Kaveh Akbar - Tumblr Posts
“There’s a tension at the level of syntax that appears when a person is forced to use the language of their oppressor to articulate their trauma. There’s no escaping that tension, so you find a way to work with it, to weaponize it.”
— Kaveh Akbar, interviewed by Claudia F. Savage for Drunken Boat (via bostonpoetryslam)
We are forever folding into the night.
- K. Akbar, Do You Speak Persian?
I have been so careless with the words I already have. I don’t remember how to say home in my first language, or lonely, or light. I remember only delam barat tang shodeh, I miss you, and shab bekheir, goodnight.
- K. Akbar, Do You Speak Persian?
Then at night, stars separated by billions of miles, light travelling years to die in the back of an eye.
- K. Akbar, Do You Speak Persian?
“Rest well, my dear
with Kaveh”
He didn’t rest enough. That was why he was bothered. You kept reminding yourself of that while in your living room, as he had occupied your bedroom desk to work on a project with an upcoming deadline.
Within a few minutes he’d come out calmer and explain how he felt while apologizing.
But it didn’t occur. You were not sought out by him.
Worried that he was bothered on a deeper level, you made your way to where he was. As you creaked open the door, you heard soft mumbling. And pushing it open further, revealed a sleeping figure. Your boyfriend.
With a smile, you shook your head. At least he was resting. And as much as you’d love for him to be in the bed, a more comfortable place of rest, disturbing him might cause issue. He could, being the stubborn worker he was, try to work more on the project.
So you settled for grabbing a soft blanket from your bed and draping it over him.
— Forfeiting My Mystique, Kaveh Akbar, in '100 Queer Poems, an anthology' (2022)
[text ID: Some saints spent their whole childhoods biting their teachers' hands and / sprinkling salt into spider-webs, only to be redeemed by a fluke shock of grace just before death. May I feather into such a swan soon.]