Dr. Reza Baraheni’s Message on International Mother Language Day

February 23, 2005
Reza Baraheni

The first 18 months of life are considered the “chora” period—a time when the mother tongue forms the first game of the world between mother and child.

In this phase, language, though not yet understood by the child, becomes a medium of emotional exchange—a romantic ping-pong between mother and baby. Despite being forgotten over time, this exchange becomes the foundation and reference point for all future relationships.

Ana, dilin anasıdır.
Ana dili, dillərin anasıdır.
Ana dilindən uzaq qalan mələr, gecə-gündüz mələr, mənim kimi mələr.
Ana dili, getməz, getsə də, dönər, qapıdan salsan eşiyə, pəncərədən gələr.

Translation:

Mother is the mother of language.
The mother tongue is the mother of all languages.
Those who stray far from their mother tongue wail, wail day and night, like me, they wail.
The mother tongue never leaves—if expelled through the door, it returns through the window.

In this period, the father is a third party—a witness. He neither addresses nor is addressed. He is an absent presence, a present absence. The relationship between mother and child is one of “I” and “you,” where sometimes the child is “I” and the mother is “you,” and at other times the roles reverse. Language, not yet born, exists in this relationship as the love of two lovers, a game of affection. The mother is built within the child, builds the child, and is built through the child, filling herself with the child.

Later, a new stage arises where objects become symbols. Gaze, hand movements, lips, smiles, the play of light and shadow on the face and cheeks—all become symbols. The father enters. Attention shifts to the third person, “he/she.” Gradually, the symbolic world replaces the equal play of mother and child. The father, as the third party, enters, asserting his presence and gender. The child begins to perceive the “Other.” The mother tongue rises to conquer the world, becoming a mirror—sometimes clear, sometimes distorted—reflecting objects and sounds.

Language is born from the relationship between the “I and you” of mother and child on one hand, and the “I and he/she” of the father and the world on the other. The essence lies in the beautiful, joyous, and even sensual play between mother and child. In the next stage, there is a passage from the world of symbols to meanings, and from meanings back to symbols.

A poet is someone who, after forgetting this initial game between mother and child, later remembers it when writing good poetry. The poet bases their craft on the playful delight of words, moving from that initial game toward symbols, meanings, structures, and deconstruction. However, when the poet seeks to return to the origin, they strive to revive that game in an adult world. What happens then? A new delight replaces the primal one.

Do you recall the first night of Nizami’s Haft Peykar? A woman tells a story about a city where everyone is dressed in black. The king seeks the secret of their mourning, becoming the guest of a butcher. The butcher places him in a basket and lifts him to a garden above. From that height, he sees a magnificent garden where beautiful women dance. Among them appears a woman more stunning than the rest. The man falls in love with her and desires her alone. Each night, she sends him to one of her maidens, but eventually, the man grows impatient and demands her love alone. She agrees, asking him to close his eyes and kiss her. When he opens them, he finds himself back in the basket, descending from that paradise. Mourning her, he dons black clothing. The name of the woman in Haft Peykar? Turknaz or Turktaz.

Such a beautiful story replaces the beautiful woman we have all lost. We have all become distanced from that mother, from the language of that mother, from that Turknaz or Turktaz.

Those who are distanced from their mother tongue wail day and night.
Like me, they wail in this darkness.

Reza Baraheni
February 23, 2005 – Toronto