Dear Regime: Letters to the Islamic Republic

Doctor

Doctor How to tell the doctor who specializes in treating opium addicts his translations of Hafez need fixing? Of a cedar stature. “Would you say it like this In English?” he asks. “No,” I reply. “I’d just call her ‘tall.’” “But where’s the poetry in that?” he asks. “Somewhere in the nineteenth century,” I reply, munching on fried shrimp, watching my son play with his son on an indoor jungle gym supervised by Scheherazade, the maid’s daughter. I’d rather watch the boys slide to pieces of fresh watermelon and wave their hands while dancing in circles to music on Persian satellite TV. How to tell the doctor without hurting his feelings I’d rather hear about his real work, the millionaire living in a high-rise full of smoky dreams, staring all day at the Baby Channel. 47 You are reading copyrighted material published by Ohio University Press/Swallow Press. Unauthorized posting, copying, or distributing of this work except as permitted under U.S. copyright law is illegal and injures the author and publisher. I’d rather appreciate the irony of a country rich in ancient literature producing an Oxford-educated young man unable to tell the difference between himself and a Teletubby; I’d rather the doctor write this poem, spending his leisure time on this patient who reduces the potential meaning of life to an undeveloped dream. 48 You are reading copyrighted material published by Ohio University Press/Swallow Press. Unauthorized posting, copying, or distributing of this work except as permitted under U.S. copyright law is illegal and injures the author and publisher. ...