Islamic beer and Risque Poets
Trip Start
Jul 09, 2008
1
5
9
Trip End
Aug 03, 2008
Shiraz,
Iran
Friday, July 25, 2008
Hafez is one of Persia's most beloved poets, and his tomb rests at the top of a grand staircase, under an ornate, pillared dome, surrounded by arched gateways. What is interesting about Hafez to me is that our guide - very much a regime-man, in my opinion - explained away much of his poems (which refer to love, wine, drunkenness and the beauty of a woman's body...okay, in short, sex) as a metaphor for the devotion and love of God in Islam. So, this is the party line. But I had also read earlier, in Azar Nafisi's book "Reading Lolita in Tehran" that in reality, this is how the Ayatollahs explained some aspects of his Hafez's poetry that may appear...unIslamic. This is not to say he was not faithful - in fact, Ferdowsi, also a revered Persian poet, was a devoted Muslim. But why not just outlaw the poems, since wine, women's bodies and public expressions of love are already outlawed? Nafisi explains that the government and revolutionaries knew that Iranians are wildly in love with Hafez and his contemporaries, and to outlaw the work of their beloved poets would drive a nail in the coffin of the revolution. They knew better than to touch the poets, so instead wove an elaborate story of religious allegory. Brilliant spin.
We also had the rare opportunity to visit a medrassah - or Islamic theological school. Most medrassahs would never dare allow non-muslims (let alone women of any faith) into their midst, but this one is more "open." We walked into the centre square of the medrassah and sat in the shade of apricot trees, watching the sleepy clerics sit and ponder in the early morning sun. One elderly cleric approached us and asked in a booming voice where we were from. Andrew spoke on our behalf: "Canada, Australia, England" he said, pointing to us each respectively. The cleric, with Pezhman's translation, went on to describe the beauty of the design of the medrassah and we all nodded in agreement. Then, he raised his voice and said something containing the word "America". We all turned to Pezhman who hesitantly translated, saying that America has interfered with the affairs of Iran, and has no right to tell his country how to live. Wow! It doesn't get much better than this; sitting under the shade of an apricot tree, in a medrassah in Iran, listening to a cleric rail on America! Talk about quintessential! So what do I do? Appropriately sitting behind the cleric, I emphatically say "Bale!" (yes!) and he turns around in a start. Suddenly I am worried. Either he's just stunned to see a yellow-haired Western woman agree with his statement, or Pezhman has seriously paraphrased what he said and I just emphatically agreed to "death to America." I desperately hope it was the former, and after pleading with Pezhman, he earnestly insists that he has translated accurately and not paraphrased. I hope that he is telling the truth. I am okay with saying yes to the idea that American imperialism is wrong, but I am NOT okay with agreeing to death to America. From now on I vow to keep my mouth shut on political statements uttered in languages that I do not understand. Uttered in English? Fair game...
We spent a long and hot day at the ruins of Persepolis today. Words cannot describe Persepolis. It is massive and awe-inspiring. Excavated since 1931, it is the colossal ruins of the ancient Persian capital during the Archaemenid dynasty, dating back to 512 BC. By far the most majestic buildings were built under Darius the Great and completed by his son, Xerses. Everyone enters Persepolis as the royalty did at the time: walking up a grand stair case into the Gate of All Nations. The stairs were deliberately small so as to allow royalty in all their finery to ascend gracefully, without tripping on their robes. When you reach the top of the stairs you are immediately struck with both the immense grandeur of the city, and the intense heat of the sun. We spent close to four hours exploring the magnificently preserved ruins, walking through the Apadana palace, Throne Hall and climbing up the mountain pathways to the Tombs of the Kings, where many Persian royalty are buried, save Cyrus the Great - whose tomb rests an hour away, at Pasargadae. To be honest, the intense heat really addled my brain, and made me feel rather dopey, so I tuned in and out of Pezhman's very extensive history lesson (this guy knows his history, but needs a bit of introduction to Gardner's Multiple Intelligences. He tends to lecture us for up to an hour at once, and it's like being in a university history lecture, only much hotter). What really impressed me, however, was the fact that Perspolis was one of the only ancient cities built completely without slave or indentured labour. In fact, not only did every single one of the thousands of workers who built it get paid; they were also given benefits and pensions, and even maternity leave (yes, women were employed, as well). Instead of trying to re-invent the wheel, I will leave a link to UNESCO, which describes Persepolis and contains a link to virtual tours and a short film for those of you who are ancient history buffs. http://whc.unesco.org/en/list/114
On a more personal note, Persepolis has left it's mark on me in the form of a severely sunburnt nose, ghastly sandal tan, and streaks of salt stains on the back of my manteau from massive sweating. If anything in Iran is going to do me in, it is the sun...
