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My wisdom benefits those alone,

Who promise compliance, with every maxim, every gnome!

Khayyam, should you be drunk with love, rejoice!

Or bedded with your heart's delight, rejoice!

Your end is no more than the whole world's end.

Fancy yourself no longer there, then smile.

I lay claim to every patch of this land,

Its good, its bad, even its woefully bland.

We would rather choose the scythe of death,

Than to hand over a patch of this sacred ground.

Iran Is My Land by Parviz Kimiavi

Thine essence is intellect,

The remaining bag of bones thou carry with regret.

Through the journey is fraught with peril, do not fear.

For every road has its ending, every search its grail.

Though poverty, stricken and loneliness Your prayers will keep you safe, do not fear.

Thine beauty and grace has opened the gates of Heaven for thee.

Kindly give it a shove, so the rest of us can get in for free!

Give me a "J".

Jacob shall return to Canaan, do not despair.

Grief shall turn into joy, do not despair.

Give me a "T".

True wanderers do not fluctuate their pace, But prefer a constant race.

- Well done! - Give me a "M".

My inner self I hardly recognise, I seem content, he, the exact contrast.

Give me a "T".

The night star is a charlatan, Whose trickery conceals the Aboriginal Ray.

My son, give me an "I".

If my last fling is to be with you, Joyful shall I be from tomb to Resurrection day.

Give me an "O", a poem which starts with the letter O.

Old wine and youthful beauty, I prefer to discussions about celestial divinity.

Now, it all comes out! OK dad.

enough verse capping for today.

You were supposed to give an "I".

OK dad!

I know a hell of a lot more poetry than you.

That goes without saving. Now, sit yourself down here.

You wanted an "I", right?

I camped on her route for all eternity,

So desperate was I, for a brief glimpse of her beauty.

Your tea is coming up.

Oh death, where is thy sting? Oh grave, where is thy victory?

- Enjoy your tea. - Is it sweetened?

- Yes, dad. - Thank you.

How long whilst thou seek capricious masters,

In the vain hope of finding the one Divine?

[Roll call of clients] Mr. Shirazi, Ms. Mansouri...

Mr. Tajbakhsh, Mr. Zamani.

[Roll call of poets] Kermani, Hatef Esfahani...

Mohtasham Kashani, Iraj Mirza...

Neshat Esfahani, Daqiqi, Farrokhi Yazdi, Rudaki.

Sanai, Farrukhi Sistani...

If thou possesseth enough wisdom, The tale of Cat & Mouse I'll recount,

A story so bizarre, it will leave you dazed awhile.

You're supposed to be under arrest. What are you doing here?

Go! Leave!

[List of poets continued]

The rest come back tomorrow.

- Any news? - Bad news, I'm afraid.

This time they objected to the passages related to Omar Khayyam.

Correct your mistakes, and we'll see what we can do.

These are the words of our greatest poets. How can I twist their meaning?

I'm only carrying out orders.

Most of the criticisms are about Khayyam.

Surly, there's been some mistake. I mean...

Be wise and vow of silence take,

If not the great Saadi, curb your tongue til dawn's break.

No mistake. We are not obliged to publish anything you write.

But sir, this is not just anything. It is part of our literary heritage.

You wouldn't believe the kind of work they saddle us with.

This gentleman has only discussed Khayyam's wine drinking in his thesis.

He only has to delete a few commentaries to get his publication permit.

I advised him to go away and do more research.

Khayyam's use of "wine" is metaphorical.

My friend! It signifies light and the faith come with it.

When feeling melancholic, it's this "wine" that rejuvenates you.

The "wine" our poets mention signifies faith.

Manuchehri, eleventh century. Take note miss.

The freeman's feast needs none but three, wine, meat and revelry,

We are free for all eternity, Grace be for wine, meat and revelry!

As you can see, there's no mention of light or faith.

The poet Sanai, twelfth century.

The wise and good avoid wine conscientiously,

For the pain it brings is there for all to see,

Whilst taking credit for your generosity.

The shame of indiscretion it leaves for you, entirely.

Hafez.

Towards wine and revelry we dance hopefully,

Woe, if our gown is refused as pledge by all and sundry.

Kermani, fourteenth century.

Oh Saki, the flowing beaker fill, quickly,

A Moment's respite from myself grant me, graciously.

Rumi, thirteenth century poet. Take note miss.

Banned from the cup, wine must be, It brings forth vile egocentricity.

Ferdowsi.

Drink red wine, Soul, shun bloodshed where you can,

Melancholia takes flight where wine and sweetheart take command.

Regret not the five joys of life...

Soire, candle, honey, wise and wine.

Iraj, please jot this down miss.

Pray, the vineyard turns to dust overnight,

O Lord, save humanity from the devil's bite.

Take this down from Khayyam. Twelfth century.

While Moon and Venus circle in the sky, Better than ruby wine I naught espy.

I wonder at the wine-sellers, for they,

Better than that they sell what will they buy?

It's a pity that some consider Khayyam an epicurean atheist.

Who only pursued worldly aims.

The same mistake made regarding mysticism in general.

There was a Door to which I found no key,

There was a veil past which I could not see.

Some little talk awhile of Me and Thee,

There seemed, and then no more of Thee and Me.

Saib Tabrizi, seventeenth century poet.

Penalty for excessive wine drinking,

Is eternal sobriety amongst a throng of drunks.

Khayyam's metaphorical use of wine has many interpretations.

Sometimes it refers to the wine of light, The same light the sun shines on earth.

Which can refer to the story of Shams Tabrizi and Rumi.

Sometimes it means the sin of pride, which fills the corrupt and greedy.

Then there is the wine of wisdom, used by sages to wash away ignorance.

Then there is the wine of beauty with its numbing splendor.

The wine of knowledge makes Archimedes run naked out of the bathtub,

The wine of discourse, the wine of certainty And the wine of the beloved files one with spiritual joy.

Indulge in wine blessed by his Grace, His love fills the cup, quenching our thirst.

Quite obviously he's not here talking about literal wine drinking.

Bravo! Bravo!

So he is really saying that life is a huge wine goblet,

and all its inhabitants drunk from various forms of wine.

We've partaken of a magical wine, Our vineyard is love for the One Divine.

Khayyam's emphasis on this worldly affairs now reveals itself for appreciation...

of the divine gift of life, forever perched on the abyss of temptation.

It's admittedly complex, but with a little more research,

I'm sure our young scholar will see the light.

If thou possesseth enough wisdom, The tale of Cat & Mouse I'll recount,

A story so bizarre. It will leave you dazed awhile.

Away with you.

Mr. Safi!

Yes?

Didn't I tell you to keep a lookout for him?

Sir, I've warned him, but he's a law unto himself.

Why don't you publish the book and let the readers decide for themselves?

My orders have come from the very top. It's best if you revise the work.

Good luck! Have a nice day!

In the age when the word was king,

And I sermonized to my heart's content,

My one desire to give advice,

The rest I leave to his Grace and chance.

Careful dad, you'll fall down.

I was coming to see you.

Did you get a permit for your book?

It's still in the balance. I have to make a trip to Tehran.

Sit yourself down, I won't be long.

Behind me regret for yesterday's follies,

Ahead, loneliness and despair, My constant worries,

Decisively I embark on the road ahead and yet...

Courage deserts me before the end is met.

So far from home that even the wind,

Fails to whisk me abreast its wings,

In an alien landscape trapped, I am, I am,

Without a friend or lover, I am, I am.

Should your path cross mine one day,

Do not fail to inquire, about a tormented soul's desire.

My mind is snared by logic's authority.

My heart remains devoted to, The romantic's melancholy.

Without pure wine I can not sustain life,

To drag the body's load I strive in vain,

I am that moment's slave when saki says, 

"yet one more cup" and that I cannot drain!

There is sure a pleasure in saki and wine,

Which the good Lord will bestow on the chosen anon.

And the taverns avoid if you can,

I was tempted and, I fell to my doom.

And the taverns avoid if you can,

I was tempted and, I fell to my doom.

Mrs. Mohebi.

- Stay here dear. I won't be long. - OK.

Have you been waiting long?

Not long. Just half an hour. Are you a poet too?

No, but I study the classics.

Like Hafez, Rumi, Saadi, Khayyam.

I don't understand the classics,

But they use big words.

I like it, but I don't get it.

Hafez says:

"Last night, in the hidden world, I saw that the angels beat at the door of the tavern, the world of love,

Whence they brought out moulds of love, The clay of Adam, they shaped and into the mould of love they cast."

It's pretty but I don't understand it.

- Are you a poet? - I am.

What are your poems about?

My poems emerge spontaneously. I feel life.

My poems are intuitive reflections on reality.

Could you recite me one of them?

I can.

Without poetry, how could I freeze life in its tracks,

Neither stars, nor nightmares,

Not even the cursed void of the night,

Could I employ to suspend, its ceaseless flow, Oh Lord!

One more.

My dad, a breeze azure. My mum, a crimson wind.

Death is glorious for it's a return to His Grace,

But dying is hideous for it's a return to soil,

Where my body and soul are devoured by hungry ants.

Would you repeat the last one?

My dad, a breeze azure, my mum, a crimson wind, Death is glorious...

Finally, I obtained a permit for your book.

Haven't I told you not to recite your poems to strangers?

Bitter fruit from an amiable soul,

Far better than sweet honey from a miserable troll.

Mr. Sohrab Zamani.

This gentleman has analyzed the question of women in poetry.

He accuses Saadi of saying that consulting with women is offensive.

On the 86th page, he quotes him to the effect that:

"May she be sightless who gazes upon strangers, and,

May she rot in a grave, if she leaves the sanctity of her abode."

Now if Saadi has really said this, well, maybe he had his reasons.

You have spent five pages critiquing it. Why do you exaggerate?

You ignore that so many of our poets praised women.

For example, Nasir Khusraw.

Perfect example. Jot this down. Nasir Jhusraw, eleventh century.

Never heed women, ignore them as best you can,

Why should men heed creatures reason disowned?

There.

Or if you like, Sanai. Twelfth century poet.

Fall for women, you must not, For they see thee as the pot of wine,

When full, they shower thee with kisses,

When empty, they'll avoid thee, as best they can.

Bravo! Bravo!

Nezami, twelfth century.

Woman raised from the wrong side intentionally,

No Right has ever come from Wrong, willingly.

Or Jami...

Her mind muddled, her faith suspect

Trust he not, for she's the devil incarnate.

Saadi.

Some pray for wives free of vice,

Others fantasize about a world free from matriarchy's grasp.

Ferdowsi.

It'd be better that women and devil not exist,

And the world be free of them.

Don't listen to him. Don't write it down.

We have so many poets who have praised women,

Contemporary poet, Rahi Moayyeri.

When life ushered in the universe, it pondered the spirit of woman assiduously,

And when it granted the oceans, boundless depth, the sun, warmth aplenty,

It was in women's image they were molded so preciously.

My thesis is about classical poets.

I don't deny a lot of contemporary ones have sung the praise of woman.

For instance Vahid Dastjerdi:

Man and woman are the essence of life,

Though woman primary, man is second in command.

Yet when it comes to power the sharing's unjust,

For man the aggressor, woman is his subject of lust.

From the beginning, men were oppressor and women were oppressed.

If women's rights are not trampled on,

Then how come hundred women can be owned by one?

You should revise your book.

Look, I don't want to criticize the great Persian poets.

They are our heritage. I only use them,

As ammunition against the crimes of humanity.

Thanks for coming! You can go now. Have a nice day.

There once was a brave lass, Who astride a magnificent horse,

Paraded her courage, Amongst war-torn shores.

It's pity if Iran is devastated beyond repair,

Its lands a lair for leopards, its dreams betrayed.

We would rather choose the scythe of death,

Than hand over a patch of this sacred ground.

Sir! Hey! Sir!

Wake up and help us with the car.

My manuscript?

You dropped it. I put it over there.

Here you are. You've been sleeping about an hour.

Come on!

It could be the fan belt.

What's going on?

I think it has stalled. We'll have to wait for the mechanic.

It's burning oil. I wanted the driver to check the oil at the station.

Ouch! Did you check the radiator?

Don't worry!

No use crying over spilled milk.

Wow, It's leaking petrol.

How can it? This is a diesel engine.

As Earth's constant rotation denies its tranquility,

So was I, the wanderer, refused the grail promised me.

Don't abandon your dreams, your goals,

For the night is invariably followed by day.

Dad, someone's approaching.

I know. He's a traveler.

Greetings.

- Hello, Welcome. - Hello!

What brings you here?

Our car has broken down.

- Where are you heading? - Tehran.

- Where are you coming from? - Kerman.

Much obliged.

This is my grandson. By the way, what do you do?

I am a writer.

Is that a job? You earn a living from that?

I just about manage.

Do you write stories?

No, I've written a book on poets of antiquity, like Hafez and Saadi.

I'm going to Tehran to get a permit for it.

Those whose heart is touched by love, are fondly remembered in perpetuity.

Bravo, you are well versed in poetry.

Thanks to the great Hafez.

Well, it's getting late. I'll take my leave.

Why don't you honor us with your presence tonight?

Thanks but I must go.

Just a moment.

Then take this with you. I baked it myself.

Many thanks.

Please take it.

I am grateful! Thanks!

There's a highway behind these hills, where you can hitch a ride.

- So long! - Have a safe journey!

- Hello sir! - Hello!

How can I help?

The engine just died on us.

Do you think you can fix it?

God willing!

- Please hurry. - Yes, sir.

Driver, couldn't you see your gasoline valve has come loose?

Start the engine now.

Have a safe journey!

Thank you.

Have a safe journey!

How much do I owe you?

Don't mention it. I didn't do anything.

Where is the other passenger?

He has taken us for a ride.

He kept saying he's in a rush. I knew he was suspect.

How do you know he was suspect? Poor thing just minded his own business.

He hasn't paid his fare.

Let's leave him.

I'm responsible for my passengers. I can't leave him in this desert.

I had never done something like that.

But we're in a rush too.

- Greetings. - Hello!

How's everything? Are you OK?

Will you give me a lift to the next village?

Let him in.

- Get in. - Thank you.

Did you come across a man with a shoulder bag on your way?

No! I didn't. Is anyone missing?

Yes, we are missing one of our passengers.

- Should I call him with my oboe? - Yes.

Just a moment!

Every path I took multiplied my horror.

Beware the desert plain, its infinite quagmire.

Some ponder religiosity, Others seeped in the illusion of certainly.

I fear the day when the news is broke, Oh Zealot! The way is neither here nor there.

Many chose the path of sanity, For they knew not the joys of lunacy.

I lay claim to every patch of this land, Its good, its bad, even its woefully bland.

Pilgrimage you take so seriously.

But all the while the lover was here, waiting patiently.

Frequently you wander in search of divinity,

Just once, look inside and discover divinity within thee.

The word and the path are intertwined, Recite one, and the other will present itself anon.

The house you seek is of purest ether,

Find its alchemist and its gates will burst asunder.

That will do. We don't find him.

Where are you heading anyway?

I'm going to a marriage ceremony.

Congratulations! May it be a blessed marriage.

So who's getting married?

- It's a canal marriage. - Canal?

He means the ceremony is to be held near a canal.

No sir. They're gonna give the canal a bride.

An old widow is sent down a dry canal for a night,

So that it yields water again.

A bride is given to a male canal, a groom to a female canal.

It's tradition.

- Strange custom. First time I hear about it. - Can we tag along?

No sir. Only women are allowed to accompany the bride.

They make an exception in my case because I provide the music.

Water is a village's lifeline.

All these abandoned villages, are due to water shortage.

If rain refuses to caress the mountains,

The mighty Tigris itself turns to a wasteland over night.

Do these marriage rituals actually work?

Yes, the Kash Kashou tell me it works.

Who? Kash Kashou?

We call the workers who clean the canals, Kash Kashou.

I get off here. If you continue on, you'll reach the main road.

Many thanks.

Greetings! Greetings!

Hello!

Why are you muddying the water? Can't you see we're working?

Relax, it will settle down in an hour or two.

You should have been more careful.

It gets worse. Someone's coming up behind me.

Greetings! Greetings!

- Hello. - Hello.

How come you're all at it today?

- There's no pleasing some. - When the canals are dry, you moan.

Now that thanks to the Lord and widow Hajer,

They're overflowing again, you still complain.

The neighboring villagers sent a bride, then a groom, gave alms and prayers,

But nothing happened.

You should be more grateful.

He's got a point, you know.

Undoubtedly, you should be more grateful.

Is that the last one? Can we work now?

- Hello! - Welcome.

The palace with huge walls soaring to Heaven,

Where prostrate kings did reverence at the gate,

A ring-dove perches on its battlements,

"Where, where?" It coos, "where, where?"

Where even the mighty fall from grace frequently,

What else can we do but drink and be merry?

Ah, my Beloved fill the cup that clears today of past regrets and future fears,

Tomorrow? Why Tomorrow I may be...

Myself with yesterday's Seven Thousand years.

- Thanks! - Enjoy!

Thirty years of misery I endured voluntarily,

Iran's resurrection I catalyzed single handed.

What was that?

I have edited the text according to your instructions. What else do you want?

I am happy to say your permit has been issued.

The problem is that we are short of paper, which you have to purchase yourself.

As I said, I'm only carrying out orders.

Have a nice day.

- Hello! Sohrab! - Hi!

Did you finally get your book permit?

Yes, but they refused to give me subsidized paper.

And I can't afford.

That's no problem.

I told you about the trader who has promised to publish your book.

- Yes, but is he reliable? - Why do you say that?

Well, you know...

Look simply put, you need finance. He can offer you finance. What else?

Need and its sister Necessity Turn courage into disgraceful timidity.

- Are you listening? - Well, we'll see.

Go and see him tomorrow. I'm sure everything will be fine.

- Alright. I'll give it a go. - Bye.

Do not be a slave to your heart's desire.

The devil's spur to impetuosity, Brings nothing but regret and folly.

A free spirit never sells his soul for silver and gold.

As the devil reincarnates in many a soul,

Choose the palm you grasp carefully, lest it brings misery.

Forget exporting carpets, the market is depressed.

- Hello! Mr. Javaheri? - Hello!

I received a call from Germany only an hour ago.

Our carpets are rotting in the warehouse. This is the season for rice.

Dispatch three tones to that hospital we talked about, and don't forget...

to cash the cheques. So long.

Yes, how can I help you?

I have come about publishing my book.

Oh, yes the famous book. Well, how much dough is there in it?

If you want my advice, writing is not profitable.

But if you have to write, then why don't you write the biography of me or our Morteza.

He's just been on an epic journey to Germany.

Haven't you?

I also visited Paris.

I walked up and down, the Champs Élysées.

I had left the missus behind here.

You want the full story?

Did you dispatch the cement? What?

Tell Javad not to buy any Duetschmark for the time being.

Well, you were saying...

Truth be told. I don't need your damn money, or your advice.

In this society everyone's always dishing out advice, your relatives,

The TV, Radio, newspapers...

Everyone acts as your bloody guardian.

Thanks for nothing. Good day.

Didn't I warn thee against transgression,

Didn't I show thee the path through the mirage of Doom,

I counseled thee to set thine sights high,

To not compromise or doubt thine inner self,

Didn't I warn thee not to lose the thread.

Through which the fountain of Truth can be found anon?

Fried eggs, please.

- Thank you! - Enjoy!

An anecdote, There was once a merchant,

Who owned 150 camels and 40 servants.

One evening he invited me to his chambers.

All night he ranted nervously...

His partner was in Turkestan, And his goods in India.

He worried about the deeds of his lands,

And so on and so forth.

He claimed he only has to make one more trip to become financially secure.

When I asked him about it,

He explained, "Persian sulphur I'll take to China,

Where I'll purchase bowls, Which I'll trade for Roman silk.

The silk to Aleppo, the mirror to India and, finally, I will bring back...

Yemeni cloth to Persia. Then I can retire!

What madness! Once his rant was over,

He asked for my opinion.

I replied, "Once in distant lands,

A Lord's goods fell from his trusty ass,

"The envy of mammon", said he,

is either filled with contentment, or the sepulchr's soil".

"The envy of mammon" in some versions it is written, "the envy of the worldly".

- Hi, Is there any water around? - Hello!

No, These canals dried up long ago.

I sent your message. You must be patient.

Who are you talking to?

Sohrab Ali lives down there. Don't you know him?

There's a guy in the well?

He's been living in this well for seven years. He was this canal's groom,

But couldn't provide us with water.

He's taken refuge here out of dejection.

He doesn't eat, nor does he have any friends. We've brought him a few dates.

He's cut himself off all contact.

He is from a nearby village but no one knows anything about him.

One day he just... up and left.

He gathers rags and uses them to light torches.

At first he would cycle around, make the kids laugh.

But his bicycle has been rusty for years.

He pleads with passers by to mend his punctured Tyre.

They offer him money, But he doesn't want money.

He wants them to keep him company in the well.

Has anyone ever gone down to see him?

Many wish to help him. But he says even if you repair my bike,

You still have to tell me where to go.

May Lord have mercy on us!

What do you tell him?

I told him to go on a pilgrimage or go back home.

Nowhere's like home.

He's lost faith in people.

You can't retire to a well, just because you've lost all hope.

Everyone's destiny is written in the stars.

He wants to travel somewhere, He hasn't even seen,

That may not even exist.

Lord have mercy on us!

We're leaving now, but we'll be back.

The abyss he desired in stretches forever,

Fate blameless for his fall from grace,

He chose his path voluntarily,

The well is one way, enter if you dare.

I seek not pomp and ceremony,

A hermit I am through ill fortune and misery.

My search for the house of love, came to grief in the void of extinction.

Have you come to repair my puncture?

Tell me, where should I go?

Where do these paths lead?

This way to in-existence, that way the void, and that way existence.

Not distinguishing the path from cul de sac,

You sit in a darkened abyss, in illusionary bliss.

That's a cul de sac.

Tell me, where should I go?

Surrounded by somnambulists on this earth,

While below the realm of Eternal death,

As I survey the desert of doom,

I witness yesterday's departed and tomorrow's unborn.

Engineer Taravati, to the office please.

Engineer Mohammadi, wanted at the construction site.

Hello! That's a cul de sac. Where should I go?

Engineer Norouzi, report on the situation at Azadi station.

Electricity wagons.

Train carriage derailed at Shadman station.

Train carriage derailed at Shadman station.

Construction carriage.

Achaemenian carriage. Please keep your distance.

Achaemenian carriage.

Safavi carriage.

Qajar carriage.

Your permit has been issued.

Without poetry, how could I freeze life in its track?

Neither stars, nor nightmares,

Not even the cursed void of night.

Death is glorious for it's a return to his Grace,

But dying is hideous for it's a return to soil.

Dad! Dad! Careful dad, you'll fall down.

Sir! What are you doing here? How did you get here?

I just followed the path.

This is out of bounds. Get up!

Up the stairs, turn right.

- Thanks! Bye! - Bye!

- Baharestan St.? - Get in.

Where exactly in Baharestan?

Ministry of Culture and Guidance.

- Ferdowsi St.? - Not on my way.

- Saadi Avenue. - Not on my way!

- Rumi Avenue. - Not on my way!

- Hafez St.? - Not on my way.

Khayyam Avenue.

Khayyam? Not on my route.

Saadi Avenue. Hafez St.

Good day listeners,

Traffic is closed at Ghazali avenue, and from east to west, in Rudaki avenue.

Traffic is slow in Abul-Khayr Avenue and Manuchehri St.

Traffic from north to south in Khaqani avenue also slow.

Here's a musical score by Hossein Alizadeh.

Iran Is My Land by Parviz Kimiavi