Updated: 8 July 2019
One of the first concerts that I went to in Tehran was Alireza Assar. My cousin went ahead and bought two tickets and told me I was going with her, so I didn’t have much say in the matter. But I was fine with it since I’m pretty pâyeh for anything and would have said yes anyway. The night of his concert, it started snowing as we were driving there. Then it started to stick. By the time we were walking toward the venue, we were holding onto each other for dear life, trying not to fall and break our necks on the slippery tiles. Once inside, my cousin seemed pleased at the “classier” crowd at this concert, unlike the last one she had been coerced into going to (and one that I absolutely refused to attend). I didn’t know very many of Assar’s songs other than Ey Karevan, which was coincidentally the one he boomed out onto the stage with, but I really enjoyed the music.
A few weeks later, my cousin was playing his album in the car and brought it to this song, Bidâri (Wakefulness), her favorite off of the album. There was sort of a hypnotic quality about it. Something nostalgic, something haunting, something relatable. It was different from other pop songs. “Listen to this line,” she told me. (It’s the one below about seeing someone you know on the street and having lived that entire scene before.) “It’s unbelievable. I’ve had that exact experience.” Ever since that day, I’ve really loved this song, too, and I’m actually surprised it’s not more popular. It was even hard to find online. I’ve been wanting to post the lyrics for a while because I think he sings slowly and clearly (more like he’s talking), which in turn makes this song great for learning Persian. Here are the lyrics and translation of Bidâri by Alireza Assar. And as always, don’t miss the important cultural note at the end.
ye chizi mesle ye eshgh-e ghadimi / something like an old love
ke bad az sâlhâ tekrâr mishe / that repeats after many years
ye chizi ke gomesh kardi ye omri / something that you’ve lost a lifetime
tu in ruzâ dâre bidâr mishe / is waking up these days
ye aks-e ghahveyi az sâlhâ pish / a brown picture from years ago
tu tâbestun-e bipâyân-e mordâd / in the endless summer of August
kenâr-e dokhtari sharghitar az bâd / next to a girl more eastern than the wind
ke hatâ esmesh-am yâdet nemiyâd / whose name you don’t even remember
ye musighi por az not-hâye ghorbat* / music full of nostalgic notes
sokut sarshâr az nâgoftehâ bud / silence brimming with unspoken words
sedâ-ye Shâmloo sigâr ghahveh / the voice of Shâmloo, cigarettes, coffee
tamâm-e zhest-e roshan fekr-e mâ bud / was our whole enlightened pose
shahid sâles shodan yâ costa rica / becoming Shahid Saless or Costa Rica
ye durbin-e ghorâze-ye super hasht / a decrepit super eight camera
va taghsim-e ye sigâr az sar-e faghr / and a cigarette divided due to poverty
ke nesfi raftani nesfi tu bargasht / half leaving, half in return
tanin-e jang-e bipâyân-e sâ’at / the ticking of the endless war of time
setize momtad-e tekrâr o tekrâr / the continuing struggle of repetition
morur-e ârezuhâ-ye shekaste / the review of broken wishes
tu marz-e bigharâr-e khâb o bidâr / on the restless border between asleep and awake
ye chizi mesle ye atr-e ghadimi / something like an old perfume
ke hesesh tâze mesle khâterâte / whose feeling is fresh like memories
nokhostin eshgh amâ nâshiyâne / the first love but awkward
hamun eshghi ke ye omri bâhâte / the same love that stays with you a lifetime
be shekli etefâghi dide budish / you saw her coincidentally
hamun ke fekr kardi âkharishe / the one you thought was the last
ye ruz az khâb pâ mishi mibini / one day you’ll wake up and see
nemishnasish, nemiduni chi mishe / you don’t know her, you don’t know what’ll happen
tu mashini tu ye shahr-e gharibe / in a car in an unknown town
ye âdam tu khiyâbun-e ke didish / a person you’ve seen is in the street
tamume sahnaro mishnâsi az ghabl / you know the whole scene from before
hamin yek lahzaro hes kardi az pish / this one moment you’ve sensed from before
kojâ-ye zendegi khâbide budi? / where in life were you asleep?
kojâ-ye zendegi bidâri-ye mâst? / where in life is our wakefulness?
kodume marz-e royâ o haghighat / where is the line between dreams and reality?
soâl injâst… soâl hamishe injâst / That’s the question… that’s always the question
ye chizi mesle ye eshgh-e ghadimi / something like an old love
ke bad az sâlhâ tekrâr mishe / that repeats after many years
ye chizi ke gomesh kardi ye omri / something you’ve lost a lifetime
tu in ruzâ dâre bidâr mishe / is waking up in these days
Cultural note
A note about the word ghorbat. I’ve translated it in the song as “nostalgic”, but the meaning is much deeper. Ghorbat (غربت) refers to a foreign place, exile, or expatriation. It’s living in a foreign land and feeling like you don’t belong there. Iranians commonly talk about ehsâs-e ghorbat (احساس غربت), a feeling of ghorbat / homesickness, or living in ghorbat, a place that you can’t exactly call home because you’ll always be a stranger there, never quite fitting in.
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