Minor.

Shiraz is Iran's fifth largest city.

It is the capital of Fars...

where the language of Farsi comes from,

and is the poetry capital of Persia,

because two very greatest of our poets are from here...

Hafiz and Saadi.

Who are they?

Mein Gott, do you really not know?

My specialty is more the French Romantic poets,

like Baudelaire and Rimbaud.

Those are the Decadent Poets.

The Romantics were English,

reacting to the French Revolution.

Are you a Decadent or a Romantic?

Uh, w-whatever.

And maybe I wasn't asking you.

Uh-huh.

You absolutely were asking me.

You were.

Oh...

Saadi is one of the major Persian poets

of the Medieval period.

His verses grace the United Nations building

in New York City...

"Bani adam a'azaaye yek digarand

Ke dar afarinesh ze yek gooharand

Cho ozvi be dard aavarad roozegaar

Degar ozv-haa raa namaanad gharar

To kaz mehnate digaraan bi ghami

Nashaayad ke naamat nahand aadami."

We are all created from one essence,

and when the calamity of time affects one limb,

the others cannot rest.

If one cannot feel sympathy for the troubles of others,

one cannot be called human.

It's written right on the front?

Have you never visited the United Nations Building?

I've never visited New York.

I've never visited anywhere, really.

Well... now you are visiting Iran.

This is the tomb

of the great Iranian poet Hafiz.

He was born in 1310 A.D., in Shiraz.

As a child, he memorizes all of the Q'ran, by heart,

by listening to his father's recitations.

He also memorizes the works of all the great poets...

Rumi, Nezami,

Saadi, Attar.

His father dies,

leaving the family impoverished.

Hafiz must leave school.

When he is 21,

Hafiz delivers bread to the wealthy part of town.

He sees a young woman of incredible beauty,

Shakh-e Nabat.

Many of his poems are addressed to her.

Shh.

Oh, is my breathing bothering you?

Hmph.

In pursuit of his beloved,

Hafiz keeps a 40-day vigil

at the tomb of the Sufi poet Baba Kuhi.

On his deathbed,

Baba Kuhi promised

that anyone who could stay awake for 40 days at his tomb

would be granted the gift of poetry,

of immortality,

and of his heart's desire.

Hafiz meets the poet Attar and becomes his disciple.

He becomes a poet of the court of Abu Ishaque,

and becomes very famous as a Spiritual Romantic.

Hafiz marries another woman and has a son,

but keeps Shakh-e Nabat as his poetic muse.

Hmm.

You are not interested in the life of Hafiz?

I'm just feeling a bit jet-lagged,

and there is so much information.

What a crazy story.

His life was so complicated.

Yes, life is complicated in Iran.

Always complicated.

And he didn't get his heart's desire.

He didn't get Shakh-e Nabat.

But he did get his heart's desire.

He got to be an important poet.

His love for Shakh-e Nabat fuelled his muse.

But it kind of sucks for his wife.

True. But it is his poetry which is important,

not the details of his life.

You carry around sugar cubes?

Well, you never know

when you're going to meet a horse.

They're so beautiful.

Horses are a very important symbol in Iran,

especially for women.

They endure.

Have you ever read

Alice Walker's collection of poems,

"Horses Make a Landscape More Beautiful"?

I don't think I've read much of anything.

But you write.

Yeah. I don't know why I write.

Things just bubble up inside me and I feel...

Compelled to write.

Yes. I understand that.

But the more you learn about others,

the more you deepen your understanding of yourself.

You don't think I should be here either, do you?

What? Who thinks

you shouldn't be here?

Oh, me. Dietmar.

Rosie...

Don't doubt yourself.

I think you have a voice.

You just have to find out how to express it fully.

This is the journey we are all on.

It takes a lifetime,

sometimes many lifetimes to learn our own story.

I like to sing.

Ah. That is complicated too.

But that makes you a kindred spirit of Hafiz

and all the Ecstatic poets.

Can anybody go to the tomb of Baba Kuhi?

: Oh, yes.

It's on a hillside, and, at the tomb,

there is a dervish who keeps guard there.

Do people go there for 40 days?

I don't think it's advisable.

Which is it you want to attain?

Poetry, immortality, your heart's desire?

I thought you get all three.

: I see.

Maybe you would like to consult the book of Hafiz.

Oh... Hafiz is also a fortune-teller?

: Of course.

He writes about the state of humankind.

I think you'll like it.

I'll show you the book at dinner.

How is it everybody here

knows everything about everything?

Rosie... we are Persian.

This is the tomb

of Syed Amir Ahmad,

the brother of Imam Reza, the 8th Imam.

This is a very holy place...

Something to drink?

Yeah, a beer?

No beer!

Scheisse.

Try a doogh. It's our yogurt drink.

What?

Nothing.

I guess you don't know everything

about Iranian culture.

Yeah, I know enough.

Is this smoke bothering you?

Not at all.

Ni hao.

Ni hao.

You speak Chinese?

Only a couple of words.

I'm half Chinese.

Oh? I thought you were Iranian.

Why do you say that?

Oh...

I'm just trying to fit in.

Why did you leave China?

1989.

No, why, not when.

1989 is a "why" and a "when."

I don't understand.

You're half Chinese. Don't you have any idea?

I'm going to tell you,

because I think you should know about your own history,

and that will make you a better poet.

I'm Canadian.

It doesn't matter.

You are also Chinese,

and you are part of the world.

I learned this the hard way.

June 4th, 1989.

I get on a plane to England to promote my book of poems.

It is my first time out of China.

When I arrive,

there are many reporters at the airport

asking me

what my opinion of the events in China are.

"What events in China?" I ask.

They tell me about a massacre in Tiananmen Square.

I had seen the protest before.

Some of my friends were taking part.

I am not a political man. I am a poet.

Right there,

I know I have to make a choice,

and I denounce the violence against the students...

And I become a political man...

like that.

And I can never go home again.

Oh, my goodness.

I knew you were living in exile,

but I thought that was a romantic thing

that poets did.

Your life is... so sad.

We cannot choose our life,

but we can shape it,

and the meaning makes all sadness beautiful.

Ironically, now I can live in China.

They invited me back.

Wait long enough... and everything changes.

Change...

Change creates the meaning.

It's what I write about.

I really loved your poem.

But you couldn't understand it.

I don't know.

I felt like I did.

Maybe you did, then.

When people tell me

that they don't understand a poem,

I say, "Fine, just listen to it.

You don't need

an intellectual understanding of it."

I liked the way you presented your poem.

I think of my poem as music too...

but I cannot sing in front of an audience.

You are very brave.

Oh! Or stupid.

Sometimes you need one for the other.

What is your poem called?

"Mah."

What does it mean?

It means many things.

Horse.

Mother.

Part of a sentence.

A bridge from one word to another.

I would love to learn this poem.

You must perform it.

B-But it's your poem.

I gave it to you.

You must improvise.

Sing the poem.

Performance is an essential part of the poetry.

You already know that.

Sing. Sing!

Walt Whitman. "Body Electric."

I have brought the oracle...

the book of Hafiz.

Ask your question.

Out loud?

It doesn't matter.

All right. I've got my question.

Is it about Dietmar?

It is so not about Dietmar! Why should it be about Dietmar?

Why does he hate me?

Oh, I think he likes you.

It is the way some young men are.

That's not my real question.

Okay, then.

Sorry if I spoke out of place.

What is your real question?

My real-real question?

Of course.

I want to know

why my father abandoned me.

Open the book and choose a poem.

There is a beautiful creature

living in a hole you have dug.

So, at night, I set fruit and grains

and little pots of wine and milk

beside your soft, earthen mounds,

and I often sing.

But still, my dear, you do not come out.

I have fallen in love

with someone who hides inside you.

We should talk about this problem,

otherwise,

I will never leave you alone.

What does that mean?

It's obvious.

It means you are supposed to perform Di Di's poem

on the last night of the festival.

How do you think it says that?

The true beauty of the poetry of Hafiz

is that every word can be interpreted

many different ways.

That's what makes him such an excellent oracle.

I can't translate that poem.

I can't perform it in front of...

Oh, yes, you can, and, yes, you will.

I have already organized it.

Now I have a question for you.

Why does a young Canadian woman

of Asian descent

decide to wear the chador?

I wasn't prepared for Iran.

You don't need to wear this, you know.

But I have to wear something, don't I?

Might as well go all the way.

Hmm. You have a point.

The moon, exactly how it is tonight.

When Mount Everest was measured for the first time

in 1856,

it was determined to be 29,000 feet...

exactly.

But since no one would have believed such a figure,

sounding as it does

too much like something rounded off,

two extra feet were found...

invented out of thin air, the thinnest on Earth,

and added to the mountain's top

to provide the appearance of precision...

29 thousand and two.

So too, tonight,

a cloud has passed before the moon

in such a way

that, even if I were able to describe it exactly how it is,

no one would believe me,

which is why

I am looking for two extra feet of moonlight,

or dark cloud,

or perhaps, to be fair...

one foot of each.

Dietmar, you seem nervous.

Yeah. It's very intimidating to follow Taylor Mali.

You're gonna be fine.

Don't worry.

He's a really nice guy.

He told me I should visit him

if I'm ever in New York.

Yeah, but that's not the point.

: The next performer is Dietmar Langweillig

from Germany,

also part of our "New Poetic Voices" initiative.

Welcome, Dietmar.

: I go.

Um, s alaam.

I'm pleased to be here in your beautiful country.

Uh, I'd like to read you a love poem from my country,

about, uh, the love

some bourgeois women have for their dogs.

"Die Hunde."

Sag.

Basseh. Basseh.

Oh, they really hate me.

This country, it gives a bitter taste.

They don't hate you.

They just didn't like your poem.

How's that different?

It's the subject.

What do you mean?

I chose it especially for this festival!

It's a non-offensive poem.

It's about dogs!

Everyone loves dogs!

It was about women taking dogs to a restaurant.

Yeah, it's a metaphor

for consumerist culture.

Well, you don't do that

in public in Iran.

Dogs are... dirty.

They are?

We don't eat with them.

It's very bad in our culture.

Personally, I like dogs.

I liked your poem.

But I don't eat with dogs.

I thought your poem was good.

It's not necessary to say this.

Hey!

How could you have known about the whole dog thing?

Oh... yeah.

Yeah, how could you have known

about the singing thing?

Exactly.

Hey, do you know what I can do better

than anyone else in the world?

Hmm?

Oh, that's stupid.

Try it!

How do you do that?

Practice.

Yeah, why would I do that?

You're such a weird girl!

Go on!

Ack!

Ahh. Oh, no.

Hey, hey.

Oh, Dietmar, are you okay?

I didn't mean to upset you.

Dietmar? Dietmar, don't cry.

Don't cry, Dietmar.

I am not crying!

I have angst! I am doomed.

I'm sure you're exaggerating.

Oh, no. Look at my poems.

Oh!

Well, these are quite racy for Iran.

Mm. What is "racy"?

Someone at the festival

should have given you some guidelines.

It's our first year.

We still have some bugs to work out.

I'm reading tonight.

You can jam with one of my poems.

What do you mean?

Well, I mean, I'll give you a poem,

and we can trade lines.

A-B, A-B, kind of thing, you know?

Mix it up. It'll be fun.

Oh. Why would I do that?

You've got to get

back up on that horse.

What horse?

I'm not going to read your poem.

You got a problem with my poems?

They're not good enough for you?

Ah, it's not the point, okay? It's not my style.

Oh. Not... Not political enough for you?

Yeah, m-maybe.

I found your poem... a bit soft, you know?

Soft?

Yeah, I need more balls.

Balls?

You were just crying.

I had angst!

You don't like my poetry.

What's with all this French stuff?

You know? Why... Why with all the French references?

It makes no sense to me.

J'adore France.

But you've never even been.

It's the language of romance.

Well, you know, German is the language of poetry.

Well, Persia is the land of poetry.

Well, Vancouver has more poets per block

than any other city in the world.

Is that true?

It's because of the rain.

Hmm... we say that in Iran too.

There is something about the rain.

Okay, I'll be there.

I'll make it work.

See? He likes you.

No.

Salaam aleykam.

Salaam.

My name is Hassan Saeady.

I'm Rosie Ming.

I know.

You like Shiraz?

It's very beautiful.

I hope you are enjoying your stay in our country.

Thank you.

I know him. Mehran Ardalan.

My father? You know him?

We were in military school together, in America.

America?

Yes, your father and I

and 13 others were training to be pilots,

and were sent to study in Pensacola, Florida.

Flight school?

We also trained at the Naval Academy

in Newport, Rhode Island, U.S.A.

The Shah sent us over to America.

He was good friends with America.

Beautiful country,

beautiful houses,

scenery, women.

Oh, such beautiful women.

Yes. We were all new, young officers.

Very, very young.

The Islamic Revolution happened,

and we were all offered asylum in the United States.

13 of us accepted.

But your father, Mehran, and me, we were different.

We didn't want to leave our families.

We didn't want to leave our country.

We thought the revolution would be a good thing...

a change.

When we came back,

your father was rejected by the military

because of his family's close ties to the Shah.

He has no work,

then his father dies.

He never told me any of that.

I just remember

he was pretty harsh.

I guess that's his military training.

We don't always tell everything to the children.

He is a very proud man, your father.

He would be very proud of you.

Then why did he leave us?

Why did he never come back?

Oh, he missed his real family more?

Rosie. You are his daughter.

How could you say that?

No, no, that's okay.

I'm completely fine with it.

I'm cool.

Excuse me.

I've got some research to do.

What did I say?

Salaam.

Salaam aleykam.

Uh, do you have

any Mandarin/English dictionaries?

Oh, no, this is an Iranian bookstore.

Oh... right.

We have Farsi/English dictionaries,

and we have

Farsi/Mandarin dictionaries.

Oh! Okay. Um... I'll take one of each.

S alaam.

Salaam.

I'm Rosie Ming,

and I was wondering if you wouldn't mind

giving me your translation

of Di Di's poem?

Oh, I can't read this either.

Would you like me

to translate it into English for you?

Uh, no, actually, I want to do that.

I know what you need.

You want to challenge yourself.

You are just like your father.

He would be very proud of you.

How is it that everybody here knows my father?

You are on a search, so everywhere you look,

you will find...

Oh, and Cyrus Kazimi has told everybody.

Everybody is looking for him for you.

Well, my father, apparently, was a fighter pilot.

I don't think

he'd be particularly impressed by my poetry.

This is Iran.

Everyone cares about poetry,

and your father especially.

He was my teacher.

Teacher?

He was my poetry teacher,

and, uh, he taught me English.

Very good, yes?

: English? Poetry?

He was a young man,

and it was when the revolution was new.

A lot of people took on new jobs.

I was very bad in English.

He said that I must not give up,

that it was a window into a bigger world out there.

He wrote a poem about a jet once.

We liked those stories.

: I can't believe my father was a poet.

Because he was a fighter?

Uh, because he had no compassion!

Figures he would write a story about a jet.

Rosie! It is a metaphor!

For pushing your limits,

for, uh, naming your own freedom.

Poets can be cruel...

But, uh, I don't think that was your father.

He was very kind to me.

In fact, his name, "Mehran," means "kindness."

"Mehr" means "kindness,"

the outgrowth of love and compassion.

But everybody's name in Iran

starts with "Mehr."

That's true...

but not mine.

: Thank you all

for enjoying this afternoon's readings.

Good luck with your translation.

: We will reconvene this evening

at 8:00 p.m.

Why isn't this Paris?

Mah.

Rumi, you must know,

is perhaps the best known of the Sufi poets,

whose beliefs include

the idea that human beings

are like the reed who becomes a flute,

the plaintive sound of the ney

that cries for its home in the river.

Rumi writes

that we are like that reed

that longs to be reunited with our creator.

That's beautiful.

Mm-hmm.

: Beshno az ney chon hekaayat mikonad

Az jodaaye haa shekaayat mikonad

Kaz ney estaan taa maara bobridehand

Az nafiram mardo zan naalidehand

Sineh Khaaham sharheh sharheh az faraagh

Taa begooyam sharheh dardek eshtiaagh

Har kasi ku door shod as asley khish

Baaz jooyad roozgaare vasley khish

I've been reciting Rumi for years,

and he always gets to me.

Never be afraid of your own tears.

: Dani ke che migoyad in bonge robab

Andar peye man bia o rah ra daryab

Zira be khata rah bari soye savab

Zira be soal rah bari soye javab.

What is she saying?

: Do you know what this lute music tells you?

It says, Follow me and you'll find the way.

Mistakes will make you stumble towards goodness.

Questions will put you on the answer pathway.

You sure you want to do this?

Stimmt. Of course.

We alternate?

In a way. You first.

And there are no French references.

Danke.

You're good!

Uh-huh.

: All good cows go to heaven, promise.

Muu! Muu! Muu!

Where the grass, I hear...

Sagt die braune Kuh...

...Is sweeter than clover.

Sie gibt uns Milch und Butter.

There must be a million cows I can't see.

Muu! Muu! Muu-clear.

Floating in that night sky.

Nuu! Nuu! Nuclear!

You are so cheeky.

Are you trying to get me into trouble?

Ha. You were the one

who wrote the political allegory.

It was not a political allegory!

It was about...

Yeah, cows.

Yes, cows!

Well, nobody writes about cows.

You are in a constant state of denial.

You live in a constant state of... metaphor.

You were the one with the Parisian fantasies.

I was merely trying to lift your poem up

into ecstatic jubilance,

like the Rumi poetry.

Ecstatic jubilance?

Yeah, fish, cows, rivers, sky...

you fit right in.

It's pastoral tradition.

It's not a tradition.

It's just about the animals.

Well, you found it, it is a tradition.

You found it by accident, like everything you do.

I see you find the singer attractive.

No.

Well, I saw you staring.

The...

The song is so beautiful.

Well, I can introduce you,

if you want.

I don't want!

Okay, maybe

you already like someone else.

Hmm?

Oh!

These guys are amazing.

They are Kurds from Guran in the West.

This is a rare treat.

They must be friends of Cyrus's.

Aejaazeh bedin livaaneh shomaaro porr konam.

Oh. Merci.

Merci.

This is one of our guests from Canada, Rosie Ming.

Rosie, this is a student of mine,

Mouna Abbasi.

I'm sorry.

I thought you were Persian because of your chador.

Oh! My grandmother gave it to me to wear.

Oh.

: Rosie!

Rosie, no, please, sit here.

Are you comfortable?

Can I get you some food?

I enjoyed your reading today.

It was good to see Dietmar outside of his shell.

And again, very musical.

But not too musical.

Exactly!

And it fits very much

within our own Persian tradition

of oral poetry.

I tell you, you are more Persian than you know.

Salaam.

This is Amir.

He fought in the war with your father.

He says your father was a great pilot.

He was not a traitor.

Traitor?

: In 1981, as you know,

Iraq attacked our country.

We were not prepared.

Saddam Hussein attacked us, and we had no one to fight.

America was helping arm the Iraqis.

We had 79 fighter planes in our country.

79! And we had no one to fly them,

because the old military had allegiance to the Shah.

We needed everybody.

Your father had to go back into the military.

We fought for two years against impossible odds,

and Saddam Hussein offers us a ceasefire,

a peace.

Your father had crisis of belief.

We all do sometimes.

He questioned his belief as a Muslim,

he questioned his belief in the leaders of his own country.

He fled.

He deserted?

He didn't believe in war,

in so much senseless death.

I never knew he was in the war.

We were all in the war.

Some of us had to fight in it.

But you, you stayed.

: I don't know if I thought it was me

or your father who was the coward at the time.

I stayed

because I could not imagine anything else.

I don't blame your father for leaving,

but you cannot refuse to fight in a war

and expect to go back to your own life.

Your life is defined by the war.

I had a wife, a child...

I couldn't leave.

My thoughts were only for the next day,

that's all.

Are you still in the Air Force?

I gave my 30 years to the military,

and now I am retired.

Now I can go back to poetry.

How is the translation coming along?

Oh, God! The translation!

Oh, so slow.

So slow!

It takes forever

to go from Mandarin to Farsi

to English.

It's killing me.

I'm gonna fail horribly

and humiliate myself tomorrow.

I don't think so.

Don't be so stuck

on the perfect translation.

Make it your own. You know...

Coleman Barks is the most well-known translator of Rumi,

and he doesn't read a word of Farsi.

Is that true?

I'm not sure.

But the information is helpful, no?

It is your poem now.

Write your poem.

Write what is inside you.

Write what you know.

What do you need to write this poem?

Salaam.

Salaam. Bonjour.

Quelle belle chador.

I, um, I know this is a strange question,

but I'm wondering if you could tell me

where I could borrow a guitar for while?

Wow! Um, merci.

That's very generous of you.

No problem.

Hey, that's nice.

Aw, it's nothing.

Just a cowboy tune.

I can't really play.

I just need it to write with it.

Nothing like what you guys do.

Where did you get that accent?

I grew up in Paris.

I just do this gig with the Persian hippies

every once in a while.

It's an excuse to come back and visit family.

I sure didn't expect to see this guy here.

You know each other?

We roomed together at the Sorbonne.

You're from Paris?

Have you, uh... have you been?

Never.

Oh! You must go!

It's crowded, expensive, but it is Paris.

Oh.

You must be my guest.

I can't believe you guys are friends!

How do you think a no-talent bum like this

could get an invite to the land of Rumi?

: German is the language of poetry.

Do you like it here?

Yes, but it's weird.

It seems like every other person here

knows my father.

But you are looking for his story, yes?

So you will find it everywhere.

Someone else told me the same thing.

It's true. Look.

: Rosie-jun!

You look just like your father,

and like your mother too!

How would you know my mother?

Rosie, this is your cousin, Ramin.

My cousin?

Yes, cousin Rosie-jun.

Oh, how we know your mother!

Your father only talked about her and you.

He loved her so very, very much.

My mother is dead.

And my father abandoned us when I was seven.

He did not love us. He did not love me!

Oh, Rosie-jun.

When your father left Iran, he had to give up everything...

even his identity.

He escaped to Turkey,

trying to get to a country

which would accept him as a refugee,

but he couldn't get papers because he had no money.

He stayed in a detainment camp with other men

who were fleeing something, mainly from Africa.

But there were all these beautiful beaches,

and wandering along one day, he meets your mother, Caroline.

Rumi.

Yes, Rumi.

You speak English?

Cho manam saayehyeh hosnat,

Bekonam aan che bekardi,

Cho bekhordi to bekhordam,

Cho neshasti to neshastam.

Manama an maste dohool zan,

Ke shodam mast be meydaan

Dohole khish cho parcham,

Be sareh neyzeh bebastam.

Cho khosho bi khod shaahi,

Hele khaamoosh cho maahi,

Cho ze hasti berahidam,

Che koshi baaz behastam.

I have no idea what you just said.

"Now that I am with you,

I shall do as you do.

I shall sit when you sit, I shall eat when you eat.

I am the drunken drummer in the circle,

with his drum held high on the spear.

Your kingdom, free of ego,

full of joy, full of wisdom.

You, dimmed crescent moon, brighter than full moon.

You... who freed me from myself.

Being with you is better than being me."

Now you speak Farsi.

: Your mother had just graduated from university

in Intercultural Studies.

She was young and curious,

and I think she had never met anyone in her life

like your father,

and she had the air of someone who had never been in a war.

I think first they told themselves

that they got married so Mehran could go to Canada,

but soon, you were born...

: That is a pretty story,

but my father abandoned us.

Did I mention that?

And he never explained why.

And my mother is dead.

I-I think I may have mentioned that too.

Rosie-jun, the story isn't over.

A few years later, in 1992,

your grandmother, your father's mother,

became gravely ill,

and we called to him to tell him.

Even though he was not allowed back into the country,

he came anyway.

We didn't even know

he was going to do that, to see his mother one more time.

Can you understand that?

If you knew you could see your mother one last time?

You be a good girl.

Listen to your mother.

I will expect to hear good reports of you

when I return, okay?

Make me proud, Rosie-jun.

: When your father arrived in Tehran,

they immediately arrested him.

We didn't know he was in the country.

We didn't know anything.

And he wasn't allowed to contact anybody.

His mother died.

No contact.

They keep him in jail for two years,

and then they let him out,

but his passport is taken away.

He never tried to contact me.

Can you believe that?

Can you believe a father would abandon his child?

He did!

He contacted your grandparents.

They wouldn't let him speak to you.

I-I don't believe that.

But look,

they gave you his watch.

Is he here?

He is very close.

Does he know I'm here?

He does.

Then why hasn't he come to see me?

Rosie-jun, your father is very ill.

He is in the hospital.

Here.

But you must wait till morning to see him.

Peyone shabe sia sepidaste.

Rosie?

Call home.

Rosie! Rosie, how are you?

We were so worried about you.

Are you eating well? How is your stomach?

: Why did you give her that watch?

It has nothing to do with the watch.

Anyway, it was time she knew.

Rosie. Rosie? Are you still there, Rosie?

Why... didn't you tell me?

We wanted to protect you.

Do you want to know? Do you want to know?

Our only child graduates from university,

says,

"All my friends go to Europe, Papa.

Don't worry, I'll be okay."

And comes back married to this man,

a stranger,

who has the saddest eyes I've ever seen

and will not talk about his past.

Nothing!

But then... you were born,

and your grandmother and I were so delighted,

and we thought maybe this was okay.

You all lived with us for a while

because your father couldn't find a job,

and then he got one.

Hey, it's Mehran!

We don't have to pay.

You have to pay.

He didn't like the way other Iranians looked at him.

I can understand that.

It was the same for me when I first came to Canada.

Then he heard his mother was ill,

and he wanted to go and visit her.

We pleaded with him not to.

Mum?

Mum?

Where's Dad going?

He's going home.

Why aren't we going with him?

Oh, it's a complicated story, baby.

He'll tell you all about it when he comes back.

: We didn't hear from your father

for almost a year.

We had no idea what had happened to him,

if he was even still alive.

Then... he called.

All he wanted was for us to send you to him

because he couldn't leave Iran.

We didn't think it was safe.

We had already lost our only baby, Caroline.

We weren't going to lose you.

You were all we had left

of our little girl.

You lied to me.

We didn't want to lose you, Rosie.

You are our life.

We love you, Rosie! We love you!

I'm getting off the phone now.

Salaam.

Salaam. Sobh bekeyhr, khonome.

Um, Ardalan.

Panj.

Ardalan?

Panj.

Panj.

Oh, panj! Panj.

Thank you.

Mitonam komaketon konam?

Voy!

You must be Rosie!

It is so clear!

From Canada!

Salaam!

He's gone.

Yes.

I missed him.

Yes. By about an hour.

I'm sorry.

Can I just sit here for a moment?

Of course.

Take all the time you need.

Your father is a great man.

I'll miss him in this ward.

My father was a bus driver.

Was he?

He was a fighter.

That is not the Mehran Ardalan we know.

Was he... He was a teacher?

It wouldn't surprise me.

His family were friends with the Shah.

Mm.

That wouldn't do anyone much good these days.

Then, how do you know him?

My father was killed in the war,

and when your father came back to Iran,

he took us in like we were his own,

and he put me through university

because he wanted to give me

all the things he could not give his own daughter.

You were my replacement?

No, I wouldn't put it like that,

but he treated me like his own daughter.

And he talked about you endlessly!

Of course, he was talking about a little girl.

What was his condition?

Oh, your father came here

with severe pneumonia, very advanced.

How can you be so happy?

I am very happy to finally meet you!

You are the reason I am a doctor now,

because he couldn't help you

to be what you wanted to be.

Is he in the morgue?

Morgue? No!

He's at home. He was just released.

Here is his address.

Salaam?

Salaam.

Hubi... Arayee Ardalan?

Naa. Inja niste.

Arayee Ardalan?

Naa!

Look.

Yahki misheh biyaad behem komak koneh In,

yeh khaanoomeh daareh nemidunam ajagh vajagh behem migeh,

man nemifahmam chi migeh,

yeki biyaad tarjomeh koneh vaasam nemidunam

yeh saa'atam behem daadeh.

Rosie-jun!

Rosie-jun! Rosie-jun.

We have been waiting for you for so long.

Rosie-jun. Rosie-jun.

Eyvaay. Eyvaay.

Shohreh, cousin.

Fatima, cousin.

Nilofar, cousin.

Shahla, aunt.

Sophia, my daughter.

Oh...

you were too young to really know your father, Rosie-jun.

He does not let much come between him and his soul.

His heart was so broken

when he heard of the death of your mother.

We thought he would never recover.

First, his mother, then his wife,

then, to never see his child again.

They all came back.

No forwarding address.

Where is he?

In the hospital.

They told me he'd be here!

No, he hasn't come here. What happened?

Did something happen to him?

Oh, no.

What?

I'm supposed to be performing in 20 minutes at the festival.

It's okay. I'll just miss it.

No. You have to go.

It's only five minutes from here.

No, no, no! I-I don't want to leave you.

We'll come too.

All of you?

Of course! We're family.

Wait. Wait.

You can't wear that.

Shahlaa, oon roosari sooratiaro biyaar.

Okay. That will do.

Boro. Boro.

Salaam.

I just wanted to say how honoured I am

to have been invited to this festival,

and the first night,

I was just blown away by this poem of Di Di's.

Even though I'm part Chinese, I don't speak Chinese,

and even though I'm part Persian,

I don't speak Farsi,

so I didn't understand the translation.

Still, it moved me so much,

but I didn't know what it meant.

But now... I think I do.

Mah.

Horse.

I saw my father's hands today.

They were hanging by my side.

They were putting on my jacket.

I saw my father's eyes today.

They were checking out a girl.

They were reading a menu.

I saw my father's face today.

A familiar face

in a place that I do not know.

I saw it in a mirror, this face.

It looked back at me,

quiet and puzzled, this morning.

Puzzled that I only now see it.

There,

where it lay waiting.

I watched it, silently,

afraid that if I speak, I will not hear his voice.

Afraid that if I don't, I won't hear mine.

That's not your poem.

That's not your poem?

That's not my poem.

That's her poem.

Rosie-junam!

Rosie!

♪ There's a brown horse outside ♪

♪ Big and wide ♪

♪ And riderless ♪

♪ All he does is eat ♪

♪ From what I can see ♪

♪ Doesn't bother me ♪

♪ There's a black horse outside ♪

♪ So dark I can't see his eyes ♪

♪ He's never seen saddle nor bit ♪

♪ I think they use him as a stud ♪

♪ There's a white horse outside ♪

♪ I see him glowing in the moonlight ♪

♪ And when he runs to me ♪

♪ I don't know why I remember I miss my father ♪

♪ It's the sound of the teeth ♪

♪ The grinding with the breathing ♪

♪ They won't tromp on chickens ♪

♪ But they'll bite your arm off if you let them ♪

♪ A horse is a big thing in this world ♪

♪ He sells cigarettes and the American Dream ♪

♪ He likes to wear shoes and comb his hair ♪

♪ He's a real looker ♪

♪ And good-tasting too ♪

♪ I see every muscle in his leg ♪

♪ Every vein in his face ♪

♪ I see his whiskers messing up his profile ♪

♪ He shakes his head ♪

♪ And I still see my father ♪

♪ I want the freedom to run and eat all day ♪

♪ As if that was enough ♪

♪ From fence to fence ♪

♪ I want four legs ♪

♪ Mainly ♪

♪ So I can improve my balance ♪

♪ In this rare world ♪

♪ Beshno az ney chon hekaayat mikonad ♪

♪ Az jodaaye haa shekaayat mikonad ♪

♪ Kaz ney estaan taa maara bobridehand ♪

♪ Az nafiram mardo zan naalidehand ♪

♪ Sineh Khaaham sharheh sharheh az faraagh ♪