"Do you Speak Persian?" I Do, but I Wish I Spoke More.

“Do you Speak Persian?”

By Kaveh Akbar

Poetry, that work which makes so many give up so quickly, so beautiful in its words, so moving, oh-so-sensual, and yet, oh-so-spiritual. Poetry is the sound of language; it is what combines the facets of harmony- beauty, truth, and love. Through poetry, one comes into contact with the divine, a ritual that broadens and deepens the scope of our inquiries into the nature of existence and its significance. What better way for me to start my journey, than with an individual to who I can relate to, who I can see my own experiences, culture, and emotions reflected in. That individual, for me, is the one and only, Kaveh Akbar.

Kaveh Akbar is an Iranian-American poet and teacher, a prolific author of many award-winning pieces of work, who was born in Tehran, Iran. Having been born presumably to Persian parents, Akbar is given a high degree of credibility as it relates to talking about the "Persian" language. In Akbar's masterful poem "Do You Speak Persian," Akbar talks about the despondency of not knowing one's native tongue. He talks about not remembering how to say "home," "lonely," or "light" in the language of Farsi, only remembering the native language equivalents of "I miss you," "good night," and an endearing version of his name ("Kaveh-joon"). Such remarks embody the "meat" of the problem that Akbar has found himself struggling with, the problem of "first-language attrition," a shared pain, that many first- and second-generation immigrants find themselves facing; the process of forgetting a first or native language. For many immigrant children, like me, like Akbar, we are forced to "flourish" by giving up our native tongue-the one that our parents are most fluent in-without fully comprehending the burden that such a deed would have on our bonds with our family for as long as we live. I had no idea how devastating losing my first language would be. No one ever warned me of such possible grave danger. Such a feeling that arises isn't like the sharp, acute agony of losing someone you love; it seems more like a gradual aching that develops over time until it becomes a part of you, until it consumes you. My native language, Farsi, is the one I primarily use to speak with my parents, and as it fades from my memory, my capacity to talk with my parents also fades. It's strange and surprising to see myself commenting that I find it challenging to communicate with my parents, because I still don't fully accept it. I am at the "ripe" age of 17, yet I find it challenging for me to engage in meaningful conversations with my parents. I want to say so much, but the words of Farsi are simply out of my grasp, since my tongue has been using English instead of Farsi for so long. It's pretty unsettling to have sentiments that I desperately want to convey to my parents but can't. In addition to the cultural and generational differences between my parents and me, yet another barrier, the barrier of language, gets placed alongside my desire to properly convey my thoughts, feelings, and ideas to them.

Akbar's use of codeswitching is an expression of his "Persian" identity, and his membership in the "Iranian" group. Furthermore, through Akbar's usage of both Persian and English words, an invitation is sent to the reader, and a possible connection then gets made. Since the struggle (language loss) depicted in Akbar's poem is so permeated in society, especially American society, a sense of belonging is able to be evoked in the reader. A sentiment of "I know how that feels." "I can't believe I'm not the only one who grapples with such an issue.", and other thoughts of the like get created within the audience's mind. In talking about such an issue, Akbar is talking about one of the many issues associated with assimilation, deculturization, especially in the sense of language loss. Our culture forms a big part of our identity, and in a similar vein, our cultural beliefs and values shape our identity in fundamental ways. When we "leave" a culture, we lose an integral part of our identity; we lose a part of our connection to what we previously held dear to ourselves. However, Akbar's language has another undertone to it, different from the emphasis on a social issue. His codeswitching serves as a method of resistance, and defense, against dominant linguistic ideologies that encourage "monolingualism" in addition to "assimilation" through disrupting conceptions of "normal" to oneself. This opposition of Akbar is evident, when, after he discusses the way in which the majority of the people perceive the world, he brings forth the "hungry jackal" in the "back of…[his] brain", which is "left" with the "rest." A brain, a device of consumption, is supposed to, in ideal conditions, be in a state of peace and relaxation, yet Akbar compares the back of his, to a territorial and dangerous animal, showcasing the defensive nature his brain has to put on to "protect" himself from the world. Consequently, since Akbar felt the need to use a "hungry jackal" to characterize the back of his brain, one is able to tell that "hungry jackal[s]" are of symbolic or connotative significance because, Akbar could have used anything to distinguish the back of the brain, yet he chose two specific words. Jackals, in the ancient Egyptian era, were associated with death and the afterlife, and revered as gods. They would often consume decomposing flesh around cemeteries, hence coming up with their connection to "death," and they were seen to have a divine essence to them, thus their attachment to the "afterlife" and themselves as "gods." Therefore, Akbar's usage of the "hungry jackal" can play into the idea of his brain consuming, killing, that which is not essential to his perception, in other words, eroding away his native language of Farsi One notable example that comes to mind is of another individual who goes about the same show of force of one's language, is Sonia Sotomayor and her speech at Berkeley Law in 2001. In her remarks, Sotomayor codeswitched consecutive times, as a means of highlighting her identity, her uniqueness, and her desire to keep these distinctive aspects of herself the way they are (in other words, not to get fully absorbed into American society; to have components of her culture still with her). While Sotomayor still has her cultural language robust within her, Akbar, conversely, doesn't. Akbar has to grapple with the fact that he is bombarded with the language of English daily, and that he has little to no opportunities to practice using his mother tongue. Nevertheless, though, Akbar shows a force of defiance within him because of such a fact, that though he finds sadness in losing a part of his cultural identity, of having it be eaten by the "hungry jackal" in the back of his "brain," "drinking" to cope with it, that he still sees "stars" in the night sky.

Akbar's alliteration is another important factor to note, from his line break of "stars" to "separated," to "dailiness" that "amplifi[es]" and not "diminish[es] wonder," to his inability to recite "language, or lonely, or light" in his native tongue. His usage of such a device aids in injecting a gloomy mood into his poem, because of all the examples provided, they all play into the idea of circumstances that aren't favorable to one's well-being. As a consequence, because Akbar uses similar-sounding words at the beginning of closely connected words, he is adding emphasis and rhythm to better accentuate the ideas of bleakness as it relates to losing one's native language. Furthermore, there is a clear juxtaposition shown in Akbar's alliteration, which only serves to drive the point home of a clear hole in Akbar's heart. Virtually all stars are born in pairs, yet Akbar's stars are "separated." Amplifying something and diminishing something are on opposite sides of the spectrum. Not having the capacity to say keywords in his father language, yet being able to express them in his assimilated language of English. All of these instances demonstrate Akbar's situation as one that is far from flawless for his well-being. Thus, Akbar feels isolated, and distanced, yearning for a part of himself that is clearly missing from his soul.

Akbar's usage of caesura and enjambment, which can be found all throughout Akbar's poem, should not be glanced over due to the highlighting of wonder it creates. Akbar uses enjambment to speed up segments of his poem, and to create a sense of tension within the reader. To provide a critical moment, look no further than when Akbar says he doesn't "remember how to say home," followed by a new line saying in his "first language, or lonely, or light." Akbar doesn't want his audience to stop at his first few words (i.e., "how to say home"); he wants to hurry them to his following connecting thoughts (i.e., he doesn't know how to say home in his native language, or lonely, or light). In doing such a thing, Akbar simultaneously creates a feeling of captivation within the reader, because, in the first segment, they are essentially left on a cliffhanger (Akbar doesn't remember how to say home? In what sense?), and in the second segment they are reeled in ("That's what he meant! How interesting."). In such an example, also, it is vital to observe Akbar's use of caesura because of his placement of commas in between "language," "lonely," and "light," a move that spotlights those words as being essential, as being key to Akbar's poem. Language, an absence of it, can make one feel "lonely," but when one has ample of it, it can bring an individual towards "light," prosperity, and connection. Had Akbar put these words in various other sentences, or had he not "breaken" (through a comma) the words the way he did, the main point of the power of language that Akbar was attempting to illustrate would have been lost. Moreover, another excellent example of Akbar's enjambment is when he says that every "step" he's taken, followed by a line break, "has been from one tongue to another." At an initial glance, the reader would be left inquiring as to what "step[s]" he's talking about, but after reading the line following those words, they then understand he is talking about a more abstract idea, the idea of going back and forth between languages. If Akbar were to have used caesura, say at the end of "every step I've taken," then the following idea of "one tongue to another" might be lost in punctuation, because the ideas could be deemed as different, when in reality, they are supposed to be connected. However, since Akbar chooses to use enjambment, he ushers the reader to go past his first part of writing (the "step[s}") and then connects the first part of writing to the second part ("one tongue to another"). By Akbar doing this, he formulates the idea of steps being like decisions, like actions, and that these very "steps" (these decisions, these actions) he takes, have been pivotal in his usage of one language over another. On that and the previous account, Akbar is deftly speeding up his poem when necessary, to get his audience to the core concepts, as a means of enthralling them. In a similar vein, Akbar uses caesura to emphasize words that may otherwise not have received attention, to better highlight his main point(s).

I feel as though I've already written too much, and that I should stop, given the incoherence and verbosity I am now witnessing in my writing, but I will leave this segment with some other important attributes of Akbar's poem. He makes use of a metaphor in his comparison of "stars" to death in the "back of an eye.", and a simile, in comparing the "moon" to a "pale cabbage rose," By doing this, Akbar creates imagery within the reader's head that better permits them to understand the circumstance at hand. First, in reference to the metaphor, to most, stars are something positive, something bright, dreamy, alluring, charming, but when they get compared to death, in the back of an "eye," nevertheless, the reader is left conflicted, because they are then perceiving a "star," something so magnificent, fading away, being destroyed, tarnished. Akbar's situation is similar to this comparison of his; his "star" is his identity, his culture, his language, and yet before himself, he is seeing his "star" die, his identity corrode, all in his own vision. The latter "simile" example is in the second to last stanza, and by comparing the "moon," something so beautiful in itself, to something that is more perceptibly aesthetic, like a "pale cabbage rose," something that is associated with deep love and passion (from the Victorian era), Akbar is able to show his love more tangibly to the reader, his love for that which he is losing, his language, his culture, his identity. This interpretation is only further supported by Akbar following the "pale cabbage rose" line with "Delam barat tang shodeh" (I miss you), as he is directly referring to his yearning for an indispensable part of his soul.

The persona of the speaker in the poem, evidently, is the same one who wrote it; it is Kaveh Akbar. As illustrated by the usage of Persian words (a unique thing, something that only Persians could relate to), and the idea of "drinking" (something which Akbar has struggled with), the "speaker" is "Akbar." Overall, Akbar's poem has downcast and downhearted spirits to it, because, after all, it is a disconsolate topic that he is talking about (the loss of one's native language). However, in it, I also find a sense of power, because, in the end, Akbar still finds beauty, in an entity (the moon), that among other things, could symbolize the changing of one's heart, of Akbar's heart. It's from this retrospect understanding that I can now tell the shifts in Akbar's poem. Ultimately, I feel as though the poem could be split into two parts, the first being the despondent section, and the second being the more uplifting segment. The previous claim can be supported by the usage of language within each "section." The first "section," which uses words like "die," "diminish," "careless," and "drinking," would begin at the start, and end before the comparison of the roof, whereas the second "section," with words and phrases like the "moon," "pale cabbage rose," and "folding into the night" would start at the comparison of the moon, and end with the conclusion of the poem. There are clearly, smaller shifts within the poem (talking about stars that die and ways of describing such events, to a discussion of the lack of care the author has with words, to reminiscing about likely parental conversations, coming to a close with talk of burden, and finally concluding with a light amidst darkness), but the aforementioned claim is just a grouping of the smaller shifts that take place. I believe the rhythm of Akbar's poem to be trochee (and hence the meter to also be in trochee), because the majority of Akbar's words are stressed-unstressed syllable pairs. However, I feel as though I am pretty wrong, because, upon further analysis, it may very well be "free verse" (no rhyme scheme or metrical pattern). Akbar's poem is divided into stanzas, with repeating phrases that work to create a more emotional impact on the audience (the reiteration of the Persian phrases causes the audience to feel Akbar's longing for his language).

My attempt at "paraphrasing" Kaveh Akbar's poem: Stars, like Venus, are sometimes visible in the middle of the day, but at night, stars separated by light years disappear under one's vision. Vocabulary can't be found that explains such ordinary greatness and yet, doesn't reduce wonder. I have used words carelessly, unable to recall how to pronounce "home," "lonely," or "light" in my first language. I only recall "I miss you" (delam barat tang shodeh), and good night (shab bekheir). Kaveh-joon, how are things at school? (delam barat tang shodeh) - Are you still drinking? (shab bekheir) I've only taken steps from one language to another. The world needs order, everyone needs order. The lack of order can be left to the recesses of my mind. The moon, so beautiful; I miss it (delam barat tang shodeh). We constantly collapse into the darkness (shab bekheir).

• Probably not a good paraphrase, but I tried to make it as straightforward as I could in one shot, without revising, and while still keeping all of the interpretative elements in there

I've never been into poetry, and that's to be expected because virtually everything of what I've been given reflects so little of my experiences, but I've also perhaps come to change. I see a lot of myself in Kaveh Akbar's work; I see that the world he is engaging in, and writing about, is the same world that I, too, am living in and engaging with. There's not as much "distance" between who I am and Kaveh Akbar, versus who I am and someone like "William Shakespeare." Kaveh Akbar, me, and everyone in our living world, are participating in and building the world that we are residing in, and I find so much beauty in that fact. The gap between me, a current "young person," and literature is being narrowed, and I feel the same feat can occur for any other young person, provided they find someone alive, that can capture their interests the same way Kaveh Akbar did me. So often, authors felt "abstract" to me, a name on a book, words on a page, but this writing of mine, this engaging with a living, breathing, art form, the perpetual machine machine that is poetry, has changed that "abstraction" for me, because I now tangibly realize that poets aren't just dead people. It was a bad way of thinking, I know, but when you are given only works of the dead, and never works of the living, what else are you to think? I know for me, I just disregarded "living poets" because evidently, their work was not essential enough to be presented in the classroom for me to analyze, and so I am grateful for this opportunity to be engaging with a living, vibrant, fantastic poet such as Kaveh Akbar to change what I feel is possible in our world entirely. I feel more comfortable with poetry as an "art," both reading it and writing it, if I am exposed to models that make sense to me, that I can relate to, and that are challenging, sure, on a craft level, but that I feel are true to my experiences.

I can't lie; I struggled with this first writing of mine. Poetry was so alien to me, and it still is, albeit to a lesser degree; virtually all I associated with poetry was "archaic language," "dead people," "it's what the poet intended," "the poet and the speaker are the same people," and to immediately jump into abstract ideas, never appreciating the "concrete" behind poems, never knowing what is really happening in a poem, overlooking shifts, and the "sensory experience" that is inseparable from poetry. My research over these past few days over poetry has been nothing short of enriching, through the appreciation and knowledge I gained of the drop-dead gorgeous literary work of poetry. I know how to read poetry now, how to analyze it, how to look for insight within it, how they differ, and also, how they are similar. In regards to this poem, I still don't know what seeing "Venus" in mid-afternoon means, or what it means to "order the world: [a new line then...] I need, you need, he/she/it needs"]; I struggle with those concepts because they are abstract to me. I have some ideas (Venus is a big star, a big dream/desire; ordering the world is not like giving me demands, but prioritizing one's necessities), but I don't think they are what Kaveh Akbar intended to illustrate. In line with this same thought, though, I have learned that your interpretations, as a reader, are valid, so long as you can support them with evidence, so maybe it is okay that I don't have an exact idea of what "Venus" and "order[ing] the world" means, because I still have ideas, and I can back those ideas up.

I have found the importance of modern literature in these seeming short days of our "fall" break. If we don't invite into our ears, mouth, mind, and soul, the "literary" work that is being done today (especially in the form of poetry), we are doing a great disservice to those who poured their blood, sweat, and tears, into their work. It's important to learn about dead poets, and dead literary authors, I agree, because of the insight that they bring, but I find a key ability that is not present with dead authors, is that you aren't able to convey your gratitude and your appreciation to them, and they aren't able to really bear the fruits of their labor. Many authors have died miserably (take Edgar Allen Poe or Ernest Hemingway as an example), and though maybe idiosyncratic, many died poor (Zora Neale Hurston comes to mind). It's an absolute disgrace to humanity that such individuals had to die so dolefully. People whose works poured into our throats, skulls, and hearts, who addressed what it meant to be alive in their period in history, to be alive as language shifts and changes and mutates, died, without a proper showing of gratitude from people for what they did. We are human beings; we are alive, and we are dealing with problems that are of our time, but also of every time; if we are students, if we are teachers, we owe it to ourselves and to the people living now to learn, to reflect, to show appreciation, and to enact that diversity and that complexity which we come to confront. Without motion, death is imminent; only change has brought prosperity, never regularity.

I spent a lot of time thinking, reflecting, and revising, and I sort of feel horrible because of all of the time spent. I don't think it would be an exaggeration to say that, all in all, I have spent at least 10 hours engaging in the previously mentioned activities. It's okay, though, because my mind is reshaped around what poetry can look like, and what contemporary poetry is doing to not only speak to our political moments, but also cultural moments as well. These alive poets, creating rigorous, challenging, thoughtful work that has not been seen in a long time, who are speaking to the current moment, and creating the kind of work that people like me (young people) can relate to, and can consider new perspectives from, and can see our current state of affairs in, are plain out fascinating, and Kaveh Akbar is just one of the many who I sought to dedicate this "living poet" project to. It's truly one poem that I have read, yes, but this one poem was paramount in aiding me to discover my own voice to engage the world around me (look at all the writing that I've done, as an example).

In my view, Akbar's poem is wonderful, constructed with deep thought, with universal insights that hit every crevice of our souls. For now, shab bekheir, reader-joon.