The Latest from Iran (10 November): Uncertainty and Propaganda

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NEDA2Queen’s College of Oxford University has announced the establishment of a graduate scholarship in Philosophy in memory of Neda Agha Soltan, the Iranian philosophy student killed by a Basij gunshot in Tehran on 20 June during a mass post-election protest.

All students accepted by Queen’s are eligible to apply for the scholarship, funded by two large donations, but preference will be given to those of Iranian nationality or extraction. The first recipient of the scholarship is Arianne Shahvisi, a candidate for a Master’s degree in the Philosophy of Physics.

5 Responses to “Iran: The Neda Agha Soltan Scholarship at Oxford University”
  1. mahasti says:

    bittersweet

  2. Doug says:

       ** For Neda Agha Soltan **
    ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
        Sea of Neda

    Impart us with courage, Neda
    the Sea of Green parts for you;
    cross over to
    the promised Love, and
    we give ours everywhere
    ——————-
        The Weeping Willow Sings

    Haunting shots
    gushing
    sorrows
    stains,Basiji,
    hear my Neda say
    my heart stings

    I hear singing in the leaves
    moving branches
    interleaving freedoms
    like a green dream sad
    autumn reds too early

    But rivers of blood

    Eyes open
    nightmare on Kargar Street,
    the world a bitter pixel

    I hear my Neda sing:
    it burned me

    But I can not even mourn
    outside Niloofar mosque.
    The Ayatollah mocks my song, but
    his mysteries don’t intrigue me anymore.

    His evil is clear.

    My heart sings the only truth, and
    it burns me that he hasn’t remembered
    his Mother

    The Ayatollah is not a woman, not a man
    never having any babies
    and is ignorant of birth
    ignorant of the cry
    of freedom

    Oh God
    save the child
    —————————-
        Beyond The Dust Storm

    Tear gas in the haze
    canisters and batons,
    oh hail freedom –
    it stayed with us,all,for
    we walked with God by the crack and hiss

    Covered in blood
    the flag of her clothing,
    she grabbed my hand, said
    run with me up Kargar street
    and I will not be afraid

    We prayed for the crowd
    and the dust dispersed

    Rising in the settling dust
    Neda appeared
    high in the sky
    smiling at us, and
    we walked with God July the 9th

    — Douglas Gilbert
    ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

  3. Doug says:

    ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
         § ** For Neda Agha Soltan ** §
    ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
        Speaking of Forty Days

    Forty days of dry river beds.
    Dry silence there.

    If a fish can not jump over a camel
    floods will come

    and when a voice returns
    past mourning cleanse
    the hump of struggle will be passed.

    For every morning drop to come
    a prayer will rain in tickling voice, and
    chortles will fade
    all pings into ding-dongs.

    When gales of laughter
    blow naked clergy down
    rain will come.

    If a fish can not jump over a camel,
    rain will come.

    When drizzle like sprinkled titters
    spreads into dry cracks,
    a wicked reign shall fall

    and fall and fall

    In mocking guffaws,
    the floods will come.

    The sea is nourished.
    The green will flourish.

    Let every voice be moved to sing
    the rain will come
    ——-
        Fasting

    Insomnia has invaded Iran.
    No one of virtue dare sleep.

    A browser at a book stall
    on Enghelab yawned, closed an eye.
    The merchant nearly fell asleep, but
    screams from sleeping customers
    made him
    abstain from sleep and food.

    No woman dare sleep even in lullaby,
    an Ayatollah a Supreme Incubus,
    the Basiji the incubi

    Even men succumb
    to the succubi,
    evil seeds obtained.

    Around Azadi Tower
    professors warned of portents
    spoke of symbols, something
    about show trials.

    Students marched with cymbals to stay awake
    but one who slept screamed out:

    There is a river of pulp in my dreams,
    mallets on pomegranates, astringent
    speech not tart enough to staunch the bleeding,
    many demons and tribulations, many demons,
    no sweetness held in gritted teeth
    to drink the bitter tea, many
    snipers on roof gardens spreading salt,
    many trials, many demons
    and rape.

    Again the students marched
    around the Tower,
    bloodthirsty thugs in shadow.

    Screams awakened many
    who sat in murk.

    A prayer for the sun.
    A stirring somehow.

    To their feet
    they walked where sunshine led
    to solace in hidden corners
    and heard a song
    that Neda sang

    Portents or not:
    a question extant
    about being awake.

    Who is asleep?

    ——- Douglas Gilbert

  4. mahasti says:

    Exquisite poetry, Doug. Thank you.

  5. Doug says:

    mahasti,
    Thank you so much. I appreciate your kind comment.

  6.  

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