Moeen Farrokhi

Nov 1, 2023 | lithub.com | Moeen Farrokhi

Grief, like relief, sneaks up on you, unannounced and unexpected. And there I was, seated in an office, surrounded by heads and bodies, talking with a publisher about the importance of translating Infinite Jest into Farsi. I was babbling about the importance of the “serious” literature in our era, the necessity of literature conveying the Truth amid the constant noise in the industry.

Aug 24, 2023 | lithub.com | Moeen Farrokhi

I have never told this story in its entirety to anyone: not to my therapist, not to my closest friends, and not even to my family. I’ve divulged bits and pieces of it to different people. When my friends back home in Iran asked me why I was leaving, I made up a thousand different reasons. When my friends in Istanbul asked me what happened and why I came, I said that a part of me had died, that my ambition, courage, and hope for the future had dried up. But I didn’t explain why.

Jul 10, 2023 | wordswithoutborders.org | Syd Fini |Moeen Farrokhi |Razieh Mehdizadeh |Isabella Corletto

The prisoner depicted here is Mohammad Mehdi Karami, a protestor who said these words on a phone call from prison to his father. He was executed by the Islamic Republic regime on January 7, 2023, alongside another protestor, Seyyed Mohammad Hosseini. The man depicted here as being put on trial is the Islamic Republic’s supreme leader, Seyyed Ali Khamenei.

Jun 14, 2023 | wordswithoutborders.org | Razieh Mehdizadeh |Moeen Farrokhi |Wesley Lewis

When Mahsa-Jina’s revolution started, I was continents away from Iran, so I decided to write a piece about the shining body of this revolution every day. Today, more than two hundred days have passed, and we are still carrying on with this revolutionary movement, a resurrection through the three words Woman Life Freedom.

Mar 2, 2023 | wordswithoutborders.org | Moeen Farrokhi |Poupeh Missaghi |Tobias Carroll |Isabella Corletto

I am a small boy in the family room of our old house in Qazvin, where there is a dining table, a TV, several chairs, and a few columns. I am passing the sponge ball to the wall, dribbling through the chairs and columns, and shooting the ball strongly at the wall in front that acts as my goal post. (Sometimes I played with my brothers or my dad; it was hard to dribble past my brothers, but Dad was kind enough to let me do whatever I wanted.) I am commentating on my own moves.