Breath Poetry: Elixir Poetry
Ziba Karbassi

.
.
Oxygen is the component of air that makes breathing possible and although it is only one fifth of air, it is the crucial one fifth that makes life possible.

The poet starts the process of creativity from the body and the senses, touching and watching. There is a concentration on breathing that leads the poet to a new consciousness and awareness which heightens the senses of sight and sound. Poetry without this elixir is exactly like air without oxygen but living words need this elixir which makes the words metamorphose with the born poet being the elixir poet who achieves the highest level of sublimity. The poet can reconstruct the word so that it bears warmth, energy and ecstasy and is a happening not just a commodity and this word is capable of distancing itself from the sheet of paper, rising up and taking someone’s hand. Language which possesses closeness to breath will instill warmth, pulse and beat into the poetry itself or to express it another way, the pulse of the senses will be internalised in the language by the poet. In this way, poetry becomes the music of the body, the poet’s movement and senses, gradually working with the poet, observing and creating a life of its own.

The poetry of breath retains the energy inside the language and suddenly in a leap of the senses, will explode the energy. In breath poetry, words do not die in language but develop into another word as if one word is an open womb for another. The words continuously enjoy each other as if they are ‘coming’ in love-making in the supreme emotions of pain, joy, hatred, love, caring, desiring, yearning, vulnerability, madness and revenge. For an instant, the poet cannot breathe and it is in that moment that transcendence occurs when the senses are crystallised into that feeling and a few words are released. The rest is what an expert poet can add.

Yashar Ahad Saremi is a breath poet whose creative process is unimaginable. I have read and heard his poetry with enormous desire and can contemplate on his poetry for weeks.

.
The Song of Ibn-Salam 1
Yashar Ahad Sarami
.
Translated from Farsi
Edited by Richard McKane
.
because I believe the word of the red rose
I'd say you are the red rose's son
because I know all the receivers are hopeless
I'll put red phones at each table
so you can call those who have
hands wounded from birth
please check your emails
before you begin the last supper
I bought the airplane tickets for you
if you are able to come
I give you my word that
I'll change places with Judas
so the price of wine and cigarettes won't go up
now for my sins
and for the goats who wag their tails on the edge
do not give away your flesh and your blood to them,
,your deep redness
come over, smoke, and give life to the woods

.
I had been listening to memories of iron bars and chains
then I started flying the Indian face that was behind the wheel
:was not smiling and said
“there it is, sinbad’s tower”the waiter with a smile from outer space took me to one of the tables
that were flying in the air as soon as I saw the bird in the saucer the deepest scent of rose
came out of my hands
?what would you like to eat tonight-
you lover, the waiter asked.when I extended my hand to the bird
suddenly my friends appeared around
the table still sitting on their chairs and words wandered from mouth to mouth ”we desire your flesh and blood, you red rose”while I was looking for my father
the phone rang it was Judas who was calling me, he said
“Stravinsky ordered the fire bird for you”
when he showed up he was wearing
a red shirt and leather jacket this time he had his hair cut shorthe extended his hand to the bird when he bit the wing he turned into a swarm of golden flames I saw my father leaving on his wooden horse

From Sonnets of Tabriz