In praise of the famous Abbas who died far from his homeland

I tried to show all the good colors in my country I didn't do many things I didn't go many ways I didn't get infected by many things I didn't eat many things I didn't drink many things I didn't smoke many things Because I was all worried about this writer Everyone was taking care of him br /> All I thought was that I don't want to destroy it, I want to build it I want to picture my time like my fingerprint hit the wall and go about my work

BingMag.com In praise of the famous Abbas who died far from his homeland

I tried to show all the good colors in my country
I didn't do many things
I didn't go many ways
I didn't get infected by many things
I didn't eat many things
I didn't drink many things
I didn't smoke many things
Because I was all worried about this writer
Everyone was taking care of him
br /> All I thought was that I don't want to destroy it, I want to build it
I want to picture my time
like my fingerprint
hit the wall and go about my work

  • Abbas Maroufi; The tempting author behind the glass of bookstores

Now the famous Iranian immigrant writer and speaker of these words "Abbas Marofi" is gone. This morning, on the 10th of Shahrivar, the news came that the author of the novels "The Year of Riot", "Symphony of the Dead", "The Body of Farhad", "Feridon Had Three Sons", "Smelted", "Totally Special" and "The Name of All the Dead" is Yahyas. . The author of the story collection "The Sailors of the Bluer Island" is gone, the author of the play "The Pendulum of Our Memories" is gone. "Maarofi" was away from his homeland for nearly thirty years and wrote, created, built and established in exile and worked brick by brick for Iranian culture in different corners of the world. Maroufi managed and launched the "Golden Gerdon Pen", "Zarin Zamane" and "Tirgan Literary Award".

He established the "Hedayat House of Art and Literature" bookstore on "Kant" street in Berlin. So that it will be safe for Iranian immigrants far from their homeland to maintain their love for Persian literature. He gave his name to his publishing house in exile to publish many books that did not reach the censorship blade in Germany.

"Maarofi" a man who maintained his connection with Iran and was terribly homesick and still in Farsi. He dreamed and believed: "Writing a Persian novel outside of Iran is just like putting a stem in a bottle of water, it will grow, but it is useless until you plant it in the soil."

Years in the same exile He held a story writing class. Like the same time when he was teaching literature in Tehran and in the schools of Moif and Kharazmi. He used to tell his students and friends to call him "Bassy". During these years, his students gathered around the world at certain times to learn from him. He had come to a sentence, to a solution maybe! In a time full of bitter news and daily tragedies, he had renewed faith in the power and permanence of "literature". He, who has said many times that he likes to be a journalist, and founded three magazines, Negerdon, Ahang, and Aineandiseh; In one of his speeches, he said: "The news and the newspaper are blown away, we can only become literature." "

He believed that this is the duty of writers and violence should be recorded, writers should record important events in society, it should become "literature". He had been suffering from cancer for two years and 9 months ago he wrote for the first time in 18 months of his struggle with the disease. It may seem like it's gone from cancer, from a brain tumor. From the same disease that started from the "throat", grew, ate his jaw, tongue and teeth and then entered his brain, the same "cancer" that is "devastating", the same cancer that "Simin Daneshvar" told him comes from grief. And he said: "Grief means cancer!" Don't be sad for once, famous! But this was not cancer; It was "Ghambad". Longing to be away from home. No matter how much you work and build and try, the sadness will still eat you inside. That is why the candle of his life was extinguished at the age of 65.

The life that he wrote was so "tired" that he thought that if he "sleeps a little, he will be fine." He wrote: "Yes, I've worked all my life, I'm just tired, I'll sleep a little, I'll be fine, I'll write again, I'll work, I'll fight." A man who loved stories and literature, loved teaching and telling stories and poems. Abbas Maarofi was born on May 27, 1336, he was one of the students of "Hoshang Golshiri" and he also learned lessons from "Mohammad Ali Sepanlo" in the field of literature and writing. In the late sixties, a year after the war had ended and the resolution had been accepted, "Symphony of the Dead" was published by him. A work that all readers of Persian literature would somehow communicate with "Aidin", the protesting young poet of the story. In a way, they felt close to him and his contradictions. It was this book that made him famous. This story, the sparks of which were written behind the tables of coffee houses around the Revolution Square, was translated into Turkish and German languages and was praised by several foreign publications such as "De Volte".

Famous but passionate And his characteristic was management and, of course, he was a leader in social activities. For many years, he worked in the Tehran Symphony Orchestra and planned orchestras, and that was the time when he launched the "Ahang" magazine.

But one of his union activities was trying to revive the Iranian writers' center and finally it led to to write the statement "we are writers".

He worked and tried in the sixties and seventies and finally found no way but to go And life in exile did not remain for him. The path that started on March 11, 2014 by going to Pakistan and ended up in Germany and working in hotels and shops. The way that was accompanied by building bit by bit.

BingMag.com In praise of the famous Abbas who died far from his homelandRecently, however, cancer had badly grabbed his throat; As he had to drink only soup with two or three pieces of mushroom or banana milk. He was constantly involved in surgery that would remove his body piece by piece and leave him. A piece of his muscle in half of his tongue or a 7 cm shortening of his artery and finally metastases which became a brain tumor.

But he wrote about hope that he wanted to live and that he should get better and He should finish his half-finished books and be able to write for 4 hours a night and continue the activity of "Khane Hedayat" more enthusiastically. Then narrate. A grudge that may have been in his throat since the day he left his homeland, a grudge that had formed in his throat since his departure years ago during the era of Mirslim and Saeed Emami, and it was constantly blocking his breath and his progress and efforts for culture and Iran. It made it harder and harder.

Time and history may narrate later, the narration of the author who wrote in the beginning of the novel "Melted":

What I was writing was my feeling and perception of the space. I smelled and wrote. I had grown up in my own country, I had learned to write in my own country, I had worked in my own country and I didn't believe that they would destroy someone for writing...
Everything was tolerable to a certain extent and it could be understood that in Iran If you want to stand up and do something, you have to constantly peel, crack, fall, get up, straighten up, and run; From here to there. But just play with your own ball... always have the booklet of the law of the press in your bag, you can flip through it every few days and know that you have not committed a crime, don't be fooled! What is the difference between writing for publication and writing for another time? The important thing is not to underestimate, until they have no choice but to circumvent their own law.

His story and we, who are "people whose time and place are messed up, we don't know when, why, where we are!" Will he still remain in exile?

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