“My country, I will build you again, / if need be, with bricks made from my life.”
That line from Iranian poet Simin Behbahani rose through the auditorium at the Asia Society Museum on Nov. 9. Members of the diaspora and cultural observers congregated to watch Iranian sister duo Mahsa and Marjan Vahdat’s concert, “Deep Roots, Fresh Leaves,” a musical rendition of Persian poems.
The concert wove together ancient and contemporary Persian poetry with Eastern instruments such as the oud, qanun and daf. The goal was to animate the ancient Persian poetic tradition through a soundscape that evokes nostalgia and imagination. The Vahdat sisters, both internationally celebrated Iranian vocalists, were accompanied by three other instrumentalists. In Iran, female solo vocal performance has been restricted since 1979, but the sisters’ performance demonstrates their resilience and willingness to defy restrictions by carrying their voices across borders.
While I was unfamiliar with the sisters before their concert, their work transcends the limitations of Iranian identity as a mere political label. In the Western geopolitical landscape, Iranian identity often falls short of its richness and nuance. By composing musical scores out of poetic verses from different dialects and regions, the sisters place ancient and contemporary conversations together to diversify our understanding of the country.
The Persian language is inherently lyrical, from its artful alphabet to melodic sound, emerging most notably within the poetic tradition. As an inherited culture, Persian poetry is omnipresent and deeply ingrained within the contemporary Iranian identity. Regardless of literacy or understanding, the ancient mythology of poets like Hafez and Rumi provides a cornerstone for the rich Iranian cultural history.
Grounded in an emotional response, the concert’s sounds, both spoken and strummed, evoked no conscious rationality or insight to the meaning of the poems. A language of their own, verses require years of mastery and decoding to understand. And in the concert setting, these complex stanzas were manipulated through the Vahdat sisters’ vocal performance. For example, certain words would extend and repeat, changing the structure of the poetry. Instead of focusing on the literal translation of meaning, I was caught feeling the low vibration and trill of Mahsa’s voice or the rhythmic pulse of Marjan’s daf. Between these intangible qualities, a new portal of Iranian identity was unlocked.
While singing, the sisters’ eyelids flutter and shut, as if to signal a distinction between the cold corporeal reality and spiritual warmth. They take us with them to an imaginary version of Iran, one that continues to be built and rebuilt apart from its geographical coordinates. The interpretive quality of the concert’s messaging welcomes all levels of separation from Iran, from those who have not been back in years to those who have never been at all.
Functioning as cultural brokers, the sisters’ concert connects me back to a version of Iran that feels properly balanced between resistance and surrender. Sitting alongside Iranians who experienced some form of separation from their country of origin, I felt the real-world weight of that imagined homeland.
As an Iranian American who has never returned to my motherland and cannot read or write in Persian, my understanding of Iran is firmly rooted in diasporic rituals. Living in diaspora requires imagination and creativity to connect back to the place you were meant to call home. For this reason, I find Persian poetry to be the most authentic way to rebuild my spiritual and personal relationship with Iran.
For some of us, going back is a dream. But the Iran of our futures lies within the liminality of our imagination. It is caught between the worlds we know and the ones we don’t. To build Iran again, we must pull from the source of that creativity. While we remain confident in the depth of our roots, we should begin to nurture the growth of its fresh leaves.
Contact Leila Tarighi at [email protected].