همه نشریات از Jeeb News به تبریز ، Jomhūrī-ye Eslāmī-ye
The oldest Iranian hand-woven carpet was discovered in 1949 during the second phase of Russian archeological excavations by Rodenko in the Pazyryk region and was called the Pazyryk carpet.
In a book published in Russia on the occasion of these discoveries in 1953, Rodenko wrote a detailed description of the discovered carpet, explicitly stating the work of Iran and the oldest Iranian carpet in the world. He wrote: "Without being able to say with certainty which of the lands of the Medes (ancient Khorasan) or Persia, the date of the carpet and the fabrics discovered in Pazyryk is the fifth or early fourth century BC. It will be recognized. "
Then he adds: "The history of this rug is known from the shape of the horsemen. The way of showing the horses m10.jpg "Pazyryk of various details and how to tie the horses' tails can also be seen in the reliefs of Persepolis."
During the Mongol domination (13th and 14th centuries AD), carpet weaving reached a very high level of beauty and technique. The flourishing of this industry may have coincided with the reign of Ghazan Khan (1305-1295 AD).
But the peak of classical Iranian carpet, which is known as the Renaissance of Iranian carpet, has been recorded during the Safavid sultans (1722-1499 AD), especially during the reign of Shah Tahmasb I (1587-1524 AD) and Shah Abbas Kabir (1629-1587 AD). اند. About 3,000 carpets are remembered from this period, which are kept in the great museums of the world or in private collections.
During this period, carpet weaving workshops were built next to the palaces of kings and various centers that previously existed in Tabriz, Isfahan, Kashan, Mashhad, Kerman, Joshqan, Yazd, Astarabad, Herat and northern states such as Shirvan, Qarabagh and Gilan were further developed and prospered. they got.
At the same time, high-ranking painters and painters incorporated concise designs and a combination of bergamot in the middle of the rug and elastics. That is, the same design that was previously used in the most beautiful way in the fifteenth century on the cover of valuable books.
With the occupation of the country by the Afghans (1722-1721 AD), this industry and art declined.
In the 19th century, Iranian carpets, especially the exquisite carpets of Tabriz, found their way to Europe. Representatives from European countries were sent to all the countries of the Orient and, in a very intense competition, collected all the old carpets and sent them to Constantinople, which was still the most important carpet market in the Orient.
With the depletion of old carpet resources, British (Ziegler 1883) American and German companies set up unlimited workshops in Tabriz, Sultanabad (Arak), Kerman. This trend continued until World War I, when carpet production increased significantly.
The hottest lust of burning ... the poet slanders Siavash
Everyone who saw you got stuck ... it boiled hard and evaporated
The great pain of my cancer ... The oldest wound of my youth
Listen to my poem with you ... Do not plot, do not talk, listen
They made your poem with the suffocation of blood ... they made you a monster of madness
The root reaches the blood and the blood ... When the fruit becomes the bomb of madness
As soon as you bomb yourself, go further! ... I leave a few steps away!
I was in pain from all my childhood ... I was left a stray child
Now ask me sick ... ask me about the night and the ashes of cigarettes
Burning from the beginning of the night until dawn ... Burning the incident from two or three heads
Your ruined house is in your hands ... the end of every dead end is yours
I shed a drop of blood in my heart ... What did you do to break the poem?
Sometimes you became more anemone than a human being ... you became the cracked soul of Kashan
It was your poem that after the cold season ... no one doubted winter
Earthquakes are Forough's work and that's it? ... Everything they close is a lie and that's it
The blade of Zanjan crawls on you ... the blood of the isolated hearts of your neck
If the poet is the lord of lyric poetry ... his end is Nusrat Rahmani
The Imam is alone ... mixed with blood and thirst
It is an old gamble to make a sonnet ... to lose ten rhymes overnight
My hand is broken, why should I shake my head? ... Show me the ace to believe
No one's hand I landed ... I love this chain man
Shoot my repetitive night ... I am dead of this kind of self-harm
I asked for good and bad ... no one is to blame, I asked for it myself
Hit my glass with your stone ... slander your colorful slander
The thief of my golden nights ... I break, I break, my good
I am waiting for a stormy night ... at the hour of my destruction
I feel sorry for myself ... I am a street pain like you
"With all my chaos ... I'm looking for trouble again"
Who is the man sunk in the mirror? ... I cried until he saw me
What does the sleeping clock pay attention to? ... Gradual death if it is life
"I have no endurance of exhaustion ... I seek immediate destruction."
I, who am not in anyone's place ... I am not the fruit of anyone's tuba
I'm not confused by watching anyone ... I'm not tasting anyone 's lips
"I'm not happy about anyone 's heat ... I've come to burn you"
Tired of the size of the controversy ... of going through the pits
From the night clinging to the forks ... with the passage of the arrow through the wings
"I have come with thirst for years ... until you drink a little love"
Poetry, if I became a monster ... I would be lonely in the end
Sometimes I got more upset than this ... I was driven out of the world
"I came back from the sea ... to catch you and die"
Wow, if my twisting with pain ... hurts until it reaches your arm
Drink my own poison full of sorrow ... Do more, little by little
"Do you know the best accident ... My best field accident?"
Take a bath and do a miracle ... start with me again
Fly out of the window ... make my ear a mystery
"Talk, open my cloud ... it's too late for me to rain."
There is a famine of words and words of years ... break the lock of time for years
I have been full of pain for years ... the capacity of my chest for years
"Talk, talk, talk for years ... I'm thirsty for a long talk"
I mixed day and night ... What did you do to mix poetry?
One step from you all my way ... ask for blood, ready chest; I
They hit your poem hot on Janet ... they stamped betrayal on your mouth
Whoever has a pen is not an artist ... he does not associate the pen with the head
Rumbles hung in the mouth ... they mixed good and bad
You played the rhyme game ... you were the scoundrel of every hand
They kicked you in the corner of this battle ... they hit you with all your might
Have you seen redder than poetry? ... Open your mouth if you have seen
As long as every word is oppressed ... the hand is naturally penned
Sharpen the word in the larynx ... Advertise the trap under the steps
Poetry If the wound of the tongue is sharper ... My city is more than Konya Tabriz
Stay alive my favorite killer ... Do not disappear my most lunar month
You died and it was as if they came to their senses ... Hey! How they touched !