Have You Thanked Yourself
Written by Sodéh Negintaj
Translated by Alireza Taheri Araghi
Illustrated by Saba Soleymani
Edited by Drew Kalbach
Read by Christine Texeria
Published 3/7/2014
Art by Saba Soleymani
do you remember yourself?
Saturday Shahrivar the third1 with stiff knees
sprawled in patient clothing
with Nars
with Samira
with a few others who shone flashlights at the golden stall by the Hemmat Highway
with your long-gone-dead suffering that passed you by on a motorbike
with your dead friend’s head stuck in the hinge of the car
was laughing and was nothing
but a funny hand light in the hand of another dead
that made-happy
that defective miss
flung into the scraps of moon and visits and turkey stew
that lonesome sweetheart
with a treasure of grasses and glasses
that flashing signal light that was swollen in the bed and remembered you
you soared and remembered it
Ana Ana Ana
have you thanked yourself
and the house from the Saljuqi era that pissed in a chest
skinnier and skinnier and skinnier
and the trembling that flung you from terrace to terrace and from there to another and from there to another
lavender and green and sometimes even white
and who the fuck do you think you really are
but the roar after the Barcelona game
but continual late payment notices
and an eye in which there was nothing but dusty metal
and nothing
and really nothing
do you even remember me
cute and dumbass, with a neck longer than the galaxy
standing in front of Sadi Hospital with legs and arms and shoulder and ass
smoking and laughing on the trunk of your car with seven sequins in my neck
saying, I’ll crawl to Sadi in August and be back
what do you even remember except the tree and the sky and your pain
who do you even remember except the sound of that door that opened and closed opened and closed opened and closed
do you remember me, as if you were sunk in the ugly swivel chair barking orders
get my pills
get my dentures
get a handful of storks and stars
get the rope
get the lighter
get my key
get my chocolate
get my bugle
get my glamor
get my wings
get my fighter
get my grave
go now go go go
go and leave the door ajar
Listen to this poem:
Sodéh Negintaj is an Iranian poet and translator. She lives in Shiraz.
(Updated Dec. 2013)
Christine Texeira is an MFA candidate in fiction at the University of Notre Dame and received her Bachelor of Arts degree in English from Whitman College in 2010. Her thesis, a collection of short stories entitled Worrying Myself Sad, focused on the anatomy of magical realism, its necessity, and the exciting hints of such in primarily realist stories. While attending Whitman she participated in the Instant Play Festival, wrote a book column for The Pioneer and served as copy editor and prose editor on its two literary magazines, Quarterlife and blue moon, where her work was also featured. A former research publications intern at the British Museum, Christine is well-versed with ancient Etruscans and byzantine weights. She is a reader for NorthNorthwest and has most recently worked at Richard Hugo House, a nonprofit writers center in Seattle.
(Updated Mar. 2013)
Saba Soleymani is an Iranian illustrator and graphic designer. She has held several solo and group exhibitions. She has done illustrations for Iranian and international books and magazines.
(Updated Dec. 2013)
Drew Kalbach is from Philadelphia. He is the author of one chapbook, two e-books, and several poems in journals both online and print. He holds an MFA in Poetry from the University of Notre Dame and writes about contemporary poetry and media for Actuary Lit.
(Updated Dec. 2013)
