Mirroring selves: Emotions, living poetry and the appropriation of religious practice in the Islamic Republic of Iran

Mirroring selves: emotions, living poetry and the appropriation of religious practice in the Islamic Republic of Iran Master thesis Research Master Social Sciences​. University of Amsterdam.

Date of submission: June 26, 2020 Written by Laura B. Muns (10910905) Supervisor: dr. J.A. McBrien Second reader: dr. E.A.V Matthies Boon

Plagiarism declaration: “I have read and understood the UvA rules regarding fraud and plagiarism[http://student.uva.nl/binaries/content/assets/studentensites/uvastudentensite/nl/az/regelingenenreglementen/frau dee nplagiaatregeling2010.pdf?1283201371000]. I declare that this written work is entirely my own, that I have carefully and correctly stated all the sources I have used, and that I have quoted according to the rules. I have not previously submitted this assignment, in this or modified version, for another subject or as part of another assignment."

Front photo: a girl reads from the Divan-e Hafez at the tomb of Hafez in the city of Shiraz, Iran. (photo taken September 2019) ​

1 Abstract

In Iran poetry is regarded as an important emotional heritage and artform that is valued by Iranians from all spheres of society. However, not all Iranians read and engage emotionally with poetry on the same level. This thesis is a result of four months of research among Iranian youth who regard poetry as an important emotional aspect of their daily lives and use it as a tool to find answers to existential questions. By asking ‘why do young Iranians value and practice the ​ ​ reading, writing and reciting of both classical and contemporary poetry and how is this connected to their emotional lives’, a nuanced understanding is gained into their subjective and emotional lifeworlds. The stories that will be presented in this thesis provide insight into the everyday, human consequences of persistent uncertainty as a result of domestic and international (political) tensions and how responses to such circumstances are deeply shaped by cultural and socio-political structures in society. In the lives of young Iranians, feelings of hopelessness, “being stuck” and anomie are highly present and turning to poetry is part of a search for psychological strength. By reading poetry verses I argue that my interlocutors are actively coping with and transforming experiences of uncertainty, hopelessness, trauma, and anomie. Simultaneously poetry shapes appropriations of religious morality and piety and, ultimately, perceptions of the self and others.

Keywords: coping, Persian poetry, lived religion, transmission of religious knowledge, ​ uncertainty, everyday suffering, the construction of self, Iran

2 Acknowledgements

This thesis would have never been written without all the people that contributed to it. I would like to thank all my friends and interlocutors who trusted me with their life stories and welcomed me into their homes; Korosh and Tooran, Farzad, Malihe, Soheila, Meesha, Soroush, Milad and Zana, thank you for your hospitality and honesty. I especially want to thank the University of Tehran for the opportunity to conduct research in Iran. Mr. Eskandari for ensuring my research stay and answering to all my needs and my supervisor Mehrdad Arabestani at the University of Tehran for meeting with me and listening to my material and providing me with valuable contextual knowledge about Iran. Ester, thank you for conducting and translating interviews together with me. Amir, your deep knowledge about religion and Iran's history has helped me immensely in interpreting my material. I want to thank Maral for welcoming me inside her house in Tehran, for her delicious cooking and for putting up with me for several months. And my beautiful and wise friend Leila for sharing her deep love for poetry with me and believing that, while the flight may be difficult, it will be worth it someday. I will never forget our talks and I am sure we will have many in the future. I thank my supervisor Julie McBrien for her critical feedback and positivity and for giving me the opportunity to write my thesis without being bound by a word limit. I owe my parents for their unconditional confidence and support and my partner Vincent Saks for putting up with my insecurities, fears and doubts and his admirable positive attitude at all times. I deeply thank the country of Iran that stole my heart three years ago with its beautiful architecture, poetry, literature, and incredibly welcoming people. I would need much more time and words to describe the nuances that are involved in taking Iran as a subject of study, which unfortunately is an impossible undertaking for a master thesis. Understanding Iran in all its diversity and complexity is a task that requires much more than a four-month research trip. At the time of writing, on top of all other difficulties, Iran is now facing the Corona pandemic which puts high pressure on its already weak economy and has destroyed the fragile tourism sector completely. My heart goes out to the incredibly strong and resilient Iranian people that have so much kindness and love in their hearts despite so many hardships. I am sure we will meet again in better times.

3 On poems and poets

The poems (and sometimes the translations) in this thesis are a reflection of the subjective interpretations of my interlocutors and often different from the interpretations found in literature studies. The poets that are referred to in this thesis are the following:

Abul-Qâsem Ferdowsi Tusi (Ferdowsi): 940-1020 Omar Khayyam (Khayyam): 1048-1131 Farid ad-Din Attar (Attar of Nishapur or Attar): 1145-1220 Jalal ad-Din Muhammad Rumi (Molana): 1207-1273 Abu-Mohammad Muslih al-Din Shirazi (Saadi Shirazi or Saadi): 1210-1291 Shams ud-Din Muhammad Hafez-e Shirazi (Hafez): 1315-1390

Forough Farrokhzad (1934-1967) Ahmad Shamlu (1925-2000) Hushang Ebtehaj (1928) Akhavan Saless (1929-1990)

4 Thirty Birds

All the birds in the world had gathered to discuss who their leader should be as they were without and felt deeply lost. The hoopoe, the wisest bird of all, proposed to go on a journey in search of a mythical bird, the Simurgh.1 He believed that this creature would be able to solve ​ ​ all their problems and was willing to be their king. The hoopoe knew the Simurghs whereabouts at the edge of Mt. Qaf but the journey there was ​ far from easy. There are seven valleys to cross before arriving all with their own difficulties and obstacles. Many birds were in doubt and felt fear of undertaking this long and difficult journey. Some were unsure whether this mythical bird would even really exist. When the hoopoe told them about the obstacles they would have to face during their journey, some birds became so frightened that they immediately fell out of the sky and died. The rest decided to trust the hoopoe and to take flight. During the long journey across seven valleys they endured many difficulties and some died from exhaustion. Others were defeated by hunger or fear. Thirty birds eventually reached the seventh valley where they expected to finally meet the Simurgh. There at Mt. Qaf, the truth ​ ​ was revealed to them in the form of a huge mirror. The thirty birds that survived the journey and had the persistence and strength to continue on their flight, they themselves were the Simurgh (lit. si-murgh meaning ​ ​ ​ “thirty (si) birds (murgh) in Persian). ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ In 1177, Attar of Nishapur beautifully narrated in his Conference ​ of the Birds, a poem of 210 verses, a story of thirty birds who finally ​ find themselves after a long and agonizing journey. When Attar writes “to go beyond all knowledge is to find / that comprehension which ​ eludes the mind. And you can never gain the longed-for goal / until you first outsoar both flesh and soul”, we understand that it is impossible to know what struggles one must face on the journey to finally see the truth, unless we take flight ourselves.2

1 A bird-like creature in ancient Persian mythology. 2 Translation by Dick Davis (In: Love in Another Language: Collected Poems and Selected Translations. 2007)

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For believing in the flight

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Table of contents

Acknowledgements 3

Thirty Birds 5

Chapter 1: Introduction and context 9 1.1. Poetry in anthropological research 11 1.2. Poetry in Iran 14 1.3. The tragedy of Iran 19 Chapter 2 Methodology, ethics and reflections on positionality 25 2.0.1. A note on translation and language difficulties 26 2.2. Protection of material, interlocutors and myself. 27 2.3. On friendship and positionality 29

Chapter 3 A reciprocity of intimacies: exploring and understanding the inner self through poetry 32 3.1. Deep people, for sure. 33 3.1.1 Inner and outer selves and the ethics of self-expression 36 3.3. Sookhte par khoshtaram: from burning, I became happy 38 ​ ​ 3.4. “I will be in Shiraz in Ordibehesht”: poetry as an intimate guidepost 43

Chapter 4 Living poetry 49 4.1. From the cruelty of the world, I take shelter into poetry. 49 4.1.1. Living poem: Zana 52 4.1.2. Living poem: Ester 55 4.1.3. Living poem: Nousha 58 4.1.4. Living Poem: Leila’s common pain. 60 4.3. Re-writing the world 64

7 Chapter 5 Beyond faith and infidelity: appropriating (religious) piety and morality through Sufi poetry 68 5.0.1 Sufism in Iran 70 5.1. For his desire, I became wingless” (Jalal al-Din Rumi). 72 5.2.There are some hundred ways to make prostrations in that Mosque. 76 5.3.The seekers journey: poetry as technology of the self 82

Conclusion 84

Bibliography 87

8 Chapter 1 Introduction and context

The crowded bazaar of the immense Naqsh-e Jahan square in Isfahan, the largest city in central ​ ​ Iran, is lined with numerous shops selling handicrafts, spices, and everything else one might wish for. The sound of craftsmen working, people chatting, laughing, bargaining and the smell of fresh spices make the atmosphere mesmerizing. The bazaar soon turns into a maze of small lanes where one can get lost easily. But there is no need to worry as a helping hand of a kind stranger or a new friend is never far away; people will send you a warm smile and wholeheartedly welcome you to their country, shop owners offer you tea without expecting you to buy anything and youngsters approach you to practice their English, strike up a conversation about politics or just to take a quick selfie. During the summer months the heat outside is often unbearable and after strolling through the bazaar taking a rest sheltered from the sun in one of the cafe's with a cold sharbat lemonade is a great way to pass the afternoon. Two years ago, on my second visit to ​ ​ this complex country with its tragic past and present, I ended up talking in a cafe hidden between the small shops of the Naqsh-e Jahan bazaar with a young man called Farzad. ​ ​ Farzad, a shy 22-year-old student, had been learning German for three years to increase his chances of being accepted to the University of Wuppertal, Germany. He wished to continue his studies abroad like so many Iranians desire. During our conversation he held a small book in his hands; a collection of poems written by the contemporary Iranian poet Janety Hussein. I asked him to recite a poem for me and so he did, reciting it in Farsi. I could then of course not understand a single word of it, but from the way his face changed while he recited the verse I understood more about what this poem set in motion than words could ever convey; his eyes lightened and a smile curled around his mouth as he recited the poem with a strong and proud voice. When I left the cafe I thought about Farzad and how he kept the book of Janety with him as if it was the most precious thing he owned. Because of my previous visits to Iran, I already knew the important role of Persian poetry in Iranian society. I had witnessed men, women and children touch the marble gravestone of the 8th-century poet Hafez in Shiraz and wipe away their tears, noticed people selling verses of

9 poetry on the streets and went on a road trip along the Persian gulf where our driver listened to a recital of Persian poetry for four hours straight. After I had met Farzad, I became curious to understand more about what poetry brought to young Iranians in their daily lives. Because Persian poetry has such an important place in history as well as contemporary Iran, it seemed to me that the subjective interpretation of poetry verses could serve as a useful lens to gain a nuanced understanding of the emotional lifeworlds of young urban Iranians. Since ninety percent of Iranians are officially born as Shi’ite Muslims, except for the recognized minorities, the Muslim identity is an important part of Iranian personhood, even when it becomes rejected.3 Much of the classical Persian poetry is rooted in the tradition of Sufism, which makes poetry a particularly interesting source to gain an understanding of the emotional aspects of religion in a country wherein religion is politically appropriated by an authoritarian state. Taking this into consideration, two years later I started my fieldwork in Iran by asking the following question: why do young Iranians value and practice the reading, writing, ​ and reciting of both classical and contemporary poetry and how is this connected to their emotional and religious lives. This thesis aims to answer this question. ​ Noteworthy is that while Persian poetry has been studied thoroughly in the field of literature studies, very few studies are concerned with Persian poetry from an anthropological point of view (Olszewska, 2015; Manoukian, 2015). There is, as far as I know, no research to be found that regards poetry as an important part of the lives of young urban Iranians living in Iran. Most anthropological studies into Iranian youth culture focus on politicized and popularized cultural and social phenomena that have a revolutionary or increasingly ‘western’ character (Olszewska, 2015:9). These include, among others the use of social media by Iranian youth (Cohen, 2006), underground rock bands and rap culture (Nooshin, 2005; Johnston, 2008), defying the Islamic rules by pushing the boundaries of fashion (Amila, 2018) and provocative Iranian cinema (Tapper, 2002). Observing this trend in the anthropology of Iran, Zuzanna Olszewska (2013:842) writes that often studies into Iranian urban youth culture have “a strong tendency to focus on social phenomena that are interpreted as acts of resistance to and rebellion against the political establishment and the moral order it espouses”. In a context that is

3 Officially recognized religious minorities such as Armenian Christians, Jews and Zoroastrians, make up around 10-15 percent of the population of Iran.

10 characterized by conflict, violence, and uncertainty such as Iran, often researchers are lured to the dramatical and sensational and that which is directly ‘visible’ and the ‘everyday’ becomes neglected (Malinowski, 1935:462; Das, 2006; Martin, 2007:741). Such a narrow focus on phenomena that defy the Iranian political environment comes at the expense of understanding more ‘mundane’ and less subversive phenomena such as literature and poetry. As a result “contemporary Persian poetry has been given little to no attention outside of Iran and Afghanistan” (2015:9). Based upon four months of fieldwork between September 2019 and January 2020, this thesis is concerned with the everyday life of my interlocutors and how they make sense of the uncertainty and conflict that characterizes both the historical and present circumstances of their country. I will illustrate how the difficulties of daily life become woven into newly imagined futures and perceptions of the self. By engaging with poetry, I argue that my interlocutors are actively coping with and transforming emotional experiences such as uncertainty, hopelessness, trauma, and anomie. Simultaneously poetry shapes perceptions of the self and others. While the subject of Persian poetry has not been given much attention outside the field of literature studies, taking poetry as a subject of inquiry among Iranian youth has proved to be an interesting endeavor. The subjective interpretations of the verses made by my interlocutors present a nuanced insight into the emotional experience of living in the Islamic Republic beyond the obvious and ‘visible’ political framework of oppression, resistance, and defiance. In addition, my research shows that poetic concepts and verses, some of which are almost eight hundred years old, gain new meanings and purposes in contemporary Iran. Before I move on to an illustration of the specific role of poetry in Iranian society, it is first important to outline the way in which poetry has been taken up as a subject of study in the field of anthropology. I have been inspired by these studies and have partly drawn on their ethnographic findings in interpreting my own material.

1.1. Poetry in anthropological research In his essay The Culture in Poetry and the Poetry in Culture (1996) Paul Friedrich argues that ​ poetry can serve as a way of obtaining privileged access into the subjective lifeworlds of people.

11 He writes that poems “can constitute an incredibly swift and sensitive entryway” into the culture of a specific society (ibid.:39). There are a handful of anthropological studies that focus on poetry as a cultural and social practice, many of them taking place in Middle Eastern and Islamic societies. I was moved to take up poetry as a subject of study myself by a book that was part of the first-year curriculum of my anthropology studies and left a deep impression on me. The ethnography Veiled Sentiments (2016[1989]) written by Abu-Lughod beautifully unfolds the ​ power that poetry holds to construct a separate emotional discourse in Bedouin society. Among the Awlad Ali, poetry is used as a device to subtly unveil those emotions and sentiments that are normally unaccepted. Also, though interpreting the poetry of her interlocutors Abu-Lughod ​ provides a nuanced insight into the emotional daily lives of the people that live in the community. As such an insight is gained on both the discourse on emotions in Bedouin society ​ as well as the personal discourse of emotions belonging to the women that Abu-Lughod studies ​ ​ (Lutz and Abu-Lughod,1990:10). In my research, I similarly aim to uncover both discourses through taking on Persian poetry as a subject of study in the lives of young Iranians. Similar to Abu Lughod's book other anthropological studies engage with oral poetry in rural and tribal community contexts (Meeker,1979; Edwards,1986; Abu-lughod, 2016 [1986]; Caton, 1990). While these studies all convey a different message and define the role of poetry in a specific way, they all illustrate that poetry cannot be understood purely in relation to itself and emphasize the embeddedness of its purpose within the political and social structures of a specific society or community. Caton (1990:21-22) defines oral poetry as a socio-cultural practice deeply embedded within sociopolitical and cultural aspects of Yemeni tribal society. He writes that “poetry in tribal Yemen is both the creation of art and the production of social and political realities in the same act of composition” (1990:21-22). Along similar lines, in his research into the use of oral poetry in a Bedouin community Meeker (1979) argues that through reciting poetry verses in public, political hierarchies are confirmed and propagated. As such poetry serves as a vehicle to communicate and illuminate uncertain relationships within society. In turn, in his article on the impact of Afghan migration on Pashtun tribal relations in Pakistan, Edwards states that “the poets’ role is to make present and explicit the individual's relationship to his past and his future” (1986:506 as cited in Olszewska, 2015:11). These ethnographic studies illustrate that

12 how a poem acquires its meaning and conveys its message, is highly dependent on the specific circumstances wherein the verse is recited or listened to (Olszewska, 2015:11). The way in which poetry is deeply embedded in social and political structures of society is also recognizable in Abu-Lughod's work. In addition her insights exemplify that, within the poetic discourse of the Bedouin society she studies, another cultural script can be found; one that is accepted, prominent and well known but at the same time criticizes and challenges the dominant narrative in the Awlad Ali community (2016[1989]:256). As part of the code of honor, the Awlad Ali women must refrain from showing their emotions in public at all times. However, they still struggle with the harsh realities of their daily lives. Abu-Lughod observed that reciting short poems (ghinnawas) provides women with an accepted vehicle to express those sentiments ​ and emotions which otherwise would be in jeopardy with the social system and the code of honor. Through poetry, sentiments can be remembered and communicated in an accepted way (ibid.). The counter-normative, emotional discourse that poetry holds in society can also be identified in Suzanna Olszewska’s ethnography (2015) in which she takes on the role of reading and writing Persian poetry among a circle of Afghan poets living in Iran. She states that poetry equips her interlocutors with a socially accepted vehicle for letting out their dard-e daruni ​ (hearts pain) and for expressing the difficulties of living in exile. As this thesis will also convey, in Persianate culture and tradition it is not common to show one’s inner and emotional self to the world and stoicism and patience in times of difficulty and distress is valued (Olszewska, 2015:223). Poetry serves for Afghan immigrants in Iran as “a world in which they can take shelter, and free themselves from the difficult moments of exile; [...] it is an opportunity for them to speak their own minds, or to find their own thoughts in the words of other poets they read” (ibid.). Olszewska not only regards writing poetry as an effective tool for letting out emotions normally not expressed to others but also as an important instrument to “formulate, express, and consolidate certain kinds of persons and ideas of personhood” (ibid.:6). Another example of how poetry influences personhood, the self and others in a Muslim society is the ethnography by Marsden (2005). He illustrates that in the Pakistani village of ​ Chitral ideas about what a good Muslim life entails, partly results from the strong influence of

13 Persian Sufi poetry (ibid.:242). ​Poetry provides Chitral Muslims with an additional intellectual ​ and emotional source for the transmission of religious and moral knowledge. The conclusions of ​ ​ these few ethnographic studies into the use of poetry in Islamic societies are versatile. Most of them are concerned with the use of poetry in small Middle Eastern communities or focus extensively on the experiences of refugees living in exile. My research is different from all of these studies since I am concerned with urban Iranian youth living in contemporary Iran and my subject of study is not oral poetry or self-composed verses but rather the reading of existent poems. As I attempt to understand the place of poetry in the lives of my interlocutors, two arguments from the anthropological studies of poetry in Islamic societies have served as guideposts for the analysis of my data. First, whether they are oral, self-composed, or existent verses the function of poetry in a specific society must be understood within the sociopolitical context in which it is written, listened to, or read. And second, poetry holds the potential to create a ‘counter-normative’ discourse of knowledge in which the reader learns about what cannot, or is not allowed to be seen immediately (Zittoun, 2017:89; Abu-Lughod, 2016 [1986]). As the ethnographies of Abu-Lughod, Marsden, and Olszewska illustrate, this discourse can be regarded as challenging and criticizing the more dominant narratives in society in a culturally accepted way. Poetry thus can convey messages that are otherwise suppressed or veiled. Moreover, it can serve as a source of knowledge that shapes perceptions of self.

1.2. Poetry in Iran For anyone traveling to Iran it is easy to notice that poetry is an important part of Iran's history as well as contemporary society. In cities among the many murals of martyrs that died during the Iran-Iraq war poems too are narrated through beautiful wall paintings. In addition to street names that refer to the Islamic Revolution are metro stations and squares that have been named after famous poets. Iranians are made aware of their poetic heritage from a very young age. Many ​ ​ people told me they remembered their family reciting poetry to them when they were “too small to even know their own name”. Iranian children collectively learn to interpret poetry in primary school and play games with verses. One goes like this – the first child recites a verse, the second must then use the last letter of the first child’s poem to recite another verse, and so it goes on. All

14 is done from memory. Poets such as Hafez (1315–1319), Saadi (1210–1294), and Khayyam (1048–1131) are honored and remembered by visiting their tombs. These places have a strong tradition of pilgrimage (ziarat kardan). When visiting such a tomb, the custom is to place one hand on the ​ ​ grave and recite a prayer. This is also done when a relative dies or when shrines of Shi’ite imams or Imamzadeh are visited. Surrounded by beautiful gardens and water fountains, these places ​ communicate the importance of the poets for Iranian culture and society even to those who don't have much affinity with poetry (Manoukian, 2012:74). During important holidays, such as nowruz (the Iranian new year) and yalda (solstice), poetry is traditionally read with family and ​ friends. On those days, people often take a fal (divination based on a random poem selected from ​ the book of Hafez) to consult the poet on a personal matter or to gain a glimpse of what the new year will bring; it is a tradition that goes back hundreds of years. Poetry has such an important place in Iranian society and culture that Seyed-Gohrab (in Karimi-Hakkak, 2019:13) even expresses that “if Persian culture is the body of Persian-speaking peoples, poetry is the soul, the stamina, and the aura”. This is by no means an exaggeration. However, it should be understood in the context of the sociopolitical history of Iranian culture and language. Under the occupation of Muslim Arabs in the 7th century, worshippers of the Zoroastrian faith were persecuted in Persia. Their religious books were burned and, as Arabic was promoted as the new national language, the Persian language became suppressed. Ferdowsi’s (940–1020AD) epic poem Shah Nameh (The Book of Kings) has played a central role in the ​ survival of the Persian language; it is completely written in Modern Persian without any loanwords from Arabic or other foreign languages. In 50,000 verses the poem narrates the mythical history of the Persian empire from the day the world was created, until the invasion of the Muslim Arabs in 633 AD (Seyed-Gohrab in Karimi-Hakkak, 2019:13). Its message is timeless and communicates values such as humanity, faith, courage, endurance, and the victory of light over darkness. Today the epic poem is still of high influence and continues to be taught, recited, and studied in contemporary Iran. The role of poetry throughout Iranian history has been largely a political one; poetry served as a political as well as social and religious vehicle (Seyed Gohrab in Karimi-Hakkak, 2019:13-14). For example, the 14th century poet Shams-ud-din Muhammad Hafiz (Hafez)

15 (1310–1390) is said to have been a poet of the court of Shah Abu Ishaq.4 His lyrical poems are mostly about (divine) love and mysticism, but also contain well disguised criticism of society and religious hypocrisy. His verses contain various metaphors which makes it possible to read and interpret them in many different ways. It is believed that Hafez’s lyrical ghazals served as a ​ vehicle to communicate what could not be said and his poetry is often interpreted as a subtle satirical and ironic critique of (religious) establishments (Farjami, 2017:14).56 Taking a jump through time, the constitutional revolution in Iran (1905 - 1911) led to the development of diverse newspapers and magazines which provided fertile soil for the emergence of a new generation of poets. Nima Yushij (1895–1960) is regarded as ‘the father of contemporary poetry’ and introduced a new way of composing poems (Philsooph, 2009:100; Hakkak & Talattof, 2004:30). Poets that followed this new tradition wrote in blank verse as opposed to the lyrical ghazal. Their focus shifted from writing about mysticism, divine love and religion towards subjects such as Iranian society in times of turmoil, revolutions and ‘earthly’ love (eshq-e zamini). Some of these contemporary poets more openly called for standing up ​ ​ against oppression and fighting for freedom which led to their verses being censored, both before and after the revolution of 1979, and in some cases the arrest of poets. In Iran poetry is still very much intertwined with politics. Many people commemorate the time before the revolution by referring to poetry. Some people told me that the poets are “the real prophets”, which obviously is a very significant political statement given Iran's current religious and political climate. In addition, Iran's government has made active efforts to connect the poetic heritage with the values and ideals of the Islamic Republic. Directly after the Islamic Revolution the ruling authorities desired to censor or even forbid the poetry of Hafez, but his enormous popularity among both the Iranian people as well as the clergy made that an impossible goal to pursue. Because his poems are multi-layered and can be read in various ways, their message has

4 ​In the 14th century AD the Inju’ids, a Shi’ite dynasty of Mongol origin ruled over Shiraz and Isfahan ​ (http://www.iranicaonline.org/articles/inju-dynasty accessed online 17 june 2020). ​ ​ 5 Hafiz's satire is communicated through irony and sarcasm and he often places himself among the sinners he voices his critique on. One of the most popular features of Hafiz's poems is the mocking attitude he takes towards the pretenders of religious devoutness: "the seminary scholar was drunk yesterday and made a ruling/that wine is forbidden, but not so bad as [dipping into] the funds of religious endowments” (faqih-e ​ madrasa di mast bud o fatwā dād/ke mey ḥarām wali beh ze māl-e awqāf ast). However, reading Hafiz’s ​ poetry is thought to be a highly subjective endeavor and “a mirror of the views of his interpreters”. Therefore either mast (wine) can be understood as a divine and mystical source of love, as well as nothing ​ else than mundane wine made of grapes (Source: www.iranicaonline.org/articles/hafez-i. Accessed on 4 ​ ​ March, 2020) 6 A g​ hazal​ is a form of ancient poetry that can be traced back to the 7th century.

16 now become interpreted by the government in a way that is in line with the values and goals of the republic. For example, during the Iran-Iraq war (1980-1988) “concepts and metaphors from classical Persian mysticism were used to mobilize young people to go to the frontlines and to offer their lives” (Seyed-Ghorab, 2012:248). Furthermore the Iranian government openly sponsors and promotes so-called pro-ideology poets that write about topics that are connected with the values that the republic propagates. In present day Iran many contemporary poets have served time in prison, or are still doing time, for publishing poems that contain criticism of the establishment. As such reading poetry and interpreting the verses in a specific way as well as writing verses for publication, can be a highly political engagement with possible consequences. Having survived revolutions and wars, poetry still holds an important place in Iranian history as well as in contemporary Iranian society. Verses that are around for six to eight hundred years still contain concepts and metaphors that convey knowledge over values and ​ norms and provide guidelines for life (Manoukian, 2012:5). As illustrated, engaging with poetry is a rule rather than an exception among Iranians. Even if they only read poetry verses on important holidays, cherish it as a childhood memory, use it to emphasize their ‘Iranianness’ or to voice some resistance towards the Islamic Republic, many Iranians have an emotional bond with poetry which is nurtured from a young age (Manoukian, 2012:49). Despite the general importance of poetry in Iranian society, my interlocutors often told me that they felt as if they engaged with verses in a different way than others around them. For my interlocutors poetry is not merely regarded as an emotional heritage or a way to remember and express their ‘Iranianness’. It rather serves as a key tool in their search for answers to existential questions and is an effective way of coping with the difficulties of life.

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Left: A wall mural in Tehran narrating a part of Ferdowsi’s Shah Nameh (Book of Kings) (Photo taken October ​ ​ 2020, Tehran) Right: A mural in Tehran remembering a martyr that died during the Iran Iraq war (Photo taken August 2018, Tehran)

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People are touching the marble gravestone of Hafez in Shiraz (Photo taken September 2019)

19 1.3. The tragedy of Iran On an early November morning, Zana sent me a picture of multiple books, a notebook, and a dog sleeping next to it. A text message followed: “it’s already morning and still I can't stop reading more from Saadi. I was looking for masterpieces to prepare for you and I should say there is a huge load of concepts waiting for you. Going to bed now. See you tonight”. At 7 PM that same day I rang the doorbell of Zana’s flat in East Tehran, where his mother greeted me warmly at the door. I had met Zana, a shy and humble 24-year-old veterinary student, for the first time four months ago when I had just arrived in Tehran. We took a walk together through a park near the Tabiat bridge and he had told me that he was in the application process for a visa for Switzerland with the help of an Iranian friend who already lived there. While Zana’s mother brought us sweet tea and fruit, we took a seat on the couch in the living room and I asked him if he had any information about his visa application. With a sad smile, he answered: “I got rejected again. Every time I paid for translating documents for the application process. And now, I cannot even apply for a visa anymore for three years, I have to wait. It is hopeless”. While he poured the tea and put some grapes and an apple on my plate, he continued: “I need to finish my master thesis now but I cannot make myself do it. Why should I? There is no future here and I’m empty, all my energy is gone. We cannot do anything to change the situation. All we can do is wait, for nothing. I don’t have any spirit or hope left”. The story of Zana was one out of many. Of course each of my interlocutors had their own individual story, however, what they all had in common was a persistent lack of hope for the future. Many of them described long-lasting experiences of feeling “empty” (pooch), “frustrated” ​ ​ (sarkhorde), and depression (afsordegi). One interlocutor told me that an “inner sadness” ​ ​ ​ ​ (gham-e darooni) had unconsciously crept under his skin and become a part of him. My ​ ​ interlocutors frequently expressed that in Iran there is no prospect for a better future since there are no opportunities for obtaining a job and building a family. Often they stated that they lacked the agency to change their situation and, as one interlocutor told me, all they could do was to “stay calm and wait [for better days]”. These persistent feelings of depression and hopelessness increased after November 15, 2019, when the government announced an increase in gasoline prices up to three hundred percent, sparking outrage all over Iran. Peaceful street protests quickly

20 escalated in anti-government rallies; people set fire to banks and government buildings while chanting slogans against the Iranian government. As a bid to contain the protests, the government disconnected internet access throughout Iran for ten days straight. During these violent uprisings, hundreds of Iranians died on the streets and even more were arrested although exact numbers are still unknown. Iran is a country that is characterized by years of political turmoil and instability. From 1941 to 1979 the Iranian people suffered from an autocratic and hierarchical monarchy under the rule of Reza Shah Pahlavi. His rule was in line with other monarchies throughout history that have always shown complete intolerance towards freedom of expression in fear of losing authority (Faroughy, 1974:9). The repression, violence and inequality that characterized Reza Shah’s reign sparked anger and desire for change among the Iranian people and eventually led to the Islamic Revolution in 1979. With that, Iran became the only theocratic country in the world that installed Twelver Shi’ism as a state religion. After students took over the U.S embassy in Tehran (on November 4, 1979) and held diplomats hostage for 444 days, the United States imposed economic sanctions on the Islamic Republic that have been piling up until 2013; making international trade very difficult and isolating Iran geopolitically.7 Later some U.S allies followed in imposing sanctions against Iran with the purpose of stopping Iran's enrichment of uranium and the influence of Iran's proxies in the Middle East. When President Rouhani took office in 2013, he promised the Iranian people more economic prosperity by signing the Joint Comprehensive Plan of Action (JCOPA, better known as the nuclear deal) between China, the United States, Russia and Europe. When the JCOPA was ​ signed in 2013, thousands of Iranians poured onto the streets celebrating the end of geopolitical isolation and economic instability. During the following years Iran opened up to the world and tourism strengthened, the Iranian currency stabilized and traveling or studying internationally became increasingly accessible for Iranians. As part of this historic deal, Iran promised to scale ​ back its nuclear activities in exchange for the lifting of international sanctions, which happened in 2016 with a simultaneous opening of the Iranian market to international trade and investment.

7 Nikou, S.N., 2019. Timeline of Iran’s Foreign Relations on iranprimer.usip.org. https://iranprimer.usip.org/sites/default/files/2018-06/TimelineofIran'sForeignRelationsJune202018.pdf accessed online on 21 June 2020.

21 Analysts estimated a two-year period would be needed to give Iran's economy a significant turnaround and thus, consumer prices and unemployment rates remained high (Moghadam, Saidi-Sharouz and Weber, 2018). While the JCOPA did not provide Iranians with direct concrete changes in their daily lives, it did generate hope for a brighter future for themselves and their country. That brief window of hope closed on May 8, 2018 when U.S. President Donald Trump withdrew the United States from what he called “the worst deal of the century” and re-installed sanctions against Iran in 2019.8 All aimed to restrict and weaken the Islamic Republic, in reality, the sanctions hit the Iranian people the most; prices continue to rise on meat and vegetables and hospitals struggle to obtain medicines. Meanwhile Iran pressured the other signatory countries to live up to their duties that were part of the JCOPA and slowly restarted their nuclear activities, increasing international tensions. In June 2019 two oil tankers were attacked in the Strait of Hormuz; the U.S. directly and without any evidence blamed Iran for the attacks, setting off further diplomatic escalation and increasing threats of war between the two countries. A few days later, an unmanned U.S. drone infiltrated Iranian airspace in the Persian Gulf and was shot down immediately by the Iranian Revolutionary Guards. Upon these escalations, tourists cancelled their trips and the still fragile tourist industry in Iran slowly began to collapse. I have observed the effect of the collapsing JCOPA and the re-installing of sanctions myself. The cautious optimism that Iranians held despite the difficulties they faced on a daily basis during my visits to Iran in 2017 and 2018 seemed to have completely disappeared when I returned in 2019 to do fieldwork. While a desire to leave the country has been persistent among the majority of Iranians for a longer time (Khosravi, 2015; 2017:5), now that all hope was completely gone, migration was often referred to as the only way out. Whether it were taxi drivers, shop owners, students, guesthouse owners or my friends; almost everyone I spoke, had a desire to migrate abroad. Many young people focus on completing their IELTS, which improves the chance to get a visa for another country and is a requirement to enroll in universities abroad. However due to the sanctions, the international tensions and a currency that is subject to high

8 ​Examining Nuclear Negotiations-Iran After Rouhani’s First 100 Days ​ from http://defenddemocracy. org/testimony/examining-nuclearnegotiations-iran-after-rouhanis-first-100-days. Accessed online on 21 June 2020

22 inflation, traveling abroad has become extremely more difficult for Iranians As my conversation with Zana illustrates, people were devastated when they received rejections for visa applications. On the other hand, I also talked to young Iranians that were deeply sad to be accepted at foreign universities but felt they were forced to migrate because no other options were left for them in Iran. They expressed fears about being separated from their families and their country. Others told me stories about their friends living abroad that were miserable because they somehow could not settle there, or were not able to visit their families in Iran due to geopolitical tensions or fear for arrest at the airport. Living in Iran means living in a state of “radical uncertainty”. The concept refers to the way in which a society is characterized by feelings of unpredictability and uncertainty (Moodie, 2010: 15). The term has been used to understand everyday life in countries that are neither at war nor in a post-conflict state of peace-building or lasting safety and stability (Moodie, 2010; Penglase, 2014:21). Iran can be identified as such because it has faced conflict and geopolitical tensions for many years, but can still be considered safe and politically stable. Daily life is characterized by a sense of ‘not knowing’; a continuing spiral of incidental state violence and oppression, economic insecurity and complex social rules leads to the “collapse of the family”, massive migration and persistent feelings of uncertainty about both the present and the future among Iranian youth (Moodie, 2010:15; Khosravi, 2017:27). In addition, social interaction is very complex and guided by ambiguous rules and regulations. The radical uncertainty that characterizes all spheres of Iranian society leads to experiences of social suffering, existential insecurity, alienation and anomie (ibid.). The stories that will be presented in this thesis provide insight into the everyday, human consequences of domestic and international (political) tensions and how responses to such circumstances are deeply shaped by cultural and socio-political structures in society. After I have reflected on my methodology, ethics and positionality in the field I will illustrate throughout three interconnected chapters how poetry helps my interlocutors cope with the difficulties in their lives and weave their experiences into newly imagined perceptions of self, possibilities and imagined futures. The ethnographic stories in this thesis will provide a nuanced view on the lives of young Iranians that are influenced by structural, both international and

23 domestic, circumstances and tensions. Throughout all chapters it will become evident that my interlocutors perceive themselves as different from others in Iranian society. They identify themselves with poems and poets, use poetry to understand themselves better and find comfort and recognition in the verses. I examine how poetry can be seen as a historically rooted and locally produced script of trusted knowledge and morality that provides a counter-discourse to the dominant narrative on both emotions, personhood and religion that the Islamic Republic propagates. Moreover, I illustrate how interpretations of poetry verses are deeply subjective and embedded within the specific context of Iranian society and argue that poetry can be regarded as an active tool for self care that shapes the individual, inner self.

The photo that Zana sent me early in the morning. It shows a book of Saadi and his dog sleeping next to it. (November 26, 2020)

24 Chapter 2 Methodology, ethics and reflections on positionality

During my four months of fieldwork, I conducted 28 formal interviews with 23 young Iranians between 20 and 35 years old living in Isfahan, Shiraz and Tehran. Some of them I met one time for coffee and others I talked to several times and became my friends. With all of them, I had in-depth conversations that often lasted well over two hours. During my time in Iran I met with my supervisor, anthropologist Mehrdad Arabestani, multiple times at the University of Tehran. He mostly helped me to develop an understanding of the complexities that characterize Iranian society and helped me to interpret my material in the field. I met interlocutors often by chance; on the train, at graves of poets, through existing friends, at the university, while walking on the streets or attracting their attention by reading a book of Hafez in a park. The interviews I conducted were often very intensive; my interlocutors ​ told me stories not only about poetry but also about their personal lives and with me listening rather than continuously asking questions. My method of interviewing was mostly informal and unstructured and I remained open for topics that would emerge during the conversations. While doing fieldwork I tried to identify emerging themes from the data which then informed the interviews that were yet to be conducted (Roulston, 2012:2). I never made notes during conversations as I felt that it interfered with my ability to maintain eye contact and my listening abilities; this could negatively influence trustful interaction. Sometimes I recorded the interview, always with verbal consent, and deleted it directly after. Knowing I could listen to the interview later enabled me to really be present in the moment and to listen to my interlocutor without focusing on finding relevant material for my research.9 I have conducted twenty four interviews in English and four in Persian with the help of a translator. Of course much is lost in translation and also because my interlocutors were often not fluent in English, conducting interviews in English was far from ideal. Due to language difficulties and sometimes unclear answers or conversations, I often listened to and transcribed

9 How I dealt with the recorded interviews and the protection of my interlocutors in the authoritarian context of Iran I will elaborate on in a later section.

25 interviews directly after I conducted them. Then I contacted my interlocutors for a second interview or just a follow-up coffee where I could ask them about what was still unclear to me. If we could not meet again, we often talked via WhatsApp. Following up on interviews turned out to work very well and enabled me to establish a clear overview of my data and an in-depth understanding of what my interlocutors were telling me. Furthermore it allowed me to pinpoint possible interesting directions and follow-up questions. Besides in-depth interviews I conducted walking interviews where I asked my interlocutors to take me to a place that was significant for them in connection with poetry. Often these walking interviews took place on our first meeting to keep the conversation informal. On these walks people brought me to different places such as mosques, cafes, parks and shrines or graves of famous poets and told me stories about their emotional connection with these specific places and how it relates to poetry and to their daily lives (Kinney, 2017:3). Before entering the field I planned to conduct ‘poetry interviews’ in which I wanted to ask my interlocutors to tell me about their favorite poems and interpret them for me. In practice, this proved to be almost impossible as many of them told me that the poems were not to be chosen as ‘favorite’. Which poem spoke to my interlocutors emotionally often depended on what was important for them at a certain moment in their lives. To be able to gain an in-depth understanding of a few poems as opposed to gaining a superficial understanding of many of them, in follow up interviews I often asked my interlocutors about specific poems they had previously told me about and whether they would interpret the lines for me. This proved to be a fruitful approach.

2.1. A note on translation and language difficulties

During my stay in Iran, much to my annoyance, often when I told people about my research they ​ immediately stated that I first needed to sufficiently learn the Persian language; only then I could do research on poetry. I often tried to explain to them that I could do without, as my research focus was not in the field of ethnopoetics, linguistics or literary studies, but I rather was interested in the people that read and enjoy poetry in their daily lives. I clarified that the ​ ​ interpretation of the verses within the subjective lifeworlds of my interlocutors was central to my

26 inquiry and not the poem itself. As it turned out this approach made it indeed possible to research poetry with only a basic knowledge of the Persian language. I tried to make my insufficiency of the Persian language work to my benefit. I believe that, to some extent, not knowing the verses myself was an advantage for my particular research focus. I entered the field with the idea that the subjective interpretations of poetry verses could tell me something valuable about the people that made them. Not knowing the poems beforehand, I did not have a personal interpretation of the verse and therefore could allow the interpretation of the interlocutor to become central. Moreover, because I was also learning Persian, I let myself be entitled to ask ‘stupid’ questions for clarity on literary concepts during interviews. Their explanation provided me with a more in-depth understanding of the interpretations of my interlocutors. While I did not encounter direct limits, I would never argue that language barriers did not limit me in conducting my research. Language sits at the basis of conducting qualitative research, as one of the most important methods of collecting material is the in-depth interview. Being insufficient in Persian certainly influenced what material I was able to collect and what kind of interviews I conducted and with whom. It also influenced the interpretation of the material I gathered. Conducting research into a subject that is distinctly Persian, as it is often argued that Persian poetry is impossible to translate into other languages and cannot be understood without an in-depth knowledge of Persian culture and imagery, is to lose its “culture-specific richness and idiosyncrasy” (Wierzbicka, 2009:12). What is narrated in this thesis is thus an “English” rendition of how a ‘Persian’ phenomenon influences the lifeworlds of my interlocutors.

2.2. Protection of material, interlocutors and myself. Iran can be regarded as an ‘authoritarian field’: countries that “curtail freedom of expression and freedom of association, and [...] arbitrariness to their governance, resulting in various forms of insecurity for those who reside in or enter such territories” (Glasius et al.,:2018:6). The following paragraphs will briefly focus on how the specific Iranian authoritarian context has influenced my research in terms of the collection of my material, my own positionality in the field and ethical considerations with regard to my interlocutors.

27 Conducting research in an authoritarian country such as Iran is influenced by multiple things such as political turmoil and strong control over the population which results in a securitarian approach to researchers (Rivetti and Saeidi, 2018:3). In such authoritarian environments often both researchers and interlocutors are at risk, as Rivetti and Saeidi state: “[n]ot only Iranians linked to foreign researchers may be accused of collaborating with dubious foreigners, but they could even face the threat of being used to extract information about the foreigners and then accused of being in touch with them” (2018:6). At first glance my topic of research is not sensitive in any way. Poetry is regarded as an important emotional heritage in Iran and my research can be seen as being part of iranshenasi (Iranian studies) which in Iran is a field ​ of inquiry regarded as “academically shallow and Orientalist [...] and therefore not worthy of further attention” (Rivetti and Saeidi, 2018:8). However as stated before, my research did not focus on poetry in a literary way as I aimed to understand the daily lives of my interlocutors through poetry. As such the risk was not so much connected with the topic of research but rather what the conversations with my interlocutors were about. Therefore it was important that I dealt ethically and safely with my material to protect the safety of my interlocutors, as they trusted me ​ ​ with their life stories. I have recorded most of my interviews and transcribed them directly after the interview was finished and then deleted the recording after that. Whenever sensitive topics were discussed in the conversations, During the transcription of interviews I used encryption for specific words such as government, Islam, religion or the name of the Supreme Leader. Furthermore I named my interlocutors with a pseudonym. Interviews that were only focussing on poetry I kept on my laptop as ‘evidence’ while the sensitive ones I sent via WhatsApp (which is supposed to be encrypted) to my partner in the Netherlands. In addition I took several other safety precautions. For instance when traveling to a forbidden film screening, I put my phone on flight mode and took three separate taxis to avoid the risk of being followed. Although my research was not politically sensitive nor do I desire to criticize the government in any way, the sensitive and authoritarian environment did influence my research to a great extent. My fieldwork took place while tensions were increasing, protests took place on the streets and increasingly duo-nationals and even foreigners were arrested and charged with

28 spying including many academics. I weighed my decision to travel to Iran to conduct fieldwork multiple times before going and considered leaving during the time I was there. Both before and during my fieldwork I struggled with obtaining information about the situation in Iran. Directly after the protests in November I asked several people at the international office of the University of Tehran about the safety of the situation; I never got an answer as nobody would dare to make any statement about it. Finally, I came to understand that asking and talking about the risk involved in my presence in Iran was risky in itself. As Rivetti and Saeidi state: “by engaging with the state through clear and concise conversations, a foreign researcher becomes more suspicious not only to state agents but also wider society because no one speaks this way” (2018:8). I believe that staying in Iran for a long period as a foreign researcher has made me able to understand at least a notion of what living in an authoritarian country entails. My research-stay forever changed the rather “romantic” perception I had about Iran since my visits as a tourist. The precautions to protect my interlocutors and myself might be seen as somewhat of an overreaction but they gave me the peace of mind that I needed in the uncertain environment I found myself in. However, if authorities desired, they could have easily traced me back to my interlocutors as their intelligence system is highly advanced. I was always aware that there were risks involved with doing fieldwork in Iran, especially in times of international and domestic turmoil. I have tried to minimize the risks for myself and for my interlocutors but also needed to accept it as a reality that existed (Glasius et al., 2018:35).

2.3. On friendship and positionality Both new as well as existing friendships played an important role during my fieldwork but also presented to me ethical dilemmas. For that reason, it is necessary to discuss the methodological and ethical implications of using friendship as a method of research in the specific context of Iran. Social interaction in Iran is characterized by insecurity and uncertainty about who one is actually interacting with, which makes it difficult for Iranians to establish relationships with people beyond the point of exchanging niceties and superficiality (Khosravi, 2017:70). Three

29 years ago when I first met Kourosh, now a dear friend who lives in Tehran, he told me that he was delighted to talk to a foreigner because, with me, he did not have to “pretend” and he was not afraid of being judged. In his words I was “a certainty” that had absolutely no ties with the government. This was something that I kept recognizing in conversations I had with my interlocutors because they immediately trusted me with their most personal thoughts, fears and contemplations. When I asked whether they shared these thoughts with their friends and families their answer was often that they refrained from doing so. Although these personal stories benefitted the depth of my material to a great extent, my positionality as a ‘trusted’ foreigner also provided me with ethical dilemmas. With some interlocutors our contact quickly evolved into a friendship where we spoke regularly and spent our days together shopping, eating, hiking and drinking tea together. These days often provided me with great material as I got the chance to observe my interlocutors, ask them questions about their lives and find out how they spend their days. I agree that “[f]riendship as method can bring us to a level of understanding and depth of experience we may be unable to reach using only traditional methods”, however there are some difficulties that come with this method as well (Tillmann-Healy, 2003:737). The further our relationship moved from researcher-interlocutor to friends, the more I realized that I also used their lives as ‘data’. This gave me a very uncomfortable feeling as if I was dishonest to them when asking about their lives. I especially came to realize how confused I felt about this positionality when I was back in the Netherlands and had a conversation with a Leila who became my friend while I was in the field. When she told me about the struggles of her daily life, I felt as if I was taking advantage of her pain. Of course I tried to help her and comfort her as much as I could but when she began talking about two poems of Shamlu that helped her during the difficult time she was going through, I felt stuck between a friend and a researcher. During our conversations, she told me many things that were so valuable for my research that I wanted to know more about. I felt however that, as a supportive friend, I should rather focus on helping her instead of finding out more information about the poems. When she provided me with these beautiful examples of how poetry helped her cope with the extremely sad situation she found herself in, it even excited me that it could contribute a great deal to my research. That made me feel guilty as I did not feel

30 entitled to use any of it. Eventually I decided to ask her again for informed consent to use the information she told me. It is important to keep in mind that contributing to a researchers project can be experienced as positive by interlocutors; sharing stories with the researcher “can help participants feel heard, known, and understood” as researchers may provide interlocutors with “unique opportunities to (co)construct meaningful accounts of troubling and painful experiences” (Tillmann-Healy, 2003:737). Leila indeed continuously told me that she is grateful for our ​ friendship because she can trust me with her doubts, deepest fears and grief. Despite Leila’s ​ reassuring words, I remained feeling guilty by writing about her emotions and interpreting her private stories and experiences. I gradually came to realize that my persistent feelings of guilt were not only connected with the feeling of ‘taking advantage’ of people’s stories, hardships and struggles but also with my positionality as a privileged researcher. Although I always love being in Iran, during my fieldwork I had been often yearning for the moment my plane would leave Tehran and I could let go of my anxiety with regard to my own safety and no longer feel at risk anymore. Yet from the moment I landed in Europe, it felt extremely unfair that I was able to leave. It felt unjust that I had the privilege to do and say anything whenever I wanted and to breathe in fresh air as opposed to the pollution in Tehran which made everyone sick. It even became worse a week after I returned to Europe and the situation in Iran completely escalated. All my friends and family kept telling me that they were so happy that I left Iran before it got ‘dangerous’ and that I was back home safely. All I desired was to get into a plane and fly back to Iran. Knowing I could not contribute anything at least I wanted to just physically be there. I experienced that “not only does the researcher affect the ​ research process but they are themselves affected by this process” (Widdowfield, 2000:200). It ​ ​ ​ ​ felt as if I had become emotionally “stitched into the daily realities” of my fieldwork site and the lives of my interlocutors (deLuca and Maddox, 2016:286). For months I was unable to untangle myself from a life that kept continuing while I was not an active part of it anymore.

31 Chapter 3 A reciprocity of intimacies: exploring and understanding the inner self through poetry

Ester laughs; “No, never!”. She nods her head and then resumes in a more serious tone: “I went to

the grave of Forough Farokhzad for​ her anniversary and I saw other 10 people there but I did not talk to them. We gather there and somebody reads from her poems, that's it. We did not talk to each other or share our ideas”. Together with her friend Saman, Ester and I were sitting in a cafe in North Tehran and had just ordered our second cup of sweet Iranian tea when I asked her if she ever shares her interpretation of poems with others. After she stated that she rarely did, Ester started to explain that she does sometimes share poems via Instagram: “I use the poems because I think that they can convey the meaning in a better way than I can. It is more emotional than my own words”. Saman then interrupts her ​and states: “it is because whenever you start to talk about poetry, people think that you are a sad person and tell you to stop doing that and to have fun instead. Such a bad reaction can make people stop discussing it”. Ester agrees with her friend: “Yes. They are superficial”, while Saman continues: “[...] people nowadays on social media want to pretend about different things, about their situation; they pretend they have money, that they are so happy. But it is fake happiness; going to parties, being beautiful...” Ester then puts on a confident voice and states “I don't care what people think”. Saman lights a cigarette and laughs. “Really!”, Ester continues, “these are two different groups of people and they are so contrary to each other. Some people understand what I mean by these poems, but others no, they don’t understand at all”. “Look, Laura...” Ester points at her phone. “Here I posted a poem of Molana to convey the meaning of love.11And this one is from Forough...”

10. F​ aroukh Farokhzad (1934-1967) was an Iranian poet who wrote about women's rights and sexuality. She died in a car crash at the age of 32 in Tehran. (see: http://farrokhzadpoems.com/ Accessed 2 June 2020) 11 ​Jalāl ad-Dīn Muhammad Rūmī, in Iran better known as Mevlânâ/Mawlānā or Molana (‘master’) and in the west simply as Rumi, is a Persian poet and Sufi mystic (1207-1273)

32 Saman and Ester, two students at the University of Tehran, regard their generation as superficial, flighty, happy-go-lucky and ‘leading an easy life’. Ester later told me that she was sure that when people post poetry on Instagram below their selfies they did not understand a single word from the verse and they only posted the verses to show that they are sophisticated and smart. She found it superficial and ostentatious and it has nothing to do with “really understanding” poetry. If Saman and Ester would talk about poetry to their friends they were depicted as being ‘sad’ and urged to have fun instead, which Saman pointed out as a reason to refrain from doing so. The interview excerpt reflects, among other things, something that many of my interlocutors have in common. They do not share their subjective interpretation of poetry verses with others, they feel as if they are alone in their love of poetry and generally perceive their peers as being different from themselves. In this chapter I will argue that the way in which my interlocutors refrain from sharing their subjective emotional interpretations of verses must be seen as embedded in the specific context of both Persianate culture and tradition as well as the insecurity characterizing the contemporary political climate of Iran. I will subsequently outline the specific emotional way in which my interlocutors engage with poetry; to care for their inner self, to understand their emotions and how poets are regarded as trusted ‘saints’ and used as guideposts to live by.

3.1. Deep people, for sure. During my research it became clear that not all Iranians engage emotionally with poetry on the ​ same level. The people I had in-depth conversations with all have the same perception about what a valuable reading of poetry verses entails. This is significantly different from how most Iranians engage with poetry. These people generally do not see each other in Iranian society and most of them feel alone in their love of poetry. Interesting is how their stories resonate strongly with each other and they form an unconnected group together. Saeed, a 23-year-old English ​ teacher from Shiraz, told me that he felt that people around him engage with poetry only because they regard it as part of a tradition that goes back centuries. He explained that on important holidays such as yalda (solstice) and nowruz (Iranian new year), people come together to read ​ ​ ​ poetry. However, he observed this as a superficial reading of the verses:

33 It is yalda. Me and my family are sitting together and they say: ​ ​ “let's read a poem of Hafez”. We have to do that. Everyone else is doing it [...] but they don't understand it. To me that is something that I disapprove of. Why are we just neglecting what is behind the beautiful sounding words [the meaning]? Poetry is a real thing, but here it is a matter of culture and tradition. There is no value behind that.

Similar to Ester, Saeed argues that there is a difference between a ‘valuable’ reading of the verses and a superficial one. He emphasized the way in which fewer people really try to understand a deeper meaning that lies behind the poems and only read them because it is part of a cultural tradition or because a verse ‘sounds’ beautiful. Leila, a 20-year-old student from Shiraz, again observed the same in her surroundings. She understood the lack of interest in poetry among Iranian youth not only as a symptom of superficiality but also as arising from disengagement with “difficult feelings”. Leila stated that she observed that her peers turned to lighter things such as consumerism or flighty relationships and they did this in order to “not feel”:

I think they don’t want to see. The meaning of the poems. They don’t want to live with these things.. I mean the difficult things in life. This is why the poems become meaningless for them. They want to stay at the surface and never go deeper and distract themselves from reality [with the internet and social media] and stop thinking.

According to Leila, the lives of young Iranians have become so difficult that they choose not to engage with the realities of it. She reasons that when one is unable or unwilling to engage with “deep emotions” it becomes impossible to really understand the poetry verses and so poetry becomes meaningless. The way that Leila connected emotions with reading poetry also reflects from what other interlocutors told me. For example, Milad, a 22-year-old student from Shiraz, stated that young people who do still frequently read poetry were “deep people, for sure”.

34 Throughout history as well as in contemporary studies there have been many attempts to define and redefine what poetry is (see: Caton, 1990, Trawick, 1990; Abu- Lughod, [1986] 2016; ​ ​ Olszewska, 2015, Becker, 1989; Yang, 2000, Wassiliwizky et al., 2017). There is a basic agreement among these studies that the act of writing, reading, or listening to poetry is involved with arousing or expressing emotions. Kenneth Burke, a literary critic and a poet, even stated that “poetry is designed solely for the purpose of arousing emotions” (Kenneth Burke as cited in Parrish, 1954:205). Thus what Ester, Saeed and Leila observed as a non-valuable and superficial reading of the verses among their peers, could indeed be an approach of poetry only as an emotional heritage or tradition and without personal emotional engagement. As illustrated, in Iran poetry is an important emotional heritage and art form which is valued and read by Iranians from all spheres of society. It is also a powerful emotional vehicle that carries the personal narratives of hope, struggles and fears of the writer (Abu-Lughod, 1985; Caton, 1990; Olszewska, 2015). My interlocutors approach poetry verses in a deeply personal manner that is dependent on their subjective emotional state or life circumstances; they engage ​ with poetry not asking what the writer meant when he wrote the verses, but rather how the words can be used to help them in their own lives. While there are many groups and gatherings that engage with poetry in Iran, almost none of my interlocutors enjoyed going there. Saeed stated that in such meetings people use “a different way of approaching poetry”, as they focus on what message the writer tried to convey in his poems when he wrote them. Saeed preferred to find the meaning for himself. He did not like to talk about poetry with others because that would mean there would be two different interpretations and, as he stated, “my feeling and someone else's feeling becomes mixed up”. Many anthropologists have argued that emotions should be studied as deeply connected with social, political and ethical life in a given society. In these studies emotions are assessed as both socially shaped as well as shaping the subjective social world (Lutz & White, 1986:417). As Lutz & White argue, circumstances such as “the degree of individualism, notions of privacy and autonomy, multiplicity of selves, or sense of moral responsibility have important consequences for the way in which emotion is conceptualized, experienced, and socially articulated” (ibid.:420). To be able to understand and situate emotions in a specific society or community, it

35 is necessary to both understand discourses on emotion as well as discourses of emotion (Lutz & ​ ​ ​ Abu-Lughod, 1990:7–10). Lutz and Abu-Lughod emphasize the way in which poetry, prayer, literature or mythical stories can be seen as such emotional discourses (ibid.:10). To fully ​ understand what poetry brings to those who engage with it in a personal and emotional manner, it is first important to situate the dominant discourse on emotions in both Persianate culture and contemporary Iranian society.

3.1.1 Inner and outer selves and the ethics of self-expression

Extensively considered by anthropologists (see: Beeman, 2001; Betteridge, 1985; Varzi, 2006; Eickelman, 2002; Olszewska, 2015) is the opposition between the Persian philosophical concepts of zaher (outside, surface) and baten (inside, inner). In social interaction the baten, resembling ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ one’s ‘true’ self and “the seat of the strongest personal feelings”, is carefully protected from the outside world and is typically only revealed to those who are trustworthy such as family members or intimate friends. While the discourse on emotions in Iran is characterized with melancholy through a “highly ritualized tradition of religious grieving and [...] a tragic view of history and society”, in general it is discouraged to show strong personal emotions in public or to reveal intimate details about one’s life to others (Behrouzan, 2016:40; Blame & Sella, 2015:133). In studies that focus on Iranian emotional discourse, it has been often pointed out that Iranians tend to value self-containment and stoicism in times of hardship over self-revelation (Betteridge, 1985; Beeman, 2001:38; Blame & Sella, 2015; Olszewska, 2015; Behrouzan, 2016). External appearances of behavior are closely upheld, as the “ideal self” is one that “embodies and endures stoic suffering as an indicator of wisdom and depth of character” (Behzouran, 2016:40). However, Olszewska argues that in contemporary Iran this discourse is quickly changing (2015:190). Expressing emotions is becoming more common in Iran, especially among urban youth. This is also reflected in the increase of young Iranians that turn to psychotherapy or express their emotional state of mind in online blogs (Behzouran, 2016). Several scholars point out that the differentiation between inner and outer selves is not only characteristic of Iranian society and shapes social life in many countries in the world

36 (Manoukian, 2011:103; Olszewska, 2011:190). Goffman already noted in 1959 that the active presentation and performance of self is an inherent part of general social interaction. He made the distinction between ‘backstage’ and ‘frontstage’ behavior and argues that people plan and execute different selves dependent on the ‘stage’ and ‘who is watching’. It is important to note that in the context of contemporary Iran such ‘performing of self in everyday life’ should be considered as a highly conscious endeavor and insecure in multiple ways. As domestic spheres become relatively safe spaces for hosting illegal parties and gatherings, drinking alcohol and casual dating, one needs to keep up the appearance of confining to the social regulations and rules of the state to keep domestic life carefully separated from public life. To avoid conflict or even sanctions from the authoritarian state, parents teach their children from a young age to keep their private and public lives strictly separated and emphasize the different roles they need to perform in them (Khosravi, 2017:70). Iranian youth are brought up between two institutions that communicate double value and ethical systems; one belonging to the state and one to the family. The state interferes both in education as well as in the upbringing of children to “construct an ideal citizen according to an Islamic model”(Khosravi, 2017:69). Often the interpretations and appropriations of Islamic norms, values and ethics of the family are significantly different (ibid.). Disagreements over religious beliefs and practices, lifestyle, sexuality, and politics are found in every sphere of daily life and due to the need to repress these opinions and beliefs in public, social interaction is often characterized by general feelings of insecurity, uncertainty and mistrust (Arabestani, 2019:522; Khosravi, 2017:70). Out of necessity people are often disguising stories they tell others by changing names and places to protect oneself, their friends and their family. As a result, middle-class young Iranians in urban centers are living “a double life: one ‘inside’ situated in the domestic sphere, and the other ‘outside’ in accordance with the reigning social order” (Khosravi, 2017:69). Many of my interlocutors told me it was better to keep their personal feelings and emotions to themselves; they often stated that what they personally felt did not concern others because “people would not understand” and they expected others would try to influence their thoughts. As engaging with poetry is a highly emotional matter for my interlocutors they refrain from discussing poetry with others. This must be understood as related to the opposition of baten ​

37 and zaher in Persianate culture as well as resulting from the highly uncertain context of ​ contemporary Iranian society in which revealing the true self to others is a highly insecure endeavor. How poetry serves as a tool for engaging with and understanding one's baten or “the ​ seat of one’s deepest emotions” (Olszewska, 2015:188) I will illustrate in the next subchapter.

3.2. Sookhte par khoshtaram: from burning, I became happy ​ ​

“I use the poems as a way to live”. Shirin and her friend Meesha sit in front of me in a crowded garden cafe in central Tehran. Just after I ordered a cappuccino, Shirin continued before I could ask her what she meant: “when I am really sad I start to read the poems and they help me because I think they say something about life.” “When I am sad I think about this poem of Molana, sookhte par ​ khoshtaram.12 I remember that Molana was such a great man so I should use his words as a way in my own life”. I ask her what the verse means and she explains to me that for her it means that “in hardships I feel better than in comfortable situations”. Meesha laughs and Shirin quickly corrects herself; “I don't prefer to be of course! But sometimes I am in hard situations and I cannot do anything to change that. I think about this verse and feel I should see these difficulties as a way to gain something, to learn something.” “In other things too, for example in love.” Shirin stops talking and hesitates; “I cannot explain it very well because it is about my heart. I really feel.. I cannot explain it even in Persian, because it is about my feelings”. After a short silence, she continues; “You know sometimes the poems make me feel bad or depressed, but on the other side, it feels really nice. Being depressed sometimes is nice.” The waitress walks by our table and asks subtly for Meesha’s attention, making her aware that her red headscarf has fallen on her shoulders during our conversation. She thanks the waitress, adjusts

12Original verse: sookhte ​par khoshtari (from burning you become better) Poem by Molana, Divan-e Shams. G​ hazal​ no. 1414

38 her scarf on her head and then tells me that “poetry is about explaining deep feelings.” I ask her if she can explain what she means. “You know, those deep feelings you can never explain in normal words? In the verses you can find them [the feelings] [...] We cannot talk about our feelings, but in poetry we can find them and [the verses] transfer the feelings to us so we can understand them better”.

The above vignette introduces how, for Shirin and Meesha, engaging with poetry means ‘engaging with emotions on a deeper level’. This interview excerpt is noteworthy for two aspects. First, the verses allow Shirin to experience her emotions in a more meaningful and intense way. Many of my interlocutors pointed out the ability of poetry to intensify strong emotions as one of the reasons to read verses when they encounter feelings such as sadness, grief or ‘hearts pain’ (khoon-e del, lit. ‘heart's blood’). And second, both Shirin and Meesha feel that ​ ​ they can “understand” their emotions and feelings better when they read poetry verses. Nearly every interlocutor expressed that poetry has the power to ‘do’ things; it has the ability to transform and change those emotions that are messy and unclear and unveil what is veiled. The question then is, how does poetry ‘make things happen’. What aspects of poetry are important for making it a particularly effective tool to use when one encounters intense emotions? In the remainder of this thesis I aim to answer these questions. I will start by illustrating the general ways in which my interlocutors engage emotionally with poetry to understand their emotional self. During our interview in a crowded cafe in Shiraz, Saeed told me that when he encounters intense emotions in his life, he experiences them as highly distracting, whether they are feelings of sadness, anger, fear, intense joy or beauty. In his own words, when such emotions are present he is unable to “think logically”. To manage and lower them and to gain a rational mind again, he grabs a book of poetry and reads verses for a few hours:

If I can feel it [the emotion] it is only something abstract for me and I cannot go through it really. I cannot do anything with it. It's only painful. I know that, generally, I am sad because I feel it. But what about, what aspects and how that comes is all unclear to me. I

39 read through the lines [of the verse] and then I know; that is why. I don't read the poems to change the feelings, because they are already there; I use the poems to understand it [the feelings] in a deeper way. Poetry is something sensible, you can relate to that with your mind. Then it [the emotions] start to make sense to me.

Saeed explained that the reason why he experiences strong emotions as distracting, is because they are ‘abstract’. He told me that while he reads the verses, he instantly knows which lines of the verse speak to him and correspond with the feeling he experiences. How Saeed turns to poetry to understand why he feels emotional corresponds with the ​ way in which Meesha described that reading verses enables her to find and understand those deep emotions that she cannot express in words. As our interview progressed she expanded on what she meant by that:

He [a poet] said in an interview: “I have worked in poetry and literature for more than 30 years, and even now I cannot say my feelings in words easily. We can describe a chair, we have a lot of different chairs and we can describe it and say; ok, this is a chair. But we cannot say what is pain, and what is a feeling”. Even for him, it is not easy. And for me, it is like this too. I like it when poets can describe my feelings in words because I cannot do it myself. And when I see that, they speak about my feelings in words, it is so important for me; I can relate to it in my own life and suddenly I can understand it better [...]

Meesha feels that the poet narrates and explains her emotions better than she herself can. Poems have often been identified as allowing the recipient to project their own emotions and fantasies on, which increases self-reflection, self-awareness and creates new connections in the mind of the reader (Watzlawik, 2017:14; Hermans, & Hermans-Konopka, 2010; Holland, 2009). As my interlocutors project their own emotional lifeworld on the poem, it provides them with a narrative that allows them to move beyond simply experiencing a feeling and enables them to transform their emotions into something understandable. The way in which the specific

40 emotional state of the reader “pulls the emotionally congruent cognitive elements of the text to the fore” I will illustrate by providing two examples of Shirin and Nousha (Watzlawik, 2017:15). In the opening vignette of this subchapter Shirin refers to a poem of Molana; sookhte par ​ khoshtaram (lit. from burning, I became happy). Shirin explained to me that the original verse of Molana was actually sookhte par khoshtari, which literally means ‘in burning you become ​ ​ ​ happy’. Whenever she read this poem or recited it in her head, she changed the conjugation of you (-e) to me (-am), making it sookhte par khoshtaram. By changing the subject, Shirin made ​ ​ the verse of Molana directly applicable to herself. She feels that this particular verse is applicable to difficult situations in which she cannot directly change the circumstances she finds herself in. Shirin had been struggling with making a decision to pursue a Ph.D. in Canada and the thought of leaving her family behind in Iran made her extremely sad and worried. In her own words, these emotions made her “unable to see what is important”. She told me that she had used the poem of Molana to “gain a clear mind” about her decision-making process regarding her Ph.D. The feeling of sadness that Shirin experienced when she thought about leaving her family behind gained a different meaning through interpreting and understanding Molana’s verse as being her own words, feelings and thoughts. The “burning” in the poem communicates the feeling that Shirin experiences when she thinks about leaving her family behind in Iran. The verse allowed her to transform this emotion from being something negative that could stop her from going into something positive that would make her stronger in the end. The verse enabled her not to sink into her feelings of fear and doubt and let them be an obstacle; it empowered her to gain clarity over her emotions, and with that over her life decisions. Finally she chose to move to Canada because, while it was the more difficult choice as it meant leaving Iran and her family behind, it would give her more in the end. She realized that ‘from hardships she could become happy’. Another way that Shirin engaged with poetry as part of her decision making process regarding her Ph.D is that she assessed her situation as being in line with the experience and life of her beloved poet Saadi (1210-1291). She told me that an important part of her decision to go to Canada was that she realized that Saadi had traveled abroad and took many risks in his life. “After traveling” she told me, “Saadi wrote Golestan, which is a precious piece of work”. ​ ​

41 Understanding that Saadi’s travels were not always easy but in the end, made him able to write her favorite book, she mirrored herself to Saadi’s life-experiences and used it as a guidepost in making her decision. She concluded that “maybe I should be like Saadi and go and be wiser about the world and come back to Iran after that, like he did too”. Shirin thus engaged with ​ poetry in two different ways to gain clarity over her emotions that involved the decision making process to move to Canada. Similar to Shirin’s sookhte par khoshtaram other interlocutors also rely on specific parts of poems, interpreting them as being in line with the subjective circumstances of their lives. For example Nousha, a 21-year-old student at the University of Shiraz, told me that she frequently ​ used the following part of a ghazal from Hafez when she feels lonely: ​ ​

Saghi o motreb o mey jomle mohayyast vali Eysh bi yar mohayya nashavad yar kojast13

The wine server, the musician and the wine, it’s all here, but the person you love [yar] is not near. Where is yar? ​ ​ ​ ​

One situation in which Nousha recites this particular poem in her head is whenever she misses ​ her aunt and uncle that live far away in Europe. Reciting the verse then makes her feel better and less alone. It reminds her that, while she misses her family very much, there are still many people living in Shiraz that she loves and can make her happy. Similarly to how Shirin mirrored her own ​ experience to those of Saadi, Nousha told me that the verse also provided her with a feeling of comfort when she realized that Hafez must have felt the same as her when he wrote the verse. Interesting is how Nousha interprets the verse in two different ways that both serve her need for comfort and reassurance. She focuses on the first part of the poem that conveys the message that everything in her life is present to have fun and be happy (“the wine server, the ​ musician and the wine, it’s all here”). This part reminds her that she has many people in Shiraz that she loves and that she does not need to be sad about being alone. The overall message that the poem conveys is one of loneliness; while everything is present to have fun, yar (Nousha’s ​ ​

13 Hafez Ghazaliyat, no. 19. Translation by Nousha.

42 family) is not there. So when Nousha still feels lonely and keeps on thinking of her family, Nousha reasons that Hafez must have felt the same as her and she understands that not being completely happy without her loved ones is the same feeling that Hafez must have had experienced when he wrote the poem and she feels comforted. In this way Hafez and Nousha exchange their feelings and share their grief. With that, poems are emotional stories of the writer that become retold again in different lives and situations. The words of the poet become incorporated within a subjective framework of experiences, thoughts and desires (Watzlawik, 2017:14). As both examples of Shirin and Nousha convey, identification with the poet was also an important part of how they engaged with poetry. I will subsequently illustrate how my material reflects that a trustful relationship is built between my interlocutors and the poet which enables them to use the poetry as truthful lessons and guidance in their life.

3.3. “I will be in Shiraz in Ordibehesht”: poetry as an intimate guidepost Just before walking into the gates of hafezieh in Shiraz, the tomb of Iran's most renowned poet, ​ you will see several people on the sidewalk with a bird on their thumbs and a box full of colorful envelopes in their hands.14 They are selling fal. In the Persian tradition, when someone needs to ​ ​ make a difficult decision, faces a split in the road or has a general contemplation or question in mind, they often ask Hafez or any poet of high esteem, for guidance through an omen. The fal is ​ ​ that omen. The person facing the difficult decision will receive his intervention through a piece of poetry. One can take a fal (fal gereftan) by opening a poetry book (often the Divan-e Hafez) to ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ a random page, by buying an envelope containing a poem from a vendor at the streets, or by allowing to make a small bird pick a poem from a seller’s box like is done outside the gates of hāfezieh. The taking of a fal can be seen as a conscious reading of poetry verses for clarity on ​ ​ ​ premeditated questions. Traditionally done on holidays like Yalda and Nowruz, many Iranians ​ ​ ​ regard taking a fal as a fun game and a nice way to pass the time. However, many of my ​ ​

14 Not only at ​hafezieh ​ in Shiraz you can buy a​ fal ​on the streets but in many large cities in Iran. How romantic the image sounds of people selling “poetry to go” on the streets, the reality is different. Often children or old people sell the envelopes and most of the time they do not seem to have anything else.

43 interlocutors regard it not as a game but rather as a serious endeavor that is connected with establishing an intimate connection with the poet and has the ability to change lives. Shirin told me, having been reading the poetry of Saadi Shirazi intensely for many years, reading poetry one day she suddenly became overwhelmed with bodily sensations. Her hands began to shake and she felt “a heat” in her heart. Upon that experience she decided that she wanted to visit the grave of Saadi located in Shiraz. She then told the poet in her mind: “I will be in Shiraz in Ordibehesht.15” Unfortunately when the month of Ordibehesht came, Shirin still was too busy to leave Tehran due to her university study. Because one of her friends was in Shiraz at that time, she asked him to do a fāl-e Saadi for her at the grave. Her friend went to the tomb and ​ opened the poetry book at random. Miraculously the poem that appeared was the same one Shirin had read the day she experienced the bodily sensation. Shirin concluded that it must have been a sign from Saadi which she interpreted as an indication that her relationship with the poet had become more intimate and intense. Before, she felt that she could only talk to him, but now she realized that Saadi might also be able to ​ communicate back. When I asked Shirin how she explained the moment that her friend opened the book on the exact same poem at Saadi's grave, she told me that she could not do that with her rational mind. However, she believed it was something very special because her body had “reacted to it” and she had therefore experienced it as a sign from the poet himself. She told me that after this event the experience of reading Saadi’s poetry had deepened; the realization that he might be able to ‘talk’ to her made the poems, in her words, “having more impact on my heart”. Similar to Shirin, other interlocutors also told me that when the poet had heard their wishes or had given them a special sign, it was often accompanied with having a bodily experience, deep realization or turning point in their lives. This is reflected from a story that Meesha told me about her encounter with Hafez while taking a fal: ​ ​

It was last year in mordad [September] and there was a moon that ​ ​ ​ was being blinded by the earth. We call it mah gereftan [lunar ​ ​

15 ​The first day of the Iranian month of Ordibehesht (April-May) is the ‘day of Saadi’. Traveling to the grave of the poet to connect with his or her spirit is common among Iranians, and taking ​fāl’s ​ at graves is a frequent occurrence. People told me that the ​fāl would be more powerful there and one could more directly connect to the poet.

44 eclipse]. I decided to go to Naqsh-e Jahan [the main square in ​ Isfahan] to see the moon. I was alone and it was late at night and a very special experience to me as I was sitting near Ali Qapu [an ​ ancient building] alone. I was thinking about many things and reading Hafez and then this special feeling came to my heart and I decided to take a fal. ​ ​ I did not ask any question, I just told Hafez: “speak to me, say things to me”. Then I opened the book and there was written in a verse ‘I won’t give up until I reach my purpose’. I felt fear because I realized something was going to happen to me. I felt very confused because my life was so stable and now things would change. Many questions came to my mind, where will I go? At that time I thought that I was going to have an easy life. I was near peacefulness. But when I read that poem I then understood; something new would come into my life. It felt strange at that time, but because Hafez told it to me, I believed him a hundred percent. He knows better than me so I need to accept it as right and follow his advice. It was a special day, it was the fifth day of the fifth month of my 25 year! Everything came together. And after that night, those wonderful things happened that I told you. I fell in love. It changed my whole life. It is a deep, real love and I am able to have that because I opened my heart to something new to come.

A key point to take from the story of Meesha is the way she stated that, because it was Hafez that “told” her that her life was about to be turned around, she believed him and was able to trust that life would bring her something good. Despite being fearful and confused about the fal, she ​ ​ trusted that what was coming would be meant for her because, as she told me, “Hafez knows better than me so I need to accept it as right and follow his advice”. As Shirin’s and Meesha’s example conveys, my interlocutors have a great sense of awe for the poets that instates them as an authority figure. Their life experience and knowledge about the world is blindly trusted and used as a guidepost to live by. Poets are perceived as morally superior and sometimes even as being in contact with the transcendental. This reflects from how Farnaz, a 31 year old woman ​ ​ from Shiraz, expressed her admiration for Hafez:

45 During the reading you get shocked almost, about the literature parts, how he [Hafez] uses the words and the metaphors and the countless meanings and possibilities. It is perfect. When I read Hafez, I get amazed. It makes me think; how can a human say something like this? Ordinary people cannot do something like this! In some poems I think it is really obvious he had a connection to a different world. This is why I know his words are true.

As previously noted, in social interaction the baten (inner self) is often concealed and ​ protected from those who are deemed to be uncertain and is often only shown to “a protected realm of intimates”. In the presence of these people, one can “safely express himself or herself with little fear of attracting undue attention, exciting jealousy, or being misunderstood” (Betteridge, 1985:190-197). In this intimate circle of family members and friends, God, Imams and Imamzadeh are often included; they are perceived to be uncomplicated and never taking ​ advantage of vulnerability (ibid.; Manoukian, 2012:119).16 Betteridge argues that “[f]or many people the most intimate relationships are played out in the sphere of religious activity [...] [o]ne is on one's own with God and the saints, out from under the weight of social obligations and family pressures; there self-expression is given free reign” (1985:199). Poets can be regarded as ​ ​ saints by, for example, looking at the tradition of local pilgrimage (ziarat) to their graves and ​ ​ how they are asked for guidance. This is similar to how people relate to Imams and Imamzadeh ​ (Betteridge, 1985:197; Manoukian, 2012:74). With that I argue that poets need to be regarded as part of the trusted circle of intimates to which the inner self can be freely shown and that through reading poetry a dialogical interaction with the poet is established. When my interlocutors read the poetry verses, they connect with a century old tradition of poetry in their culture and society. For them the poets are more than just authors of poems; they are regarded as an intimate guidepost that holds ‘true’ knowledge about the world. The poet is a confidant to which my interlocutors can turn to and express and work through their deepest emotions without fear of judgment, or being misunderstood. This trustful relationship is built on a reciprocity of intimacies; as the poet narrates life experiences and emotions in the verses, he ​ conveys personal information about himself and his life. The relationship of trust between reader

16 Imāmzādeh is a descendant of a Shi’ite imam.

46 and poet is of great importance in Iran's precarious context and allows my interlocutors to regard the verses as a beacon from which they can safely explore their inner and emotional self. When my interlocutors project their own personal circumstances to the poem they gain realizations and clarity about strong emotions which helps to curb, transform, and continue working through them.

47

A man selling fal-e Hafez on the streets of Shiraz. The birds pick a fal for the buyer. (photo taken: September 2019) ​ ​ ​ ​

48 Chapter 4 Living poetry

In this chapter I expand on the previous chapter by illustrating that my interlocutors use poetry to cope with the sociopolitical realities and the difficulties of their lives. I provide examples in which it will become evident that poetry helps my interlocutors cope with experiences of alienation, inequality and despair and how poetry enables them to understand events in their lives better. Drawing mostly on examples of contemporary poetry, I show that poets are not solely regarded as an authority figure that possesses ‘true’ knowledge about the world but also as a friend. They share recognition with the poet which makes resilience possible. Malihe (31) expressed this fittlingy: “when I read these [the poets] words I feel and know that he is near me. That he lives with me”. Living ‘together’ with the poet and ‘within’ the poetic words that he ​ wrote is the focus of the following sections.

4.1. ​ ​From the cruelty of the world, I take shelter into poetry.17

Your hello will not be responded to. It means that no one will notice you, or even pause one moment to acknowledge your presence. Heads are hanging low, hands are deeply hidden in jackets and faces buried in collars. No one will seek your eyes when you salute your passing friends. Gazes only see one meter in front of their feet and the path is dark and slippery. If you dare to take your hands out of your pockets, to give them to someone, to offer affection or to ask for love, no one will grab them. The cold is so harsh that it hurts us. Cold can come from

17 Az setame roozegar, panah bar she’r/ az joure yaar, panah bar she’r/ az zolme ashekaar, ​ panah bar she’r is a saying of Abbas Kiaorstami (film director) that Shirin wrote to me as an ​ illustration of what poetry brought to her. Shirin translated the verse as follows: ‘from the ​ cruelty of the world, I take shelter into poetry, from the cruelty of my beloved, I take shelter into poetry, From the obvious oppression, I take shelter into poetry’.

49 burning. Our breath comes out of our lungs like a dark cloud. Then the poet asks: “if your own breath is like that, what do you expect from others? What are you looking for, from your close friends when you do that, when you yourself pretend you don’t see?” He cries out to an angel in the sky: “I ask you to answer my hello, the cold is unbearable. It is me. I am your every night guest, I am that sorrowful traveler. I am the abandoned, beaten one, the stone that touches every foot. I am colorless, neither black nor white. Trembling behind your door, deeply upset, I ask you, please let me in, welcome me back. The sound that you hear, it is not from hail nor thunder; these are my teeth, making noise from the unbearable coldness behind your door. I am using my credibility in front of you, to make everything better”. When they say to us that the morning will come, the red light can be seen as flickering sunlight and everything will be better, they are cheating us. This light is not from the sun, it is from the foggy cold winter night. The weather is always cloudy, the rain pouring down. The sun won’t show itself and all the doors are closed. Hands are hidden in pockets, hearts are so tired and sad. The trees are like skeletons. The low ceiling of the sky prevents us from reaching anywhere but here. It has closed our hearts too.

Then, all of it in one sentence: ‘zemestan ast’ [it is winter].18

On a beautiful autumn day sheltered from the sun in a garden cafe in Shiraz, Leila explained to me how the poem zemestan (1955) by Mehdi Akhavan Saless often helps her to get through ​ difficult times. Leila is a girl of just twenty years old, with black shoulder length hair that pours out of her headscarf along her face. “It is incredibly beautiful, Laura” she stated when she was

18 Translation of the poem ​zemestan ​(winter) by Mehdi Akhavan Saless by Leila, Shiraz, October 2019

50 done translating the poem. Her dark brown eyes looked at me with a glance of both happiness and sadness, like the words she just translated had been written on her heart. Her young, kind face smiled and she placed both of her hands on the table with her palms toward the sky:

It is about this. Do you know what I mean? About being able to receive kindness, even in dark times. This is what Akhavan means. When he lived, the revolution was going on; his poems were burned and it was so difficult for him to create his art, to reach the freedom he needed. During those times, Akhavan thought about the value of being kind. It [the poem] makes me realize that we have to endure this suffering we are going through. We should not turn from it and be defeated or let it push us down. We should stay on that path [of suffering] and if we keep going, we are able to see the brightness. I feel strongly that this poem relates to my life here in Iran. It could be written today and it will never be old for me. [...] I believe that this is the way to follow. His way is right, and will bring me somewhere good in my life.

Especially in the past year Leila felt hopeless about the ongoing situation of her country. As a way to cope with these difficulties, she found a reason to ‘endure the suffering’ that her life brings her in the poem zemestan. Leila turns to Akhavan’s poem in a search for comfort and ​ ​ reassurance that better times are ahead of her. The poems of Akhavan are comforting for her because she feels as if the poet had written down her thoughts and feelings exactly; she recognizes herself and the situation of Iran in Akhavan’s words and draws strength from knowing that he has lived through the same difficulties. When I came to know Leila better she told me that she often feels powerless, useless and depressed but most of all, deeply alone. Reading zemestan makes her feel as if she has someone to share her emotions and experiences ​ ​ with. Often my interlocutors stated that they could relate their own lives to the verses of contemporary poets more directly. Many poems of contemporary poets were written during the reign of Reza Shah or after the Islamic Revolution. The circumstances of their lives can be easily resembled with the lives of my interlocutors and, in addition, contemporary poems are written in

51 a more accessible language and the references and metaphors that are used are more relatable. Saeed explained to me that he relates to the verses of contemporary poets in a direct way, stating that “right now, I'm living in their poems”. For Saeed the contemporary Persian poetry of Ahmad ​ Shamlu, Akhavan Saless and Forough Farokhzad narrate what is happening in his country today. Their verses describe circumstances he is directly affected by or observes in his surroundings. Saeed explained to me that he does not read the poems to “understand what was happening then ​ [when the poems were written], but to understand what is happening now in our society.19” ​ ​ In the next subchapters I will provide four concrete examples of how I recognize these ‘living poems’ in the stories of my interlocutors myself. I will start by giving the example of Zana which will illustrate how he articulated the desire to live a certain life by interpreting a poem of Hafez. Then I will move onto how Ester, Nousha and Leila recognize their individual situation in verses of Faroukh Farrokhzad, Houshang Ebtehaj and Ahmad Shamlu and how these poems help them to to understand the situation they find themselves in.

4.1.1. Living poem: Zana

“These lines are important”. Zana points at one of the last lines in the first ghazal in the Divan-e-Hafez and recites: “shab-e tarik va ​ ​ ​ bim-e mojo gerdabi chonin hayel. Koja danand hal-e ma sabokbaran-e sahelha” [the dread of waves, the dark of night, the maelstrom’s monstrous roar. How can they know my plight, who stays so carefree on the shore?]. “Hafez refers to the darkness of the night and the horror of the waves during a violent storm, and the lonely and scary feeling it invokes” Zana explains. “How can people on the shore, he calls them the sabok, understand what I am feeling? They think he is ​ ​ crazy to be in the middle of the sea, detached from all life and material world”. Zana’s finger moves to the second line of the verse: “hame ​ karam ze khodkami be badnami keshid akhar. Nahan key manad an razi kaz an sazand mahfelha” [my own pursuit for the path of ​ love ruined my good name. When gossip-parties learn your secret, it becomes your shame]. “It means that when Hafez’s secret became revealed, people

19 ​It needs to be noted that this is a deeply subjective assessment of the world.

52 began to talk about him because he chose a different path for himself. They gossip and point their fingers at him because they don’t understand.20”

Zana closes the book and sighs, visibly a little bit uncomfortable with what he is about to tell me. During our previous meetings Zana had mostly been focusing on the technical aspects of poetry such as explaining difficult Persian concepts and he mostly ignored my questions into his subjective experience of reading the verses. Now, while we were sitting in his house in East Tehran he started telling me about his life and his childhood. He told me that after finishing high school, he started to “really read the ​ verses” and started to recognize his own character in them. “I had this feeling from a young age of being different,” Zana explained. “I was an introverted guy in school, sitting in the corner of the class on a single bench. My classmates could not ever really understand me. I did not make a single friend when I was in high school”. Zana looks at his dog that is sleeping peacefully in his lap and is silent for a minute and lays his hand on the Divan-e Hafez. “I relate to these words of ​ ​ Hafez closely in my life. This poem was written six hundred years ago and society is still the same, the atmosphere is still the same. When you don’t follow, people point at you, they laugh at you and think you are crazy”. “Yes” he suddenly said confidently as if I had asked him a question. “I want to live like them”. He sighed and while his mother called from the kitchen that dinner was ready, he continued in a lower voice: “unfortunately here, everything is physical life. People are looking, watching; what is he doing? Where is he going, who is he? People are judging by only looking at a person, they are not thinking for themselves. They follow because they need to be in a group.” Out of necessity, in Iran identities are often performed differently in public and private spheres of society. The performance of multiple selves is a major source of stress in the lives of young Iranians (Khosravi, 2017:70). In addition, the state has a monopoly on culture and cultural events. Gatherings outside these organized events are prohibited and it is difficult for Iranians to find a platform where they can meet similar minded people. Many young Iranians feel as if they

20 Translation of ​ghazal​ 1, Divan-e Hafez, by A.Z. Foreman. Retrieved from http://poemsintranslation.blogspot.com/2011/08/hafiz-ghazal-1-fars-poetica-from-persian.html (accessed on 13 june 2020)

53 are deviant from society which leads to widespread feelings of anomie, alienation, loneliness and a sense of being “cut off” from others. This is also reflected in how Zana recognized himself in the poem of Hafez. Later that evening Zana told me that he admired how the classical Persian poets lived in their days. Despite being ostracized and judged by others they kept following their own ways; they did not hide their “different characters” but rather showed them to the world by writing poetry. Zana desires to live in a similar way but feels that in Iranian society deviating from social rules and cultural prescriptions is impossible because people judge those who behave and think in a different way. At the end of our interview Zana told me that his deepest wish was to be able to “write poetry and to be rend”. Rend is a concept frequently used in classical Persian poetry and was ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ emphasized by different interlocutors. They described it as state of being wherein one lives “detached from distractions, detached from materialistic worries and things” as well as “not conforming to any rules”21. Other interlocutors also raised the concept of rend when they voiced ​ admiration for the poets and their way of life. The desire that Zana has to be rend, should be seen ​ ​ as deeply connected with the sociopolitical characteristics of Iranian society. It refers to the desire to be able to follow one's individual path and the wish not to be bothered or influenced by others' judgments or prescriptions. Like Zana already pointed out, within the Islamic Republic this is not easy and maybe even impossible to realize. Not only is such an attitude socially unacceptable when certain rules are not followed at least on a basic level, it could also lead to sanctions from the authoritarian government. The desire to be rend then becomes an individual, ​ poetic (almost utopian) aspiration which could never become reality. When reading poetry Zana could touch his desire directly as he stated that “poetry can encompass me whole, it engulfs me when I read them [the verses]. As if I am immersed in another world”. Abu-Lughod argues that in Bedouin society, the poetic discourse can be regarded as corrective to the prevalent emphasis on morality and adherence to the code of honor in which emotions are not allowed to be expressed (2016[1986]:259). Poetry provides a ritualized and

21 Franklin Lewis (2002) defines the concept of rend as follows: “rake, ruffian, pious rogue, brigand, libertine, lout, debauchee,” etc., is the very antithesis of establishment propriety” (h​ ttp://www.iranicaonline.org/articles/hafez-viii ​ accessed 17 june 2020)

54 accepted way of expressing sentiments and reminds people of another way of living (ibid.). While my research differs in multiple ways from that of Abu-Lughod, how poetry provides a counter-normative discourse to the dominant discourse in society is similar. As Zana’s story reflects, poetry communicates “another set of values and ideals of personhood” and conveys a different way of being to the reader, as it provides the freedom to experience that which stands outside of the official rules and regulations (Abu-Lughod, 2016 [1986]:256). By reading poetry ​ Zana's desire to live freely, without being judged by his social environment or sanctioned by the authoritarian state, can become reality, if only for a brief moment

4.1.2. Living poem: Ester

Ester, a 27 year old student at the University of Tehran told me that in the past years she came to be more aware of herself as a woman in a ‘patriarchal society’. To understand her position as a woman in Iran, she began to focus more on the poetry of Forough Farokhzad.22 Forough Farrokhzad (1935–1976) is a Persian poet who wrote about controversial topics such as feminism and sexuality from a female point of view. She challenged the environment she grew up in by fighting her way into the male dominated field of literature and arts. Her poetry is regarded as a message of protest and empowerment to women.23 According to Ester the knowledge that Forough conveys in her poetry is “lived knowledge”. She felt that Forough had lived through the same struggles because she similarly experiences a lot of inequalities between men and women in daily life:

When I get in a taxi I need to sit in the back, and when two other men get into the taxi they don’t consider their space and they touch you deliberately. When I want to go somewhere I need to go into the back [of the bus]. I have a brother and while my parents are more open minded than others, I notice the inequality; he can stay out till late, I have to be inside at the beginning of the evening.

22 ​During my fieldwork, I have talked to many women that took Forough Farrokhzad as an example of strength and empowerment. Unfortunately, because of reasons of space I'm not able to include them here. 23See: ​http://farrokhzadpoems.com ​ (accessed on 13 june 2020)

55

Ester drew strength from reading Forough's poems as she felt that in her poetry she urges women to not be passive victims of the circumstances they find themselves in. For example, Ester told me that in one of her poems Forough writes “you don’t have to trust men, you should only trust yourself.24” Reading this verse she felt as if Forough conveyed the message that women don’t need to be weak and that they can be strong in their own way. Ester then wrote one of Forough’s poems in my notebook that she thought conveyed the same message:

And this is I a woman alone at the threshold of a cold season at the beginning of understanding the polluted existence of the earth and the simple and sad pessimism of the sky and the incapacity of these concrete hands.25

Ester explained to me that she felt that in this poem, Forough meant to challenge the reader. She told me that its message was that “if you realize a bad situation is happening, you can take action ​ eventually. Don't let it defeat you because you cannot act directly”. In literature studies into the poetry of Forough Farrokhzad, this poem is regarded as communicating the realization of the poet that her faith in change was unable to take roots, and that “despair overcomes her, and she understands the inability of her concrete hands to grow, and recognises the beginning of the cold season” (Shahrestani, 2018:44). However, Ester interpreted it in her own subjective way. From the poem she drew hope for the future and it empowered her to live with inequalities between men and women on a daily basis. She reasoned that gaining knowledge over herself and

24 “Y​ ou, with a sincere heart, woman. Don’t seek loyalty in a man. He does not know the meaning of love. Don't ever tell him your heart’s secrets”. ​ From the poem "​Koshteh"​ [Slain], Forough Farokhzad) (Milani, 2002) 25 Translation from ​https://www.forughfarrokhzad.org/analysis/analysis3.php accessed online on 1 may 2020

56 awareness over her situation gave her a form of agency; it is a way for Ester not to affirm the position of women in Iranian society and not submit to the dominance of men. While the position of women in Iran is better than other neighboring countries, especially under Islamic law, women’s rights are restricted and speaking out against these inequalities could lead to a prison sentence (Humans Rights Watch, 2015)26. The Iranian government actively tries to communicate a specific narrative of Iran's history, its place in the geopolitical world and the importance of Islamic values and personhood through state media. The propagation of a female role model based on Islamic values such as modesty is part of that. However, Iranian people are far from submitting themselves to the dominant narratives of the state. They can easily find their way to other sources of knowledge by buying and reading forbidden and translated books, listening to podcasts, receiving television via satellite or using a VPN to access blocked internet sites. Poetry is a particularly effective source of alternative knowledge as it was (and still is) produced locally. Although poetry is always influenced by and tied to certain political and religious perceptions, many verses are considered autonomous because they are multilayered and thus, are subject to highly personal interpretations. Both classical and contemporary poetry contain personal narratives of repression, resistance, hope and strength throughout history. It carries an alternative set of knowledge and communicates values, ideas about personhood and national identity narratives that are different from those that the Iranian government propagates. Similar to Ester, Faroukh Farrokhzad was a young Iranian woman living in Tehran. Because their lives resemble strongly, Ester is able to identify with Faroukhs struggle for recognition in a very direct way. When she reads the poetry of Faroukh, she not only gains knowledge over her position as a woman in Iranian society, she also connects with the strength that Faroukhs words communicate to her; an empowering message that women are, despite what others may say, strong enough to care for themselves and to stand up against male dominance. This causes Ester's perception of her position as a woman in Iranian society to shift from seeing the fate that women suffer from inequality and intimidation, to a possible space in which women can be strong and action and change are possible, even on a very small scale.

26 ​https://www.hrw.org/news/2015/10/28/womens-rights-iran ​ Accessed on 20 June 2020

57 4.1.3. Living poem: Nousha

During an interview in a crowded cafe in Shiraz, Nousha, a 21-year-old student, gave me an example of a poem written by Houshang Ebtehaj.27 She told me that he had written his poetry before the Islamic Revolution ​while she was not born yet. She felt strongly that his poems spoke to her life and her experiences directly. The poem Azadi (liberty) made her feel as if she herself ​ lives in the “dark night” that Houshang Ebtehaj is writing about.

Those nights, those nights, those nights, Those dark and horrible nights, Those nights of nightmare, Those nights of tyranny, Those nights of faith, Those nights of shouting, Those nights of patience and awakenings, We sought you in the street, We called your name on the roofs: Liberty!

I said: "When you return I will lift my young heart Like the banner of victory, And will hoist The bloody banner On your lofty roof.28

27 Born in 1928 in Rasht, Iran. After the Islamic Revolution in 1979 Hushang Ebtehaj spent a year in prison. He currently lives in Germany with his family. 28 Translation found at http://www.caroun.com/Literature/Iran/Poets/HoushangEbtehaj/HoushangEbtehaj.html (accessed 13 june 2020)

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Nousha explained that living in Hushange's Ebtehaj’s ‘dark night’ meant that constantly something new happened that made her life more difficult. She struggled with missing her family that lived abroad and she was worried about her future in Iran. Nousha told me that the poem spoke to her sense of not having concrete options to change her situation and her feelings of desperation and sadness. Many people, including her parents, told Nousha that she should migrate to another country to have a chance for a decent life. However Nousha worried that she would not be able to be happy outside of Iran and that she did not want to leave her friends and family. When we talked about the poem, she told me that the poem made her feel “as if there will come a day that brings change, a day that is good”. Understanding that staying in Iran would eventually mean that she would see a day of liberty and that when she would be abroad she could not help her country in reaching that day, she reasoned that it was better to stay in Iran: “whenever I read this poem I think; people should not leave their country but stay here and help people to have a better situation. I choose to stay and think about how to help my country to become better [to reach that day of liberty] instead of running away”. Here it becomes clear again how Nousha takes from the poem what she needs to be able to make decisions in her life and to justify these for herself. Staying in Iran and trusting in change becomes possible when she reads Hushange’s poem and the hope it conveys to her of a possible future of liberty. From the examples of Zana, Ester and Nousha it has become clear that reading poetry provides them with comfort and has the ability to create new horizons and possibilities. This can be connected to what Forough Forokhzad wrote about poetry:

[p]oetry is like a window which automatically opens when I go to it. I sit there, I stare, I sing, I cry out, I weep, I become one with the vision of the trees...on the other side of the window there is an expanse, and someone hears.

Forough's window is a wonderful imagery to understand what poetry brings my interlocutors. Reading poetry evokes a deeply personal space where one can sit down and stare outside a window into another world. There, someone hears their songs of desire and grieves with them for

59 what they have lost (Tymieniecka, 2011:193). This poetic environment is never insecure as it is ​ always there for them to return to. If they do this window of safety, shelter, recognition and understanding automatically opens.

4.1.4. Living Poem: Leila’s common pain.

I met Leila in the first week of my fieldwork when she invited me to a film screening at her house in Shiraz; a biography of her beloved poet Ahmad Shamlu. Because Shamlu has written a lot about resistance, oppression and atheism in his verses, his poems are partially censored in Iran. As such the film screening needed to be held in secret. Leila told me that she had waited a long time to see the movie and she burst into tears during the last minutes of the movie. The day after, I met her for a refreshing drink and an interview. Sipping on a sharbat lemonade she told ​ ​ me that her admiration for Ahmad Shamlu, besides that she really loved his poetry, was also based on his life. Shamlu had played an important role in the intellectual movement against Reza Shah before the 1979 Islamic Revolution. He was imprisoned twice then, but kept writing poems that served as vehicles for political and social criticism to the authorities. He continued doing so even after the Islamic Revolution.29 Leila told me that she wanted to write poetry and short stories as a way to call on others: “when something bad happens to my country, I write about it to share the pain with other people”. However she was struggling with finding a way to openly voice her opinion in the sociopolitical climate of Iran. At the end of our conversation, I asked Leila why the movie had made her so emotional. She answered that

Shamlu was a great man, and until the last moment of his life he kept trying. He tried to awaken all the people and he never stopped working and writing. He tried for such a long period to reach to freedom. In the film, he tells us that “my life has been so empty and useless”. Then I thought, what should I do? Who am I then? If HE felt empty, what is my life worth?

29The Islamic Republic considers the work of Ahmad Shamlu to be anti-Islamic and Westernized, but due to its enormous popularity among the Iranian people the ruling clergy have never arrested him. However, in contemporary Iran, there is still censorship on his work. The movie about the life of Shamlu that Leila showed in her house was an illegal screening, and his poems are still not accepted by the clergy. At the same time, Shamlu's books are widely sold on the streets and displayed in bookstores. Shamlu died in Karaj, July 23, 2000 aged 74.

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Here, Leila directly identified herself with her beloved poet. As an admirer of his work and an aspired writer herself, she drew the conclusion that if he had felt useless in accomplishing ​ ​ something, what was her life worth in comparison to that? Realizing that even Shamlu had struggled his whole life to change his situation and that he continued to feel inhibited and oppressed, was the trigger for her to feel incredibly sad and powerless that night. Throughout our conversations Leila continued to draw connections between herself and her favorite poets, like she had also done with Akhavan by reading the poem zemestan. Engaging with poetry, a parallel ​ ​ is found between past and present through which one gains knowledge about the life and emotions of people who have endured the same hardships. Recognition with the poet gives my interlocutors strength and confidence to face the circumstances of their own life. In the following paragraphs I will give a different example of how Leila again related her own life with that of Shamlu after a traumatic event. Through Leila’s story, I aim to illustrate that poetry works as an effective coping strategy and how it influences the response to a traumatic event by evoking a realization about the structural circumstances of life. When in the first week of January 2020 an Ukrainian plane was shot down shortly after takeoff from Tehran airport, the news came to Leila that two of her friends were among those on board. I talked to her several times and she told me that she had difficulty coping with the situation. She felt as if things had piled up in her life; the renewed sanctions, the collapsing economy, the protests in November, the internet lockdown, the threat of war with the USA and, when she thought that it could not get any worse, the government had ‘killed’ two of her friends. After the downing of the plane, many Iranians again poured onto the streets to protest and to call for resignation of the leaders of their country. To make matters worse, during those protests two of Leila’s friends were arrested and she worried that she might never see them again. During that difficult time Leila told me that her mind was going crazy and that reading poetry was the only thing that calmed her down:

We mourn the deaths of our friends in the Ukrainian plane. We shed tears. I saw a video of students protesting in Tehran and with all my

61 heart I wanted to be there and scream. I feel empathy for the hearts of hundreds.

Poetry now calms me down. Especially Shamlu. His poem dar ​ astaneh (on the threshold), I read it over and over. Dar astaneh ​ means being in the middle of a door, to enter it. It is like you look at something from a distance. You look at life from the edge, but you don’t go into the door to really live it, but you are not dead either.

I just exist. Because living is not really possible. It was always like that in Iran. I think Shamlu, when he wrote that poem, was living like that too. We are similar.

Man darde moshtarakam Mara faryad kon

[I’m the common pain Shout me]

All of us, all artists, every-time we lived, we all suffered from one thing. We tried to shout out that we have pain. That we need help. And that connects us together. The pain we suffered. That we all had one value and fought for it.

Not with a gun, but with poetry, we wanted to subdue the enemy.

As Leila’s words clearly convey, she wanted to protest on the streets and scream out her feelings of injustice. She felt deeply restricted to do so and was afraid she herself would be arrested like her friends. She gave me two examples of Ahmed Shamlu’s poetry that made her feel better and helped her to make sense of the situation she found herself in. One poem she referred to is called dar astaneh (at the threshold) which spoke to her feeling of ‘not being able to live’. She told me ​ that this poem communicated to her an of standing at the threshold of a door, looking inside but not going in to really live because, according to Leila, this was not possible in Iran. She told me ​ that there were no perspectives of a different future for her and that due to restrictions, economic

62 and sociopolitical uncertainty, she could not live her life as she wanted to. She explained to me that she knew that when Shamlu wrote dar astaneh, he must have felt the same as her. ​ ​ It not only comforted her to know that her beloved poet had lived through similar circumstances, she also identified with him in a more direct way. This is reflected in her recital of man darde moshtarakam, mara faryad kon (I’m the common pain, shout me) which is a line ​ from the second verse that Leila referred to, called ‘Collective Love’. When Leila speaks about “All of us, all artists” Leila makes a link between the poet and herself and draws this further to everybody who desires to stand up against injustice and express their life struggles, but who are not able to do so. Leila explained that the poetry of Shamlu served as a vehicle to shout out the pain that all of them had felt and shared together. Later Leila told me about a third poem, Ofogh-e roshan (bright horizon) by Shamlu, that ​ made her feel hopeful for a better future, even if she would not be there to witness it herself.

One day we will find our doves Kindness will take beauty by the hand That day in which – each song will be a kiss and every human being is a brother to another man

A day that no one will lock the door. When Locks will be legends. And heart is enough for life

[...]

A day that the meaning of every word is love. A day that every word is a song. A day that you come, and stay forever. And that kindness equals beauty.

That day – that we toss seeds to our doves. I await that day Even if upon that day I myself no longer am.30

30 ​Ofogh-e roshan​ (bright horizon) by Ahmad Shamlu. Translation is Leila’s.

63 Reading the poem of Shamlu it is not difficult to connect with the feeling of hopefulness it communicates and to understand why Leila turned to it in search for reassurance and optimism about the situation she found herself in. However in the days that followed, Leila fell into a deep depression. We had contact regularly and she told me that she was sleeping and staring at the ceiling for days on end and that she struggled to find a reason to go on living. Leila’s experience of suffering and her response to the traumatic event should be understood as influenced by the political circumstances of the Islamic Republic of Iran (Das, 1990:363). This is reflected from how Leila expressed that she felt silenced in voicing her feelings of injustice and grief and her inability to act on them. This feeling of being without a voice added to her experience of hopelessness and inhibition. Leila knew that Shamlu, who suffered censorship and was arrested for his provocative poems, had been silenced as well. While on different occasions Leila may have read Shamlu’s words as strengthening and encouraging, she now interpreted them as a confirmation that suffering and oppression had always been part of living in Iran. The assessment of the traumatic event became influenced by what narrative Leila was able to ascribe to it at that moment. Stating “it has always been like that”, Leila realized from his poems that Shamlu had, like herself, yearned for a day wherein things would be different. She also knew that this wish had never become reality for him. As such she temporarily lost all strength to read positivity in his verses as she reasoned that things would never change and thus there was nothing left worth hoping for.

4.2. Re-writing the world After Leila lost two friends in a plane crash and two others were in prison, she did not come out of her room for weeks nor did she read a single poetry verse. She told me that she felt as if she had “forgot everything”. By experiencing traumatic events, people become torn from their everyday world. The way in which Leila suddenly lost four friends pushed her temporarily to “the edge of existence” (Lester, 2013:753). The ability that poetry has to change the perception of the world in a positive way, to gain strength, resilience and find hope or shelter had then simply reached its limits. The time she spent in refuge from the world was necessary in order to

64 grieve for her friends and restructure her life into the new reality in which she found herself. To regain her base and root herself in her life with this renewed reality, she again turned to poetry. Leila told me that she had come to the conclusion that for her, the poets were “prophets of existentialism”. They had learned her a valuable lesson on how to live her life:

They say houris [black eyed beauties] make the gardens of Paradise delicious, I say that the juice of the vine is delicious, take this cash and reject that credit -- The sound of a distant drum, brother, is sweet.31

Leila explained to me that this poem from the Rubaiyat of Omar Khayyam (1048–1131) urged her to “take the promises [for the future] out of your head and enjoy drinking wine”. She had learned from this poem that it was important to enjoy everything that life had to offer and not to wait for better times because they may never come. Leila then explained to me that the reference to wine in this poem, and many other poems of Hafez, Khayyam and Molana, was not the alcoholic drink but should be seen as a metaphor. In Leila’s view the verse actually conveyed the message to drink the “wine of life” in order to reach “mystical happiness”, as Leila called it. When one reaches that mystical state of being, one is able to see the world in another light. Similar to Leila other interlocutors also told me that, when reading classical Persian poetry and living by its examples, it becomes possible to experience the world in a different way. Sina, a 27 year old student at the University of Tehran, even stated that he had already cultivated a different worldview after ten years of intensively reading the poetry of Molana. He stated that the influence of Molana’s words on his life was so significant that it had motivated him to live and think in a positive way:

They [the verses] show me love, God, peace and tell me don’t be unhappy, don’t be disappointed in the future, enjoy your moment because the world can be beautiful beyond how it looks. For people that can see the world like this, for them this world is like heaven already. Others see it in another way and for them this life

31 ​Translation by Edward FitzGerald (1898).

65 is hell already. I believe that Heaven really can start in this world by seeing things through love like Molana says. Everything is overview; to see it ugly or beautiful makes the difference.

Many anthropological studies show that when people experience traumatic events or hardships, they turn to culturally and locally shaped practices or symbols to restructure the world around them (Das, 2006; Lester, 2013:753). This mechanism also strongly reflects from my thesis. The examples in this chapter illustrate that through a recognition of and thereby an identification with, the past lives, strength, struggles and resilience of the poets, my interlocutors are able to face the political and social difficulties of their lives. It is important to remember that while people suffer from hardships or trauma they also live on and sometimes even transcend (Lester, 753). To do that, deep and “continuous processes of meaning-making that emerge in relationship with others” are of essential importance (ibid.;754). When we return to chapter three in which I illustrated that through poetry an intimate and confidential relationship is built between reader and poet and how important this relationship is in the socio-political context of Iran, it becomes clear that poetry contributes in two ways to responding to emotional situations and setbacks in life. When someone encounters difficult situations, being able to rely on a meaningful and confidential relationship with others is “perhaps the most fundamental—and sometimes the most elusive—of human needs” (ibid.;761). During my research I noticed that poetry gives that experience of having an ongoing and intimate bond with another person without the doubts and uncertainties that characterizes social interaction in Iran. Iran is a complicated society with few certainties and many complexities. Here, poetry serves as a way to navigate through these difficulties and provides my interlocutors with a sense of agency and autonomy. Poetry brings my interlocutors a way to rewrite the world around them; it evokes and nurtures hope for better days even when no change takes place. By engaging with poetry, difficulties of life become actively enfolded in a narrative that constructs an understanding of “how to live” within the possibilities that exist (Martin, 2007:741). The stories of my interlocutors show that poetry provides them with effective ways “to pick up the pieces and to live in this very place of devastation” (Das, 2006:6). As the examples of both Leila and

66 Sina illustrate, the poems teach my interlocutors that a different way of living is possible when they do not let the difficult circumstances of their lives influence their worldview. Sina stated that the poems of Molana had taught him not to approach the world through fear or disappointment, but rather to emphasize the – both mundane and divine – joy, love and happiness that life has to offer. Refraining from living in the future and emphasizing the things that are good in the present is part of cultivating and nurturing a more positive attitude towards life which can be seen as a way of actively coping with the difficult situations many of my interlocutors find themselves in. As Abu-Lughod wrote, “poetry reminds people of another way of being and encourages, as it reflects, another side of experience”(2016[1986]:259)

67 Chapter 5 Beyond faith and infidelity: appropriating (religious) piety and morality through Sufi poetry

On a crisp and cool autumn evening in late October I sat together with Leila and Milad in the office of Soroush, a 28-year-old cafe owner in Shiraz. Soroush told me that, of all the poets he read, the poetry of Molana has the most influence on him. He then stopped talking and pointed to a painting on the wall of his office. He explained that the painting conveyed an important message which I needed to understand before we could continue our conversation. The painting shows a kneeled derwish with a red hat. Inside of him a black figure is drawn. Soroush explained to me that “in the painting there are two people; the black one is Shams and the other one is Molana.32” He then pointed at the right bottom of the painting where a verse is written; har chiz ​ ke dar jostane aani, aani which translates as ‘everything that you are searching for, you already are’.33 Molana met Shams in 1244 and their encounter became a turning point in Molana’s life. Before he knew Shams, Molana was longing to find a friend and companion to share his life with. Shams eventually became his spiritual lover and teacher; the two men drew themselves in seclusion for three months engaging in deep philosophical and theological discussions.34 Then, overnight, Shams left Molana or as another story narrates, was murdered by Molana’s jealous disciples. Either way, Shams mysteriously disappeared and Molana was left deeply hurt. It was after his disappearance that Molana started to pour out his love for Shams and began to write about the pain and sorrow his departure had evoked. The departure of his lover helped Molana to spiritually grow as it made him realize that love was not to be found somewhere externally but rather was already present inside himself. The verse below the painting in Soroush’ office also clearly conveys this thought.

32 The story of Shams and Molana was an important one as many of my interlocutors referred back to it when they talked about the poetry of Molana. ​Before his encounter with Shams, Molana was a preacher of mosque sermons and a teacher of islamic studies in Konya. So you could say that Molana was a serious, devoted muslim. After the time spent with Shams his outlook on life and religion underwent a radical change. 33From the D​ iwan-e Shams​, rubaiyat (quartet) No. 1815 34 Here ‘lover’ is not romantic in nature, but divine.

68 As I have explained in the introduction, the Muslim identity of my interlocutors is ​ something that is given to them at birth. Many of my interlocutors grew up “religious”, as they ​ themselves called it. This often meant that their parents had taught them to follow the rules of Islam; they prayed, had studied the Koran and participated in Ramadan. During the course of ​ their lives, often in early adolescence, my interlocutors started to navigate their religious identity in a critical way. Even if they decide to reject their Muslimness, this often takes shape over the ​ course of years. Many great poets such as Attar, Khayyam, Hafez, Saadi and Molana can be ​ regarded as belonging to the category of mystical or ‘Sufi poets’. From the eleventh century onwards, the influence of Sufism on poetry was so strong that all important poets are said to have been mystics or were influenced by mystical thought (Ahmadi & Ahmadi, 1998:50). The mathnavi, written by Jalaluddin Rumi (Molana), is regarded as one of the most important and ​ influential sources of Sufi knowledge and by some it is even referred to as “the Persian Koran” (ibid.). As my interlocutors regard poetry as an important source of knowledge in their daily lives, the aim of this last chapter is to explore how their given Muslim identity and their perceptions about God, religious piety and morality, become emotionally navigated by engaging with Sufi poetry. To understand the material I will present, it is important to first briefly outline Sufism and situate its place in Iranian society.

69

The painting on the wall of Soroush’ office.35

5.0.1 Sufism in Iran

Sufism (tasawwuf) is described as the path to ultimately reach the “unifying encounter between ​ ​ believer and his or her personal God” (Arkoun 1994:81 in Marsden, 2005:32). There is much diversity and complexity to be found in the way that such “unifying encounters” are imagined and experienced (Marsden, 2005:32). In the general teachings of Sufism, following Islamic rules and regulations (sharia) is considered as central to the practice. It is viewed as an essential ​ ​ starting point of obtaining divine knowledge and understanding. The path of the Sufi (tariqa) is ​ ​

35 ​Official painting by Sabahattin Kayis.

70 the path that flows out of following God's divine laws (sharia).36 The search for inner truth is ​ ​ central by cultivating an awareness of a self that is free of earthly desires, deception and illusion. Ultimately when the Sufi reaches the final stages on his path, the perception of self dissolves into a closeness with God that is accompanied with a greater level of awareness (haqqiqa). This is ​ ​ where the perfect tawhid can be realized; the unifying experience that God is one and that there ​ exists nothing else but God (mafiqa) (Morewedge,1979:101; Schimmel, 98–99; Heck, ​ ​ 2006:256). Some scholars emphasize that there is a difference between an ‘Iranian’ Sufism and a (Sunni) Sufism that focuses on exoteric aspects of Islam and the institutionalization of Sufi practice and thought (Ahmadi & Ahmadi, 1998; Milani, 2013). In Iran the emphasis is more on the personal and individual path to the divine which is guided by a spiritual teacher whose name is to be kept secret. While Iran is often regarded as the cradle of Sufism it has also been oppressed throughout history. During the sixth to the eighth century, the connection between Shi’ism and Sufism was one of intimacy. This changed when the eighth Imam, Ali al-Riza, refrained from identifying himself as a Sufi in public (ibid.:44-45). As a result, a separation between Shiism and Sufism took place, and “[w]hile Shi'is began to actively participate in political life, many Sufis took refuge from the world, dissociating themselves particularly from politics” (ibid.:45). In the first period of the Safavid empire (1501-1736) the Shi’ite and Sufi thought again merged and became the official religion. However, during the later years of the Safavid empire, Sufi thought again came under scrutiny. Mainly because some Sufi’s started to neglect following the sharia. ​ ​ Eventually, Sufism became repressed to the point that the name was changed from tasawwuf to ​ irfan (‘mysticism’ in Persian) under which it continued to spread and influence Shi’ite thought ​ (ibid.). After the Islamic Revolution in 1979, many Sufi orders have been forcibly shut down and Sufi dervishes have been arrested, especially during the presidency of Ahmadinejad (2005–2013). The Islamic Republic does not recognize Sufism as a legitimate part of Islam and disagrees with their anti-intellectualism, the emphasis on the ecstatic search for God and singing, and dancing as part of religious practice. Despite this, Sufism in Iran does not suffer “repression

36 ​A Sufi walks a path of four stages to obtain inner and divine knowledge; sharia, tariqa, ​ ​ ​ ​ haqqiqa and mafiqa (Schimmel, 2011:17; Heck, 2006:256) . ​ ​ ​ ​ 71 to the point of extinction or that it was forced to return, full circle, to an atomized, socially disembodied existence” (van den Bos, 2012:68). Sufi dervishes and orders again went into quietism within the Islamic Republic and they do not engage themselves with politics as the other religious minorities. That Sufi thought now continues to influence perceptions of religious identity, piety, and morality among young Iranians through Sufi poetry, I will outline in the coming subchapters.

5.1. “For his desire, I became wingless.37” ​ ​ “We have a thing; tariqat and shariat”. Leila sits next to me at a small table in the garden of the ​ ​ ​ ​ Shirazi cafe. Today she brought her friend Milad, a 22-year-old young man with curly hair that he had tied into a knot at the back of his head. From discussing the poetry of Hafez our conversation had shifted to a discussion about God and religion. “When you want to reach God,” Milad takes over “there are two ways..: do what God says in every lesson and law he prescribes (shariat) or pursue another way to reach him (tariqat). ​ ​ ​ ​ Milad added that

In religion there are rules. If you do this, or don’t do that, you go to heaven or to hell. But in tariqat, the people that choose this ​ ​ path, they don’t care about “what should I do?”. They don't follow prescribed rules. So it is different but they reach the same goal which is to love God and to reach to him as close as possible. Tariqat people realize that they can do what they want to do, and still be on the path to God. When we read Hafez and Molana we can learn how we can pursue it this way.

That autumn day in November was the first time I had a conversation about God and religion with my interlocutors. Soroush, the 28-year-old owner of the cafe where I had met Leila and Milad, later told me that the paths of shariat (following Islamic doctrine) and tariqat (the ​ ​ ​ ​ mystical path of the Sufi) can clearly be differentiated in a specific poem of Molana. He

37 Ghazal no. 1393 - Diwan-e Shams-e Tabrizi (The Works of Šams ​Tabrīzī) ​by Mawlana Jalal ad-Din Rumi (1207-1273) or simply Molana

72 explained to me that before Molana met Shams, he was a well respected scholar in shariat and ​ Islamic knowledge. People from all over the world came to him for advice and guidance. Subsequently after endless conversations with Shams, he turned a critical eye inwards and asked himself the following question; ‘what am I thinking about these rules I am following’? What is my own idea about life?’ Soroush then wrote the following verse from Molana’s poetry in my notebook:

Goft ke ba balo pari man par o balat nadaham Dar havase bal o parash bi par o parkande shodam

[love said:] you already have your own wings, I will not give you more feathers. In desire of having his feathers I became wingless.38

He explained that “Molana initially thought that he was able to fly with these wings by following God's rules and regulations, but after his meeting with Shams he realized that those wings were not true wings and they would never make him fly high enough to reach God”. In Soroush’ subjective interpretation of this poem, the wings symbolize the rules of shariat. Soroush ​ ​ explained that Molana thus decided to “unchain himself” (he became wingless), which meant that he stepped away from shariat. Without being restricted by the doctrine of Islamic rules and ​ regulations anymore, he allowed himself to listen to his own insights and opened himself to what Shams had taught him. He then came to understand a different way of practicing his devotion to God. When interpreting the poetry of Molana as being part of the general teachings of Sufism, shariat and tariqat cannot be regarded as two separate paths to God. Following God's divine ​ ​ laws and regulations is regarded as necessary knowledge and experience for a Sufi to enter the esoteric path towards the divine. While Sufism is not institutionalized in Iran, the emphasis is more on finding one's individual way to the divine rather than submitting to a prescribed path.

38 Translation retrieved from h​ ttp://blissbat.net/rambles/rumi_compare.html​ on 23 june 2020.

73 When I told about how Soroush, Milad and Leila interpreted the poetry of Molana and how they perceived shariat and tariqat as two separate paths toward the divine, to my other interlocutors they urged me not to take their interpretations seriously. They told me that there was no such thing as shariat and tariqat being separated from each other. They emphasized how Molana’s ​ ​ ​ poetry should be simply seen as a reflection of the teachings of Sufism and that it conveys the message that divine knowledge is not only derived from following Islamic doctrine but also ​ ​ through a refinement of the inner self and by cultivating self-awareness. As such it was impossible to state that one follows the path of tariqat without pursuing shariat. Since my ​ ​ ​ fieldwork was focused on the subjective interpretation of Persian poetry, I decided not to reject the alternative interpretation of the poetry of Molana that the friends in the Shirazi cafe provided me, but rather took it as an opportunity to understand why they interpreted the verses as such. ​ ​ When I traveled to Shiraz again at the end of December, I asked Soroush if he could explain to me why he interpreted tariqat and shariat as two separate paths in the poetry of ​ ​ Molana while others had told me differently. He confirmed that, indeed within the teachings of Sufism, both shariat and tariqat cannot be separated from each other. He furthermore urged me ​ ​ ​ to read ‘between the lines’: “when Molana wrote his verses he was living under the rule of the Sultanate of Rum, so he had to say those words in a way that should not alarm the rulers”. Here Soroush implied that Molana was forced to write about shariat in connection with tariqat for his ​ ​ ​ own safety, but that he really wanted to convey a different message. Disguising one's religious experiences and affiliations to avoid persecution is something that is reflected from the ambiguity that characterizes Sufi poetry; by using metaphors and complex imagery these poets mastered the art of disguising their messages. Subsequently Soroush stated that in the poetry of Molana it is clearly communicated that when someone is a “true believer” and is honest to himself and others, it does not matter how someone practices his or her love for God. He told me “in the true tariqat path, you can look inside of yourself and find the answers in there. You don’t ​ need anyone else to tell you what to do. Molana’s poetry teaches us that true knowledge is already inside of yourself”. In a similar way Milad had stated that “in tariqat there are as many ways as there are ​ people” and that the path to one's personal God can be very diverse and is not bound by

74 prescribed rules. Milad stated that for him the most important aspect of tariqat was the emphasis ​ on the free choice of religious practice:

The people who walk this road [tariqat] are doing it because it ​ ​ feels good for them. Maybe some of them pray, but it does not matter. I think [that] we don’t have to do it [praying]. I think you ​ should not be forced to pray, you should want to pray to him ​ [God]. The people who follow tariqat and pray don't do that ​ because they are forced to do it, they do it because it feels good for them. They choose themselves.

The tariqat to which Soroush, Milad and Leila refer is not the path of the Sufi. The concept has ​ ​ gained another meaning in their lives; it symbolizes the choice to follow their own reasonings instead of the Islamic doctrine prescribed by the state. Leila, Milad and Soroush interpret the poetry of Molana in a way that allows them to refrain from complying with Islamic doctrine and to follow ‘their own’ individual paths toward the divine without losing their piety. An emphasis on the freedom to choose what religious practice feels right, is also reflected in the conversation I ​ ​ conducted with other interlocutors. Sina, a devoted reader of the poetry of Molana, told me that reading Molana has had a profound influence on his existent religious practice: “Molana is like a tufan (tornado), when I ​ read his poems I go higher and higher and I feel that I am closer to God. He can help you to learn about God, to understand God and to reach close to him”. Sina felt that the knowledge he draws from the poetry of Molana deepens his connection with God during namaz. In contrast to the ​ interpretation of Soroush, Sina stated that the poems of Molana encourage him to follow the ​ rules of Islam: “Molana does not talk about rules or laws. He does not force you to do things, but ​ he does write about essentials of Islam like fasting, praying but these are all meant to deepen the experience of loving God --- Of coming closer to God”. How Sina emphasizes the way he feels ​ ​ that Molana is not forcing anyone to do anything indicates that in the poetry of Molana there is no judgment to be found. As such, one can choose freely how to interpret his words and how to incorporate them into his or her life. In the next subchapter I will illustrate how poetry shapes

75 perceptions on religious hypocrisy, morality, and piety among my interlocutors and how this is deeply connected with the social and political structures that influence their daily lives.

5.2. “There are some hundred ways to make prostrations in that Mosque.39” I met Malihe, a 31-year-old woman, when I lost my way on the streets of Isfahan. She soon became a friend and we talked a lot about the poetry of Molana together. One day she told me that “when you know Molana, he can change your life”. When I asked her to explain to me what she meant by that, she told me that reading Molana’s poems had taught her to reach God in “another way”. Reading poetry makes Malihe feel closer to God and the vazn (meter) in the ​ verses makes this feeling heavier and more intense. In Persian vazn also means ‘weight’ which is ​ exactly what the poems brought to Malihe as she told me: “the musical rhythm, the weight of the words… Molana makes me understand the [devine] messages more, it makes the feeling heavier and more speaking to my heart. It takes me higher”. Malihe also talked about how the poetry of Molana reflects “honesty” and why this was of immense importance for her. She told me that around her, she saw so many people that stated to be ‘good Muslims’ because they prayed five times a day but still were lying, greedy, money-driven and power-obsessed. Through reading Molana’s poetry and observing the world around her she had decided that for her following the rules of a specific religion is not important to love God truly. She stated that “I don’t believe that I am a Muslim, I just believe in God” and had stopped praying by using namaz some years ago because she does not regard using the ​ Arabic language as an important feature to be able to talk to God. For the same reason she did not want to go to a mosque for praying and stated that “I speak to God whenever I want, in Persian”. During one of our conversations Malihe told me “I used to believe that the Koran was the lamp that illuminated the darkness of the road, but unfortunately I cannot believe that anymore”. She explained that the reason for this was that she observed that the Koran, and religion in

39 A poem from Molana in the Diwan-e Shams-e Tabrizi, Ghazal no. 81: “there are some hundred ways to make prostrations in that Mosque. Where your Beloved's beauty is your Mecca: turn and pray” (Translated by A.Z. Foreman on http://poemsintranslation.blogspot.com/2010/11/rumi-hundred-ways-to-pray-from-persian.html. Accessed online 1 June 2020).

76 general, had been used for political games and “other horrible things”. While she read the poetry of Molana she came to realize that the poet used many references to the Koran in his poetry and that she preferred to read verses of Molana rather than the Koran. This did not mean that she did not read the Koran anymore, she still frequently recites sura’s and reads the book but her main ​ focus had shifted to the poetry of Molana. The message that appealed to her through the poetry of Molana was that God should not be feared but rather is “kind and loving”. In addition she told ​ me that Molana's poetry had made her realize that God should not be sought in the form of an abstract, separate entity outside of herself, that needs interference or mediation of “holy men”, but that she can establish a direct and intimate relationship with God. The poetry of Molana provided Malihe with an alternative way to relate to God besides identifying as Muslim and following Islamic doctrine; the ability to establish a direct and emotional relationship between God and herself, based on on mutual love and without prescibed rules or intervention by mullahs'. In a comparable way, after Sabra’s (29) husband left her, she came to the conclusion that identifying as a Muslim was valueless without first practicing the essentials of Islamic thought and morality such as honesty, (divine) love, compassion and morality:

Mohammad, Imam Ali40, Hafez and Rumi [Molana]… they all said the same thing; you should be honest, a good person. And this is how you receive God. Molana said that God is inside yourself and Hafez writes that calling yourself Christian or Muslim does not make you a good person, it does not make you love God and love humans the way you are supposed to. What is inside of you that counts. He [her ex husband] stole my life from under me, he left me with nothing. How could you do that if you are a religious person, if you believe in Islam, don’t steal, care for the poor people… these are so important in Islam, and what did he do? Just the opposite! I wonder what he thinks when he does namaz, when ​ ​

40 Imam Ali, or Ali ibn Abi Talib, was the cousin and son in law of prophet Muhammad and is a central figure in Twelver Shia Islam. He ruled as the fourth caliph between 656-661 but is regarded by Shia Muslims as being the first and only rightful successor of Muhammad.

77 he prays to God and reads the Koran. Does he still think he is a good Muslim?

From the circumstances in their direct life and as well as the political context in which they live in and read about, both Malihe and Sabra concluded that following the rules of Islam were secondary to cultivating and nurturing Islamic moral values. They observed that when people were following the Islamic rules and regulations in a strict way, they thought they regarded themselves as a “good Muslims” while they were behaving in a way that hurt other people around them. Such “practitioner[s] of sham piety” to which Malihe and Sabra refer, is ​ found throughout the poetry of Hafez under the name of zāhed. The concept refers to those who ​ ​ follow religious prescriptions in dress and act but are actually pretenders of virtue (Lewis, 2002):

in his sweeping denunciation of hypocrites, Hafez makes no exceptions. [...] We do not find “good” or “exceptional” zāheds, ​ ​ shaikhs or moḥtasebs. They are depicted as two-faced and corrupt ​ as a generic lot: “Let us have wine, since the shaikh, the ḥāfeẓ [he ​ ​ ​ ​ who knows and recites the koran by heart], the mofti [legal expert ​ in Islamic law] [...] are all cheats when you look (at them) closely” [...] He speaks, however of pārsā (the virtuous) or ​ pārsāʾi (virtue; altogether six times) darviš and darviši, [derwish] ​ ​ ​ mardān-e ḵodā “men of God” and particularly ṭariqat “the Way’’ (17 times) in a positive sense, but never so of the zāhed.41 ​

My interlocutors often referred to the poetry of Hafez as an example of the invalidity of religious leadership and to denounce “religious hypocrites”, like Sabra refers to her ex-husband. This often led to an understanding that the divine and the concept of religion could also be received in a different way. Sabra had realized that behaving honestly, morally and ethically formed the basis of religion and that these aspects were more important than following prescribed rules or identifying with a religious label. Accordingly her daily religious practice had changed with receiving the message in Molana’s poetry that “God is to be found inside of you” and Hafez’s

41 As explained by Franklin Lewis: “The ​ zāhed ​is a sinner in the book of Hafez [...] [h]owever, Hafez also rails against Sufi’s and Mystics which he describes as being “dishonest and deceitful and whose cloaks of poverty are stained by the secretly consumed forbidden wine” (Lewis, 2002. Encyclopædia Iranica, Vol. XI, Fasc. 5, pp. 461–465 on http://www.iranicaonline.org/articles/hafez-viii accessed online 23 April 2020)

78 denunciation of religious hypocrites; she stopped praying with namaz and told me that ​ cultivating “good and honest behaviour” would bring her closer to God. A similar example is that of Farnaz (31) who stated that the Muslim identity did not fit her because the main idea of Islam did not appeal to her anymore. Through reading the poetry of Hafez and listening to the talks of Joel Osteen, a popular American preacher, she had come to a different perception of how God should be understood:

He [Joel Osteen] says that the nature of religion is that God is really kind and he does not punish us. He says that there is no hell. I don’t know if it is true, because who knows? But I love that idea, to focus on kindness. It's all about loving God for himself, not because someone scares you into loving him. Being fearful makes your love meaningless. This path is aref, like Hafez was, ​ ​ and not like the zahed tells us to worship God for heaven and hell ​ and always be afraid of punishment. God is like a parent; they don’t want to punish their children if they do something bad, sometimes they do it maybe because they need to. But they don’t want to. They want to be kind, protect their children. I believe that God is like this.

Here, Farnaz refers to aref, which is another frequently used concept in the poetry of ​ Hafez. Farnaz told me that aref refers to “someone that loves God for himself, just because he ​ ​ loves him [and not because of prescribed rules or fearing his judgement]”, which is something that really appeals to her. According to Ehsan Yashater (2002) aref can be defined as follows: “a ​ man who would not go for the dogmatic rigidity of formal religion and the intervention of self-appointed guardians of faith [...] but would prefer the devotion of truly pious men and sets high value on purity of heart and kindness towards others rather than pretentious observation of religious ordinances.42” The description that Yashater provides of aref fits how my interlocutors ​ talked about religion almost seamlessly; whatever their daily practice consisted of or what they chose to name it, they unanimously stated that the most important thing was ‘true devotion’ to one's practice. They valued a pure heart and kindness towards others over pretentious following

42 Yarshater, 2002. h​ ttp://www.iranicaonline.org/articles/hafez-i​ accessed online 27 April 2020.

79 of religious rules and regulations. While changing her conception of God and religion, Farnaz’ ​ ​ daily religious practice did not change as she kept following the rules and laws of Islam. She explained to me that this was not because it was part of an identification as a Muslim woman but rather because she felt it belonged to her heritage: “namaz is just something like a culture or ​ tradition for me, I’ve grown up with namaz. It feels good for me, that is why I do it. But it is not ​ ​ really important what you do [to connect with God]”. This chapter has illustrated that while observing their personal surroundings and sociopolitical circumstances, my interlocutors actively and critically navigate their Muslim identity while drawing on Sufi knowledge that is conveyed in poetry verses. All of them speak about the importance of freedom of religious practice, connecting with God on the basis of divine love and cultivating honest and moral behaviour as key ingredients for their religious practice. My findings resonate with that of Magnus Marsden (2005) as he illustrates that Sufi poetry is an important part of shaping and valuing of what a ‘good’ Muslim life entails in the small Pakistani village of Chitral. Marsden’s overarching argument is that Islamic life and identity should be understood in all its complexity and contradictions and more appreciation is needed “of the ways in which Muslims engage—intellectually and emotionally—with different classes of religious knowledge, and, importantly, to recognise that they often do so in deeply critical ways'' (ibid.:241). Marsden illustrates that in Chitral ‘living a good Muslim life’ means “being able to go beyond the surface-level words and get the sounds of the heart, for it is in the hidden depths of the heart that true thoughts are to be found' (ibid.:121). Among Chitral Muslims, those who are able to engage in critical, challenging and intelligent conversation about their beliefs, write thought provoking poetry and sing and dance in the same space as they pray, are viewed as being closer to Islam and to God than “folk who have low thoughts about women and purdah, read too much religious books and villagers who are over-emotional about religion” ​ (ibid.). Marsden's book aligns with how my interlocutors argue that religious morality and piety is not based on following Islamic rules and regulations in a strict way, but that having an open mind and a ‘clean and honest heart’ is the most important value to pursue. However, Marsden's findings clearly differ from mine in the sense that in Chitral, Muslim identity remains central to

80 the way people shape their thoughts and emotions about religion. Because of the connotation between politics and religion within the context of the Islamic Republic, many of my interlocutors no longer identify as Muslim. They do however remain pious in establishing an emotional relationship with God and to follow their own path towards the divine. Here, it becomes clear that it is important to look beyond the concept of religion as based on institutionalized and static perceptions and doctrines but rather regard it as an “ever-changing, multifaceted, often messy — equally contradictory — amalgam of beliefs and practices” (Mcguire, 2008:3). Moreover, the stories of my interlocutors illustrate the importance of not neglecting the influence that institutionalized and politicized appropriations of religion have on individuals in shaping their subjective perceptions of religious morality and piety (Nyhagen, 2017:496). Poetry helps my interlocutors to live individually and autonomously within the existent political context of Iran. The verses guide my interlocutors on an emotional path towards the divine or a spiritual awakening. Because of their multilayeredness, the poems are open to individual interpretation and their ambiguity provides the freedom to take from them that which each reader individually needs and desires. The message central to the teachings of Sufism is one of mutual love between humans and God; this is in contrast with the general emphasis on fear for God's repercussions that is reflected from the Koran (Schimmel, 2011[1975]:25).43 In addition “Sufism praises a person who chooses freely, comparing the actions of such a person with capital [...] that brings profit to the one who knows how to invest it” (Stepaniants, 2001:167). Pulling both these two messages in Sufi poetry to the fore, opens up the way of free choice of religious practice without fear of God's judgment or losing piety. Following Islamic doctrine then becomes a free choice and an act out of desire rather than a static rule or prescription. Farnaz beautifully emphasized this when she stated that love from humans to God is worth nothing when it is imposed. Engaging with Sufi poetry shapes how my interlocutors' value and appropriate perceptions of religious morality in a significant manner; it presents a way beyond the dogma of religion and the superficial distinction between faith and infidelity (Milani, 2013:207–208).

43 Lecture by Abdolkarim Soroush on the poetry of Molana at Stanford university, May 23, 2011.

81 5.3.The seekers journey: poetry as technology of the self

At the end of my fieldwork I traveled again to Shiraz again to meet Soroush. While drinking tea in his office he asked me a question: “think about the tariqat without the rules of Islam; I’m ​ ​ asking you, what do you think these people are going for? What are they looking for?”. Then Soroush pulled some big poetry books from his bookcase and put them in the middle of his desk while he stated: “Who am I? That is the question!”. He smiles at me and before I can react to his statement he continues; “this question is common between all of us, all of humanity; among the people who don’t believe in any religion, among scientists; it concerns anybody's mind; the question of ‘who am I and where do I come from’. Soroush then reached for my notebook again and scribbled a poem in Farsi, while explaining to me that

Attar, one of our poets, tells us; “you don’t need anyone else, you just need to look inside of yourself and there you find the answer to the question”.44 But there is a complication; all people have the habit to convince themselves that what they are doing is good, even what they are doing is bad. So we need a leader to follow the right path. Each person needs a leader to show them this path to reach our goal and that can be any goal, we need a leader to show us the right path, like Shams was for Molana. [...] Otherwise you could convince yourself that what I’m doing is right.

Molana provides Soroush with the psychological and spiritual guidance he needs in his life: “I read the words and something strikes my mind and I realize; that is the answer. Or it [the poem] ​ gives you a question and makes you think about your life and about yourself; how you do things and realize that something must be different”. The way in which Soroush emphasizes how poetry guides him in his life, how it communicates knowledge about what is right and what is wrong and makes him understand himself better, has also been evident throughout the examples I have provided in this thesis. It has become evident that my interlocutors have an active role in shaping and negotiating their own religious identity, morality and practice as well as in how they cope with the various

44 Here, Soroush refers to the poem ​The Conference of the Birds b​ y Attar (1177)

82 difficulties of their lives. The common thread running through all three chapters of this thesis is that their difficult life circumstances and feelings of anomie and alienation are not only coped with and worked through by reading poetry, they also become woven into new perceptions of self and others. Poetry is an important part of how my interlocutors understand themselves in the world as it provides answers to questions related to ‘who am I’ and ‘where do I come from’. In addition, it works as a device for self reflection and construction in providing a deeper understanding ‘who do I desire to be’. Moreover, poetry is a vehicle that communicates norms and values “for considering what is right and what is wrong, what is true and what is false” (Manoukian, 2012:5). As such classical as well as contemporary poetry can be considered as an effective ‘technology of the self’ which Foucault (1988) identified as being part of a process in which people seek to understand themselves through different practices and consequently use these insights to change their behaviour. Such technologies of the self permit “individuals to effect by their own means or with the help of others a certain number of operations on their own bodies and souls, thoughts, conduct, and way of being, so as to transform themselves in order to attain a certain state of happiness, purity, wisdom, perfection, or immortality” (ibid.:1988:18). In Attars' Sufi poem The Conference of the Birds (1177) the hoopoe guided the birds ​ ​ across the seven valleys. There they learn that those who cling to entrenched beliefs, allow themselves to be overpowered by fear or immerse themselves in ignorance, will never endure the journey to finally find the truth. From the stories of my interlocutors it has become clear that poetry guides, encourages and empowers them in their journey through life. By engaging with poetry, my interlocutors understand who they aspire to be and become aware of who they already are. The birds that finally arrive in the seventh valley are those who do not let the harsh journey defeat them into acceptance or ignorance, but are willing to travel further inwards on a journey of self discovery and understanding. They learn that the mythical Simurgh actually is a ​ mirror reflecting themselves. Those that are brave enough to take on the journey of self discovery and to turn a critical eye towards their existent religious, psychological and emotional belief or dogma, learn that they can become saviours of their own stories.

83 Conclusion and outlook

Based on four months of fieldwork in the Islamic Republic of Iran I have looked at the emotional way in which 23 young Iranians engage with Persian poetry intensively in their daily lives. My thesis illustrates how poetry can be used to gain a nuanced insight into the emotional experience of living in a context characterized by radical uncertainty. As such a contribution is made to existing literature that advocates for the inclusion of poetry as a specific significant socio-cultural practice. Interesting to note is that all anthropological studies that I have discussed ​ in this thesis have studied poetry as a situated and locally produced discourse of knowledge within community contexts, small villages or poetry writing circles (Meeker,1979; Edwards,1986; Abu-lughod, 2016 [1986]; Caton, 1990). My research conveys that poetry does not need community boundaries to be effective in exposing what is normally concealed. As the stories of my interlocutors illustrate that engaging with poetry has a similar emotional purpose in lives that are mainly unrelated to each other. Further research among Iranian youth would shed light on how big this group actually is. In regards to answering my research question three themes emerged on which I would like to briefly reflect. First, my thesis provides insight on how responses to hardships and emotions become influenced by the specific socio-political context of a society. It has become clear that something that would look as “mundane” as reading a poem provides my interlocutors with a locally produced and culturally shaped practice to “pick up the pieces” (Das, 2006: 6). Moreover, through engaging with poetry on a regular basis my interlocutors construct an intimate and trustful relationship with the poet, which is of great importance in the sociopolitical context of Iran characterized by social inhibition. Poetry brings my interlocutors a culturally shaped and secure way to engage with and regulate their deepest emotions and to emotionally make sense of the political, social and existential difficulties that they struggle with. Second, as I explore the interconnectedness between Sufi poetry and the Muslim identity of my interlocutors, my findings support literature that argues for understanding the lived reality of religion as a collection of subjective and sometimes contradictory beliefs and practices (Mcguire, 2008: 3). My interlocutors play an active role in shaping and appropriating their religious practice, and their stories convey that being devoted to the divine does not imply

84 submission to an established religious doctrine or rules (Marsden, 2005). Here emphasis should be placed on how Sufi poetry offers my interlocutors an accessible way to reject their Muslim identity without losing religious piety. They aim to establish an intimate and emotional connection with the divine that is based on the promise of mutual love. In navigating their Muslimness, my interlocutors make sense of how they perceive religious hypocrisy and piety by drawing connections between their personal life, the political circumstances of their country, and the Sufi poetry that they read. In a country where religion has strong political connotations, Sufi poetry provides my interlocutors with a way to freely choose and appropriate their religious practice which influences their emotional well-being. Interesting is how my interlocutors not only drew on Sufi poems in appropriating interpretations of God and religion, but also on other diverse religious sources such as the teachings of Joel Osteen and stories about Imam Ali. Unfortunately due to reasons of space I have not been able to include more examples of this. Further research into what role (popular) religious texts or sources, besides authoritative religious texts, play among young Iranians in the subjective appropriation of Islam could prove to be interesting. Thirdly, the interpretations of poetry made by my interlocutors are highly subjective and dependent on what is already alive in the reader and what he or she wishes to gain from consulting a verse. Reading poetry can be regarded as a mirror that uncovers parts of the reader's inner self, especially those aspects that are usually hidden or unknown. When my interlocutors read poetry they turn their gaze inwards where, as Malihe said, the poet lives “with” them. As the painting on Soroush’ wall illustrates, Shams became part of Molana. In a similar way, the poets, their characters and their words gradually become part of the inner selves of my interlocutors. I have argued that poetry is an effective “technology of the self” because it is part of a journey of self-knowledge and critical reflection. However, to gain a deeper understanding of how poetry shapes perceptions of the self and others among Iranian youth, further research needs to be conducted. Extensive research into the emotional use of poetry in Iranian society can reveal many more nuances about everyday life characterized by uncertainty and conflict and the way in which young Iranians individually shape their autonomous self.

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