by NOEMI LOPINTO

Hussein Sharang will tell you that poetry saved his life. Yet his belief that he couldn't write poems and partake in a revolution based on violence has gotten him shot, imprisoned, beaten and hounded out of his native Iran. In 1980, publishing or exposing his poetry meant death for himself and his family. Times, however, have changed. This month, the Plateau resident's seventh book of poetry will be the first book of non-religious poems published in Iran since the revolution.

Sharang has been living in exile since 1982. Four of his nine siblings have died or been killed in his absence. One brother committed suicide. His father lost his mind. He never saw his mother again. "I still dream of my brothers as being 10 years old, even though I have a picture of one of them. He is married now, with kids," says Sharang.

Sharang was raised in Jiroft, a city he says the Shah used as a place to exile dissidents, a kind of Iranian Siberia in the country's southeast. There, in internal exile, Marxists, mullahs and nationalists met every day to talk about politics and plan the revolution. In August 1978, when Sharang was 19 years old, Iran was in a state of virtual civil war. In January 1979, the Shah fled the country. Conservative Shiite Muslims, led by Ayatollah Khomeini, wanted a nation governed by Islamic law. On March 31, 1979, a referendum, which Sharang calls the "most ridiculous election in human history," approved the establishment of an Islamic republic, with Khomeini in de facto control. Nine months later, Khomeini became absolute ruler for life. In April of 1979, the first prominent Iranians were executed.

Mullah target

In 1978, Sharang had one book of published poems under his belt. He regularly read poetry at demonstrations. But after the revolution, Sharang felt betrayed by the mullahs and their purges. "They started to hunt slowly," says Sharang. "First it was the monarchists they killed. Most people on the left were saying ‘Hooray!' A very, very tiny minority of intellectuals protested. Then they started killing the mujahideen [anti-Shah communist rebels], then the people on the left. They betrayed their former allies, group after group."

Sharang had been active with the mujahideen. He was arrested and sent to a prison in the province of Kerman, built by the Shah but never used. He was there for three months, before his family bribed someone to let him out. After he was released, he was shot in the face and the arm while walking down the street. He never stopped writing, but his poetry was now deadly for himself and his family. He wrote verses ridiculing the mullahs and comparing them to devils and pasted them on the walls. "The mullahs hate poetry," says Sharang. "Unless their poems are about God, poets are called deceivers of the people."

A friend who had copied the poems down was executed for his pains. Word spread that the Iranian secret service, Savak, was combing the streets for him. Sharang went into hiding. He slept in parks, begging or bribing people to take him in at night. "It was the worst year of my life," he says. "Fugitives listen to the radio every day. I could hear them executing my friends. I could do nothing."

Poet in hiding

He hid in cities all over Iran for a year, while executions, terrorist attacks and suicide bombings were occurring around him daily. In June 1982, Sharang escaped into Baluchistan, Pakistan. He walked into a United Nations office and claimed political refugee status. He was 23 years old.

In Pakistan, Sharang suffered a complete mental breakdown, but he never stopped writing. He considers that poetry saved him from losing his mind. An Iranian psychologist, himself in exile, counselled Sharang. He moved to Canada in 1983, worked odd jobs and published six more books of poetry in French and Persian. He still battles depression. Last year, the publication of his book of French poems, Montagnes fugitifs, put out by local publishing house Noroît, coincided with the death of his youngest brother back home. This year, a friend persuaded him to try to publish in his native country again. The news that an Iranian publishing house, Azineh, agreed to publish his most recent work seems to stun him. "What was strange for me, is that they didn't change a line," says Sharang. "They used to censor everything. Maybe now they have too much power. Maybe they are not afraid of poetry anymore."