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A Revolution in Rhyme: Poetic
Co-option under the Islamic Republic

Fatemeh Shams
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A Revolution in Rhyme
OX F O R D O R I E N TA L M O N O G R A P H S
This series of monographs from the Faculty of Oriental Studies, University of
Oxford, makes available the results of recent research by scholars connected
with the Faculty. Its range of subject matter includes language, literature,
thought, history, and art; its geographical scope extends from the
Mediterranean and Caucasus to East Asia. The emphasis is more on specialist
studies than on works of a general nature.
Editorial Board
Professor Julia Bray, Laudian Professorial Fellow in Arabic
Dr Dominic Brookshaw, Associate Professor of Persian Literature
Professor Bjarke Frellesvig, Professor of Japanese Linguistics
Dr Elizabeth Frood, Associate Professor of Egyptology
Professor Henrietta Harrison, Professor of Modern Chinese Studies
Professor Christopher Minkowski, Boden Professor of Sanskrit
Professor Alison G. Salvesen, University Research Lecturer in Hebrew
Dr Robert Thomson, formerly Calouste Gulbenkian Professor
of Armenian Studies
A Revolution in Rhyme
Poetic Co-option under the
Islamic Republic
FAT E M E H SHA M S
1
1
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© Fatemeh Shams 2021
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To My Parents, and
Zahra
Acknowledgements
This book is an extensively revised version of the doctoral dissertation

that I defended in September 2015 at Wadham College, Oxford. I am most
grateful to my two veritable mentors, Homa Katouzian and Edmund
Herzig at Oxford University, under whose patient and thoughtful
supervision the seeds of this book were first planted. The many doors
they opened into new ideas, texts, and ways of thinking have shaped
who I am today.
At Oxford, I found a warm and intellectual home; so it seems fitting
that this book should also have found a home there, with the Oxford
University Press. I am immensely grateful to my doctoral viva examin-
ers, Laurent Mignon and Asghar Seyed-Gohrab for their insightful
comments on the final draft of my doctoral dissertation. My deepest
gratitude goes to Mohammad Mehdi Khorrami, who has read earlier
drafts of this book over the past two years, generously sharing his
insightful comments, and making time to talk it through with me at
times when completing it felt impossible.
The book is a culmination of the support and guidance of so many
friends and colleagues. In particular, the ground-breaking scholarship
and mentorship of three scholars, Dick Davis, Ahmad Karimi-Hakkak,
and Fatemeh Keshavarz, have shaped, influenced, and inspired me over
all these years. Countless hours of discussions with Ahmad helped me
to rework many parts of this book. I was also extremely fortunate that
two inspiring historians of modern Iran, Stephanie Cronin and Behrooz
Ghamari-Tabrizi, read earlier drafts of the book, providing sensitive
and sophisticated suggestions to improve my arguments. Kamran
Matin’s thoughtful suggestions helped me revise the final chapter of
this book.
Paul Losensky, from whom I have learned a great deal, kindly read parts
of the book during and after the Yarshater Junior Scholars Workshop,
held at the University of Maryland (May 2019) and provided constructive
viii Acknowledgements
feedback. I am particularly indebted to him for his masterful translations

of post-revolutionary elegies, produced on the occasion of Khomeini’s
death. His insightful work proved essential in shaping my core argument
throughout the book, especially in Chapter 6.
I have presented various parts of this book in different academic
workshops, organized by three brilliant scholars: Kathryn Babayan,
Fatemeh Keshavarz, and Nasrin Rahimiyeh. Thanks to these work-
shops, and the insightful feedback I received from the organizers and
participants, I could rethink and sharpen the book’s conceptual frame-
work and structure. My dear colleagues, Samad Alavi, Cameron Cross,
Mathew Thomas Miller, Alexander Jabbari, Black Atwood, and Austin
O’Malley offered insightful criticism and raised important questions
during these workshops. I am indebted to all of them for their intellectual
curiosity and honesty. I am grateful to Eskandar Sadeghi-Boroujerdi
for his genuine friendship and intellectual support during the most
difficult years of exile while at Oxford University. I owe serious debt to
Abdollah Yousefzadegan and Siavush Randjbar-Daemi for their generous
support with accessing archives and their vast knowledge of primary
and archival resources.
At SOAS University, Narguess Farzad’s friendship, passion for the
Persian language and literature, and highly competent translation
skills, have influenced me on both academic and human levels—a true
friend during challenging times. The same goes for my dear friends,
my family of choice, Rowena Abdulrazak, Mazlinda Makhzan, Kerem
Tinaz, Mehmet Tinaz, and Pinar Tinaz, who are deserving of abun-
dant gratitude and appreciation. I could not have survived the most
difficult moments in exile without their support on all levels.
Masoumeh Naseri, Sanam Dolatshahi, Kiana Memaran-Dadgar, and
Rana Daroogheh offered me a great deal of emotional nurturing when
this long intellectual journey, far away from my loved ones, felt
unbearable.
At the University of Pennsylvania, my current host institution, I am
indebted to Paul Cobb, the chair of the Department of Near Eastern
Languages and Civilizations (NELC), for his unconditional support since
Acknowledgements ix
my arrival, and to my dear colleagues, Al Filreis, Firoozeh Kashani-Sabet,

Nili Gold, Heather Sherkey, Joseph Lowrey, Huda Fakhreddine, Ahmad
Almallah, Jamal Elias, Emily Steiner, Mahyar Entezari, Brian Kim, and
Oscar Aguirre-Mandujano for being a constant source of inspiration
and for their invaluable friendship and support.
I am grateful to the University Research and SAS Research Funds for
offering me financial support in the final stages of completing this book.
Linda Greene at the NELC departmental office at Penn deserves abun-
dant gratitude for being a constant source of support in every way pos-
sible when I was finalizing this manuscript.
At Oxford University, my immense gratitude goes to the staff mem-
bers of Wadham College and St. Antony’s College, where I gained so
much more than just a degree during my doctoral studies. The generous
financial support of the Clarendon Fund at Oxford University was vital
to my intellectual growth and the completion of my doctoral degree.
I could not have completed this book without the constant intellec-
tual, editorial, and emotional support that I received from my brilliant
editor Holly Dawson. Holly’s sharp and masterful editorial skills, and
her extreme generosity and kindness, kept me going at times of darkness
and hardship. I could not wish for a better and more experienced editor.
My deepest gratitude also goes to Dena Afrasiabi for generously lending
her sharp editorial eye and her time at the very final stage of the produc-
tion of this book.
To Zahra Shams, my sister, who has spent these years finding rare
books for my research from the offset publishers in Revolution Square,
Tehran, and sending them to me wherever I was in the world, I owe a
gracious debt of gratitude for all her kindness and support. I am also
grateful to Ali Vahidi-Yeganeh for his help with designing the chart in
the final chapter of this book.
The book is dedicated to my first mentors in life, my parents,
Mohammad Shams and Sedigheh Molazemian, who have fostered my
love of poetry and literature since the early years of my life. I cannot
imagine having completed this book, during a decade in exile, without
their constant material, spiritual, and intellectual support.
x Acknowledgements
I am forever grateful to my partner Brendan Bercik who patiently

held my hand and offered me unconditional love when I needed it most
to get through the very last stages of finalizing the manuscript.
Sepās-e besyār to you all. It only remains to say that I am, of course,
solely culpable for any errors or shortcomings in this book.
Contents
List of Abbreviations xiii

Note on Transliteration and Translation xv
Introduction: “Awakening the Nation”: Poetry and Power
in Modern Iran 1
1. Rethinking the Islamic Republican Canon 34
2. “Surgery of the Soul”: Introducing the Howzeh 88
3. Returning to the Roots: The Dark and Light of the Village 121
4. A War to Remember (1): Decoding the Poetic
Violence of War 166
5. A War to Remember (2): The Other Face of War 204
6. Loss and Nostalgia: Official Poetry in Post-War Chaos 241
7. Inventing a Courtly Tradition: Poetry and Power in
Khamenei’s Islamic Republic 286
Selected Bibliography 333

Index 347
List of Abbreviations
WAI Writers’ Association of Iran (Kānūn-e Nevisandegān-e Iran, 1968)

CRH Cultural Revolutionary Headquarters (Showrā-ye Enqelāb-e
Farhangi, 1980)
Howzeh The Center of Islamic Art and Thought (Howzeh-ye Honar-va
Andisheh-ye Islāmi, 1979–1980)
OIP Organization for Islamic Propaganda (Sāzmān-e Tablighāt-e
Islāmi, 1981)
MRF The Mobilization Resistance Force (Basij-e Mostazʿafin, 1979–1980)
CAIM Cultural Association of the Islamic Movement (Kānūn-e Farhangi-ye
Nehzat-e Islāmi, 1979)
FDWV The Foundation of the Downtrodden and War Veterans (Bonyād-e
mostazʿafān-va jānbāzān, 1980)
Note on Transliteration and Translation
Except for standard spellings of names and locations and the original
quotes, I have used a slightly modified transliteration scheme of the
journal of Iranian Studies.1 In referring to words of Arabic origin, such
as qasidah, I have transliterated them based on the standard spelling and
pronunciation of the word in Persian, e.g. qasideh. The slight modifica-
tions have been applied to make the transliterated pronunciation of the
words as close as possible to the original language.
In translating the poems, I have worked to remain loyal to the literal
meaning of the original Persian, while conveying the sense and effect of
the poem in English. The translations have been done only for academic
purposes and therefore, where the ambiguity of the verse superseded the
meaning, I have tried to unfold the meaning while explaining the
aesthetic and literary qualities of the verse as part of the analysis. All
translations in the book are mine, unless stated otherwise.
1 Association for Iranian Studies, November 28, 2019, https://associationforiranianstudies.

org/journal/transliteration.
xvi Note on Transliteration and Translation
Consonants
Z ‫ض‬ b ‫ب‬
T ‫ط‬ p ‫پ‬
Z ‫ظ‬ t ‫ت‬
ʿ ‫ع‬ s ‫ث‬
Gh ‫غ‬ j ‫ج‬
F ‫ف‬ ch ‫چ‬
Q ‫ق‬ h ‫ح‬
K ‫ک‬ kh ‫خ‬
g ‫گ‬ d ‫د‬
l ‫ل‬ z ‫ذ‬
m ‫م‬ r ‫ر‬
n ‫ن‬ z ‫ز‬
v ‫و‬ zh ‫ژ‬
h ‫ه‬ s ‫س‬
y ‫ی‬ sh ‫ش‬
‘ ‫ء‬ s ‫ص‬
Vowels
Short Long diphthongs

a (as in ashk) ā (as in āb) -
e (as in fekr) i (as in melli) ey (mey)
o (as in pol) ū (as in tūs) ow (as in rowshanfekr)
Other Rules
– The ezafeh is written as -e after consonants, e.g. ketāb-e and as -ye
after vowels (and silent final h), e.g. daryā-ye and khāneh-ye
– The silent final h is written, e.g. dowleh
– The tashdid is represented by a doubling of the letter, e.g. takhassos
– The plural hā is added to the singular, e.g. dast-hā
– The conjugating va (and) is linked to the word that precedes it, e.g.
vezārat-e farhang-va ershād.
Introduction
“Awakening the Nation”: Poetry and Power in
Modern Iran
On November 4, 1964, under the orders of Mohammad Reza Shah Pahlavi,

Ruhollah Khomeini, was forcibly exiled following his arrest by the
Shah’s Secret Police (SAVAK). Iran, still haunted by the memory of the
CIA/MI6-backed 1953 coup, which toppled the democratically elected
prime minister, Mohammad Mosaddegh (d. 1967), was in the grip of rising
protests against the Shah.1 At the heart of this political resistance were
some of the country’s most prominent poets, writers, and intellectuals.
With little interest in, or knowledge of, poetry, the Shah was more likely to
have read poets’ names in the news related to the persecution of the
political opposition2 rather than on the covers of their poetry collections.
The people, meanwhile, were slowly awakening to the idea of change.
They were steadily mobilizing; although it would take another fifteen
years for the “unthinkable revolution”3 to arrive and shake the world to
its core. The stirring rhetoric of the emerging leader Ruhollah Khomeini,
1 See Ervand Abrahamian, The Coup: 1953, the CIA and the Roots of Modern US–Iranian
Relations (London and New York: The New Press, 2013) for an analytical history of the 1953
Coup. For a detailed historical overview of the June 1963 Riot and Khomeini’s rise to the political
scene and his exile, see Abbas Amanat, Iran: A Modern History (London and New Haven: Yale
University Press, 2017), 587–602.
2 Khosrow Golsorkhi (d. 1974) was one such poet who was put on trial for his Marxist
Communist activism, including his connection to the guerilla-armed struggle of the 1970s.
Other leading poets, such as Ahmad Shamlu (d. 2000), Mehdi Akhavan Sales (d. 1990), Siavash
Kasra’i (d. 1996), Reza Baraheni (b. 1935), and Esmaʿil Shahroudi (d. 1981), along with several
other poets from the first generation of the Islamic Republican trend (who will be introduced
in the first chapter of this book), count among the political prisoners and dissidents of the
Pahlavi regime. For more details about the post-Coup literary condition, see Mohammad
Shams-Langroudi, Tārikh-e tahlili-ye sheʿr-e now, vol. 2 (Tehran: Markaz, 1991), 2–25.
3 Charles Kurzman, The Unthinkable Revolution in Iran (Cambridge, MA and London:
Harvard University Press, 2004).
A Revolution in Rhyme: Poetic Co-option under the Islamic Republic. Fatemeh Shams, Oxford University Press 2021.
© Fatemeh Shams.
DOI: 10.1093/oso/9780198858829.001.0001
2 A Revolution in Rhyme
who increasingly embodied the revolutionary spirit, was reaching the

hearts of Iranians of all backgrounds—including poets. A twenty-five-
year-old budding poet, Nemat Mirzazadeh (b. 1939)—known by the
pen name M. Azarm—was one of the first poets to take up his pen and
write an ode in praise of the exiled cleric. Originally from Khorasan—one
of the major literary (poetry) hubs of Iran—and well-versed in Persian
prosody, Azarm followed the long-lasting tradition of praise poetry in
Arabo-Persian literary tradition by choosing to write in a form that goes as
far back as the pre-Islamic era: the qasideh, which in its oldest form
typically starts with the poet’s complaint of the separation from his beloved.
For Azarm, this longing for reunion took a political turn, resonating with
the collective cause of a nation in its quest for political change:
‫ ای مجاهد دربند‬،‫ای ز وطن دور‬

‫ای دل اهل وطن به مهر تو پیوند‬
‫نای تو خاموش همچو خشم که در مشت‬
‫جان تو در جوش همچو شیر که در بند‬
O’ you, far away from the homeland, the
imprisoned fighter
The heart of the nation is bound by your love
Like a [repressed] rage hidden in the fist, your throat
is silent
Your soul is restless, like a lion in captivity
The poet’s complaint about the separation from his beloved as a typical
feature of the pre-Islamic qasideh no longer seems to be just personal.
The poet’s desire for an alternative political rulership is echoed through
the collective voice of the people of the nation (ahl-e vatan). With the
most familiar poetic form and a fairly simple lexicon, Azarm co-opts a
long-lasting poetic tradition to form a new political discourse of resist-
ance geared towards Islam and Shiʿism.
Years after the revolution, Azarm came to be known as one of the first
poets, if not the first poet to mythicize Khomeini as “Imām” in his famous
panegyric qasideh (ode),4 a title that, prior to this, was only bestowed
upon the eminent Muslim thinkers and philosophers such as Imam
4 “Ayatollah Khomeini chetor beh Imām Khomeini molaqqab shod?” Jamārān, December
31, 2012, https://www.jamaran.news/fa/tiny/news-20014.
Introduction: “ Awakening the Nation ” 3
Mohammad Ghazzali (d. 1111) and the twelve infallible Shiʿite Imāms,
identifiable as descendants of the Prophet of Islam. In elevating
Khomeini to such sacred ranks, Azarm offered readers an emotive
provocation, inviting them to make the connection between their current
circumstances in Iran and the mythologies and heroic figures deeply
entrenched in the Islamic past. The forty-eight-line ode, entitled “By
Your Name” (beh nām-e tow sowgand, 1965),5 is a gushing paean to the
exiled cleric that makes use of an extensive religious intertextuality and
deploys literal reminiscences between its subject of praise and the saintly
figures of the past:
‫ ای امام خمینی‬،‫ای ز وطن دور‬

‫ای تو علی را یگانه پور هامنند‬
‫گوهر اسالم در تو کرد تجلّی‬
‫بعد گذشت هزار و سیصد ‌ی وا َند‬
O’ Imām Khomeini! Far away from the homeland,
You resemble the unique son of [Imām] Ali
After one thousand three hundred and some years,
You have manifested the spirit of Islam6
Throughout the rest of the poem, it proves nearly impossible to

delineate the boundary between the divine power of God and the
terrestrial power of the then little-known, exiled cleric. Curiously,

Azarm himself was not overtly pious, belonging, in fact, to the circle of
secular-minded, leftist-leaning poets who would become the founding
members of the Writers’ Association of Iran (Kānūn-e Nevisandegān-e
Iran, 1968, WAI).7 Rather than holding a spiritually orthodox position,
the intertextuality of Azarm’s verse is to be understood as an act of political
resistance, inspired by the intellectual landscape of the time,8 leveraging
5 This ode, which was originally written in 1964, was published in the introduction of a
book entitled, The Biography of the Leader (1970). I have not seen this book, but its details have
been published in Eteleā’āt Newspaper, no. 19671, January 16, 1979, 5. The author confirmed the
original publication date of this ode in a personal correspondence (June 20, 2020).
6 Personal correspondence with the author (June 20, 2020).
7 For a detailed history of this association, see Ahmad Karimi-Hakkak, “Protest and Perish: A
History of the Writers’ Association of Iran,” Iranian Studies, vol. XVIII, nos. 2–4 (Spring–Autumn
1985), 189–229.
8 I will discuss the “return to the roots” movement (jonbesh-e bāzgasht beh risheh-hā) of the
1960s and ’70s in Chapter 3.
common anti-colonial and Third Worldist tropes and indigenizing such

ideas in light of Shiʿite beliefs and views on equality and justice.9
As scholars of cultural intertextuality in visual art, theatre, and literature
have argued, “religious intertextuality provides the kind of historical
and specific referentiality that literary works need in order to preserve
their own autonomy and dignity.”10 In search of “autonomy and dignity,”
at a time when the censorship and prosecution of the intelligentsia were
approaching their apex, poets and writers saw this style of thinking and
writing as a novel mode of resistance.
Against the odds, the poem came to the attention of its subject,
Ruhollah Khomeini, in Najaf. In 1969, Khomeini wrote a letter to the
Qom-based scholar Mohammad Reza Hakimi (b. 1935), in which he
told Hakimi he had read Azarm’s poem and believed it to be a “highly
acclaimed message” (payām-e bolandpāyeh). “The educated youth,”
Khomeini writes in the letter, “must awaken the nation with poetry,
prose, sermons, books, and whatever makes the society aware of its
condition.”11 This is perhaps the first documented letter in which
Khomeini spoke of poetry and its role in “awakening nations” (bidār
kardan-e mellat-hā).12 The exchange became a significant step in
strengthening the ties between Persian poetry and political power that
had been deeply embedded in the Persian literary tradition.
Given Azarm’s literary credentials, and his deep familiarity with the
past poetic tradition, it can be no accident that he chose to write a pan-
egyric qasideh; a form that first came to prominence in the medieval
Persian courts. This deliberate act of poetic co-option maintained a
9 Supporting Khomeini as the leader of the 1979 revolution was widely accepted among a
group of leftist intellectuals of the time, who were active under the banner of the Council of
Writers and Artists of Iran (showrā-ye nevisandegān-va honarmandān-e Iran). In their newly
drafted constitution, which was published in the fall of 1980, the founding members of this
council reiterated their support for Khomeini as the leader of the “anti-imperialist revolutionary
movement.” Mahmoud Etemadzadeh (aka. Beh Azin, 1915-2006) served as the editor-in-
chief of this magazine for a number of years. For the full draft, see Showrā-ye
nevisandegān-va honarmandān, vol. 1 (Tehran: Fall 1980).
10 Virgil Nemoianu, “Literary Play,” in Virgil Nemoianu and Robert Royal (eds.), Play,
Literature, Religion: Essays in Cultural Intertextuality (Albany: State University Press, 1992), 14.
11 Ruhollah Khomeini, Sahifeh-ye Nūr, vol. 2 (Tehran: Vezārat-e farhang-va ershād-e
enqelāb-e Islāmi, 1989–2000), 253. For the online version, see “Tajlil-e Imām Khomeini az yek
Sheʿr,” Ettelāʿāt, November 21, 2013, https://www.ettelaat.com/new/index.asp?fname=2013/
11/11-20/20-03-58.htm.
12 For the full text of Khomeini’s letter to Hakimi, see Ruhollah Khomeini, “Pāsokh beh
nāmeh-ye Mohammad Reza Hakimi dar sāl-e 1348,” Jamārān, October 9, 2017, https://bit.
ly/2NqoEbY.
dialogue with the poetic tradition, continuing13 and manipulating an

ancient poetic form that, as the medievalist literary scholar Julie Scott
Meisami notes, had undergone significant development since its heyday
in the eleventh century.14 The Persian qasideh that inspired Azarm’s
poem is written in a long-form monorhyme style, historically associated
with the Arabic poetic tradition. The form, as A. J. Arberry notes, is the
“creation of pre-Islamic Arabia, which the Arabs ever afterwards
esteemed as their highest form of poetic expression.”15 Originally a
poem of mourning or praise, the qasideh is also associated with patron-
age. Meisami describes qasideh as a “courtly poem par excellence”
which is “at one and the same time celebration, homage, and gift, pre-
sented by the poet to his prince.”16
According to the literary historian Charles-Henri De Fouchécour,
“the aim of a writer of the qasideh (as implied by its name) is to sing the
praises of an individual and often, in return, to reap a reward. The poet
draws on and enhances the patron’s historical reputation.”17 In the past,
then, the goal of the panegyrics, as the medievalist scholar Jocelyn
Sharlet highlights, was “to transform the particular deeds of a patron
into a hegemonic universality of legendary proportions.”18
These archaic principles are clearly at play in Azarm’s contemporary
qasideh, even if his “patron,” Khomeini, remains passive in the transac-
tion.19 Indeed, the exiled Khomeini is elevated to the role of the
13 I say “continuing,” because other poets such as Mohammad-Taqi Bahar (d. 1951),
Badiʿozzaman Foruzanfar (d. 1970), Amiri Firuzkuhi (d. 1984), and Mehdi Hamidi Shirazi
(d. 1986) were among the practitioners of qasideh during the 20th century. Although at times
they used their literary skills to communicate with the seat of power, none of these poets had a
peaceful and intimate relationship with the seat of power.
14 Julie Scott Meisami, Medieval Persian Court Poetry (New Jersey: Princeton University
Press, 1987), 40.
15 A. J. Arberry, Classical Persian Literature (London, New York: Routledge Curzon,
1995), 9.
16 Julie Scott Meisami, “The Persian Qasida to the End of the 12th Century,” in Qasida
Poetry in Islamic Asia and Africa, edited by Stefan Sperl and Christopher Shackle (Leiden,
New York, Köln: E. J. Brill, 1996), 139. In the same chapter, Meisami notes that qasideh may be
also written for non-courtly or non-panegyric purposes. However, she also notes that the ori-
gins of Persian qasideh are undoubtedly linked to the court.
17 Charles-Henri De Fouchécour, “Iran viii. Persian Literature (2) Classical,” Encyclopedia
Iranica, http://www.iranicaonline.org/articles/iran-viii2-classical-persian-literature.
18 Jocelyn Sharlet, Patronage and Poetry in the Islamic World: Social Mobility and Status in
the Medieval Middle East and Central Asia (London and New York: I. B. Tauris, 2011), 69.
19 It must be noted that Khomeini did not remain completely passive if we look closely at
the content of his response letter to Hakimi. He took this opportunity to invite the intellectuals
and writers to “awaken” the people through their writings. For more details, see Ruhollah
“Beloved” (mamdūh), of the panegyric qasideh; the “chosen leader”

(rahbar-e bargozideh), waiting in the wings to claim leadership of the
Islamic “ummah” (ommat-e Islāmi) or community. Azarm’s hagio-
graphic intent here peaks with the final lines of the ode:
‫فکر تو پیروز شد به حرمت قرآن‬

‫نام تو جاوید شد به نام تو سوگند‬
Your thought triumphed with the Quran’s blessing,
Your name became immortal, I swear by your name
The use of religious allusions to consecrate a subject of praise underscores

Sharlet’s point about medieval Arabic and Persian court poets, who
“described their patrons in conjunction with legendary figures, linking
their deeds here and now with the vastly greater significance of legends”
in order to amplify “the patron’s deeds while also contrasting their
performance with their legendary counterparts.”20
Having penned such glorifying odes, cementing the leader’s status as
an infallible Imām in the modern literary history of Iran, one would
expect Azarm to receive the reward of Khomeini’s approval and patronage
in the model of his medieval predecessors. Azarm, however, met a very
different fate, one that illuminates the arbitrary fragility of the poetry/
power relationship. In 1981, two years after the revolution brought his
beloved patron to the seat of power, Azarm was banished into exile, a
victim of the mass purge and prosecution of secular and leftist intel-
lectuals during the cultural revolution (1980–1983) that was launched
and executed under the direct command of Khomeini. His fate, as
Sharlet observes in the case of court poets, reckons the fact that the “rela-
tionships between poets and patrons have always been fraught with
risks. Starting, ending, changing or simply maintaining these relationships
in a competitive environment entailed a range of complications for
poets.”21 It was not enough for Azarm to praise Khomeini; he had to show
loyalty to the man’s political ideology, not merely to the man himself.
Khomeini, “Towsiyeh-ye Imām beh rowshanfekrān,” Sahifeh-ye Nūr, vol. 2 (Tehran: Vezārat-e
farhang-va ershād-e enqelāb-e Islāmi, 1989–2000), 345–348.
20 Sharlet, Patronage and Poetry, 69. 21 Ibid., 22.

Like any other revolution across the globe, the 1979 revolution in Iran
led to ideological divisions and internal conflicts between the dominant
party and its oppositions. The consolidation of the Islamic Republic came
at the cost of the prosecution, purge, arrest, imprisonment, death, and
exile of the members of those divisions that did not conform to the
ruling ideology.22 The story of Azarm’s qasideh, and his fate after the
revolution, is the story of many Iranian intellectuals who supported the
revolution itself—but found their hopes destroyed by its outcome.23
Historians, anthropologists, and economists of modern Iran have dealt
with different aspects of the revolution and its consequences.24 One
question, however, has not been addressed: what makes poetry such an
integral part of the ideological state apparatus in today’s Iran?
While the cases of prosecuted and censored poets of the
pre-revolutionary intelligentsia, such as Mehdi Akhavan Sales (d. 1990),
Ahmad Shamlu (d. 2000), and Simin Behbahani (d. 2015), have been
subject to academic investigation by literary scholars such as Ahmad
Karimi-Hakkak,25 Kamran Talattof,26 Farzaneh Milani,27 and others,
the enigmatic relationship between the Islamic Republic and the con-
formist poets who align with its ideological apparatus still demands
investigation. Having acknowledged the shift in the poet-patron dynamic
and explored how this manifested in the works of certain poets regard-
less of their personal religious views, it becomes necessary to paint a
wider portrait of the systems and ideologies at play in the realm of liter-
ary production. It is not enough to examine the fates of those prominent
poets who were against the regime (as tempting and timely as that is for
scholars outside Iran looking in); it is crucial to offer a counter-analysis
22 See Ervand Abrahamian, Tortured Confessions: Prison and Public Recantations in Modern
Iran (Berkeley, Los Angeles, London: University of California Press, 1999), Chapters 3–5.
23 Karimi-Hakkak, “Protest and Perish.”
24 Houchang E. Chehabi, Iranian Politics and Religious Modernism: The Liberation Movement
of Iran Under the Shah and Khomeini (Ithaca, N.Y.: Cornell University Press, 1990); Roy
Mottahedeh, The Mantle of the Prophet: Religion and Politics in Iran (New York: Simon &
Schuster, 1985); Charles Kurzman, The Unthinkable Revolution in Iran; Teda Skocpol, “Rentier
State and Shiʿa Society in the Iranian Revolution,” Theory and Society, vol. 11, no. 3
(1982), 265–83.
25 Ahmad Karimi-Hakkak, Recasting Persian Poetry: Scenarios of Poetic Modernity in Iran
(Salt Lake City: University of Utah Press, 1995).
26 Kamran Talattof, Politics of Writing in Iran: A History of Modern Persian Literature
(Syracuse: Syracuse University Press, 2000).
27 Farzaneh Milani, Words Not Swords: Iranian Women Writers and the Freedom of
Movement (Syracuse: Syracuse University Press, 2011).
of the state-sponsored process of poetic production in the Islamic

Republic to better understand the complex mechanisms of literary
canonization, re-canonization, and censorship of the alternative literati
after the revolution. Today, if you ask Iranian intellectuals and literary
critics who oppose the ruling power in Iran about their opinion on con-
formist poets of the Islamic Republic, they would describe most—if not
all—of them as ‘minor’ or ‘insignificant’ poets and rush to devalue their
work in comparison to the work of alternative, independent poets.
None of these critics have reflected on the ways in which these ‘minor’,
‘insignificant’ poets appeared in the literary scene, dominated the state-
sponsored cultural milieu and found their ways to the school textbooks.
They have not ask themselves how is it that after four decades since the
victory of the revolution, these poets continue to be canonized in official
platforms and hold key cultural posts in the governmental institutions
and ministries regardless of the poor reception of their literary output
among the independent literati. They never bothered to ask how the rela-
tionship between poetry and power has affected the aesthetics, form, and
content of the works of those poets who adhere to the regime’s ideology.
This book, for the first time, tackles this lacuna in the existing scholarship.
As the following chapters shall reveal, poetry in modern Iran is still part
and parcel of a dialogue: between the poet and the seat of power, between
the state and the citizenry, between the present and the past. What can we
learn from listening closely to this ongoing conversation?
The Origins of Poetry and Patronage in Iran
While the appetite for poetry in many modern cultures has dwindled
into antiquity, poetry remains at the core of Iranian life and govern-
ance.28 The people of Iran encounter poetry every day—in newspapers,
classrooms, religious sermons, political broadcasts, advertising bill-
boards, television and radio, as well as in the home. Poetry is so embed-
ded within Iran’s ruling structures and political thought that it has
become almost impossible to separate it from the rhetoric of power over
28 Naima Jahromi, “Poetry and Politics in Iran,” New Yorker, July 14, 2015,
https://www.newyorker.com/books/page-turner/poetry-and-politics-in-iran.
the past four decades. Both leaders of the Islamic Republic, Ruhollah
Khomeini and Ali Khamenei, are poets in their own right. Much is yet
to be written about the influence of poetry on the romanticization of
political thought in Iran, as has been explored in other cultures such as
Soviet Russia, Franco’s Spain, Castro’s Cuba or Italy under Mussolini,
where the role of the “poet-tyrant” has been critically investigated.29 The
intersection of poetry and politics in the Islamic Republic can be quickly
and pragmatically evidenced, however, by a glance at the directory of
state-sponsored literary institutions,30 the presence of an elegy-making
industry (sanʿat-e nowheh-khāni),31 indoctrination programs in schools
and universities,32 and the leader’s annual poetry ceremonies, broadcast
live across the nation.33 Why does poetry, one might wonder, remain at
the heart of everyday life for Iranians?
To answer this question, it is important to keep in mind that the cur-
rent leader of the Islamic Republic, Ali Khamenei, is by no means the
first Iranian ruler to possess a deep fascination with poetry. The earliest
evidence of the dynamic between poetry and power goes back to Persian
court life before the Arab Conquest (AD 633–656) when poets were, as
Meisami describes, “practitioners of an oral art closely associated with
music.”34 But the role of court poets at this time extended beyond that of
entertainers—they could influence the king through the power of their
29 Konstantin Kaminskij and Albrecht Koschroke, Tyrants Writing Poetry (Budapest:

Central European University Press, 2017); Jean-Pieter Barbian, The Politics of Literature in Nazi
Germany, trans. Kate Sturge (New York, London: Bloomsburry Academic, 2010); Asha Rogers,
State-Sponsored Literature: Britain and Cultural Diversity after 1945 (Oxford: Oxford University
Press, 2020); Charles Brudett, Vincenzo Cardarelli and his contemporaries: fascist politics and
literary culture (Oxford; New York: Clarendon Press, 1999).
30 In Chapter 2, I will delve into the history of a major state-sponsored literary institution, the
Howzeh. Other institutions include The Saʿdi Foundation (2012), Center for the Islamic
Propaganda (1981), and the Ministry of Islamic Culture and Guidance (1983). Moreover, London
Academy of Iranian Studies (2003), based in the United Kingdom, is fully sponsored by the Islamic
Republic. Its responsibility is to promote Islamic Philosophy and Islamic Mysticism (ʿerfān). This
foundation has so far published English translations of some of the Islamic Republican poets such
as Alireza Qazveh and Qaysar Aminpur. For more information, see http://iranianstudies.org/fa/.
31 For an aesthetic and historical overview of the evolution of the eulogy industry in
Iran, see “Mostanad-e az tekyeh tā disco: negāhi beh sabkhā-ye jadid-e maddāhi dar Iran,”
BBC Persian Documentary, January 24, 2012, https://www.bbc.com/persian/arts/2012/01/
120123_l42_hossein_ghazian_madd.
32 Saeid Golkar, Captive Society: The Basij Militia and Social Control in Iran (New York:
Columbia University Press, 2015), 123–55.
33 See Chapter 7.
34 Julie Scott Meisami, Medieval Persian Court Poetry, 4.
verse.35 Relevant primary sources to support this claim remain scant;36

however, literary historians such as Mary Boyce have researched the
important positions that poet-minstrels held in court.37 Boyce and
Meisami both maintain that by performing the role of an “entertainer of
the king, a commoner, a eulogist, satirist, storyteller, musician, recorder
of past achievements, and commentator of his own times,” the poet of
the pre-Islamic Persian court fulfilled crucial duties and enjoyed a
highly privileged position.38 With such duties at hand, poets gradually
became a vital source of knowledge and education for Persian kings, and
their verse became a medium through which the ethics of the aristo-
cratic elite could be widely communicated.39
The poet/minstrel duality gradually separated into two more clearly
differentiated roles following the Arab Conquest in the seventh century,
particularly from the mid-eleventh century onwards, with the poet
climbing the rungs of the court ladder to assume an elevated position,
where he enjoyed a social status far higher than that of the minstrel.40
Poets were educated, literate, and able to adopt appropriate courtly
behaviors. They appeared in the royal court, and the king invited them
into his inner circle. Far from mere minstrels, poets became royal
companions, trusted advisors, and at the same time, as Nezāmi ʿArūzi
(d. 1161) documented in his Chāhār Maqāleh, masters of language and
35 See Edward G. Browne, A Literary History of Persia From Ferdowsi to Saʿdi (London:
Taylor & Francis, 1906); Meisami, Medieval Persian Court Poetry, chapter 1 for more examples
of Persian medieval panegyrics. For example, the story of the famous poem “Bū-ye jū-ye
Mūliyān” (The fragrant scent of Mūliyān), written by Rūdaki (d. 941), highlights the consider-
able capacity of the poet as a truth-telling character for inspiring the patron and influencing
courtly administrative affairs. Rūdaki wrote this poem to convince the patron of his time to
move back to Bukhara after a long, tedious stay in Bādgheys in Khorāsān.
36 For further details, see J. T. P. de Bruijn, “Court and Courtiers x. Court poetry,”
Encyclopedia Iranica, December 15, 1993, https://www.iranicaonline.org/articles/courts-and-
courtiers-x. The history of Persian court poetry before the ninth century cannot be properly
chronicled, mainly because of major gaps in the documentation of earlier periods. As stated in
Encyclopedia Iranica, the main primary sources for medieval Persian court poetry include
chapters 35 (on shāʿeri) and 36 (on khonyāgari) in the Qābūsnāmeh of Kaykāvus b. Iskandar
(pp. 189–97) and the second essay in Nezami ʿArūzi’s Chāhār Maqāleh (pp. 47–85).
37 Mary Boyce, “The Parthian Gōsān and Iranian Minstrel Tradition,” Journal of the Royal
Asiatic Society of Great Britain and Ireland, nos. 1–2 (Apr., 1957), 10–45.
38 Mary Boyce, “The Parthian Gōsān,” 22; Meisami, Medieval Persian Court Poetry.
39 M. W. Thackston, A Millennium of Classical Persian Poetry from the Tenth to Twentieth
Century (Bethesda, MD: Ibex Publishers, 1994).
40 For more, see Kaykāvūs Unsur al-Maʿāli, Qābūsnāmeh, edited by Gholamhossein Yusefi
(Tehran: ʿElmi-Farhangi, 1999), 196–7.
morals.41 In return, poets received the patronage that enabled them to

write. It was a mutually beneficial exchange, a contract bound by a
shared love of words. Patronage became the major source of support for
classical giants of Persian poetry, from Sana’i (d. 1130)42 and Saʿdi (d. 1291
~1292)43 to Hafez (d. 1390).44
The close tie between poet and patron did not always retain its intim
acy, however. At times the bond in fact devolved into enmity. To guard
themselves, as Sharlet maintains, the court poets had to take advantage
of the complexity of language in their poetry so as “to cope with the
complexity of the social order of patronage.”45 Through a complex and
layered array of refined rhetoric, poets of the medieval court examined
the possibilities of patronage by, at times, pushing the limits of power or
shaping it. The power of the refined rhetoric, hence, was a characteristic
of court literary legacy, one which, as the literary scholar Paul Losensky
notes, could “easily trespass ideological boundaries” of the court.46
As we will see in this book, both official poets and rulers of the Islamic
Republic have sought, and continue to seek, to establish a clear dialogue
with this ceremonial aspect of Iran’s literary past. The current leader of
the Islamic Republic, Ali Khamenei, has gone so far as to resurrect the
medieval atmosphere of a ritualized annual poetry night (see Chapter 7).
Now, more than ever, the dynamic between an inner circle of poets act-
ing as trusted advisors and their leader is very much in operation.
To unpack this ritualistic approach to poetry, I draw on the scholar-
ship of Suzanne Stetkevych, a noted medieval Arabic literary specialist,
whose work provides a useful framework for this particular dimension
41 For more, see Abolfazl Bayhaqi, Tārikh-e Bayhaqi, edited by Ahmad Fayyaz (Mashhad:
Firdawsi University Press, 2004); Nezāmi ʿArūzi, Chāhār Maqāleh, edited by Mohammad
Ghazvini (Tehran: Jāmi, 1995).
42 For more details on Sanai’s life and poetry, see J.T.P de Bruijn, “Sanā’i,” Encyclopedia
Iranica, http://www.iranicaonline.org/articles/sanai-poet.
43 To read more on Saʿdi’s life and poetry, see Paul Losenky, “Saʿdi,” Encyclopedia Iranica,
http://www.iranicaonline.org/articles/sadi-sirazi Also see, Fatemeh Keshavarz, Lyrics of Life: Sa’di
on Love, Cosmopolitanism and Care of the Self (Edinburgh: Edinburgh University Press, 2015).
44 For an overview of Hafez’s life, see Ehsan Yarshater, “Hafez i. An Overview,” Encyclopedia
Iranica, http://www.iranicaonline.org/articles/hafez-i. Also, to read more on the relationship of
the poets with the patronage in the pre-modern era, see Kevin L. Schwartz, Remapping Persian
Literary History 1700–1900 (Edinburgh: Edinburgh University Press, 2020).
45 Jocelyn Sharlet, Patronage and Poetry, 2.
46 Paul E. Losensky, “The Equal of Heaven’s Vault,” in Writers and Rulers, edited by Beatrice
Gruendler and Louise Marlow (Wiesbaden: Reichert Verlag, 2004), 214.
of poetry’s relationship with power in the Iranian context. In The Mantle

Odes: Arabic Praise Poems to the Prophet Muhammad (2003), Stetkevych
demonstrates how poets and patrons (including the Prophet) each
gained legitimacy through a ritual of poetic exchange. As touched on
earlier, the qasideh—the Arabic praise ode—deeply influenced the early
Persian poetic tradition,47 and there is much in Stetkevych’s research that
can inform the analysis of poetry and power in modern Iran. An especially
useful aspect of Stetkevych’s work is the cross-pollination between her
own research and anthropological scholarship, such as Van Gennep’s Rites
of Passage (1909), Mauss’s Gift (1965), and Gaster’s Thespis: Ritual, Myth
and Drama in the Ancient Middle East (1975), which root her literary the-
ory firmly within a socio-cultural discourse.48 Later on in this book, we
shall see how poetry in the Islamic Republic still fulfills the same purpose
now as it did in the Islamic past as studied by Stetkevych. Poetry in the
Iranian context, to use Stetkevych’s words, continues to “celebrate and
enact the authority and dignity of the king, the submission and alle-
giance of the poet, and the mutual subject-ruler bond that holds the pol-
ity together.”49
As this book shall explore, it’s not going too far in the direction of
whimsy to claim that among the different art forms, poetry, in particular,
played a key role in immortalizing the revolution during the embryonic
days of state-building. The songs of revolution and Iran-Iraq war con-
tinue to be an integral part of the collective memory of the country.50 It
is not an exaggeration to say that poetry helped sustain the official war
culture for eight years (1980–1988), driving enlistment, martyring sol-
diers, and elevating the conflict into a holy cause; and that poetry is now
used to galvanize the position of Ali Khamenei, Khomeini’s successor.
In May 2018, during his annual meeting with a selected group of poets,
Khamenei extolled the virtues of poetry, clearly communicating its place
in the heart of Iranian moral life. “The poets,” he declared, “should
47 Meisami, Medieval Persian Court Poetry, 137–82.

48 Suzanne Pinckney Stetkevych, The Poetics of Islamic Legitimacy: Gender, Myth and the
Ceremony in the Classical Arabic Ode (Bloomington: Indiana University Press, 2002).
49 Ibid., 48.
50 For a comprehensive survey of Iran’s revolutionary and war songs, see Nahid Siamdoust,
Soundtrack of the Revolution: The Politics of Music in Iran (Stanford: Stanford University
Press, 2017).
develop, produce, create and duplicate poetry in a way that it can create
discourse and orientations about the important matters of the country.”51
Those “important matters,” however, currently face considerable
challenges and changes in both the political and poetic spheres. The
regime has undergone significant divisions and has been riddled by
numerous conflicts since Khomeini’s death in 1989, with the nezām
(regime, establishment) itself splitting into different factions.52 Meanwhile,
the initial ideology of the Islamic Republic has come under intense
scrutiny by a new generation of politicians, voters, and thinkers.53 The
unrest ignited by the controversial 2009 elections has been further
exacerbated by mass public protests, fatalities and arrests in 2017–2019,
with tensions still ongoing.54 Amid this tumult, there has emerged a
new wave of poets, both inside Iran and in the disaffected diaspora.
Forty years after the original poetic slogans and verses of the revolution,
poetry is once again being harnessed across different channels, galvanizing
the voices of a new wave of supporters and dissenters.
Chronologically, this book starts in 1964 and ends in 2009, with two
qasidehs, by Azarm and Morteza Amiri-Esfandaqeh, offering a bridge
across this timeline. As this book also argue, patterns of continuity and
rupture in the realm of poetry and in the political domain during this
forty-five year period suggest that it has never been more necessary to
shed light on the link between poetry and power in Iran, and to analyze
the mechanics of this relationship—particularly as the future of the
Islamic Republic takes on fresh significance, not just within Iran, but on
the broader geopolitical stage. Given the prevalence of poetry in the
Republic’s power structures, its deep impact on the romanticization of
political lexicon, and the importance of understanding Iran’s shifting
position in the world, it comes as a surprise that this crucial cog in the
wheel of state formation has not yet been rigorously examined.
51 Ali Khamenei, “Persian poetry has always been virtuous,” Official Website of Ali Khamenei,
June 2, 2018, http://english.khamenei.ir/news/5714/Persian-poetry-has-always-been-virtuous.
52 For a detailed, analytical study of these divisions after the revolution, see Eskandar
Sadeghi-Broujerdi, Revolution and its Discontents: Political Thought and Reform in Iran
(Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2019).
53 See Saïd Amir Arjomand, After Khomeini: Iran Under His Successors (Oxford: Oxford
University Press, 2009).
54 See Danny Postel and Nader Hashemi (eds.), The People Reloaded: The Green Movement
and the Struggle for Iran’s Future (Brooklyn, NY: Melville House, 2010); Hamid Dabashi, Iran,
the Green Movement and the USA: the Fox and the Paradox (London: Zed Books, 2013).
The Label of “Official Literature”: Advantages

and Limitations
The use of language and literature to legitimize authoritarian control

throughout history in regimes around the world is, of course, nothing
new. Neither is the notion of state-sponsored literature; plenty of studies
have been written about this concept in other settings. Existing defin
itions of the term “official literature” position it as a literary trend within
modern authoritarian societies. The literary critic Dominic Thomas
describes official literature as a genre “which is inseparable from the
course of the state and the imperatives of ideological utility.”55 Moreover,
in studies of literature and ideology in China, for example, scholars use
terms such as “thought management” and “linguistic engineering” to
reference “the activities geared toward making people’s thinking conform
to the dominant ideology to describe government efforts.”56 The state’s
manipulation of language and literature to shape the reader-citizen’s
mind represents a key characteristic of official literary trends. Dariusz
Tolczyk’s important study of Soviet literature, for instance, presents
constructions of the camp experience in official Soviet literature to show
how “Soviet camp literature as a series of efforts inspired by Soviet
ideology” could “challenge, redesign and control moral perceptions of
the camps by the Soviet public.”57
Applying the label “official poetry” to the Islamic Republican
context makes it possible for the genre to exist in its broadest and
most utilitarian form, avoiding such misleading and restrictive
classifications as “Islamist poetry” (sheʿr-e Islāmgarā), “Islamic poetry”
(sheʿr-e Islāmi), or “revolutionary poetry” (sheʿr-e enqelābi), each of
which brings its own set of subtexts and all of which suffer from
flawed and oftentimes misleading conceptualization of religion.
To avoid further confusion, I have also chosen not to describe this
55 Dominic Thomas, Nation-Building, Propaganda and Literature in Francophone Africa

(Bloomington: Indiana University Press, 2002), 5.
56 Laurie A. Brand, Official Stories: Politics and National Narratives in Egypt and Algeria
(Stanford: Stanford University Press, 2014), 6.
57 Dariusz Tolczyk, See No Evil: Literary Cover-Ups and Discoveries of the Soviet Camp
Experience (New Haven, London: Yale University Press, 1999), xiii.
genre using the widely common term “committed poetry” (sheʿr-e

moteʿahhed), which has predominantly been used to describe and
analyze the works of leftist and/or dissident poets, with their own
ideological agendas.58
Throughout this book, I demonstrate how, despite being a fairly flexible
term that can encompass a wide range of ideologies, the label “commit-
ment” (taʿahhod) was adapted and appropriated by Islamic ideologues such
as Mohammad Reza Hakimi (b. 1936) to refer solely to literary and artistic
works that supported the ideals of the religion of Islam and ultimately of
the Islamic Republic.59 In the introduction to his book, Literature and
Commitment in Islam (1978), Hakimi argues that no cultural, religious, or
political service would be meaningful and complete without the help of
literature.60 His socially engaged tone in describing literature and society as
a symbiotic pairing resonates with that of Soviet writers and the leftist
Iranian literati, who saw themselves as “committed” to their own socio-
political cause. The difference between the two, however, lies at the heart of
Hakimi’s argument, which holds that “like any other culture, the culture of
Islam has to be understood through literature.”61 Indeed, many of the offi-
cial poets cited in this book bear the hallmarks of this semantic shift
theorized by Hakimi. Some began their careers as poets who—prior to
1979—believed that poetry should serve “as a locus of political resistance,”
later changing direction after the revolution, becoming staunch state sup-
porters in their new, committed roles within the state apparatus of power.62
Such ambiguity makes “committed poetry” an impractical and confusing
term for this book. In order to avoid terminological discrepancies, I have
therefore coined the term “Islamic Republican poetry” (sheʿr-e jomhūri-ye
Islāmi), a branch of governmental literature (adabiyāt-e hokūmati) which
implies certain stylistic and thematic features, as well as moral and/or
58 Samad Alavi has painstakingly explored the notion of commitment in modern Persian
poetry in his doctoral dissertation. See Samad Josef Alavi, “The Poetics of Commitment in
Modern Persian: A Case of Three Revolutionary Poets in Iran” (Ph.D. diss., University of
California, Berkeley, 2013).
59 See Chapter 2 for further details.
60 Mohammad Reza Hakimi, Adabiyāt-va taʿahhod dar Islām (Qom: Dalil-e mā, 2005), 15.
This book was originally published in 1977 by Fajr publisher in Tehran.
61 Ibid., 19.
62 Alavi, “The Poetics of Commitment in Modern Persian”, 1.
financial sponsorship by the government that came to power following

the 1979 revolution. I argue that as a poetic trend, it is the continuation
of the religiously-inclined poetic discourse that existed on the margins
of the 1960s and ’70s literary milieu in Iran, but was only canonized and
rose to prominence following the establishment of the Islamic Republic.
I will demonstrate that it was largely due to such financial and ideological
ties with the government that most of these poets gained fame in
the official literary scene following the establishment of the Islamic
Republic. To this day, this trend remains firmly embedded in the broader
discourse of power in post-revolutionary Iran.
Throughout this book, therefore, I will use the terms “official,”
“Islamic Republican,” “state-sanctioned,” and “conformist” poetry inter-
changeably, to refer to the work of those poets who hold ideological ties
with the ruling power and have benefited from this relationship in one
way or another. Such terms will help the reader to understand this
particular poetic trend, both in relation to similar trends in world
literature on the one hand, and in dialogue with the current political
regime inside Iran on the other. They will also help differentiate between
this particular poetic trend from other competing trends of poetry
(including the committed poetry of the left) in modern Iran.
That being said, it is worth noting that to define Islamic Republican
poets by their ideological views alone, as it appears in terms such as
“Islamist poetry” (sheʿr-e Islāmgarā), would significantly misrepresent
the canon. As I discuss later in the book, “official poets” themselves have
in fact experienced transformation, friction, and division with respect to
their ideological commitment and showcased different versions of poetic
individuality in their verse. It is more accurate, therefore, to position
them on a spectrum, with those closest to the core of power at one end
and those who sometimes question or subvert the hegemony at the
other. Located between these two poles are the poets who keep their val-
ues or allegiances quiet, poets who are not in full accord with the ruling
ideology but write with caution, and poets who support some state
agendas but not all. “Official” therefore refers to the allegiance of poets
with the political power that took control over Iran following the 1979
revolution and the state ideological apparatus that was formed in its
aftermath, in ways that differentiate them from those poets who
remain ideologically and financially independent.
The Question of Literary Merit
The lacuna in scholarly understanding of the official poets is emblematic

of how Iran’s poetry since the revolution has been selectively studied by
the international literary community.63 Islamic Republican poetry has
been widely discounted for its allegedly poor literary merit and, owing
to its close ties to the government, reputed to have little worth beyond
its place as propaganda. As a result, four decades of prolific poetic
output have been essentially left out of the academic rostrum and the
literary history of modern Iran—even though the work that these poets
have created, and continue to create, bears greater socio-political conse-
quences than that of their counterparts in perhaps the majority of, if not
all, other countries around the globe. As I explore in the first chapter of
this book, no serious nuanced scholarly attempt has been made to
understand these poets as a literary canon attached to the seat of power.
How do the microhistories of these so-called ‘minor’ poets and the insti-
tutional bodies with which they hold close ties shape our understanding
of modern Persian poetry, literary production, and politics? Do they
even matter?
This book represents the first attempt to assess the complexity of this
canon of poets, shedding light both on the commonalities shared by
these poets as a group and on their poetic individualities as independent
figures and members of diverging factions. This project proposes a more
nuanced nomenclature of first-generation and second-generation poets,
in order to place emphasis on the poetic continuity of this particular
trend whose origins, as I note with reference to Azarm’s ode and other
examples that will be discussed later in this book, should be located well
before the establishment of the Islamic Republic. Although, for obvious
reasons mentioned in this introduction, Azarm does not fall in the cat
egory of official poets under scrutiny, his poetic contribution and influ-
ence in bringing political Islam and Persian verse together following the
1953 coup can’t and shouldn’t be ignored. His inclusion in the opening
lines of this book and what follows in the upcoming chapters
63 For example, see Ahmad Karimi-Hakkak and Nahid Mozaffari (eds.), Strange Times My
Dear: The Pen Anthology of Contemporary Iranian Literature (New York: Arcade Publishing,
2005). Most of the modern Iranian poetry that has so far been studied, analyzed, and canon-
ized beyond Iranian borders has been by modernist and dissident poets.
demonstrates the way in which a particular poetic trend was born out
of an ideologically diverse context prior to the revolution. This book
challenges the episodic approach to the process of literary evolution by
tracing the root of this particular poetic trend in decades preceding the
1979 revolution. We will see that what later emerged as a state-sponsored
branch of poetry was indeed in the making decades before the revolu-
tion. Failing to recognize or understand such thematic and formalistic
continuities leave us with a distorted and incomplete understanding of
the complicated process of literary change and production both before
and after the revolution.
To treat Islamic Republican poets as one homogeneous entity com-
promises the reader’s understanding of the context fueling their work
and diminishes its his tor
ic
al relevance on the world poetry stage.
Acknowledging the gray areas within this body of work is therefore cru-
cial to fully appreciating the potential of poetry’s socio-political impact.
Until now, Islamic Republican poetry has predominantly been ana-
lyzed inside Iran itself, where it has been overseen and sponsored by the
institutional bodies of the state, and therefore tainted by an indisputable
agenda.64 The lack of rigorous scholarly attention thus far creates a
troub ling void in geopolitical understanding; when poetry created
internally to legitimize politics is itself externally delegitimized, it is
not just the poetic dimension that is misunderstood and lost, but the
political one too.
Perhaps the more sophisticated output of modernist poets such as
Forugh Farrokhzad (d. 1967), Mehdi Akhavan Sales (d. 1990), and Ahmad
Shamlu (d. 2000), has led to them being more rigorously discussed and
analyzed, leaving the large body of official poetry, which suffers from
comparatively weaker aesthetic and literary merits due to their predom-
inantly sloganeering content, languishing on the dust-heap of scholarly
64 See Akbar Mirjaʿafari, Harfi az jens-e zamān: Ta’ammoli dar sheʿr-e enqelāb-e Islāmi (Tehran:
Nashr-e qū, 1997) and Mohammad Reza Sangari, Naqd-va barresi-ye adabiyāt-e manzūm-e
enqelāb-e Islāmi (Tehran: Palizan, 2001). Islamic ideology has been repeatedly emphasized in
state-sponsored works of literary criticism from 1980 onwards, a tactic that primarily serves
as an attempt to distinguish the Islamic Republican genre from pre-revolutionary modernist
literature. In the first volume of his history of Islamic Revolutionary poetry, Sangari provides
a historical context for his definition of official poetry of the Islamic Republic by showing
how religious poetry written in praise of the Shiʿite Imāms informed official poetry after the
revolution, especially during the war. Mirjaʿfari’s book on Islamic Republican poetry is also
instrumental in highlighting the trend’s most influential poems.
attention. It goes without saying that addressing and scrutinizing such

aesthetic weaknesses is an equally important task for understanding the
process of literary change. Slavoj Žižek compellingly argues in his
important essay, “The Poetic Torture House of Language” (2014) that even
“bad” and “ridiculous” poetry written by those poets who hold close ties
to power must be taken seriously.65 Literary merit aside, Žižek argues that
the over-simplified, accessible language of such poetry plays an important
role in disseminating the their political agenda of those who hold close
ties with the power, as illuminated in his exploration of the Balkan states.
An avid reader and/or critic of Persian poetry might find it easy to
dismiss certain poems examined in this book; equally, those new to
post-revolutionary poetry may find little to engage with at face value, on
first glance. Bearing the significance of small histories as well as Žižek’s
reflections in mind, however, unfold the rationale behind exploring such
works, finding importance and meaning in a style of mass-produced
writing that has hitherto been rendered redundant as a product of the
culture industry of the Islamic Republic. Critics could easily place such
work, along with Khomeini and Khamenei’s own verse, on the same
shelf as the poetry of Joseph Stalin and Saddam Hussein, where it occu-
pies the same seemingly insignificant cultural space as Adolf Hitler’s
attempts at watercolors. Much of the poetry parodies grandiose classical
forms, such as sonnets and odes, making it easy to criticize as little more
than a poor man’s Shakespeare. But what critics deride as derivative par-
ody is in fact, as I argue, a deliberate dialogue with the selective past; part
of a campaign of nostalgia politics that has been largely responsible for
keeping the current administration in power. When it comes to the
question of the reception of this body of work, what may be dismissed as
populist propaganda or populist literature, bearing no more weight than
the lyrics in a poorly produced pop song, is in fact poetry aimed to be
written for the many, not the few—particularly for the new generation
who are first and foremost trained through school textbooks. It is
important to keep in mind as we move on to the following pages of this
book that the elementery school children and high school teenagers,
65 Slavoj Žižek, “The Poetic Torture-House of Language,” Poetry Foundation, December 14,
2017, https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poetrymagazine/articles/70096/the-poetic-torture-
house-of-language.
born after the revolution, learn the names of the official poets cited
throughout this book and memorize their poems before they may become
acquainted with modernist giants such as Nima Yushij, Forugh Farrokhzad,
Mehdi Akhavan Sales, and Ahmad Shamlu, receiving in the process an
almost subliminal indoctrination into the ideological vision of the state.
The poems published in school textbooks under the banner of “resist-
ance literature” (adabiyāt-e pāidāri) or the “literature of the Islamic
Revolution” (adabiyāt-e enqelāb-e Islāmi) are selected to communicate
and connect with an entire population, to engage the hearts and minds
of the next generation who have not experienced the revolution and the
war first-hand, to stir emotion, and to trigger action. The failure to recog-
nize the impact of this body of literature, perhaps indicates a semantic
scotoma in what poetry in general can be and what it can do.
Today, if you ask Iranians who witnessed and lived through the war
what they remember of the Iran–Iraq war (1980–1988), amongst other
voices, they recall official war elegies and songs and the wounded voice of
the state’s war eulogist Haj Sadegh Ahangaran (b. 1957). For many Iranians
of my generation, the revolution and war are captured and remembered in
rhyme and in songs. This is not to say that non-official poets did not con-
tribute with songs and poems about revolution or war. In fact, some of
the most aesthetically valuable poems about the consequences of the revo
lution and the braveries of the war veterans are written by poets and song-
writers with independent and secular leanings. Moreover, some of the
most memorable revolutionary songs were produced by eminent Iranian
musicians with leftist leanings such as Bijan Kamkar (b. 1949), Hossein
Alizadeh (b. 1951), and Mohammad Reza Lotfi (d. 2014).66 However, as I
will show later in this book, the process of de-canonization and re-
canonization of the literary intelligentsia that began during the cultural
revolution (1980–1983) and continued during and after the war left
these poets and artists out of the newly defined official literary canon.
Their work was either censored, marginalized, or simply not sponsored
or distributed as widely and easily as the works of state-sanctioned poets
and songwriters. Having this in mind, it is pertinent to note that to dis-
miss the “bad” and “ridiculous” state-sanctioned poems found in school
66 Vahid Hosseini, Mostanad-e Bazm-e Razm (Tehran, 2019).

textbooks is to dismiss the power of indoctrination in shaping the societies

under authoritarian states in general and to discount an important part
of what has shaped the collective memory of Iranians and the official
literary scene of the country after the revolution.
That being said, it is possible to identify a literary snobbery at play
here, in which poetry can only be calibrated by its aesthetic quality and
not its socio-political impact. This in turn points to the wider issue of
measuring literary caliber through a Eurocentric lens. A debate held at
the 2019 Charleston Festival in the UK sought to reinvestigate Oscar
Wilde’s famous claim that there is “no such thing as a moral or immoral
book.” Both combatants—Lionel Shriver and John Mullan—were more
or less in agreement with Wilde’s notion (with some semantic caveats). It
is interesting, however, that although the debate touched upon the rela-
tionship between literature and politics, this topic was quickly dismissed
as “insubstantial.” The poetry of Saddam Hussein and Stalin was laughed
out of discussion. The poetic passion and endeavors of Khamenei, mean-
while, were too little-known to be mocked. When a member of the audi-
ence asked the panel to consider the trend of the “poet-tyrant” and the
political power that literature can exert, the answers provided were flip-
pant at best, focusing again on merit over socio-political impact. The
complex relationship of literary anesthetic and ideology was overlooked
altogether. Not surprisingly, the debate concluded that books are “a lux-
ury, an indulgence,” and occupy an amoral, apolitical space.
Such debates unveil the familiar Eurocentric analytical scope which,
as the political scientist Kamran Matin has argued, tends to draw con-
clusions based on “the construction of [. . .] general categories by refer-
ence to a particular European experience.”67 To return to the dual role
played by poets in medieval Persian courts, the attitude demonstrated
above and elsewhere speaks of a tendency to see only the jester, not the
royal advisor. Official poets in Iran have two faces: one looking out, and
the other looking in. To see only the one looking out is to miss the pro-
cess of their rise to officialdom and subsequently the fundamental
changes that have occurred in the literary landscape of the country for
the past four decades. Ironically, this common blind spot in fact colludes
67 Kamran Matin, Recasting Iranian Modernity: International Relations and Social Change
(London and New York: Routledge, 2013), 2.
with the Islamic Republic’s mission; to accept the dominant Western

view that literature is detached from power allows the inextricable link
between poetry and politics in Iran to be ignored and overlooked.
Existing Scholarship and Its Limitations
Writing a foundational book such as this, presenting the relationship

between poetry, ideology, and power in today’s Iran not only for literary
scholars and students but for a broader readership, comes with its own
challenges and limitations; not least is the difficulty of addressing a
lacuna in scholarship, when there are few texts in existence to research
that gap. The bibliography of nuanced, objective writing about conform-
ist poetry in Iran is sparse, particularly compared to the far longer list of
books written over the last forty years from inside its borders. The over-
whelming amount of state-sponsored scholarship has been written by
authors sympathetic to the Islamic Republican ideology. Far from a
critical analysis of the connection between literature and the state, these
studies argue that Islamic content and ideological correctness are inte-
gral to creating “legitimate poetry” (sheʿr-e mashrūʿ) in service of revo
lutionary ideals. To name but a few examples, voluminous works such as
Akbar Mirjaʿfari’s anthology of Islamic Republican poetry,68 Mohammad
Reza Sangari’s four-volume set on Islamic revolutionary literature,69
Saʿid Ala’i’s anthology of Islamic revolutionary poetry,70 Gholamreza
Kafi’s introduction to the literature of the Islamic Revolution71 and
Mohammad Kazem Kazemi’s anthology of revolution-era poets,72 create
narratives in their literary instructions and analyses of official poetry
that ultimately support the creation of a deeply homogeneous body
of work.
68 Seyyed Akbar Mirjaʿafari, Harfi az jens-e zamān: ta’ammoli dar sheʿr-e enqelāb-e Islāmi.
69 Mohammad Reza Sangari, Naqd-va barresi-ye adabiyāt-e manzūm-e enqelāb-e Islāmi,
vols. 1–4; Az natāyej-e sahar (Tehran: Sūreh-ye mehr, 2014).
70 Saʿid Ala‘i, Jaryānshenāsi-ye sheʿr-e enqelāb-e Islāmi (Tehran: Markaz-e asnād-e enqelāb-e
Islāmi, 2008).
71 Gholamreza Kafi, Shenākht-e adabiyāt-e enqelāb-e Islāmi (Tehran: Bonyād-e hefz-e
āsār-va arzesh-hā-ye defāʿ-e moqaddas, 2010).
72 Mohammad Kazem Kazemi, Dah shāʿer-e enqelāb (Tehran: Sūreh-ye mehr, 2011).
Another shortcoming of state-sponsored scholarship lies in its biased,

distorted, and problematic historiography. For obvious ideological
purposes, most anthologies identify the 1979 revolution as the starting
point for what came to be known as the “literature of the Islamic
Revolution” (adabiyāt-e enqelāb-e Islāmi)—a periodization that this
book seeks to revisit. The most obvious implication of this view is to
perceive the moment of revolution as an absolute rupture in the course
of history and to dismiss the inclusion of political Islam in the poetic
discourse of the pre-revolutionary period. I will argue that despite
inevitable ruptures, there are patterns of continuity between what came
before and after the revolution, if we take a closer look at the poetic
output of the poets in scrutiny. Such continuities, I argue, can be traced
in forms of poetic co-option where the rhyme, rhythm, and poetic forms
of the past are met with new socio-political ideals and agendas.
Moreover, the absence of relevant academic scholarship outside Iran’s
geographical borders exacerbated the challenge of conducting this
research. The fate of the pre-revolutionary intelligentsia and their
response to the 1979 revolution has already been the subject of detailed
investigations by literary historians and critics such as Ahmad Karimi-
Hakkak.73 Surprisingly, however, the emergence of these poets’ competi-
tors—the official poets of the Islamic Republic, some of whom precede the
revolution—has not received any scholarly attention outside Iran over
the past four decades. The existing body of independent scholarship
oftentimes ends with the arrival of the revolution. This oversight may
partly be due to the exodus of Persian literature scholars, who left Iran
during the 1980s purges, as has been noted by the literary scholar
Mohammad Mehdi Khorrami.74 This physical distance between
literary scholars and their homeland created a visible rupture in the
production of modern Persian literary scholarship, with respect to its
historiography.
73 Karimi-Hakkak, “Protest and Perish”; “Revolutionary Posturing: Iranian Writers and the
Iranian Revolution of 1979,” International Journal of Middle Eastern Studies, vol. 23, no. 4
(1991), 507–31.
74 Mohammad Mehdi Khorrami, Literary Subterfuge: Contemporary Persian Fiction
(London and New York: Routledge, 2015).
It is worth noting, however, that this scholarly blindspot has at times

been the subject of brief evaluations by Iranian-American scholars. To
give one example, Kamran Talattof, by touching on what he calls
“Islamic literature” (adabiyāt-e Islāmi), defaults to binary ideological
preconceptions while identifying all of the religiously inclined poets of
the revolution as “Islamists.”75 What Talattof does not address are the
complexities and transformations of this poetic trend and its role in dis-
seminating the very ideology that pushed Talattof and many other
scholars of modern Iran out. Based on such ideological binaries, Islamic
Republican writers as a group are inevitably essentialized as the
“Islamist” poets with a literary output that has little or no literary merit
to be included in modern literary historiography.
Moreover, problematic and obscure labels such as “Islamist” or
“Islamic” overlook the ideologically diverse and historically layered
origins of this trend altogether. As previously mentioned, poets such as
Azarm initially deployed Islam as an anti-shah and anti-imperialist
lexicon, rather than a merely religious belief or ideology, in order to
position themselves vis-à-vis the Pahlavi monarch. As will be discussed
in subsequent chapters, poets deployed Islam in their work for a variety
of reasons, from spiritual to ideological, from personal to political or
linguistic. Many of them elaborated on what “Islam” is or should be in
their poetics, and at times their techniques of elaboration differed from
one another. The absence of a layered exposition detailing the specific
tendencies and divisions within this trend therefore proves particularly
conspicuous.76
My aim in this book is to break away from the existing ideological
homogeneities and highlight the varieties of style, form, and even at
times ideology found in these poems. With this foundation in place, the
analysis of non-official and independent Persian poetry can take on
greater clarity and potency in future inquiries beyond this book.
75 Kamran Talattof, The Politics of Writing in Iran: A History of Modern Persian Literature
(Syracuse: Syracuse University Press, 2000).
76 These divisions include the disillusioned revolutionaries who began to revise their ideol-
ogy following the death of Ayatollah Khomeini and the end of the war, as will be discussed in
Chapter 5 of this book.
Mapping Poetic Continuity and Rupture:

A Conceptual Framework
Locating our analysis within the framework of “official literature” sup-

ports the already-established knowledge that official literary trends are,
by default, bound to their socio-political context.77 They emerge in
response to, and/or as part of, a process of wider societal change. As
Dominic Thomas notes in his case study of official literature in
Francophone Africa, official texts should be viewed “as products of a
complex network of social relations.”78 This becomes particularly salient
in the case of Iran, where official poetry remains inextricably bound
with the process of state formation and the institutionalization of cultural
production. Since 1979, state-run cultural organizations such as
Howzeh-ye honar-va andisheh-ye Islāmi (The Center for Islamic Arts
and Thought, hereon, Howzeh, 1979–1980—to be explored in Chapter 2),
along with many other parallel institutions, have been in charge of
socio-cultural, artistic, and literary re-canonization based on the ideo-
logical principles of the state.79 As this book will demonstrate, the “com-
plex network” of Thomas’s definition extends in Iran to schools,
universities, mosques, newspapers, the military, international relations,
cemeteries, and beyond. The network extends still further into a more
abstract constellation of connections with history, with place, with religion
and tradition, and between people. The analysis of official poetry presented
in this book, therefore, seeks to understand the Islamic Republic itself
from a number of different angles within this “complex network.”
A crucial point must be made here about the question of continuity
and rupture, as far as literary change is concerned. Using chronology to
pigeonhole poets as mere products of a certain socio-political event
points to an episodic approach, one that views socio-historical events as
definitive moments of rupture, rendering consequent literary production
an isolated chapter in Iran’s modern literary history. In his seminal
book, Recasting Persian Poetry (1993), the literary scholar Ahmad
77 Karimi-Hakkak, Recasting Persian Poetry, 1.

78 Thomas, Nation-Building, Propaganda and Literature in Francophone Africa, 25.
79 See Hamid Naficy, A Social History of Iranian Cinema, vol. 4 (New York and London:
Duke University Press, 2009) for a discussion of such developments in the field of cinema.
Karimi-Hakkak reveals the ways in which literary modernity in Iran

has been engaged in a continuous dialogue with the classical literary
tradition.80 Instead of colluding with the traditional academic model of
perceiving modern Persian poetry to be a “sharp break with the past,”
Karimi-Hakkak shows how poets and critics of modern Iran have
“emphatically, at times self-consciously, defined themselves by their
relation to the tradition out of which they emerged.”81 Building on
Karimi-Hakkak’s argument, I shall demonstrate how the official poets of
the Islamic Republic “self-consciously” returned to tradition in appro-
priating certain poetic forms and diction from Iran’s literary heritage.
Appropriation and fabrication, I argue, should also be viewed as forms
of continuity with the past. While traces of the past can be found within
this continuity, one can also identify invented meanings and characteristics
in what might look “ancient” but is in fact new.
It goes without saying that continuity and rupture are mutually inclu-
sive notions. As Terrence Ranger has argued in another context, the
Australianist approach to Aboriginal Christianity has followed an
unchanging pattern of continuity. A “Shadowy play of unmodified trad
ition,” as Terrence argues, has continued to attract ethnographers’ atten-
tion across the globe.82 As I explore in this book, the Islamic Republican
poetic trend, too, exhibits a “shadowy play” of unmodified literary trad
ition along with a complex play of modified meanings and images.
Throughout this book, I also draw on Svetlana Boym’s forensic
exploration of nostalgia as a political concept in The Future of Nostalgia
(2001), as well as Terrence Ranger and Eric Hobsbawm’s seminal book,
The Invention of Tradition (1983), to examine the singular relationship
between official poets and the literary (and religious) past and its impact
on the formation and evolution of their poetic discourse after the revo
lution. Engaging in such deliberate literary dialogues with the past—a
central focus of this book—exemplifies the process Hobsbawm describes
in the Introduction to The Invention of Tradition, as “the use of ancient
materials to construct invented traditions, of a novel type, for quite
80 Karimi-Hakkak, Recasting Persian Poetry, 2–7. 81 Ibid., 2.

82 Terrence Ranger, “Christianity and Indigenous People,” Journal of Religious History,
vol. 27, no. 3 (2003), 258.
novel purposes.”83 The “ancient materials” in this instance are repre-

sented by the classical poetic forms upon which the poets of the Islamic
Republic model their work, harnessing archaic language, traditional
themes, and well-worn imagery to perpetuate the “novel” ideologies of
the post-revolutionary state.
According to Ranger and Hobsbawm, revolutionary movements
around the world often draw on a particular version of the historic past
to legitimize their rule.84 The proponents of the revolutionary state in
Iran were no exception; they harnessed familiar forms and romantic
images of the past and used nostalgia as a crucial weapon to unite people
against the monarchic state. They revived and mythologized words and
poetic structures to articulate and sustain the collective memory of
revolution at a time when accepting the new seemed inconceivable.85 To
gain control over revolutionary chaos, a new collective social memory
had to be generated in such a way that it could condition the new hier
archy of power. This involved the-two-fold selective process of both
remembering (when it serves the state) and forgetting or rewriting
(when it doesn’t).
This blurring between the materials of the past and the political prior
ities of the present creates “an elaborate language of symbolic practice
and communication” between poets and politicians, and between poets
and readers.86 The result is a culture of “verse as a semiotic system,” to
borrow a phrase used by Herbert J. Eagle in his discussion of poetry in
Eastern Europe.87 I explore the significance of this regressive collusion
with the past (poetic co-option) and the impact of poetry on post-
revolutionary ideologies: How can a cultural program built on looking
backwards enable a nation to move forwards?
83 Eric Hobsbawm and Terrence Ranger (eds.), The Invention of Tradition (Cambridge:
Cambridge University Press, 1983), 6.
84 Ibid., Introduction.
85 To read more, see Paul Connerton, How Societies Remember (Cambridge: Cambridge
University Press, 2010), 6. On the significance of the act of recollection as a defining compo-
nent in making any new start, including the formation of a new political order, I have benefited
from Paul Connerton’s important study on collective social memory, to which I will return in
the following chapters.
86 Ibid.
87 Herbert J. Eagle, “Verse as a Semiotic System: Tynjanov, Jakobson, Mukařovský, Lotman
Extended,” The Slavic and East European Journal, vol. 25, no. 4 (Winter, 1981), 47–61.
By drawing on theories inside and beyond the realm of literary

c riticism, this book outlines the ways in which poetry has been put into
discourse within the Islamic Republican power structures, where poetic
novelty no longer lies in the aesthetics of poetry, but in its performativ-
ity and repetition. To fully illuminate this matter, we must unravel key
poetic and ideological symbols in both official poetry and political
rhetoric. Each chapter in the book will showcase a selection of pertinent
examples in order to deconstruct their meaning and decode their sig-
nificance within the wider discourse of power.
The Structure of the Book
The ideas presented in this Introduction to the book make visible the
necessity and timeliness of rethinking the official poetry canon. Hence,
the first chapter introduces two generations of poets and the reason
for their inclusion in the state-sponsored canon of poetry. As we
shall see, the poets who rose to prominence as the voices of Islamic
Republican poetry did not suddenly pick up their pens in 1979; their
anti-monarchical, pro-revolution verse had long been a crucial part of
the ideological critique of the Pahlavi state and of Khomeini’s claim to
the revolutionary movement’s leadership. These poets resurrected classical
Persian forms—the qasideh, ghazal (sonnet), and masnavi (double
couplets)—alongside more modern forms like free verse (sheʿr-e āzād).88
Despite their different stylistics, all these poets actively engaged reli-
gious and patriotic elements in their work, at a time when religious mes-
saging represented a form of political resistance, particularly during the
build-up to the revolution.
Exploring the full range of Islamic Republican poets and their work is
not a task that a single book can accomplish. I will therefore focus here
only on those poets whose names have frequently appeared in antholo-
gies inside Iran, and whose rise to literary prominence was concomitant
with the revolution and the establishment of the Islamic Republic. There
88 For a detailed discussion on the Persian free verse, see Ahmad Karimi-Hakkak, “Free
Verse,” Encyclopedia Iranica, https://www.iranicaonline.org/articles/free-verse-
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As the other girls were provided with escorts it fell to the lot of either
Cephas or Kenneth to take Miss Fuller home, but she was quick to
follow up her opportunity. "You go in my direction, Mr. Mitchell," she
said. "May I walk in the light of your lantern as far as you are going?
I've no doubt some of the others will see me home the rest of the
way."
"Of course he'll have to see her home all the way," Gwen told herself
as she saw them walk off. "That sly Ethel to carry off my rightful
belonging, right under my very nose." She watched the bobbing
lanterns casting their starry beams across the pasture, and then
went indoors to find that Kenneth still lingered. "Why didn't you tell
me you had sold a picture?" she asked.
"I hadn't a chance," he returned gloomily, "and besides," he added, "I
didn't suppose it would interest you very much. It is much more to
the point when a man is able to buy pictures."
"Do you think so?" said Gwen coldly. "I notice you didn't want to give
a certain one the opportunity of buying yours. That was very
unbusinesslike. You should have told him to come and see your
pictures, and have made him take a dozen."
"I don't want his vile money," returned Kenneth fiercely.
"Why isn't it as good as anyone's? I am sure it was made fairly
enough."
"You know he wanted to buy it for you."
"I don't know anything of the kind, and if he did, you were certainly
very unkind to deprive me of such a gift."
"Would you care to have one? I'll do a dozen for you, if you like." The
offer was made eagerly.
"Oh, bless me, I couldn't afford to pay the price of one."
"You could pay the only price I care for."
Gwen trembled. She was not ready for declarations. At this moment
she resented Ethel's high hand in carrying off Cephas Mitchell, who
just now appeared more desirable than ever before. There was dead
silence for a moment and then the girl turning away, said: "You ought
to sacrifice your feelings in every direction for the sake of your
success. You shouldn't let anything stand in the way of it. Hard cash
is the only price you should want, and it is the only one I could
consider. I don't believe in allowing sentimental considerations to
take the place of material benefits. If you are going to offer pictures
to your friends in this wholesale way, I'm afraid you'll have a poor
time of it."
Kenneth turned pale and shivered, even though he was standing by
the fire. "Good-night," he said, "I am wrong to be keeping you up so
late."
"Good-night," returned Gwen holding out a passive hand, which was
ignored by the man pretending to be busy over lighting his lantern.
She let him go without another word and did not watch the lantern
star disappearing over the hill. "I shall express my opinion to Ethel
Fuller," she said as she waited for the last log to fall asunder. "I'll not
have anyone poaching on my preserves. Even that silly little Flossie
Fay was making eyes at him. There isn't a girl among them but
would give her eyes to be Mrs. Mitchell, and why should I be more
fastidious than they?" Yet she dreamed that night, not of Cephas
Mitchell, but of a single great wave that tossed high, enveloping
Kenneth and herself in its lucent green waters. She felt herself
sinking, sinking, but awoke with the start which follows the sensation
of falling, and sighed as she turned on her pillow.
Meantime Kenneth, walking through the dim perfumed night
watching a gibbous moon dip behind the cove, cried out against fate.
"Go slow," had been Luther Williams' warning, and he had not
heeded it. Now he knew—he knew that the joy had gone out of the
world for him because a girl had chosen ease and luxury rather than
the battle with poverty. At first he was fierce in his hate of the man
who could offer her so much, and he thought only bitterly of her for
caring for those things which money could buy, but by degrees his
mood changed, under the quiet stars in their limitless spaces. What
did it matter after all? Life was not long, and there would be a certain
reward for him. He remembered Luther Williams' words: "Life is
worth living when you have made the sacrifice of doing what is best
for everybody." He recalled his mother, vain, selfish, eager to
receive, slow to give, hysterically tearful over her own supposed
privations, thinking herself a martyr because she could not live as
sumptuously as her indolent pleasure-loving nature craved. He
thought of his sister and her two children. "I could do more for them,
I suppose," he said. "I doubt if mother would be much happier, for
with each fresh supply there would be a new demand, and if it were
not met that would be another ground for grievance. It is like pouring
water into a sieve, and the worst of it is that she becomes so
accustomed to my sacrifices that they mean nothing to her. Poor
mother!" But his mind was made up. He would not look for
appreciation, and the summer over he would accept the position
offered him in a broker's office by an old friend of his father's, and on
holidays he would follow his painting as a recreation.
For the next few days he kept himself aloof from Wits' End and the
group of young people who frequented the cottage. When he met
any of them he pleaded hard work as an excuse. Meantime Gwen
missed him, though she would not confess this even to herself. She
knew that Mrs. Fleming and the children had gone to Blue Hill for a
visit, and her conscience pricked her as she thought of Kenneth in
his loneliness, but as she perceived Ethel Fuller to be in dead
earnest in her effort to attract Cephas Mitchell she resolutely set
Kenneth and his affairs out of her mind. The weather had not been
favorable for the row to Jagged Island, but that it was surely to take
place Ethel daily reminded both Gwen and Mr. Mitchell. There were
other things on foot, however, and each girl vied with the other in
making herself as charming as possible. Ethel did not hesitate to
propose all sorts of expeditions which Gwen's pride made her reject
with scorn, but she accepted such suggestions as Mr. Mitchell
himself made, and he began to divide his time so equally between
the two that it became known as a matter of course that if he were
not walking or rowing or sailing with Gwen, he was with Ethel.
"You are a faithless monster!" Gwen declared to Miss Fuller one day
when the two met on the rocks.
Ethel laughed. "'Wha' fo', son Riley-Rabbit-Riley? Wha' fo'?'" she
asked.
"Who steals my purse steals trash—

But she who filches from me my good man
Robs me of that which while enriching her
Will make me poor indeed,"
paraphrased Gwen. "Have I not been looking for a millionaire all my

life, and now that I have found him, do you suppose that I am going
to allow the first girl who comes along, to swoop down and bear him
off in her talons? A girl who doesn't need him either?"
"I never saw a girl yet who didn't need a millionaire," replied Ethel
saucily, "but all the same they don't agree with every girl. I am
thinking of your development, my dear. As a true friend I am fearing
the effect of riches upon your beautiful character."
"Bosh!" cried Gwen. "You are thinking of Ethel Fuller; that's the
person you're thinking of. I don't receive the consideration you would
give a fly. And how about your character, pray? Do you keep your
hands from picking and stealing, and isn't it as bad to rob me of
Cephas as of anything else?"
"I don't do it with my hands," returned Ethel in mock protest.
"No, you do it with your eyes, and your delutherin' tongue, but it's just
as bad. You are a thief and a robber, and you're no friend of mine."
"Are you really in earnest, Gwen?" said Ethel altering her light tone.
"Of course I am."
"If I thought you were truly interested, but I know you are not."
"What makes you say that? How do you know I'm not?"
"I know by the expression that came into your face when Kenneth
Hilary entered the room the other night, and by the same look which
was evident when you heard he had sold a picture."
Gwen flushed uncomfortably. "That is all your imagination," she said
after a moment's silence. "It is perfect nonsense. He is nothing
whatever to me, nor am I anything to him. I should think by this time
you would have found that out."
"Have you quarrelled? Of course I have noticed that you see nothing
of him lately."
"No, we haven't exactly quarrelled, but he is as poor as a church
mouse and has no business to be thinking of anything but his career.
If he marries at all, it should be a rich girl; otherwise he will have his
nose to the grindstone for the rest of his days and his future will be
ruined."
"Have you told him so?" asked Ethel slyly.
"No, but he knows it, or ought to, and of course his art is the thing of
first importance to him, so he is working very hard just now."
"Humph!" ejaculated Ethel. "Then tell me honestly and truly, would
you marry Cephas Mitchell if he asked you? Honest Injun. It's only
fair to me to tell the truth."
Gwen was thoughtful for a moment. "I don't know," she answered
finally.
"That doesn't do me any good," said Ethel. "It strikes me that it is a
perfectly fair race, but if you don't think so, and really in your heart of
hearts feel a consuming desire to be Mrs. Cephas, I'll pull out and try
to fall in love with Kenneth. He is a dear, and perhaps there would be
enough for the two of us if we were not wildly extravagant."
"You're perfectly horrid!" cried Gwen.
"Dog in a manger yourself," replied Ethel laughing. "Now let us be
sensible. I give you twenty-four hours in which to think it over, and in
the meantime I promise to be a recluse. I shall walk, talk, row, dance,
and sail with none but the girls in all that time. There shall be a
cessation of hostilities until to-morrow, and then you must let me
know which of the two worthies you are willing to allow me as my
lawful prey. You can't take both, and it is perfectly fair that I should
have one. I prefer Cephas, but I'll take Kenneth if you discover that
you cannot be happy unless you have the steel man for your very
own."
"We are taking a good deal for granted," returned Gwen, "when we
talk about taking either of them. The taking usually is upon the part
of the masculines."
"We must be prepared," returned Ethel with a show of gravity.
Gwen laughed in spite of herself. "Very well," she said, "as it has
come to a question of terms I suppose I'll have to give in, and make
this a subject of serious consideration, a sort of searching the heart,
as they used to say."
"I consider myself very magnanimous," returned Ethel, "to give up
twenty-four good hours when every moment is precious. Of course
you will do the same, and for the specified time your guns will all be
silenced, too."
"Agreed," Gwen responded. "Though doesn't it strike you, Ethel, that
this is rather a cold-blooded transaction?"
"Not a bit of it. Only in high-flown novels do you hear of girls with
such saintly reserve that they allow no one to discuss their love
affairs with them. I never saw a girl yet who wasn't perfectly willing to
go over all the pros and cons with her intimate friends."
"Not when she is really in love."
"That depends, perhaps. It may be before she takes the final plunge
that she is ready to talk matters over as you and I have done this
morning. Now I don't want any more final plunges till I know it is
worth while. I have no idea of losing my sleep without just cause."
"You are cold-blooded, Ethel."
"No, I am not. I am simply philosophical. Adieu, my dear, until to-
morrow, and remember, no shilly-shallying then, or I shall be
perfectly merciless if I get the chance."
CHAPTER XI
DADDY LU
True to her word, Gwen did not appear in public that evening. She
was not seen in her usual place on the rocks, nor did she go to the
post-office for the mail, and Cephas Mitchell, passing by Wits' End at
a late hour, failed to perceive her on the porch. Miss Elliott was there
with Miss Maria Skinner. She could not tell where her niece was. She
might have gone to Sheldon woods or perhaps she was with Miss
Fuller.
"She is not with Miss Fuller," Miss Maria gave the information, "for I
saw Miss Fuller go off rowing with the Misses Hardy."
"Then I'll try Sheldon woods," said Mr. Mitchell as he went off. He
pursued his way along shore to Little Harbor, mounting the hill which
must be climbed before the road on the other side could be reached,
and at last he came to Sheldon woods, but though he searched all of
Gwen's favorite haunts she was nowhere to be seen. If, as he stood
on the big bluff above Pirate's Cove, he had looked toward Jacques'
Island, he would have seen there a boat moored, and if he had
followed further on he would have discovered two figures sitting in
earnest conversation. One he would have distinguished as Luther
Williams, the other as Gwen.
The girl had left Wits' End immediately after dinner, had taken the
lower way along the rocks to where Luther Williams always came in
from his fish pound. There she had waited for him, going a short
distance through the rose walk that she might be hidden from view
by the thick undergrowth clumped around the great boulders. As
Luther approached the spot where she sat she appeared, and he
waved a friendly hand. "I was watching for you," she said coming
forward. "As usual I want you to do something for me. Shall you be
very busy this afternoon?"
"Not more than usual, and never too busy to do what you would like
to have me."
"You are the most satisfactory man," Gwen smiled up at him. "What I
want is this: I want you to take me over to Jacques' Island and set
me down there, then when you have been to your pound I want you
to come for me, will you?"
"Certainly. That is an easy task."
"Can you stay and talk to me a little when you come for me? I have a
problem to solve."
"As long as you like me to stay I can do it."
"You are so nice; you don't ask unnecessary questions. Are we
ready to go?"
"Yes, if Ned has come."
Ned was standing by the dory, and smiled a welcome to the girl. In a
moment they were off, the strong arms of the two men giving long
pulls to the oars which sent the boat swiftly through the water. The
small island was soon reached. It looked a barren spot from off
shore. A single tree, sole survivor of a less hardy company, seemed
of great importance as it reared itself above the undergrowth of bay
and blueberry bushes. There was no building of any kind on the little
island, and as Gwen was set ashore she laughed. "I feel like
Robinson Crusoe, but please, good man Friday, don't forget me and
leave me here to starve."
"No danger," Mr. Williams assured her. "I'll be back before you have
time to do much exploring."
Gwen watched the two men row off, and then set out to see what
she could discover. "Blueberries!" she exclaimed after a little while.
"If I had something to put them in I could pick a lot. Ah, I know, the
hood of my golf-cape. How lucky that I brought it." She unbuttoned
the long pointed hood, pinned it together and hung it on her arm
before she set to work among the blueberry bushes. She was so
absorbed in her occupation that she did not notice the return of the
boat, and was surprised when Mr. Williams hailed her with: "Where
are you, Miss Whitridge? Ahoy there!"
She made her way to him as rapidly as the scrubby growth of low-
growing plants and vines would allow. "See what I've been
gathering?" she cried. "Blueberries, ever so many of them. If we only
had some bread and a lobster we could have supper here, though,
oh dear me, you will need more than that, for you have a hearty meal
at five."
"Don't you bother about me," said her companion. "Miss Phosie will
save me a bite, but if you really would like to picnic here, there's no
reason why we shouldn't. I've two or three mackerel saved out for
you in the boat, and it won't take any time for me to row across and
go to the Grange for some bread, I know they will let me have it."
"That would be perfect," declared Gwen, "but Aunt Cam doesn't
know where I am, and I am afraid she will be worried."
"We can get back before your supper hour. It is not before seven, is
it?"
"No, and later than that sometimes."
"Then we'll have two or three hours here. I'll go back for the bread
while you go on picking berries."
He was off again directly and was not long in returning with a supply
of biscuits and cake, a little packet of salt, and a bottle of water from
the well. Gwen was watching for him this time, and was ready with a
welcome. "Good man Friday, you are a fine provider. It will be such a
real camping out. Are you very hungry?"
"Are you?"
"No, for I have been eating blueberries. Have some?" She held out
the hood to him.
He took a handful and ate them silently. "What about that problem?"
he said when he had finished. "It's a little early for supper I think."
"That's just what I think. Mr. Williams, do you believe it to be very,
very wrong to marry for money?" She blurted out her question
without preliminary. "I mean," she went on, "if the man has no vices,
and hasn't a disagreeable temper or anything like that. Don't you
believe that in the long run a girl would be just as well content as if
she had married a man without a penny? It would be awfully hard to
endure grinding poverty. I shouldn't mind being moderately poor, and
going without some things, but a hand to mouth existence always—
oh dear me, no."
"That's your problem."
"Yes, that is it. I can't very well talk to Aunt Cam about it, for she is
sure to be sentimental and quote things about the uses of sacrifice in
developing character, and about dinners of herbs and stalled oxen
and things. She couldn't understand how I should loathe to wash my
own dishes three hundred and sixty-five times—no, three times three
hundred and sixty-five times a year, and cook my own meals as
often, besides never having any money for operas and theatres and
clothes. I think it is pitiful to see a girl, who has been bright and
pretty, looking faded and worn in her threadbare wedding finery
which she has turned upside down and wrong side out after she has
been married ten years. Do tell me what you think about it. As an
entirely unprejudiced person, who can look at the matter and get a
proper perspective. What is your honest opinion?"
"I think," said Mr. Williams, after a pause, "you should ask yourself:
How would it be if the man were to lose his money, or were to
become a hopeless invalid."
"Gracious!" exclaimed Gwen. "That never occurred to me. I am
afraid I have been thinking only of making the best of life with the
compensation of having all the pretty things I wanted, and of going to
Europe, and having a good time generally. I could even talk about
steel rails sometimes, under those circumstances. But with no
money! Oh dear." She saw before her a picture of Cephas Mitchell in
shabby clothes, earning perhaps a meagre salary sufficient to keep
up only a small flat in a crowded city. She saw herself struggling to
make both ends meet, turning, contriving, mending while he talked
common-places. Or perhaps she might be tied to a peevish invalid
who would exact attention to his every whim, and to whom she must
devote her days till death did part. She sat for some time, chin in
hand, her eyes fixed on the waves breaking over Charity Ledge. At
last she drew a long breath. "I couldn't, I simply couldn't," she said. "I
should be perfectly miserable. I am pretty sure he is not the man to
stay down if he does get a tumble, still one never knows, and as for
health, that is even more uncertain."
"And it is too serious a matter to take risks in? Yes, I think it is. I
knew a girl once who married a man for his money. He promised to
be a success in the world. She wasn't in love with him, but she knew
the marriage would please her family, so she married him. They
were happy for a year or two." He paused.
"And then?"
"The man lost his money,—every cent."
"Then what happened?"
"She showed plainly that she had never cared for him, and so, you
see, there were two persons made wretched, and the last condition
of that man was worse than the first. He might have recovered from
his fancy if he had not married her. She would have been free to
marry the man she really did love, though her family objected
because he was poor. So it was a pitiful disappointment all around.
The circle widened and eventually included more than the two at first
concerned. Don't make any such experiment, my dear child."
Gwen gave a long sigh. "My first millionaire, and to think I must
deliberately let him go. Lots of girls do marry men they aren't madly
in love with, and they seem to get along perfectly well."
"If there were no one else there would be less risk."
Gwen made no immediate reply. "Of course," she said after a
moment, and lifting her head high. "Why should there be anyone
else? There couldn't possibly be. That would be utterly absurd." She
began to prod holes in the earth with a stick.
"Then why worry over it? Let things take their course."
"Oh, but I have to decide. I promised I would."
"The millionaire?"
"No. A—a girl."
Mr. Williams smiled. It was so very youthful to make such a compact.
"Is it a question then of staying out of the race?"
"I suppose so."
"I don't see why one of you hasn't as good right as the other, and,
after all, it will be the man who decides."
"Certainly. I said that. But you don't know the girl. She can always
manage to make a man fall in love with her if she chooses. She is
made that way and I am not. I don't mean that men never do like me,
but all men like her, and if they don't in the beginning she makes
them. She'll make this one, although she is sufficiently loyal to me
not to really try to attract him, if I say I am deeply interested in him."
"I think," said Mr. Williams, "if you really want my honest opinion, that
it would be much the best to go on as you have been doing, and let
the future decide. There must be exceptions to all rules, and all men
do not fall in love with Miss Fuller."
"Oh, how did you know?"
"I have eyes, little girl. Moreover, I know as a fact that one man has
not fallen in love with your friend."
"You say that because you like me and want to increase my self-
esteem. Who is the man? Ned Symington?"
"No." Mr. Williams looked grave. "Ned is a nice lad, but he is not
thinking of falling in love with a—Highlander."
"Oh dear! I am sorry. I oughtn't to have said that. I never think of you
as one of these dear fisher folk, and I forget to be sufficiently
considerate sometimes. I wonder who has been making a confidant
of you. I suppose you will not tell."
"No."
"Then I must simply take your word for it, and believe that some one
worships from afar. It is rather a flattering and agreeable thought."
"There doesn't seem much hope for him," Luther Williams went on,
"so long as you disclaim there being anyone else."
"I said it would be utterly absurd. Dear Mr. Williams, if you will keep
my secret as if it were your own, I'll tell you that if it were not so
ridiculously absurd to give the thing a second thought, there might be
some one else."
"Why absurd?"
"He hasn't two pennies to rub together, and, oh dear, the dish
washing ten hundred and ninety-five times a year. It is almost as bad
to contemplate as the sitting opposite onion eyes and long necks an
equal number of times."
"But if there were pennies, a moderate number, but still enough to
pay for the dish-washing, what then?"
"That would be an entirely different thing." Gwen spoke with
satisfaction. "I shouldn't mind getting a new winter suit only once in
two years, and I shouldn't mind a little apartment, one of those nice
studio flats—" She broke off suddenly and the tears sprang to her
eyes. "Oh!" she exclaimed. "Oh! Please, please, Mr. Williams—oh,
what have I said? You'll know!"
He patted her hand gently. "There, there, little girl," he said, "never
mind. It doesn't matter about my knowing. Do you suppose I'd ever
betray you? But since I am now convinced of something I have only
suspected, I'll be more urgent in begging you not to think for one
moment of marrying a man you do not love. Don't do it, Miss
Whitridge."
"Then I'll not marry at all," said Gwen, caressing the man's rough
sleeve. "Aunt Cam and I can go on as we have been doing. We are
very comfortable in our little suite of rooms. But, please, Mr.
Williams, don't call me Miss Whitridge. Call me by my first name as
you do the girls on the island. Call me Gwen."
"And what will you call me?"
"Everyone calls you Mr. Williams."
"But you are not everyone."
"No, I like to be a special kind of friend. I would call you Uncle
Luther, but I don't like that, for once there was an old colored man
who used to work for us and I called him that. I know,—if you don't
mind it, I'll call you Daddy Lu."
"IF YOU DON'T MIND IT, I'LL CALL YOU DADDY LU."
The smile which irradiated the man's face was brighter than anyone
on Fielding's Island had ever seen. "Will you call me that?" he
exclaimed. "Will you?"
"Yes, if you don't think it sounds disrespectful. I won't do it when
anyone is by, only when we are having nice cosy talks like this. I
can't tell you how much good you have done me. It seems much
clearer to me now. I'll tell Ethel, and if she bears off the golden prize,
well and good, though in the meantime I shall take the gifts the gods
send, and have as good a time as I can. Now let's have supper, and
will you cook the fish? You can do it so much better than I can,
Daddy Lu."
For answer he went to the boat and brought back two small
mackerel, well cleaned, then he made a fire, fastened the fish to a
board and set them up to cook.
"It is a real Robinson Crusoe feast," declared Gwen, "for we have
neither forks nor spoons. I shouldn't care to be so primitive in
everyone's company, but I don't mind a bit with you. How good that
fish looks. Is it ready? That's fine. We might make chop sticks out of
twigs; Aunt Cam showed me how to use them, but I reckon fingers
were made even before chop sticks." She was very gay and bright
as she laughed and talked over the meal. Somehow she felt as if a
great weight of responsibility had been lifted from her.
"No dishes to wash this time," said Mr. Williams as the last morsel
disappeared.
"Not one; that is a great consideration. Perhaps, after all, one might
get along in some such way as this. I'll tell you what I shall do: when
I get utterly tired out from kindergartnering, I'll come up here and
stay the year 'round, then we can go off and have feasts like this
very, very often."
"That is quite a pleasant prospect. I quite approve of it, though it
ought to be a long way off, for you must not waste your youth by
giving up the things that only the outside world can furnish."
"The outside world doesn't furnish me with such a vast amount. Oh, I
am not unhappy nor discontented, I am really a very fortunate girl,
only there are times when a long vista of kindergarten teaching
becomes rather oppressive, and if Aunt Cam should take it into her
head to go back to China, I'd have to go with her or be left high and
dry here unless—I did marry. I wonder if I ought to have more faith,
Daddy Lu."
"In persons or things?"
"In a person. Ought I to think that genius will burn fiercely enough to
keep up a furnace as well as a kitchen fire? You know the old
nursery rhyme that says:
"'Will the love that you're so rich in,

Build a fire in the kitchen,
And the little god of Love turn the spit, spit, spit?'"
"I suppose there should be a fire for the pot-boilers as well as for the
dishes."
"Oh dear, I suppose so."
"I think, Miss Whitridge—"
"Gwen, you mean."
"I think, Gwen, that you are quite young enough to wait and see."
"Twenty-one seems awfully old."
"When you are my age it will seem remarkably young."
"Perhaps. However, there doesn't seem to be anything else to do but
wait. We'd better go back now, don't you think? It has been the
loveliest afternoon, and I thank you so much for all you have said
and done for a girl who has absolutely no claim on you."
"No claim? Hasn't friendship a claim?"
"To be sure, and you are the best friend I have on this island, and in
the world, except Aunt Cam. I am beginning to count the days now,
for the summer is going so fast, only there is always next year to
look forward to."
They rowed around the outer side of the island, past Thunder Hole
and Simms' Point. As they entered Sea Cove, Gwen caught sight of
her aunt on the porch of Wits' End and waved to her. "So that's
where the child has been," said Miss Elliott. "Well, she's perfectly
safe with Luther Williams."
Gwen parted from her friend at the point where she was set ashore.
She carried her hoodful of blueberries and a couple of mackerel as
she came up to her aunt. "Spoils," she cried, "spoils!"
"I never knew you to go anywhere with Luther Williams that you
didn't bring home spoils," said Miss Elliott. "Where were you this
time?"
"Over to Jacques' Island. We had a picnic supper there, and it was
fine for it was quite impromptu. He is just the dearest man that ever
lived, Aunt Cam. I wish we could take him back to town with us
where we could see him often. We made a new compact to-day. He
is to call me Gwen, and I call him Daddy Lu."
"Daddy Lu! Daddy Lu!" Miss Elliott gave the girl a startled look. "How
strange! Do you remember that is what you used to call your father?"
"I never saw my father."
"No, but there was a photograph of him which your grandmother
had. I remember that you used to call it 'Daddy,' and one day when
your grandmother was showing it to me she said, 'That is the best
picture we have of poor Lewis,' and ever after that you spoke of the
picture as Daddy Lew. You were about three years old then."
"I had forgotten," replied Gwen, "though perhaps that is the reason
the name came to me so readily. It was my subconsciousness that
suggested it."
"Very likely."
"At all events he seemed pleased and was so dear. We had such a
nice talk, Aunt Cam. I had the blues frightfully, and now I feel as if a
fresh west wind had blown away all the fog."
"There are fog banks along the horizon now," returned Miss Elliott. "I
think we shall soon see it coming in."
CHAPTER XII
A BUNDLE OF LETTERS
Miss Elliott was right. The next morning a soft gray mist enveloped
the island, pearling each separate blade of grass and gemming each
twig and leaf with tiny brilliants. The cottages appeared great
confused shapes shrouded in gray. Voices coming from a distance
had a queer smothered quality. The sea was shut out by a curtain of
fog. "A veil before our ways," quoted Gwen, as, cloaked and booted,
she stood ready to issue forth. On her way to Almira Green's she
met Cap'n Ben in his sou'wester.
"Pretty thick fawg!" he remarked as the girl came up. "I couldn't quite
make out whether you was coming or going, or whether you was
male or female. I was hopesing for a handsome day to take Ora up
to Portland."
"Has she gone?"
"Hm, hm," Cap'n Ben nodded. "Couldn't hold her back once she got
the notion in her head. Went on the first boat, though when she'll get
there's another thing. It'll be everlasting slow travel. Guess you'll find
most folks to hum to-day. Boat she blowed and blowed this morning
before she could make her wharf. Going up along? Drop in when
you're passing." He gave his characteristic jerky nod, and passed on
while Gwen pursued the way "up along" which brought her to Almira
Green's house, a white cottage, set in amidst trees, with a little
garden in front. Now the bright hues of zinnias, nasturtiums and
sweet peas were clouded by fog, and the rigid lines of the house
itself melted into the background of slim birches and poplars.
In answer to Gwen's knock, Almira herself came to the door, an
angular woman with melancholy eyes. "Well, the land's sakes!" she
exclaimed. "You don't mind fawg, do you? I cal'lated 'twas Zerviah
Hackett. Nawthin' keeps her to hum. Step right in. You must be wet
through. We haven't had such a thick fawg this summer. Give me
your cloak and I'll dry it by the kitchen fire."
"I'm not very wet," returned Gwen. "My cape and the edge of my
skirt. Thank you, Mrs. Green. I love this soft silent fog. It doesn't chill
one in the least. It is quite different from those cold easterly sea-
turns they have further down the coast. Is Miss Fuller in?"
"I cal'late she's up in her room. She's not one to venture out, I know.
Manny was so sot on going to Portland to-day, that nothing would do
but he must up and take the first boat. He's going sword-fishing soon
as Cap'n 'Lias Hooper's vessel's ready, so it'll be his last chance to
get to the city for some time." She gave a deep sigh.
"I suppose you hate to have him leave you."
"Yes, I do. His father was lost off the Banks, and my husband too.
We was cousins, my husband and me, so I lost two in one as you
might say. Manny's all I've got left, and I did hope he'd take to
clerking or something. He did work for Ira Baldwin one summer, but
he said he couldn't stand that kind of a job."
"There seems to be very little loss of life among the fishermen about
here," responded Gwen cheerfully, "and I have no doubt Manny will
come back safe and sound, and all the better for his experience."
"Maybe," said Almira, shaking her head dubiously. "Will you go up,
Miss Whitridge, or shall I ask Miss Fuller to come down?"
"I'll go up," Gwen told her, and mounted the stairs leading to the
upper room occupied by Ethel. The house was not a large one, and
the only spare room down stairs was given over to Mrs. Dow. In
answer to Ethel's "Come in," Gwen entered a low room with sloping
ceiling. The walls were covered with paper of a lively pattern, violets
of heroic size flung in massive bunches upon a buff ground. The
border, to match, looked like a wild flight of young chickens pursuing
one another around the room. The floor was covered with a bright
red and green ingrain carpet. The furniture, a cottage set, painted
yellow with blue and white roses upon it, added to the variety of
color. Ethel was sitting by the window absorbed in running ribbons in
some dainty underwear. "Well," she exclaimed, "you are a brave
somebody. Isn't it a vile day?"
"I think it is lovely," Gwen declared. "Who would have eternal
sunshine? I'd like to walk from one end of the island to the other."
"You certainly have more vim than I have. What in the world is there
to see on a day like this?"
"Queer ghostly shapes looming up out of the mist, beautiful jewel-
hung grasses and weeds. Then to feel the soft fog in your face and
not to care about hurting your clothes, or getting your feet wet, or
any such trivial things. I love it all. I saw a ship stealing by just now,
and it looked as if it had come straight from a land of dreams."
"You sentimental thing! You ought never to marry an ordinary
mortal."
"That's just what I came to talk about."
"To tell me that nothing could induce you to link your fate with steel
rails?"
"Not quite that. I came to say that it is silly and ignoble, and material
and all the rest of it, to talk about running races to win a man, and
so, for my part, I shall leave it all to chance. You can use your eyes,
and your wits too, all you choose, and I shall do whatever the
moment suggests. I shall not refuse any good time that comes my
way, but I'll make no promises about anything. I think such things
aren't worthy of girls like us, Ethel."
"I just now said you were deadly sentimental. All right, but you must
not wax indignant if I do my best to come out winner. I give you fair
warning, I shall make my best effort."
"I am willing. If a thing must be fought for it isn't worth having."
"If a thing is worth having it is worth fighting for, would be my way of
putting it."
"I shall not fight for a poor miserable thing which can be easily turned
aside. Let it go; it is not worth the keeping."
"And I am quite welcome to this poor miserable, uncertain thing, if so
it proves itself?"
"Quite welcome."
"Thanks, dear. I feel ready to buckle on my armor for the fray. It was
sweet of you to come and tell me. Must you go so soon?"
"Yes, I must. I promised Aunt Cam to send off a money order for her,
and you know that takes time. Good-by."
Ethel arose, took her friend by the shoulders and looked into her
eyes. "You don't despise me, Gwen, and you're not angry?"
"Neither. We have different points of view, that's all. You revel in little
schemes. You enjoy lying in ambush and stealing along unsuspected
routes. I like the open. I hate to manoeuvre and contrive. Whatever
comes to me I must get as a free untrammelled gift, not by out-
generalling some one else, and then falling on the prize as if it were
plunder, or loot or something of that kind."
Ethel laughed. "I am glad you are so magnanimous as to call it out-
generalling instead of using some horrid word which your present
virtuous state of mind might suggest. I don't say that to be nasty, my
dear—about your state of mind I mean. It is only this: if for steel rails
you were to read tubes of paint and rolls of canvas I don't believe
you would be quite so top-loftical."
"I think you are perfectly horrid," cried Gwen, feeling the color rise to
her face. "The case would be quite the same. I should never, never,
never want what did not come to me freely and naturally. I'd despise
myself if I won anything by scheming for it."
"Tut! tut! I am getting it now!" exclaimed Ethel. "Who says it is
scheming to do your best to be sweet and agreeable, in exerting
such powers of fascination as Heaven has bestowed upon you?
Don't tell me you wouldn't do your level best to be nice to—"
Gwen put her hand over Ethel's mouth. "I won't hear you," she cried.
"Then don't call me names," said Ethel, freeing herself.
"I didn't."
"You said I was a schemer."
"I didn't mean exactly that. I meant—oh, I don't know just what I did
mean. Go along and do your own way, and I'll do mine."
"Sensible girl! I am glad you have come down from your high horse.
Our tactics may be different but the end is the same. To the
conqueror come the spoils. Really good-by?"
"Yes, or the mail will be closed."
She ran down stairs, took the now dry golf-cape from Mrs. Green's
hands and went forth again to perform her errand. As she turned into
the road she saw Kenneth Hilary, color-box in hand, trudging along.
He was near enough to recognize her, which he did by a lifting of the
cap, then he plunged into the path which led to Captain Purdy's
wharf and she saw him disappear in the fog. Yet she was glad at
heart to have met him. She remembered that he, too, exulted in
storm and fog and rain. But suddenly she was chilled by the
remembrance of their last talk. Perhaps he would never give her a
chance to renew their friendship. He had taken her words so
seriously that he might go away and—forget. Men did that. "Oh dear,
what can I do?" she said aloud. "I must do something." Then with a
flush of shame she remembered her lofty attitude with Ethel, and
what Ethel had said about steel rails and tubes of paint. "Oh dear,
I'm no better than she, not a bit," she sighed. "I'd like to run after him
this minute and pretend that I had sprained my ankle or lost my way
or any other foolish thing, just that I might speak to him. Oh dear,
dear, it has come, that dreadful thing that I have been so afraid of,
and have been pushing away from me. I don't care one little bit who
bears off Cephas—and I do care a whole dreadful lot because
Kenneth would not stop and speak to me. Oh, dear, dear. I see
myself manoeuvring and scheming or else a lorn maid for the rest of
my life. I can't leave everything to Fate, for Fate is so stupidly cruel
sometimes."
So her thought ran as she continued along the road to the post-
office. At the top of the flight of steps she tried to penetrate the fog to
see if she could get a glimpse of Kenneth sketching from Captain
Purdy's wharf, but the fog dropped down its soft impenetrable veil
and all she could distinguish was the wharf and boat-house dimly
outlined.
"He will paint beautiful things to-day," she told herself as she turned
homeward, "beautiful, mysterious, charming things that I would love
to see, and he will never show them to me—never. Some horrid,
beastly wealthy person will buy them, perhaps some one like
Cephas Mitchell with pop-eyes and lanky hair. He'll hang them up in
his house and gloat over them. Oh dear, I am more kinds of an idiot
than I supposed, but I cannot make up my mind to offer any
advances."
As she entered the living-room of Wits' End, she saw Miss Elliott
kneeling before the open fire with a boxful of letters by her side. She
was laying them one by one on the burning logs, which shot up a
renewed flare at each fresh accession of kindling. "What are you
doing, Aunt Cam?" asked Gwen, throwing off her cape and joining
her aunt.
"I am burning some letters which should have been destroyed long
ago. They have been packed away in this box for years, and I have
never had time to look over them. I found the box in the attic when
we dismantled the old house, and should have looked at them then,
but I was too busy. They were sent up here with the furniture, and
this seemed a good day to look at them."
"What letters are they?" Gwen leaned forward to decipher the
address on an envelope which was fast being consumed.
Miss Elliott was silent, and but for the ruddy glare from the fire Gwen
might have seen that she was very pale.
Getting no answer to her question Gwen remarked, "I see L. W., my
father's initials, signed to one of them. Oh, don't burn them, Aunt
Cam. Let me read them, too. Are they old love-letters? Oh, please."
She laid an arresting hand upon her aunt's which held another letter,
but Miss Elliott thrust the envelope and its contents deep into the
glowing heart of the fire, then quickly added the other letters, poking
them down between the logs, and quickening the blaze by stirring
the loose bits of paper. "They are only business letters," she said
presently. "Letters from your father to my father. It is strange they
were not destroyed before. They should have been."
"Why?"
"Because it is stupid to give house room to out-of-date things like
that, to things whose chief interest is to the person who wrote and
the one who received the letters." Miss Elliott gave an excited stir to
the charred heap, now slowly burning and showing brown, curled
edges.
"Still," said Gwen, "I'd like to have seen them. I know so little of my
father, Aunt Cam."
"He was a noble man, a very noble man." Miss Elliott arose from her
knees and pushed the hair back from her forehead with a nervous
gesture.
"You never said that before. I—I always thought you didn't like him,
Aunt Cam."
"I never knew him. At least I used to see him when he was but a lad,
when I was home from school for the holidays. I was ten years older
than your mother, you know, Gwen, and I went to China before she
was old enough to marry. When I came back your father was—
gone."
"I am glad he was a noble man. No one ever seemed to care to tell
me much about him. I only know he was drowned on his way to
Mexico. That was where he was going, wasn't it?"
"He was going somewhere on business." Miss Elliott spoke heavily.
"His valuables were found in his state-room. The captain of the
steamer sent them home. It was believed he tried to save a sailor
who became entangled in some ropes. It was while the vessel was in
port. Your father was an expert swimmer, and the captain thought he
must have been pulled down by the desperate struggles of the sailor,
for both were missing that night."
"I remember the story. I have his watch and fob, and the purse he left
in his cabin. And that is why you think he was noble, Aunt Cam,
because he lost his life in trying to save another's. He did do that."
"Yes, it is true that he lost his life in trying to save another's. Nothing
could be nobler than that. 'Greater love hath no man than this.' Oh
yes, Gwen, you can give his memory all that a hero's should have,
honor and love and respect."
"I am glad," said Gwen. "I wish you had said so before. Sometimes I
have had doubts. I have been afraid he might not have been exactly
worthy. Why didn't you tell me, Aunt Cam?"
Miss Elliott's hands were tightly interlocked as she sat gazing at the
last blackened bits of paper. "I thought—it seemed to me best—that
you should not think too much about him. The more worthy you
believed him the harder it would seem to you to be deprived of him."
Gwen thoughtfully watched the flames, which, rekindled, were now
licking around the ends of the logs. "It is a strange argument," she
said to herself, "but I suppose Aunt Cam thought she was doing the
best for me. She certainly did gather up some queer theories out
there in China."
Miss Elliott was watching the girl's face wistfully. "I did what seemed
best at the time," she said tremulously. "I hope I didn't do you a
wrong, Gwen."
"Never mind, auntie dear." Gwen laid a caressing hand on her aunt's.
"So long as I know now it is all right. I suppose you thought I was too
young to appreciate exactly. I am glad to know the truth." Then after
a pause, "I suppose there was never any doubt that he was
drowned."
"At first your grandfather hoped there might be, but as time went on
there could be no other conclusion to reach."
"Yes, of course. He would have come back otherwise." The subject
ended here, though Gwen still looked a little troubled and her aunt's
face wore a similar expression.
Toward night the wind veered around, and the fog lifted, showing first
the line of houses along the bluff, then the nearest reefs, and finally
lifting the veil which all day had obscured the furthest point of
mainland. At last but a dim line of gray along the horizon told that out
at sea the fog horns must continue to sound their warning. The long
grass, however, was still very wet, and Gwen decided that a second
tramp across the hummocks would be better left undone, so she and
her aunt, avoiding the dampness below, took refuge on the little
balcony over the porch where they were sheltered from the wind.
"Aunt Cam," said Gwen, leaning her chin on her hands and looking
off toward Seguin's shining light, "when we go back I'd like to see
something of my father's people. What relatives had he?"
"Very few are left," returned Miss Elliott. "His mother died when he
was still a child, his father before he married. He was an only child,
therefore there would be only some cousins. The family was from
northern New York. We could go there some time instead of coming
here, but I fancy you would not find any very near relatives, or
indeed any who could tell you much of your father. He had not been
thrown with them very often, and scarce at all after he was grown."
"His father was a great friend of grandfather's, wasn't he?"
"A great friend though a younger man by some fifteen years. Your
grandfather did not marry till he was thirty-five; Lewis Whitridge's
father married early."
"I see. Were there only business letters in that box, Aunt Cam? None
from my father to my mother?"
"No, as they lived in the same city there was little correspondence
between them. I had one or two letters from Lewis, while I was in
China, but I destroyed the most of my correspondence before I left
there, so those with others, were burned."
"Was my father ever well off? I know mamma had nothing, but had
he?"
"He was supposed to be quite well off when your mother married
him, unusually so for so young a man."
"Was that why she married him?" Gwen shifted the position of her
hands that she might better see a figure on the rocks, distinct against
the sky, an immovable figure with back toward Wits' End.
"What a question, my dear," returned Miss Elliott. "Why should you
suppose such a thing?"
"I don't know. I only wondered. One likes to know—a girl does—all
about her father and mother's courtship."
"I was not there, as you well know," Miss Elliott spoke with emphasis.
"I could not possibly know what was going on in Lillian's brain. She
was so much younger than I that there could not be the confidence
between us as between girls nearer of an age. At all events your
father was worthy of any woman's love, so we ought to assume it
was a love match. He certainly adored her."
"If you know that he adored her, why don't you know whether she
adored him?" asked Gwen.
"What is the matter with you to-night, child?" said her aunt
impatiently. "It is too damp out here. I am going in. I have some
letters to write."
Gwen, wrapped in a fleecy scarf of white, sat watching the figure on
the rocks till the west faded from rose to gray and the shore's limits
were visible only when a white line of foam curled along the base of
the cliffs.
CHAPTER XIII
THREE FISHERS WENT SAILING
The fog shut down again the next day, for the uncertain wind veered
around again to the southeast, and for several days the weather was
capricious. At last it seemed to settle and was warm, sunny and
agreeable. In spite of what Gwen called "Ethel's wiles" Cephas
Mitchell discreetly divided his time between the two girls, and none
could say which he preferred, though by certain signs Gwen was
convinced that she was first favorite. Kenneth Hilary she had not
seen again except casually. The more she realized the depth of her
interest in him, the more indifference she had tried to show, and
prided herself upon returning his formal lifting of his cap with as
formal a nod. She wondered if things must go on this way
indefinitely, and, as time passed, felt more and more helpless to alter
conditions, while more and more eager to do so. The precious days
were drifting by, the seat of happy memories under a branchy tree on
the edge of Sheldon Woods, had become a sort of altar for the
worship of lost hours, and she often went there alone, but never, by
any accident, permitted Cephas to select it as a resting place when
they strolled in that direction. It seemed that the more unattainable
the more valuable grew that lover whom she had so rudely thrust
aside. Perhaps one reason for this was that closer acquaintance with
Mr. Mitchell commended him less than ever to her taste, and there
were days when a walk with him seemed intolerable. At other times,
when Ethel made one of the party, the spirit of rivalry gave zest to
the occasion, and Gwen was ready to exercise her own powers of
attraction. At such times the talk was light and flippant, indeed, it
seldom rose to anything more serious than the summer's
experiences, the gossipy tales about the island. There was a good
deal of chaffing and much laughter. Cephas enjoyed what the two
girls called "kidding," and set little value upon any but trifling
subjects.
The way to Sheldon Woods was full of surprises to the uninitiated.
The path led from the main road past an old well, on through the
orchard belonging to the "Grange." Beyond the orchard one must
know well in which direction to go, for the path could scarcely be
distinguished amid the thick growth of underbrush, weeds and
saplings. Once on it one must be impressed by its wild beauty, and
could imagine himself far from habitations. Here the sea was not in
sight, only dense masses of growing things, strange vivid-colored
fungi, thickets of brakes, the softest and greenest of mosses, a
jungle of brambles. At last one came to a stone wall and stepped out
upon an open field which appeared unexpectedly. It was here that
Gwen and Mr. Mitchell saw Kenneth at work one day.
"There is your friend, Mr. Hilary," said Mr. Mitchell to his companion,
as he waved a signalling hand. "Shall we go over and see what he is
doing?"
"No, no," returned Gwen hastily. "He hates to be disturbed when he
is sketching. I think we'd better go on." And without turning aside
they followed the path across the field, and disappeared in the grove
of tall pines beyond. Gwen wondered whether they were watched by
the man apparently so absorbed in his work, but she did not once
look back.
Once within the deep woods it was necessary to be sure of bearings,
but Gwen knew the way thoroughly, and presently they entered an
enclosure surrounded by encircling pines, which were so closely
ranked about them that daylight scarcely penetrated the spot. The
ground was soft to the tread by reason of its thick carpet of pine-
needles, and soft, waving curtains of gray moss depending from the
trees, helped to shut out the light.
"This seems almost a holy place," said Gwen softly. "We call it the
Cathedral, and I have never seen a finer."
"It is a solemn sort of place," agreed Mr. Mitchell. "Let's get out of it. I
say, Miss Whitridge, when you go abroad you will see the real thing,
though I must say I never took much stock in cathedrals, even over
there."
Gwen moved on. "I didn't mean to compare them to this," she said
with a short laugh.
Emerging from the dense woods the sea lay before them, and from
the high bluff it was easy to appreciate the nearness of neighboring
islands.
"Now, where shall we sit?" said Mr. Mitchell. "That seems rather a
jolly place over there under that tree with the low branches."
"No, not there," returned Gwen hastily. "I know a fine place a little
further on. We are to read awhile and then go around to the other
side to see the sunset. I am glad it is clear again, although I did
enjoy the fog that first day. However, a week of it gets rather
tiresome. One has such a very limited horizon and no perspective to
speak of. Sometimes life seems like that, as if a fog had shut down
suddenly and cut off all your perspective, doesn't it?"
"Eh? Oh, yes. I don't know much about perspective and things. You'll
have to talk that artist talk to our friend Hilary back there. I know
when I like a picture, but when it comes to stuff like perspective and
atmosphere I'm not in it."
"But you do like music, opera, for example," said Gwen, feeling
around for a mental point of contact.
"Certainly I like opera. It's awfully jolly to see all the ladies in their
pretty clothes and to go around to the different boxes between acts."
"But the music."
"When it isn't too heavy. I like a ripping good singer who gives you a
high note that makes you nearly jump out of your seat. It's exciting to
hear how high she will go, and some of the airs run in my head for
hours, that one that Caruso sings for example." He began to whistle
"La donna é mobile."
Gwen gave a deep sigh. "And how about the Wagner operas?"

A Revolution in Rhyme Poetic Co Option Under The Islamic Republic Fatemeh Shams Full Chapter

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A Revolution in Rhyme: Poetic

Co-option under the Islamic Republic

This book is an extensively revised version of the doctoral dissertation

feedback. I am particularly indebted to him for his masterful translations

my arrival, and to my dear colleagues, Al Filreis, Firoozeh Kashani-Sabet,

I am forever grateful to my partner Brendan Bercik who patiently

List of Abbreviations xiii

Selected Bibliography 333

WAI Writers’ Association of Iran (Kānūn-e Nevisandegān-e Iran, 1968)

1 Association for Iranian Studies, November 28, 2019, https://associationforiranianstudies.

Short Long diphthongs

On November 4, 1964, under the orders of Mohammad Reza Shah Pahlavi,

who increasingly embodied the revolutionary spirit, was reaching the

‫ ای مجاهد دربند‬،‫ای ز وطن دور‬

‫ ای امام خمینی‬،‫ای ز وطن دور‬

Throughout the rest of the poem, it proves nearly impossible to

common anti-colonial and Third Worldist tropes and indigenizing such

dialogue with the poetic tradition, continuing13 and manipulating an

“Beloved” (mamdūh), of the panegyric qasideh; the “chosen leader”

‫فکر تو پیروز شد به حرمت قرآن‬

The use of religious allusions to consecrate a subject of praise underscores

20 Sharlet, Patronage and Poetry, 69. 21 Ibid., 22.

of the state-sponsored process of poetic production in the Islamic

The Origins of Poetry and Patronage in Iran

29 Konstantin Kaminskij and Albrecht Koschroke, Tyrants Writing Poetry (Budapest:

verse.35 Relevant primary sources to support this claim remain scant;36

morals.41 In return, poets received the patronage that enabled them to

of poetry’s relationship with power in the Iranian context. In The Mantle

47 Meisami, Medieval Persian Court Poetry, 137–82.

The Label of “Official Literature”: Advantages

The use of language and literature to legitimize authoritarian control

55 Dominic Thomas, Nation-Building, Propaganda and Literature in Francophone Africa

genre using the widely common term “committed poetry” (sheʿr-e

financial sponsorship by the ­government that came to power following

The Question of Literary Merit

The lacuna in scholarly understanding of the official poets is emblematic

attention. It goes without saying that addressing and scrutinizing such

66 Vahid Hosseini, Mostanad-e Bazm-e Razm (Tehran, 2019).

textbooks is to dismiss the power of in­doc­trin­ation in shaping the societies

with the Islamic Republic’s mission; to accept the dominant Western

Existing Scholarship and Its Limitations

Writing a foundational book such as this, presenting the relationship

Another shortcoming of state-sponsored scholarship lies in its biased,

It is worth noting, however, that this scholarly blindspot has at times

Mapping Poetic Continuity and Rupture:

Locating our analysis within the framework of “official literature” sup-

77 Karimi-Hakkak, Recasting Persian Poetry, 1.

Karimi-Hakkak reveals the ways in which literary modernity in Iran

80 Karimi-Hakkak, Recasting Persian Poetry, 2–7. 81 Ibid., 2.

novel purposes.”83 The “ancient materials” in this instance are repre-

By drawing on theories inside and beyond the realm of literary

The Structure of the Book

"Who steals my purse steals trash—

paraphrased Gwen. "Have I not been looking for a millionaire all my

"'Will the love that you're so rich in,

You might also like

List of Abbreviations xiii

Selected Bibliography 333

financial sponsorship by the government that came to power following

textbooks is to dismiss the power of indoctrination in shaping the societies