First Generation
My country, though I wasn’t your birth-child
you still folded me in
where I took root; and you allowed me indistinguished rest
beside the fat of your own
and claimed me a space among them.
I am yours;
though another raised me
and a farther soil birthed me,
yours is the name I claim myself.
In childhood you knew me,
and I passed my hand over the loam same as your sons and sisters.
In spring I felt the first jerk
away from your mold, when you called me
by my old name.
A name I had forgotten, but which
screwed me to time – a country I’d never known
but which my father assured me
was mine.
I was rooted up from place,
and the self I had known, I understood
as only an idea planted in time,
when I was something called — an echo tripping
along the corridors of memory — “Landed.”
what could the word mean but the births this land harvested from itself;
what land is there other
than the one in which your roots run?
I know today the consequence of speaking to my faceless cousins,
shouting expansively over the phone lest the voice stumble through space.
I was landed and they were in space —
floating until they landed.
Would we need to make a space for them in this ground, then,
when they were sown here?
And if they tumbled along the stony ground and
hadn’t properly
landed?
Would they sprout and offer fruit,
or lay
in dormant statelessness,
with no land to call them by its name?
I would like my sons to look to me
and ask for their origins,
or else
accept this land as the only one their ascendants had ever known
and never scurry about the fields of time to make sure
they had safely
landed
Arman Kazemi is a writer and arts organizer based in Vancouver, Canada. His poetry has appeared in Canadian and US-based journals such as PRISM International and Inverted Syntax, while other writing has been featured in the Globe and Mail, CBC, the Georgia Straight. Arman's writing focuses on immigrant identity in the context of his Iranian-Canadian settler identity, tracing personal history through the lens of collective myth. He is also a co-founder of MENA Film Festival which he has co-directed since 2019. A forthcoming collection is in the works with funding from the Canada Council for the Arts.
The walls speak. Now, they are asking me to speak as well.
A grandmother, but also something more—the balance, the fixed point one can return to with every turn.
There’s a pain in the heart as if it’s sore from walking too far past mountains,
looking for another cavity to beat in
My country, though I wasn’t your birth-child
you still folded me in
where I took root
Tell me your name
so I can write it in the blank lines between stars
جنگ که شروع شد، من تقریباً هیچ کاری نکردم جز ماندن. نه قهرمانی در کار بود، نه فرار، نه پناهگاه، نه حتی اضطرابی که بشود اسمش را ترس گذاشت.
This body of work navigates the paradox of holding on and letting go, preserving fleeting moments of home while accepting their inevitable disappearance.
I said I’m not a poet.
A writer, but not the poet kind.
I know, I know. It’s strange to hear.
از ساختمان سفید سنگی که بیرون میآیم، لحظهای متوقف میشوم. چشم میدوزم به برچسب ویزا که وسط گذرنامهام جا خوش کرده.
Mother who nurtures you
in one gesture weans you
and cradles the world.
با نگاه به عکسها خاطراتی از لحظات آن زمان برایمان تداعی میشود که دیگر قابل تکرار نیست ودر واقع این عکسها هستند که آن خاطرات را جاودانه کردهاند. در اینجا با تأکید بر همین موضوع لحظههایی از زندگیام را ثبت کردهام که با دیدن آنها میتوانم خودم را در عکسها پیدا کنم و روزهایی را که سپری کردهام به خاطر آورم
Lost in the cloud of the internet blackout, a black cloud that has been hanging over the Iranian plateau since January, anything becomes internet.
All throughout the blackout, I would screenshot any picture and video coming out of Iran which sparked familiarity even if I had never been to the area depicted.
It was only January. Ears could hear the seething wind through faintly yellowed cypresses standing starkly in the vast nothingness of the plain that was keeping poppies hidden under layers and layers of white.
I recall the past to untangle the present, to understand how glimpses of possibility and promise can be muddied by forces outside of our control.
Arman Kazemi is a writer and arts organizer based in Vancouver, Canada. His poetry has appeared in Canadian and US-based journals such as PRISM International and Inverted Syntax, while other writing has been featured in the Globe and Mail, CBC, the Georgia Straight. Arman's writing focuses on immigrant identity in the context of his Iranian-Canadian settler identity, tracing personal history through the lens of collective myth.
He is also a co-founder of MENA Film Festival which he has co-directed since 2019. A forthcoming collection is in the works with funding from the Canada Council for the Arts.