nobility in exile

Tonight I heard Ala Khaki, a poet and political activist from the days of the Shah in Iran. There is something so touching and heartbreaking about the elegance, the dignity, the soft-spoken kindness mixed with palpable sorrow that characterizes many of the Iranian (Persian?) diaspora that I meet. Khaki was a total professor-grandfather, with his impeccable V-neck argyle sweater and wire-rimmed glasses, reading poems so full of anguish in such a sad, clear voice. He spoke about the torture he endured in the Komiteh prison, his shocked reunion with his parents 12 years after the Revolution, in which they aged 30 years and his brother was murdered, their possessions ransacked, all of these depressing things that characterize so many exile narratives. And then he read a poem about returning to his garden, a garden that could be redeemed. Gardens are an important motif in Persian culture, along with a real value in aesthetics and beauty even amidst such oppression and brutality. Maybe that's what draws me to Iranian history, a respect for a romantic dignity that I perceive as part of their cultural heritage. What I know for sure is that I was unable to tear myself away from Khaki's reading, and his resigned, proud, weary, grateful, beautiful soul.