Thus feet, they firmly planted on the earth, they did.
Straightened spine of the back,
Their neck in pride they raised, and they cried:
Now I …!
Humanity!
King of the earth!
And living creatures all feared Their cry.
And the pride evident in Their roar conquered the living creatures.
And Humanity herded all creatures in march,
And them, Humanity surpassed.
And Humanity became their ruler,
since They had freed Their hands from the yoke of the earth.
Thus mounds and the soil in obedience to Humanity, they submitted.
And the mountain in obedience to Humanity, they submitted.
And the seas and the river in obedience to Humanity, they submitted.
And darkness and light to obeying Humanity, they submitted.
And so did the groves and the wind.
And fire, a slave to Humanity it became.
And living creatures, all that there was, a slave to Humanity they became,
in the water, on earth, in the sky.
All that they were, wherever they were.
And the Rule of the world, They became.
And king of water and soil, They were ensured to be.
And the world under Their domain, it became completely.
And time, in their claws of power, it placed completely.
And the gold of the sun, in Their name, They coined.
Since They had freed Their hands from the yoke of the earth.
Thus the shape of the earth, They turned.
And the river and the sea with Their seal,
They branded into bondage.
And everywhere, the realm of the earth,
They battled, had to hand, in Victory.
And the earth, at once and all,
They recreated with their hands.
And god too, They created with Their hands,
With soil, with wood, with stones.
And in awe, They looked on Their creation,
Seeing that the beauty of Their hands’ creation,
was matched by no other.
And to it, They prayed,
since it was the miracle of Their hands,
once from the yoke of the earth, They were freed.
Thus the god that was the creation of Their miraculous hands,
with Their thoughts, They freed.
And Their god creating hands, which were Their weapon of Their kingship,
to its prayer, They rose,
to beg in need and for returns.
Ungrateful of their blessing, They were.
And the hands insulted, humanity they cursed.
Since their rightful place, was not crossed on chest,
in bowed servitude.
… And the fall began.
from Aida, Tree, Dagger, Memory (1963)
Ahmad Shamlou (1925-2000) was an Iranian Marxist poet and intellectual. He opposed the Shah of Iran before the revolution of 1979, and was imprisoned following the 1953 CIA-backed coup. The Shamlou poems appearing in this issue were translated for Locust Review by Saman Sepehri.
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This translation originally appeared in Locust Review 9 print edition. Social media splash image by Tish Turl and Adam Turl. Locust Review 9 cover by Adam Ray Adkins.