Well, I am 50 years old today. Now, I am sure I have lived at least half my life. A good life. I have had a rich life by so many measures: SORA, family, friends, myself.
Never have made a big deal about birthdays, but man, this one is a big deal.
wishing you and your family a happy and healthy 2010…
i have been working on a 2009 report…maybe i will publish it with delay…for the time being all i can say is THANKS…..
dear friends, wishing you and your families a merry christmas, happy holidays, and a happy and healthy 2010. thanks for all your support in 2009. hope to meet you in person in 2010. lots of love from chicago….. SORA, nami, and mehran
Tags: bikes
Mark DiNucci is known to be the bike makers bike maker. His bikes are handmade with full attention to each detail. He is an inspiration to many famed bike makers. A friend of mine who happens to be a designer and a bike aficionado wrote to me “… Mark is perhaps the best of all the frame builders … I have worked with all of the very best over the last 30 years and his work is revered by everyone in the framebuilding community……
Mark is a different type of craftsman….. He can work in any medium and has a zen like approach to his work. Simple, elegant and with an extraordinary level of craftsmanship. On the project he just did, his machine tools were still in storage, but being unsatisified with the shapes of some small cable guides for the bike, simply picked up a piece of bar stock and a hand file and dedicated 10 hours to filing 2 perfectly matched and very elegant parts….”
The craftsmanship is great. Analog people would fall in love with DiNucci’s art. Think of it as a great tone-arm, a DaVinci, a Graham, a Triplanar, a Moerch or a Schroeder. All great. Look, feel, sound, ride different but so be it. The art and the craft are to be appreciated as do the beautiful sound and ride. Mark, hurry up buddy. I can not wait for my frame.
Tags: iran
in general, i have avoided iranian politics all my life. partly, because it is the safest thing to do; and partly because as a child i learned it is best to shut my mouth for the fear of retaliation against myself and/or my family. to be honest, i am even a bit hesitant writing some of my thoughts here. one thing my recent trip to iran (after 32 years) taught me is that plus ca change, plus c’est la meme chose. in iran of today, as iran of 32 years ago, your voice is veiled.
but the voice of hila sedighi, through her poems and the voice of the iranian youth through their marches, leading to the green movement are not so veiled. in fact, they help amplify the hushed voice of others like me. hence, this posting.
the green movement in iran is impressive. whether mir hussein moussavi is the right person or not, is a separate story (the little i know of him, i am not impressed). the green movement also showed us the helplessness of the iranian youth, facing a regime not reluctant to use force against them. president obama’s response to the iranian student movement was lame at best.
anyways, i shut up before i get others in trouble, while i am in the comfort of my chicago home. i let hila’s poem does the talking and do the feeling. the english translation helps, but does absolutely no justice to the beauty of hila’s poem. she is an intelligent, daring young woman with mesmerizing beauty. enjoy hila sedighi’s poem.
jan. 13, 2010 addition: i just found the transcription of the poem in a blog called persian2english, as well as its translation, credited to “tour irani.” i do not particularly die for the word “persian” but alas….thanks to persian2english.com.
The Class is Empty without Your Presence
By: Hila Sedighi
It is a rainy autumn day.
The sky is about to burst
into tears
as if a cloud
is kneeling to pray
to the summer’s heat.
The school smells of the alphabet
The bells ring loud to declare our first recess
Our unsanctioned laughter and our naive joy
was met with constant rage and slander
These were our youth days!
It is autumn and the school re-opens.
I am filled with moments and memories in this classroom where you are no more.
I sit there at your desk that is topped with perished flower petals.
It is autumn and I am so full of rain
It is autumn and I am so full of rain
I am imprisoned by my own rage.
What a beautiful tomorrow we dreamed of
It is all in vain now.
What great times and what dreams we passed
searching for a re-awakening.
Me and you!
We were the generation that was not allowed to fly.
Me and you!
We were the generation that could not fly!
Enslaved in the claws of the vulture-
the same falcon who shot you in front of my eyes, with its sharp claws!
The same falcon who shot you in front of my eyes with its sharp claws!
All our dreams died,
and separated our hands of friendship.
You drank the poison of death,
and you left me suddenly.
I now swear to to the tears that roll down a mother’s face
And I swear to our eternal ideas
And I swear to each drop of blood of love
And I swear to the burning hearts in chains
My heart shattered in a hundred pieces that fell to the ground
The sorrow cut my heart into a hundred pieces.
Tell me
Tell me if you are happy where you are.
Are you free in the other world?
Do yo still remember our younger years?
Do you still love your country?
Tell me, are there no perverts where you are?
Is the fate of trees indebted to axes?
Do they not steal your conscious over there?
Do they not rape your pride over there?
Are there signs of unknown graves where you are?
Do you hear the cries of the mothers?
Recite with me, recite with me
We shared our pains, our generation, and our way
Recite my poem with sorrow and sigh
Again,
it is the beginning of autumn
The sky is about to burst into tears
I am left with an empty chair where you used to sit
I am left with an empty chair where you used to sit
And the perished flowers on your desk.
Thanks a million to Tour Irani for translation
here is the text in farsi. would love to hear nami sing it.
شعری زیبا و پرشور از هیلا صدیقی تقدیم به تمامی شهدای سبز به خصوص دانشجویان شهید راه آزادی … ما بیشماریم…
هوا بارانی است و فصل پاییز/ گلوی آسمان از بغض لبریز//
به سجده آمده ابری که انگار/ شد ه از داغ تابستانه سر ریز//
هوای مدرسه بوی الفبا/ صدای زنگ اول محکم و تیز//
جزای خنده های بی مجوز/ و شادیها و تفریحات ناچیز//
برای نوجوانی ها ی ما بود / فرود خشم و تهمت های یکریز//
رسیده اول مهر و درونم / پر است از لحظه های خاطرانگیز//
کلاس درس خالی مانده از تو / من و گلهای پزمرده سرمیز//
هوا پاییزی و بارانی ام من / درون خشم خود زندانی ام من //
چه فردای خوشی را خواب دیدیم / تمام نقشه ها بر آب دیدیم //
چه دورانی چه رویای عبوری / چه جستن ها به دنبال ظهوری //
من و تو نسل بی پرواز بودیم / اسیر پنجه های باز بودیم //
همان بازی که با تیغ سر انگشت/ به پیش چشمهای من تو را کشت //
تمام آرزو ها را فنا کرد / دو دست دوستیمان را جدا کرد //
تو جام شوکران را سر کشیدی / به ناگه از کنارم پر کشیدی//
به دانه دانه اشک مادرانه / به آن اندیشه های جاودانه //
به قطره قطره خون عشق سوگند / به سوز سینه های مانده در بند//
دلم صد پاره شد بر خاک افتاد / به قلیم از غمت صد چاک افتاد //
بگو ـ بگو آنچا که رفتی شاد هستی / در آن سوی حیاط آزاد هستی //
هوای نوجوانی خاطرت هست / هنوزم عشق میهن در سرت هست //
بگو آنجا که رفتی هرزه ای نیست / تبر تقدیر سرو و سبزه ای نیست //
کسی دزد شعورت نیست آنجا / تجاوز به غرورت نیست آنجا//
خبر از گورهای بی نشان هست / صدای زجه های مادران هست//
بخوا ن همدرد من هم نسل و همراه / بخوان شعر مرا با حسرت و آه //
دوباره اول مهر است و پاییز / گلوی آسمان از بغض لبریز//
من و میزی که خالی مانده از تو / و گلهایی که پزمرده سر میز //