Like many of the rural members of Mirman Baheer, a women’s literary
society based in Kabul, the girl calls whenever she can, typically in
secret. She reads her poems aloud to Amail, who transcribes them line by
line. To conceal her poetry writing from her family, the girl relies on
a pen name, Meena Muska. (Meena means “love” in the Pashto language; muska means “smile.”)
Meena lost her fiancé last year, when a land mine exploded. According to
Pashtun tradition, she must marry one of his brothers, which she
doesn’t want to do. She doesn’t dare protest directly, but reciting
poetry to Amail allows her to speak out against her lot. When I asked
how old she was, Meena responded in a proverb: “I am like a tulip in the
desert. I die before I open, and the waves of desert breeze blow my
petals away.” She wasn’t sure of her age but thought she was 17.
“Because I am a girl, no one knows my birthday,” she said.
http://www.nytimes.com/2012/04/29/magazine/why-afghan-women-risk-death-to-write-poetry.html?_r=1&pagewanted=all
2 comments:
Wow. That really is commitment to poetry.
It's a shame that we only get snippets of these poems. What's here is rich enough that I want more. I wish there were more presses publishing translations so that we could read the wealth of the world.
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