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Controversial modernist, iconoclast, poetess. 

Enter: Forough Farokzad. 

This 33 year old poet from 50s and 60s Iran is not a “poetess”, she is not “ The best Iranian female poet”, and she most definitely is not “The sylvia plath of the East”. She has a name, a story, and a variety of incredible poetry. Here she is: 

 Scene 1: 

Enter forough, 19 years old in a new city, newly-wed to her much older cousin. According to the literary editor of the prestigious BLAH magazine, she had stumbled into his office clutching a stack of poems in her green-ink stained hands.

 The subject of the poems, nothing other than details of her affair with the magazine's editor in chief. 

 

This would prove to be a consistent theme in Foroughs poems and her life. “Sin” , her most famous piece to date, flips the narrative of the man as the conqueror and the woman as the desired, and describes her lover as her sexual muse. It delves into the complexities of human nature, sin, and redemption, and the unique female perspective she offers is a testament to her literary prowess. 

 

But Forough never meant to be a feminist icon. In an interview with BLAH, she explained that for her,“What is important is humanity, not being a man or a woman,” she said. “If a poem can get to that point, it is no longer connected with its creator but with a world of poetry.” (CITATION)

 

Scene 2: 1944-1955

 

The curtains break open partially, picturing forough sitting on an armchair, smoking with a resigned face. 

Her pose mirrors the cover of “Sin”.

distraught not defeated. 

The curtain is closed hurriedly before it can open fully. 

Moments pass, Forough (In a new outfit) shoves a section of the curtain aside with a copy of her first collection of poems: 

The captive: Selected poems 

 

After multiple extramarital affairs, Forough is divorced from her husband. Her son, whom She calls Kami, is given to her husband and his fathers family to raise, with almost no visitation rights given to her. The separation from her son, and the idea that he is brought up thinking his mother abandoned him for poetry and sex, sends Forough into a psychotic break, and consequently to a psychiatric institution. 

 

This period of her life, along with her death, becomes the target to most of the hate, humiliation, and harassment Forough endures. Of course, writing poetry about her sexuality as a divorced woman in Iran really did not put the odds in her favor. In her lifetime, for a small period after, most hated came for her character: She was a whore, a soulless woman, a bad mother. Now, decades after her publications and death, the sexist remarks have become more subtle. In an interview with her longtime lover, Ebrahim Gelestan, Forough is described as “Truly modern” and “Very natural” and a “Young writer”, which all sound complementary, until placed next to Golestan’s descriptions as “An enigmatic writer and film-maker” and “The intellectual himself” . Various times in the article, Golestan is credited as being her muse and inspiration for her writings, as well as introducing her to western literary principles, despite their meeting after Forough’s year long tour across Europe. 

 

Scene 3: 1958-1967

 

The curtain is already drawn back, the stage is in darkness. 

The spotlight  slowly dims on, focusing on Forough and Ebrahim standing, looking into eachothers eyes with love. 

In her hand, Forough holds copies of her THISMANY more collections of poetry

Behind them is a poster for Forough’s movie: The house is black 

The lights begin to dim, and Forought frantically looks around

“Not yet.” She says, her tone resigned

The light continues to dim. 

After full darkness, Forough Exists the stage. 

There is the sound of a crashing car. 

 

Forough Farrokhzad will live on to be one of the greatest poets Iran- and the world- will ever see. Her genuine and unapologetic perspective, her enjoyment of her sexuality, her beautifully crafted metaphors, and her capturing voice keep her legacy as a writer and poet alive. Her story deserves to be told, her poetry deserves to be shared with those who would find enjoyment and solace in it. It is my belief that no one would refer to her as “The sylvia plath of Iran” had she been born into a different country, different time, different situation. However, her poetry would never be what it was without those circumstances, and her experiences living through them. Now, it's time to stop telling her story in reference to her lovers, or in comparison to another poet.