صحفه آزد شعر داستان عکس نستالوژی یک نفر زنگ تفرح ياد تماس با ما صفحه نخست دیگران
Kurdish literary figure Ahmad Hardi
left us
Ahmad Hardi with his wife in London
London (KurdishMedia.com) 30 October 2006: The Kurdish literary figure Ahmad
Hardi passed away in the Kurdish city of Sulemeni, where he was born and
spent most of his life.
Hardi was born in 1922 into a family of intellectuals in the City of
Sulemani, Southern Kurdistan, and passed away on 29 October 2006, at the age
of 84, after a long fight with his illness.
Hardi’s contribution to the Kurdish literature is significant. His first and
only book of poems, The Secret of Solitude, was published in 1957, and it
was republished several times since then. Many of his poems became lyrics
for famous Kurdish songs. Hardi taught and lectured at the University of
Sulemani and later in Salahadin.
Hardi spent a number of years of his life in exile. He was in Iran in 1970s
and until his illness came to a critical stage, Hardi lived in the UK.
His name is Ahmad, the son of Hassan Bag the son of Aziz Bag the son of
Karim Bagzada.
One of his poems:
Lonely Secrets
By Ahmad Hardi - Sulemani, 1951
A life of harsh sorrows has killed the butterfly of my desire
Spilling the wine in the love-glass of my youth
The mist of bleak days has become so dark
The love scenes of my heart are cloaked in despair
Lonely nights have smothered the flame of my hope-candle
The hopeless-hands have strangled the euphoria of my innermost melodies
And now, exposing the wounds
Of my unquiet emotions
I wander in the mazes of my soul’s wilderness
In the dark nights of my loneliness, I retrace my steps blindly
There is no hand that can rescue me from this abandoned grave
There is no beauty to lend her soft heart for my troubled head
Or to release my exhaustion in her warm lap
My weak eyes gaze bewildered into the dark nights
There are no two bright eyes to illuminate my avenues
There is no glimmer
Just wings sorrow
And fearful nights
There is no a single princess who urges me her desire
Her secrets to revive my dying crumbled talent
Her laughter to remove the gloomy fog from my eyes
To content me as a baby that cries for comfort
Yes, when I listen, except for my distressed heart
Which quietly reveals my deep and hidden mysteries
Not anywhere is there a sound
Neither the beating of wings
Nor the breath a sigh
(Translated by Dr Rebwar Fatah)