Hi dear Fariba,
I’ll not make this too easy for you – but being polyglot, you’ll take it in stride ! I missed out sending you a poem a few months ago. I had wanted to share something from my part of the world, from one of our own homegrown bards, Ted Kooser (there are few enough of them to be sure, but this one served as national poet laureate some year ago). May these poems transport you to the ‘heartlands’ of my home country. They are from a winter collection, in the form of ‘postcards’ that he sent to a fellow writer.
With fond memories and affection,
An early morning fog.
In fair weather, the shy past keeps its distance.
Old loves, old regrets, old humiliations
look on from afar. They stand back under the trees.
No one would think to look for them there.
But in the fog they come closer. You can feel them
there by the roas as you slowly walk past.
Still as fence posts they wait, dark and reproachful,
each stepping forward in turn.
Sunny and milder.
The sky a pale yellow this morning,
like the skin of an onion,
and here at the center,
under layer upon layer of brooding
and ferment, a poet,
and cupped in his hands, the green shoot
of one word.