Dear Regime (e-bog) af Sedarat, Roger
Sedarat, Roger (forfatter)

Dear Regime e-bog

184,80 DKK (inkl. moms 231,00 DKK)
In his provocative, brave, and sometimes brutal first book of poems, Roger Sedarat directly addresses the possibility of political change in a nation that some in America consider part of &quote;the axis of evil.&quote; Iranianon his father's side, Sedarat explores the effects of the Islamic Revolution of 1979-including censorship, execution, and pending war-on the country as well as on his und...
E-bog 184,80 DKK
Forfattere Sedarat, Roger (forfatter)
Udgivet 1 december 2007
Genrer Poetry
Sprog English
Format epub
Beskyttelse LCP
ISBN 9780821442494
In his provocative, brave, and sometimes brutal first book of poems, Roger Sedarat directly addresses the possibility of political change in a nation that some in America consider part of "e;the axis of evil."e; Iranianon his father's side, Sedarat explores the effects of the Islamic Revolution of 1979-including censorship, execution, and pending war-on the country as well as on his understanding of his own origins. Written in a style that is as sure-footed as it is experimental, Dear Regime: Letters to the Islamic Republic confronts the past and current injustices of the Iranian government while retaining a sense of respect and admiration for the country itself. Woven into this collection are the author's vividdescriptions of the landscape as well as the people of Iran. Throughout, Sedarat exhibits a keen appreciation for the literary tradition of Iran, and inmaking it new, attempts to preserve the culture of a country he still claims as his own.ThighWith honesty of homemade butter,paddle-churned cream (eshta in Arabic,ecstasy foaming to the brim), a womanriver-bathes, sheet of oil-black hair breakingin rapids, cut lemon scintillatingolive skin free of tree-stumped chador, skirtswithin skirts, peal of her bell-body rungmuffled in Iran heat-a splash of white.The rhythm of pumice scraping her feet,sandbar against warm current, frothy capea bee-bubbled hive, honeyed trace curlingto her bare knees, thick transparent lather.At a Tehran bazaar endless gold-storescould never return me anywhere pure.