April 2019 – Page 2 – Michigan Quarterly Review

April 2019

The End of Romanticism in Tehran

I must have been about ten when my mother and I were called into a cubicle at the American embassy in India, where we had traveled from Iran as part of our visa application, and in light of the absence of diplomatic relations between Tehran and Washington. The official, whom I only recall to have […]

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I must have been about ten when my mother and I were called into a cubicle at the American embassy in India, where we had traveled from Iran as part of our visa application, and in light of the absence of diplomatic relations between Tehran and Washington. The official, whom I only recall to have

“Both a Poem and a Microcosm:” An Interview with Roja Chamankar

Roja Chamankar’s Dying in a Mother Tongue is a poetry collection on the brink of loss, violence, coming into language, adulthood, and emigration. First written in 2009 (in Persian), when Chamankar was about to leave Tehran for France, Dying in a Mother Tongue is first a diegesis of a relationship’s destruction. The poem moves from

“Both a Poem and a Microcosm:” An Interview with Roja Chamankar Read More »

Roja Chamankar’s Dying in a Mother Tongue is a poetry collection on the brink of loss, violence, coming into language, adulthood, and emigration. First written in 2009 (in Persian), when Chamankar was about to leave Tehran for France, Dying in a Mother Tongue is first a diegesis of a relationship’s destruction. The poem moves from

Saffron

My mother picks up the pestle and mortar and does to saffron what the clerics have done to her country/ pours in steaming water till the liquid in the bowl becomes the Caspian swallowing the sun/ it smells like a home I have not returned to in 10 years/ saffron/ pound for pound/ the most

Saffron Read More »

My mother picks up the pestle and mortar and does to saffron what the clerics have done to her country/ pours in steaming water till the liquid in the bowl becomes the Caspian swallowing the sun/ it smells like a home I have not returned to in 10 years/ saffron/ pound for pound/ the most

At the Same Dead End

Digging through trash, I smell the whiskey on Shamlu’s breath. It’s not so strange. He once stood here recording the rhythm of the butcher’s cleaver like a journalist for Satan’s newspaper. In the ash of lilies and the charred remains of tortured canaries, I open a tin can of dried vegetables, find a beating heart.

At the Same Dead End Read More »

Digging through trash, I smell the whiskey on Shamlu’s breath. It’s not so strange. He once stood here recording the rhythm of the butcher’s cleaver like a journalist for Satan’s newspaper. In the ash of lilies and the charred remains of tortured canaries, I open a tin can of dried vegetables, find a beating heart.

Freestyle

There are public pools in Tehran, Shiraz, and Isfahan, no doubt elsewhere in Iran, too, but those are the cities I visited at the end of 2015. Before I left for Khomeini Airport, I had discovered the existence of a Jewish sports center in Tehran, a place to swim where my last name might gain

Freestyle Read More »

There are public pools in Tehran, Shiraz, and Isfahan, no doubt elsewhere in Iran, too, but those are the cities I visited at the end of 2015. Before I left for Khomeini Airport, I had discovered the existence of a Jewish sports center in Tehran, a place to swim where my last name might gain

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