Mennonite
Central
Committee

You are in my heart: Poetry opens doors in Iran

April 2007

After the mound of saffron rice had been put away, the traditional Iranian dinner finished, Wally Shellenberger would pull out the poetry, most often a folded and marked photocopy of a work by the 14th century Persian poet Hafez.

Over words written hundreds of years ago, in an Iranian town known for its traditional Islamic seminaries and where Wally and Evie Shellenberger — brought here by an MCC exchange program — were often the only non-Muslims, the Indiana couple and their Iranian hosts would sink into discussions on how humans draw close to the divine, on how they, from their different traditions, experience God in the midst of life's daily rhythms.

"You are in my heart," one host told Wally after one such exchange, repeating the phrase in both Persian and English to be sure he would understand.

Students in the exchange program in Iran found poetry became a strong connection — and a spark for some of the deepest conversations the Shellenbergers had in Iran about Christian faith and belief.

From the United States or Canada, it's difficult to comprehend just how important poetry is in Iranian society.

Persian poets such as Hafez are revered. People flock to their graves. There is a park in Tehran dedicated to poets and philosophers. Where pop music plays as the background to commercials in the United States, poetry may be recited in Iran. Radio stations often feature a couplet or poem of the day.

Poetry would be recited at dinners or in casual conversation — and not just by scholars. "I've had taxi drivers multiple times illustrate a point by pulling out a couplet or a poem," said Laurie Pierce, who with her husband Matt was in the exchange program from 2003 to 2006.

The Shellenbergers had similar experiences. "It was fascinating how poetry could bring all different kinds of people together," Evie said.

By the time young people finish high school, they will have memorized thousands of lines of poetry, said Laurie Pierce. She recalled how their language teacher's son, a 3-year-old, recited three short poems when they met him. The Shellenbergers tell of how another friend warned his 2-year-old son not to kill an ant by reciting lines from a Persian poetry Sadi — "Don't harm an ant carrying a piece of grain, because the ant has his own good life. Don't oppress the weak and powerless, for one day, like the ant, you will be the weaker one."

Yet these poems are far more than moral tales. "They're very deep poems about God and who we are with God. ... You're talking about faith but in a different medium, the medium of poetry," Evie Shellenberger said.

Hafez probes deep into the dynamics of his experience of God — the hopes, expectations, disappointments, Wally said. The poet looks at what stands between humans and God and how he tries to rid himself of those things. He explores the ecstasy of losing one's self in God and his belief that in losing one's self in God one gains everything.

Evie noted that, in a way, the concepts of this ancient Persian poet would echo the beauty and struggle of surrendering to God that she knows as a Mennonite. "They're the things I've heard all my life, just in different words," she said.

As they talked about Hafez, the Shellenbergers found themselves talking about their experience of God from a Christian tradition and hearing from their hosts about that experience in an Islamic context.

"When you talk at that level, you gain access to one another's heart," Wally said.

 

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Translating poetry

Participants in the exchange program study the poetry of Hafez, grappling with understanding the religious thought, philosophy and language. Below is one of the Shellenbergers' favorites, paraphrased by Wally Shellenberger with the assistance of professors in Qom. A ghazel is a short poem.

 

Ghazel of Hafez 342

My body's dust is the veil of my soul's face.
How good the moment when this covering is drawn aside.

This trap is not for me; I'm a bird of bright melodies;
Let me go to paradise, for I belong to that meadow.

It's not clear, where I am nor from where I've come;
Regretful misery, that I'm so ignorant of my own affairs.

And how can I worship in this world of holy space
When I'm stuck together with naught but dust and bones?

If a delightful fragrance comes from my heart of grief,
Don't be surprised, for I'm a fellow sufferer of the desert stranded musk deer.

I'm the gold threaded design of a shirt, but don't look,
For hidden inside are the burnings of God's love.  

O God, come! Take me to yourself.
For with your existence my separateness melts in peace.