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Parvīn Dawlatābādī: The Poet of the Literary Elite

Yaser Farashahinejad Last updated August 4, 2024

34 min read

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Yaser Farashahinejad Last updated August 4, 2024

34 min read

cite

Figure 1. Photo of the young Parvīn Dawlatābādī (Courtesy of Shīvā Dawlatābādī, taken February 7, 1955 in Paris).

The Life and Works of Dawlatābādī¹
Parvīn Dawlatābādī was born in Ahmadābād district, Isfahān in 1303/1924 (see Figure 2). Her mother, Fakhr-i Gītī or Fakhriyah Khānum Dawlatābādī (1282–1362/1903–1983), was the headmistress of Nāmūs where Parvīn was enrolled. After her family moved to Tehran, she continued her education in other schools such as Nawrūz, Nūr and Sidāqat, and Nūrbakhsh. Her father, Hisām al-Dīn Dawlatābādī (1282–1364/1903–1985), was a poet and a representative of the people of Isfahān for several years; subsequently, he was appointed as the mayor of Tehran.

Figure 2: A copy of Parvīn Dawlatābādī ’s identity card (Courtesy of Shīvā Dawlatābādī).

Dawlatābādī continued her education in Tehran’s College of Fine Arts in order to study music and sculpture, but after a visit to Amīnābād’s municipality nursery, she left the university to work full time there. For many years she worked at the nursery without pay and brought hope and love to the children with her poems. Later on, she was employed by the National Iranian Oil Company and worked to help improve the literacy of the company’s workers. Dawlatābādī started writing poetry from her early youth and her first poems were published in Payk magazine.² Parvīn is usually considered a children’s poet, but between the years 1349–1401/1970–2022 numerous works of hers in different poetic genres have been published.³ For instance, Manzūr-i khiradmand (The Sage’s intention, 1367/1988), a rare study on Jahān Malik Khātūn (AH 724–795/1324–1393), a contemporary poet of Hāfiz (AH 725–791/1325–1389), was also written by Parvīn Dawlatābādī.⁴

Dawlatābādī, who chose the pen name of “Parī,” first gained fame through writing ghazal and, in the second half of her life, she wrote several masnavīs. She died in Tehran on Farvardīn 27, 1387/ April 15, 2008, aged 84, after a period of illness. It is worth mentioning that Dawlatābādī only used her pen name of “Parī” up to the early 1340s/1960s and later on one cannot find any sign of this pen name in her poetry. “Parī” has some similarity to her own name, helping her to maintain her poetical identity since her first name has somehow put her under the great shadow of another contemporary famous poet, Parvīn I‘tisāmī.

In 1327/1948, Parvīn Dawlatābādī wrote an introduction to Javād Fāzil’s (1295–1340/1916–1961) novel, Āy ārizū-yi man (O, my wish, n.d.), the content of which shows her attention to the deplorable condition of Iranian women. She states,

Reading Āy ārizū-yi man, unwantedly you will find yourself in the depths of [the] stormy soul of a woman…. The sweet story of “Parī” who leaves the tumultuous Tehran to follow her wish sitting upon the wings of dreams talking to you of great Europe is one of the thousand scenes of the real life of our women that the darkness of fear and the rays of hope are shown in its shade and the flame of sighs and smile of happiness and flood of tears and rivers of blood amid its lines represent the reality of mental and social life of our people…. Our women… whether in the power and greatness of civilization and modernity of today or under the black and deadly veil which is the shroud of their life and the grave of their wishes, all have bright hearts and emotions and the influences of those having broken down some barriers sometimes afflicted with permissiveness and the regrets of these being silenced by the darkness of the veil silencing their souls, both create art…. The thoughts of women in real and permanent scenes of our life are boring and cause heartbreaking facts the gist of that the young and sensitive [Fāzil] has produced in his book offering it to the society in which even if the backwardness of women and the depravation of the population is of no use, at least it produces suitable atmosphere for the artists to think deeper… to burn more, to write more delicately… and maybe the happiness of tomorrow is laid upon the ashes of grief.⁵

Although, Dawlatābādī is a contemporary poet from a well-known family, many researchers and media sources have committed gross errors in narrating her life, education, and cultural endeavors. Obviously, they have confused her life story with that of Mahdukht Dawlatābādī.⁶

Another noteworthy point about Parvīn Dawlatābādī relates to her poems printed in different magazines throughout the years. Publication of her poems over many decades (from the 1330s to the1380s/the 1950s to the 2000s), show the attention of the media and magazines to her poetry. It is worth noting that I have tracked down over thirty poems by Parvīn Dawlatābādī which were published in various journals over the years, including: Yaghmā,⁷ Rawshanfikr,⁸ Kāvah,⁹ Vahīd,¹⁰ Āmūzish va parvarish (Ta‘līm va tarbiyat),¹¹ Chīstā,¹² Bukhārā,¹³ etc.¹⁴ Parvīn Dawlatābādī is also one of the few poets that literary individuals and outstanding modern poets such as Shāmlū (1304–1999/1925–2000) have dedicated a poem to.¹⁵

The reason for such praise is probably the intertextual status of Dawlatābādī in Persian poetry.¹⁶

The masnavī “Az tāk tā sāghar” (From vine to wineglass) was the last poem of Dawlatābādī which was printed in Āvīn magazine but never published in any of her books. She composed this masnavī toward the end of her life.¹⁷ Notably, there are several manuscripts of Dawlatābādī ’s that are not included in her published books. For example, a photo of one her unpublished handwritten poems that was sent to the author follows below (see Figure 3).

Figure 3: Dawlatābādī wrote this untitled poem for her sister Shīvā on 3 September 1981 (Courtesy of Shīvā Dawlatābādī).

Besides these unpublished manuscripts, Dawlatābādī has a very important unpublished poem entitled “Sangsār” (Stoning to death) that was composed in the early days of the Revolution (probably 1978 or 1979). The only version of this poem available is an audio cassette recording of Dawlatābādī ’s voice reading the poem aloud that I was able to listen to courtesy of the family. In this outstanding and highly critical narrative poem, she questions the inhuman and ugly act of stoning a person to death. A part of the poem is provided here:

Woman,

As a green tree yielding to autumn,

Accepting destiny of death,

To the calm vision of destruction

So as the furies do not make excuses

Woman with the cascade of dark tresses covering her shoulder

I am waiting for the verdict of hangman

An unclean hand emerged at last

A cry came out of the unfeeling throats

As if life ended

The cascade of hair was cut off

The hair was cut to brand her shame

Branded with deceit and pretense¹⁸

Intertextuality in the Poetry of Parvīn Dawlatābādī

Parvīn Dawlatābādī ’s poetry, with its dialogic status that seems to have one foot in tradition and one foot in literary revival, has a very clear and undeniable intertextual relationship with poets before and after her. On the one hand, her knowledge and engagement with classical literature and, on the other hand, her poetical language which speaks of the modern world, lead to a very new and original combination.

For instance, Dawlatābādī ’s poetry has an amazing intertextual relationship with Hāfiz. According to Hāfiz scholars, he benefited the most from the literature that came before him; thus, he transformed into the very essence of Persian poetry and culture.¹⁹ The relationship of Dawlatābādī ’s poetry to the poetry of Hāfiz cannot be reduced to mere influence or reception of his poetry; even when she is following ghazals of Rūmī (AH 604–672/1207–1273), Sa‘dī (AH 585–690/1189–1291), and others, one can hear the voice of Hāfiz through musical combinations, using internal as well as external music and making paradoxes that reveal the philosophical and ontological contradictions of human beings.²⁰ It must be noted that such intertextuality is not a look at the past; in recreating many combinations, Dawlatābādī has paved the way for modern poets to use classical arrangements in their poetry.

For example, in her book, Manzūr-i khiradmand (The Sage’s intention), she has endeavored to find those ghazals that represent a literary dialogue between Jahān Malik Khātūn and Hāfiz; she has, consciously or unconsciously, joined in a dialogue with Hāfiz and other poets, though it is not pure imitation. Dawlatābādī comments on Jahān Malik Khātūn, “Topics, rhythms, rhymes and alignment shows her undeniable attention to [the] ghazals of Hāfiz and it is probable that in the gatherings and literary meetings of her uncle, Shāh Abū Ishāq, [she] had met and, in some cases, they had composed their ghazal as a form of conversation or answer.”²¹

Some examples of such intertextual relations are discussed here with regards to semantic and conceptual links of these poems. As I stated before, some of Dawlatābādī ’s ghazals represent her poetical link to Hāfiz and other poets. In 1350/1971, for instance, she writes:

As I was humbled in the tavern of love

I found a wealth of happiness and drunkenness²²

Which reminds one of Hāfiz:

As I was tamed in the tavern of love

Sadness welcomes me at every breath²³

And Safā-yi Isfahānī (AH 1269–1322/1853–1904) says:

As I was humbled in the tavern of love

I had wonderful place and wonderful dignity²⁴

One point must be noted here that neither Dawlatābādī nor Safā have attained the paradox of Hāfiz in the second hemistich, that is the welcoming sadness. Though later on, Dawlatābādī used this poetical technique in at least a few of her outstanding poems.

Sometimes Dawlatābādī ’s poem reminds one of those written by others, like Shahriyār (1285–1367/1906–1988), due to the rhyme or the external music used. For instance, Dawlatābādī writes:

Why do you open this empty tavern?

Why such weariness with those afflicted with toil?²⁵

Which reminds one of the famous ghazal of Shahriyār:

You came at last, oh, precious but why now?

Why now, O fickle, that I have fallen down?²⁶

Sometimes Dawlatābādī uses a combination with traces of classical poetry. For example, she says:

Did not go after the drunk for the sake of night-lovers

Challenge with the victorious drains our strength²⁷

The compound word “night-lover” reminds us of Rūmī’s:

Since I am a page to the sun, I will talk of the sun

Night I am not, nor night-lover to narrate sleep”²⁸

Or another line in which Dawlatābādī says:

The eye became the sea and the heart was on fire

Oh, for the lonely calm of the dead²⁹

It seems that the expression of the eye becoming the sea [crying] is under the influence of the following distich:

Will cry as the sea and throw patience to the desert

And impatiently face danger in the desert.³⁰

Further, sometimes trace of Hāfiz’ poetry is too explicit to be ignored—

I am in pain of life, where is the tavern

Tell me where is the happy song³¹

—which immediately reminds one of Hāfiz:

No sleep at night thinking every night

Intoxicated for [a] hundred nights, where is the tavern³²

Dawlatābādī in another place says:

My life is tied to a strand of hair that you know

I am enslaved to hair you know³³

That is a reminder again of Hāfiz:

I love you dear and I know that you know

You who can see not having seen and read not yet written³⁴

And of course, the poem of Hāfiz has an intertextual link with the famous opening lines of Laylī and Majnūn by Nizāmī Ganjavī (AH 535–612/1141–1209):³⁵

You know the unwritten tale

You read the unwritten letter³⁶

And in another place, Dawlatābādī says:

The ford is closed and the insane has lost it

Kissing the mirage for the thirst³⁷

And Hāfiz says:

Cleaned and watered the front of the house of magi

the sitting sage invites young and old³⁸

Dawlatābādī states in another place:

Do not leave me as I am world-weary

Breath a moment of kindness and show me love³⁹

And Hāfiz says:

If you do not caress me as a lyre

Kiss me like playing the reed⁴⁰

Dolwlatabadi says:

No fear if I prayed to the clay of the wine jar

The call of euphoria drops from this clay⁴¹

And Hāfiz says:

Blossomed is the red rose; and intoxicated is the nightingale

(And given is) the invitation to merriment—– O Lovers, wine-worshipping!⁴²

Dawlatābādī writes in another part:

Forgive the drunk to the honor of the beloved

Do not ask where the flame of this wickless candle⁴³

And Hāfiz says:

Do not look at me, the drunk, with pity

The honor of the righteous will not be defiled thus⁴⁴

Dawlatābādī writes in another part:

Where is the mirage of life, where the thirsty soul?

Where is the sāqī [cup-bearer] of sadness, my ancient acquaintance⁴⁵

And Hāfiz says:

The rectitude of work, — where? and, I ruined (wanting in rectitude)—where?

Behold the distance of the Path, —from where (rectitude) to (ruin)—where?⁴⁶

Sometimes she inserts a hemistich of Hāfiz with some change in her own poem:

Do not pain the afflicted by the approved wine

There is no other forbidden in our religion”⁴⁷

And Hāfiz says:

Do not inflict pain and do as you like

There is no other sin in our religion⁴⁸

In 1968, Dawlatābādī quotes a hemistich of a ghazal by Sa‘dī, that is, “for the rightful love between us” and wrote a ghazal beginning with:⁴⁹

Our secret the eternal mystery between

The flame of eternal love is the life of you and I

and finishes with:

Help this sad and impatient heart of Pari

for the rightful love between us.⁵⁰

The language of Dawlatābādī in this ghazal follows that classical language intermingled with a little mysticism common in the jargon of previous poets. However, Hushang Ibtihāj (1306–1401/1927–2022) had used the same music of Sa‘dī’s poetry in a more modern and personal frame composing a poem without the mystical idioms of the ancient poets gaining more popularity,

What secret we have will not be in the open

As long as eyes play the courtship letters⁵¹

Sometimes Dawlatābādī uses classical combinations successfully but there are better samples from other poets. For example, she writes:

No path to the mosque to undo the rosary of one hundred beads

Tear it form my throat to utter no faith I have⁵²

If out of two different readings we choose the personification of the rosary as the throat, her combination is one step ahead of Furūghī Bastāmī (AH 1213–1274/1798–1857). Furūghī Bastāmī says:

The hermit and the rosary of one hundred beads and dawn invocation

I and drinking the cup and insanity⁵³

Furūghī’s poem reminds one of Hāfiz with regards to topic, “Hermit and conceit and prayer and me and drunkenness and hope…” but he has not personified the rosary as Dawlatābādī has done.⁵⁴ Farrukhī Yazdī (1268–1318/1889–1939) has used this descriptive composition (i.e., rosary of one hundred beads), personifying it accompanied with a sharp and critical irony towards the deceitful which exerts more artistic influence:

Nothing left of Shaykh’s porous rosary

As I counted [a] rosary of one hundred beads⁵⁵

In 1342/1963 Dawlatābādī writes—

Every night sleep does not come to my eyes

Tresses of night carry me to insanity⁵⁶

[hamah shab khvāb bar in didah harām ast marā

nuktah pardāz-i junūn gisū-yi shām ast marā]

—which reminds one of the following poem by Khāqānī (AH 520–595/1126–1198):

O beloved give me to the line of Baghdād, a cup of wine

Pour me Again to Baghdād in the cup⁵⁷

[Jām-i may tā khat-i Baghdād dih ay yār marā

Bāz ham dar khat-i Baghdād fikan bāz marā]

Shafī‘ī Kadkanī, influenced by the same rhythm and the alignment of marā, composed the poem entitled “Hazārah-yi duvvum āhū-yi kūhī” (The Second Millenium of Mountain Deer) in Nīmā’ī form: “Where does this image on the wall take me to?” [Tā kojā mībarad in naqsh-i bih dīvār marā].⁵⁸

Sometimes Dawlatābādī takes a famous composition from classical poetry and embeds it successfully in her ghazal that can be found in the poetry of other poets. In 1348/1969 she writes:

The heart lost that passion little by little,

Finally, it happened to me as you know⁵⁹

Her old friend, Simin Behbahani (1306–1993/1927–2014), another famous poet, has also used the term “as you know” that Dawlatābādī had borrowed from Sa‘dī:

O friend, not being young to play recklessly

Or tell tales as you know, O friend⁶⁰

In some cases, it is obvious that Dawlatābādī is composing a poem copying the ancients, such as:

Spring is coming bringing tidings of the beloved

Giving magnificence to the old place⁶¹

This is clearly an imitation of Rūmī’s famous ghazal:

Sprinkle the path, behold the beloved is coming

Tidings to the garden, scent of spring is coming⁶²

However, the most complex and intertwined relations of her poetry occur when following another poet; in this, the footprints of Hāfiz are found.

For example, in a ghazal she says:

Like dust on the road, I fell and passed out

Forgot myself and forgot the self⁶³

This poem reminds one of Sa‘dī’s:

O beloved, you entered and lost self

As if I moved from this world to the other⁶⁴

A few verses later, Dawlatābādī says:

Like a breeze after the solitude of a flower

I was lost in the petals of a bud⁶⁵

“Petals of a bud” is a reminder to a verse by Hāfiz:

Curl of the violet is your musk scented tress

Petals of the bud disgrace your pleasant smile⁶⁶

Though there is a classical atmosphere, she creates unique imagery as in the same ghazal:

Spilled the blood of evening into the veins of night

So, at the end of life, I tell the story of the dawn⁶⁷

But the most interesting intertextual relationship of Dawlatābādī is probably the similarity between one of her ghazals with a poem of Shafī‘ī Kadkanī. Dawlatābādī has a poem entitled “Faryād-i khāmūsh” (Silent cry) beginning with:

I am a candle and cannot hide the self-burning fire

Like a butterfly burn[s] and cannot talk⁶⁸

The date of composing this poem in Dawlatābādī ’s biggest collection is not mentioned. She had published it in her first book, Shūrāb, the date of publication is 1350/1971 and “Faryād-i khāmūsh” is the first poem.⁶⁹ Shafī‘ī Kadkanī has published a selection of his ghazals entitled Zimzimah′hā (Murmurs) in 1344/1965 and has a ghazal in this book beginning with:

I have something to tell you and I cannot

Cannot hide this hidden pain⁷⁰

These two poems have the same alignments and the rhyme scheme is the same. The rhymes in Shafī‘ī Kadkanī poem are: guftan, nahuftan, giriftan, raftan, khuftan, shikuftan, and guftan, and that of Dawlatābādī’s poems are: nahuftan, raftan, suftan, shikuftan, and naguftan. In the introduction to Zimzimah′hā, Shafī‘ī Kadkanī states that he has composed these ghazals between the years 1339 to1344 (1960 to 1965) claiming that he has followed the great composers of ghazals but does not consider himself equal to them.⁷¹ In those years, Parvīn Dawlatābādī had not yet published a book but, as it was mentioned before, her poems were printed in different journals and she was so famous that magazines interviewed her, even the writer of Zanān-i sukhanvar (Women writers) has commented on her poems.⁷² As well, there is a handwritten paper from Dawlatābādī ’s father who dedicated a poem to her with the same rhyme and rhythm in Mihr 1349 /October 1970 (see Figure 4).

Figure 4: A handwritten note from Hisām al-Dīn Dawlatābādī, Parvīn Dawlatābādī’s father (Courtesy of Shīvā Dawlatābādī, circa. September 1970).

Since Shūrāb was published in Isfand 1349/ March 1971, it is possible that she has answered her father’s poem; hence, the date of composing this poem must be 1349/1971. The other possibility is that Dawlatābādī previously had composed the poem and printed it in a magazine. In fact, it might be that Hisām al-Dīn Dawlatābādī under the influence had chosen the rhyme and rhythm for composing this poem in order to show his love to her. Thus, on the one hand, with the fame of Dawlatābādī from the 1320s/1950s, one may say that it is possible that her poem was published before Shafi‘i’s poem in a magazine and he has followed her.⁷³ On the other hand, in an interview toward the end of Dawlatābādī ’s life, when asked about her favorite modern poets, she replied that she considers the poetry of Shafī‘ī Kadkanī remarkable and says that she has always paid attention to his poetry.⁷⁴ Since I have not found this poem searching in Persian magazines, Shafi‘i’s poem takes precedence based on the date of publication of the book.

As it was mentioned before, Dawlatābādī ’s ghazals have a complex intertextual relationship with the ghazals of Hāfiz so much so that even when she is not using the rhyme scheme or the rhythm, the voice of Hāfiz is still heard. For example, she writes:

Do not scare me of wound on this body of afflicted by pick of sorrow

In your grasp we are the same song and music that we were⁷⁵

[Az zakhmah matarsān tan-i īn zakhmī-yi gham rā

Dar chang-i tu ān rūd u surūdīm ki būdīm]

Hāfiz has used the same words, chang and rūd and others, in his poems, but anybody familiar with the ghazals of Hāfiz understands that the Hafizian semantic and phonetic relationship of zakhm–zakhmah and rūd–surūd and the double meaning of chang (lyre-clutch) as well as the alignment of ki būdīm (combination of kih and the past tense of the verb ast) with rhymes such as nabūdīm and namūdīm and the musical combination of the verb plus kih is a reminder of the alignment nīst kih nīst in the poem of Hāfiz:

There is no vision which is not brightened by the radiance of your face

There is no eye which is not indebted to the dust of your door⁷⁶

[rawshan az partaw-i rūyat nazarī nīst kih nīst

mīnat-i khāk-i darat bar basarī nīst kih nīst]

Or in other instances where Dawlatābādī has used a verb twice reminding one of ghazals of Shams:

We do not have beloved in city, do not have

We have nothing in your city, nothing⁷⁷

Her technique brings to mind poems such as “let us go, let us go to the rose garden…” and “O you who have gone to hajj, where are you, where are you.”⁷⁸

In another instance, Dawlatābādī says:

Open the door, open the door, I have come drunk and singing ghazals

am thirsty, for a sip of water⁷⁹

And Rūmī says,

I returned, I returned, I returned from the city of the beloved

It took thousands of years for me to talk⁸⁰

Though Dawlatābādī has been mostly influenced by Hāfiz, the famous compositions of Sa‘dī can be found more or less in her poetry, too. For example, she says:

If the pure Sufi drinks to music of lyre and nay

Do not tell our story in the two worlds except by him

[sūfī-yi sāfī ar kishad bādah bih bāng-i chang u nay

qisssah-yi mā magū magū ba-du jahān bih ghayr-i vay]

You blow and nothing grows in my garden

nobody blames the month of Day⁸¹

[mīdamī u namīdamad bār ū barī bih bāgh-i man

tuhmat-i bargurīz rā kas nanihad bih dūsh-i day]

Beside “sūfi-i sāfī” of the famous hemistich, “Sufi will not be purified till he drinks a cup…” another verse comes to mind:⁸²

The heavy separation of the friends sitting upon my heart

you go and the camel does not accept the litter⁸³

I believe that Dawlatābādī, in one of her best Nīmā’ī poems, gains the spiritual music of Hāfiz. Muhammad Rizā Shafī‘ī Kadkanī comments, for instance, on the spiritual music of Hāfiz:

In fact, it can be said that the artistic evolution of Hāfiz is more in the spiritual music than the form. For example, paying attention to this verse proves my statement:

“Although the khirqah of renunciation and the cup of wine do not go together/I am devising all these plans to please you” [Rizā Sābirī, 313] in which the perfect art of Hāfiz is presented, in this verse the spiritual music is seen more than the form. His creativity is in linking two opposing images “khirqah-i zuhd” and “jām-i may” and his art is to put together two contradicting elements in building a society and in fact, displays a contradictory society and puts to action an impossibility and by tying two opposing things he makes his poetry attractive and full of spiritual music reaching the peak of art.⁸⁴

Dawlatābādī, in the poem Zindigī īn ast (This is life) composed in 1362/1983, uses the same artistic opposition and creates a paradoxical image that from the point of ontology and philosophy represents contradictory images that most human beings have experienced:

This is life,

Sweetness in poison and poison in sweetness

In a bright hope a dark shadow has fallen

To close the not yet opened road

Breaking closed doors

Going to toward the future under the back cover of night

Throwing the bright day to the depth of longest night

This is life.

This is it,

To sleep under the white of the moonlight

To sit on the silver wings of clouds in a dream

To break the locks of castles of pain and suffering

To untie with desire

The strings, even if made of the golden rays of the sun

To be alive, to live, to be free⁸⁵

This paradoxical image and acceptance of life’s contradictions brings about artistic pleasure and opens a worldview to the reader which offers more logical than political and ideological views.⁸⁶ In other words, understanding the ironic fact of being has been the concern of many thinkers.⁸⁷

The Poetical Self of Parvīn Dawlatābādī

The poetical self of Parvīn Dawlatābādī has an unbreakable link with the subjects she has presented in her poetry. One of these subjects is sorrow; in fact, sorrow, sometimes personal and sometime as philosophical despair, is present all over her divan. On the other hand, due to another aspect of her art, that is, her poetry for children, she cannot be considered a poet of despair. Dawlatābādī does not tackle political issues, but a faint voice of reaction to the problems of society can be heard in between her poems though in a classical language.⁸⁸

Mysticism and mystical motifs of grape and vine are also dominant in her divan. Kāmyār ‘Ābidī considers her mysticism due to her knowledge of classical poetry and writes: “Her comprehensive mastery of classical poetic language in undeniable. Most of her poems are biographical which sometimes leads to repeating literary traditions of poetry with influence or imitation. Maybe that is the reason there are traces of mystical thought in her ghazals.”⁸⁹ If, on the one hand, one is to accept ‘Ābidī’s view, one must say that the mystical voice of Dawlatābādī’s poetry as a contemporary woman does not have originality and it is just echoing poets of the past. On the other hand, there is a history of mystical tendencies in the poetry of women of the Qājār era and one can consider her mysticism as the continuation of that poetical tradition.⁹⁰ ‘Ābidī himself accepts the poetical self and independent language of Dawlatābādī and writes: “Maybe we can follow the continuation of the ideas and stages of Parvīn I‘tisāmī in the poetry of Parvīn Dawlatābādī. Of course, in the poetry of Parvīn I‘tisāmī the humane aspect is mixed with the ethical aspect and in the poetry of Parvīn Dawlatābādī it is the poetical self which expands.”⁹¹

Relatedly, Farzaneh Milani considers Parvīn Dawlatābādī as well as Zandukht Shīrāzī (1288–1331/1909–1951), Zhālah Isfahānī (1330–1386/1921–2007), Simin Behbahani, Lawbat Shaybānī (1930–? ), Mahīn Iskandarī (1302–1357/1923–1978), Forough Farrokhzad (1313–1345/1934–1966), and Tāhirah Saffārzādah (1315–1387/1936–2008) as women who spoke of their inner emotions and even of men. According to Mīlānī, these women are not tied up with stereotypes and each, in different ways, was in search of a voice in a society which was enclosed by walls and hijab.⁹²

As it was mentioned, sorrow was one of the major themes of Dawlatābādī ’s poetry and, even with a cursory look at her writing, one can find examples:

Pari in your barren life cry unfortunate tears

Like tulips I will do ablution with my heart’s blood⁹³

And as she herself says, her personal language is rooted in pain and suffering:

I am that teller of tales, the tired bound bird

Who learned to speak from my sorrows

Springs of sadness erupt form within my heart

I am drunk by my own bitter wine⁹⁴

If we want to draw an outline of a system of thought and the poetic persona of Parvīn Dawlatābādī, the collection of poems she has composed for children will not allow one to consider her generally as a sad and desperate poet. In contrast to her adult or usual poetry, there is plenty of love and hope in her poetry for children. So much so that if we put the two kinds of poetry side by side, Dawlatābādī looks like a very kind mother who hides her sorrow from her children. In other words, the happiness and hope that abound in her children’s poetry will adjust the sorrowful poetry for grown up readers. She writes:

Our hearts are full of hope

Our eyes shine like the sun

If spring, it is our happy life

Life is under our firm steps

Red blood runs in the veins of humans

We love the manifestation of being⁹⁵

In her poetry for children, she does not build an imaginary world without pain and suffering and hardship; she believes that though there is hardship and many autumns and winters in the world, spring and happiness will finally arrive.

For example, in one of her poems she portrays the hard and difficult elements of nature and talks of a small swallow caught up with the cold in winter that finally finds water and shelter in a house and:

When spring comes, it will fly

will fill the house with songs⁹⁶

In her children’s poetry, however, hope comes after hardship as she talks of the warmth of the house after the cold:

Sing with the hot fire of the night

song of brightness of [the] house⁹⁷

And the migrating swallows come back again:

Again, the swallow comes signing

Again, makes a nest here⁹⁸

And life is a song of happiness and freedom in the end:

Dear life is happiness

its song [a] poem of freedom⁹⁹

Frequently, there is a third-person narrator who talks wisely in her poems for children, but these poems are early instances of poetry for children. They are not devoid of imagery and lovely tales; she has even used syllabic rhythms in children’s poetry which undoubtedly has opened a path for the next generations of poets.¹⁰⁰

The other aspect of Dawlatābādī ’s poetic persona can be found in a poem which is a continuation of a tradition of contemporary women poets having a dialogue with the concept of man. Towards the end of Dawlatābādī ’s life, when she was asked in an interview how much of her poetry is feminine, she answers:

A poet’s poem is created through the process of her personal life. Is it possible for a woman to compose poetry which is not feminine? Anyway, the poet describes her thoughts and personal life. Now some female poets express themselves in a more feminine way and some in a lesser way. But maybe my poetry is not feminine in the way you asked.

Life asked me to add a little

Creation found the secret of being in my body

Told him to know the favor of life is with us

To be a woman is not demeaning, it is eminent

It is ironical to say woman deceived Adam

Woman was the light of knowledge, gave light to the world

Woman was the first word for freedom

Was the threshold of dignity, for the godly solitude¹⁰¹

The verses Dawlatābādī mentioned are from one of her poems entitled “Zan va zamīn” (Woman and earth). The title shows that she had the discourse of tradition and the mythological world of Iran in mind; with the allusions to Adam and Eve and a new interpretation of this story, she has a kind of dialogue with the traditional man giving a new definition of femininity.¹⁰²

Maybe she did not rise against the concept of masculinity like Forough did.¹⁰³ However, continuing in this poem, like other female poets who talk of man when they want to explain themselves, she begins a dialogue with the concept of man and states that woman, like man, is a human, and man has come from the cradle of the same woman whom they have disregarded for many years.¹⁰⁴ Finally, this conversation reaches concepts such as woman, man, pain, and cure, painting an aspect of a contemporary human looking for equality for the readers. It must be admitted that in Dawlatābādī ’s poem—maybe due to the dominance and influence of classical poetry—woman is more often described as a mother:

My kind hand became the cradle of being

giving birth to men and mothers, cause for greatness

If I respect you, like a man, your body

the pain of life is with you, cure is with me

I am woman, earth, soil, used to being humble

Call me god, eternal love mother.¹⁰⁵

Figure 4: A handwritten note from Hisām al-Dīn Dawlatābādī, Parvīn Dawlatābādī’s father (Courtesy of Shīvā Dawlatābādī, circa. September 1970).

Cite this article

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Farashahinejad, Y. (2024). Parvīn Dawlatābādī: The Poet of the Literary Elite. In Women Poets Iranica. Encyclopaedia Iranica Foundation https://poets.iranicaonline.org/article/parvin-dawlatabadi-the-poet-of-the-literary-elite/

Farashahinejad, Yaser. "Parvīn Dawlatābādī: The Poet of the Literary Elite." Women Poets Iranica, Encyclopaedia Iranica Foundation, 2024. https://poets.iranicaonline.org/article/parvin-dawlatabadi-the-poet-of-the-literary-elite/

Farashahinejad, Y. (2024). Parvīn Dawlatābādī: The Poet of the Literary Elite. In Women Poets Iranica. Encyclopaedia Iranica Foundation. Available from: https://poets.iranicaonline.org/article/parvin-dawlatabadi-the-poet-of-the-literary-elite/ [Accessed December 5, 2024].

Farashahinejad, Yaser. "Parvīn Dawlatābādī: The Poet of the Literary Elite." In Women Poets Iranica, (Encyclopaedia Iranica Foundation, 2024) https://poets.iranicaonline.org/article/parvin-dawlatabadi-the-poet-of-the-literary-elite/

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