tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10775125656377265062024-03-08T14:43:32.150+04:00Varand Poetry TranslationsVarand Poems Translated From Armenian Into Other LanguagesYAVALIAhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11551442551372438816noreply@blogger.comBlogger60125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1077512565637726506.post-66620593364067564922008-10-03T21:42:00.000+05:002008-10-03T21:48:16.799+05:00C'est seulement avec toi(ՄԻԱՅՆ ՔԵԶ ՀԵՏ Է)<br /><div align="right"><em>Թարգմանեց՝ Լուիզա Սարեանը</em></div><br /><strong>Les jours sont froids, sombres et moroses,</strong><br /><strong>Les vents sont violents et la vie émiettée,</strong><br /><strong>Toi tu n'es pas d'ici, moi un autre de la rive,</strong><br /><strong>C'est seulement avec toi que je ne suis pas triste.</strong><br /><strong></strong><br /><strong>Nous ne sommes ni proches, ni au repos,</strong><br /><strong>Ni séparés l'un de l'autre, ni étrangers,</strong><br /><strong>Dis voir où va nous sourire la chance,</strong><br /><strong>Peut-être en rêve, dans cette brûlante nostalgie.</strong><br /><strong></strong><br /><strong>C'est toujours le même café enfumé,</strong><br /><strong>Mais cette fois-ci tu es au loin;</strong><br /><strong>Tu te trouves dans un endroit tel</strong><br /><strong>Que les océans remplissent les siècles…</strong><br /><strong></strong><br /><strong>De ce côté…obscur, bloc de glace,</strong><br /><strong>Regarde un peu comme je tremble, dans l'insignifiance;</strong><br /><strong>Je t'ai ouvert tout mon lyrisme,</strong><br /><strong>C'est un livre de poésie, vide de page en page.</strong><br /><strong></strong><br /><strong>La soirée est vaine, vide dans l'obscurité,</strong><br /><strong>C'est un vent perdu, qui broie les feuilles,</strong><br /><strong>Comme l'églantier au parvis du monastère,</strong><br /><strong>C'est seulement avec toi que je ne suis pas triste.</strong><br /><br />VARAND<br />25.04.04<br /><em>"Chémiran"</em><br /><em>Danco-21</em>YAVALIAhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11551442551372438816noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1077512565637726506.post-25829705549301040472008-10-03T21:30:00.000+05:002008-10-03T21:32:51.376+05:00Amour inconnuA T.<br /><br /><strong>Je ne sais pas qui j'ai attendu toute ma vie<br />Je ne sais pas ce que j'aimais ou n'aimais pas<br />Parfois j'entrevoyais une faible lueur dans un regard<br />Et les ombres d'un rêve sur d'autres lèvres.<br /><br />Je voyais un doux reflet dans les cheveux de l'une<br />J'admirais pourtant les longues jambes de l'autre<br />Une autre me charmait par sa démarche délicate<br />Et une autre quand elle souriait en silence.<br /><br />J'en ai désirée une pour son simple souffle et son odeur<br />Comme j'ai convoité le cou de marbre et le dos d'une autre<br />Une autre quand elle avait bu et avait le fou rire<br />Une autre pour ses larmes de cristal et virginales.<br /><br />Je ne sais pas qui j'ai attendu toutes ces années<br />Je ne sais pas ce que j'aimais ou n'aimais pas<br />C'était peut-être une qui m'aimait en secret,<br />Et pleurait du fond du cœur toute la nuit.<br /></strong><br />VARAND<br /> <em>Traduction Louise KifferD'après la version anglaise de Tatul Sonentz</em><br /><em></em>YAVALIAhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11551442551372438816noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1077512565637726506.post-63869612135251349982008-10-03T21:20:00.000+05:002008-10-03T21:29:31.231+05:00LINES… IN YOUR ABSENCE…<strong></strong><br /><br /><strong>The city was breathing<br />crimson, white, cerulean…<br />Smooth sidewalks,<br />In wondrously serene,<br />clean, measured gasps.<br />They helped<br />Synchronize the pulse<br />of the city’s towers,<br />Before the hustle, while the pristine<br />Countenance of dawn still retained<br />The invisible dew of plants,<br />flowers,<br />and meadows<br />before sunrise.<br />Or the last vanished scraps<br />of overnight hilarityscreamcries…<br />Serenity --<br />“Sainte Marguerite”,<br />our quiet street,<br />Which stalked with proficiency<br />The re-ascension of pyramids<br />From Egypt to the great, world-renown<br />museum near-by,<br />The monumental emergence of the temple<br />in the eternal city,<br />The prancing of the ram, and the lion<br />from Mesopotamia,<br />The awakening of the goddess Anahit<br />from Uratu, and<br />Stones, stones, stones,<br />eons, eons, eons…<br /></strong><br /><strong>* * *</strong><br /><br /><strong>The city was breathing-murmuring<br />Crimson-white<br />moments,<br />As if seven hours before<br />A night of fireworks had never flared,<br />And the hotel-fortress<br />at the stark corner<br />of the square<br />Had not soared high into the sky<br />like a mystifying,<br />fearsome phantom,<br />With Count Dracula’s black cape<br />on its nape.<br />As if<br />There never were<br />Blazing rings<br />of frozen<br />hand, eye,<br />ardor, chase.<br />As if no crowd ever gathered<br />At Chinatown, and<br />Tom Jones<br />Had never freely excavated<br />the strata<br />of the tattered curtain of years –<br />Never was there a deluge of lights<br />and deflowered ones…<br />Now, the “Sainte Marguerite” avenue<br />Seemed so blameless,<br />One would guess<br />You could not<br />In one or two leaps<br />Reach the jaws of the huge<br />Chinese dragon,<br />The belly of the underground transit<br />incredibly awesome,<br />Which, instead of taking you<br />to the Armenian Church,<br />Delivers you to an area<br />of drugs,<br />drugstores,<br />and a near-by<br />organic food store,<br />Farm, village, village village,<br />Clear soup,<br />Pepper, mustard<br />And yellow, blue, green<br />oil, oil, oil…<br />Then,<br />As I look for eye-glasses<br />For my future;<br />The black dude says,<br />“Upon return”,<br />And, upon return,<br />It turns out<br />My petty mistake is forgiven.<br />Beginning,<br />And all is well,<br />All things<br />Have reached their destination.<br />Prescription… prescription…<br />Prescription…<br />The yellow city was breathing<br />crimson,<br />white.<br />Instead of the Armenian Church,<br />we reached Organic Village,<br />blue, yellow, green oil,<br />and a decrepit old man,<br />who has unbuttoned the blouse<br />of his homely spouse --<br />such an abundant breast,<br />as if newly varnished,<br />and polished.<br />Everything has gone back to its place,<br />Except for me --<br />Having left my tiny domicile,<br />I desire to return<br />To my abode,<br />Having already bought<br />Eye-glasses,<br />For future use.<br />Eons, eons, eons,<br />stones, stones, stones,<br />my love,<br />my love,<br />my love…<br /></strong><br /><strong>***</strong><br /><br /><strong>the city was breathing<br />crimson, white<br />moments…<br />Had I known,<br />That after losing you<br />for so many years<br />You are living here.<br />I would not have waited<br />At the waking day’s gasp,<br />Inter-night laughterscreamssobs’<br />ripped shreds,<br />Bypassing the reappearance of the great<br />international museum’s<br />pyramids from the desert,<br />The re-erection of the temple<br />from the eternal city,<br />the rising of the ram, the lion<br />from Mesopotamia,<br />the arousal of the goddess Anahit<br />from Urartu<br />And disdaining eons, eons, eons,<br />Kicking stones, stones, stones,<br />I would have found you, my love…<br />And the city,<br />the pyramid,<br />Gushed red,<br />cobalt torches,<br />Far from being fireworks,<br />It was more a holocaust,<br />And Count Dracula,<br />Taking advantage of the general<br />world-wide<br />fracas,<br />Flung himself down<br />From the hideous roof<br />Of the fortress-inn<br />at a corner of the square,<br />Reaching the plaza<br />Frozen<br />he broke,<br />he hacked<br />the fiery rings<br />of hand, eye,<br />fervor, flight,<br />Chinatown was sacked,<br />The gurgling monotone and black<br />Spitfire shift-shields of motorbikes,<br />To stand, In glorious warfare,<br />Against the javelins<br />Of an erupting volcano.<br />The Count looked for virgins,<br />To drink their warm blood<br />Under his black cape<br />And the blue mist of young skin.<br />Chinatown<br />Resonated with sirens,<br />And dispatched protests<br />To the all-powerful and incredibly awesome<br />dragon,<br />And the volcano and the monster<br />engaged in an inhuman<br />mortal battle.<br />The cannibal wolf-man Count<br />Roamed everywhere,<br />Entering drugstores,<br />Drinking potions against<br />Cross, silver, chrism and metal.<br />Invisible in mirrored glass,<br />Yet he applied to his hair brilliantine<br />oil, oil…<br />Then, treating the metropolis<br />As a mountain town,<br />He located roof,<br />Tower dungeon<br />And facing the moon<br />Concealed behind<br />Clouds of thick<br />Volcano smoke,<br />Ashes and soot,<br />howled…<br />Ooo… ooo… ooo…<br />And you and I, my love,<br />in this nightmare,<br />In this frightful, apocalyptic<br />chaos,<br />At last found and entered<br />The small yet warm and cozy<br />Armenian Church<br />To be saved<br />under the silver cross<br />of the priest in a black cassock,<br />drinking wine the color of blood.<br /></strong><br /><strong>* * *</strong><br /><br /><strong>…Outside they congratulated us,<br />The decrepit husband,<br />His varnished wife<br />And the virgins<br />Swooning to the robust singing of Tom Jones.<br />Then,<br />The awesome flood subsided,<br />The liquid fire of the lava froze<br />turning to icy snow,<br />The drops of blood dripping<br />From the fangs of the Count flowered<br />into myriads<br />of tiny, glitzy, glittering<br />violets on the floor,<br />A white waft drifted along,<br />A cool, shivering zephyr<br />Echoed a carol<br />Orbiting around<br />Serenity<br />blue, yellow, green sea…<br /></strong><br /><strong>* * *<br /></strong><br /><strong>From the desert pyramids to the temple<br />of the eternal city,<br />From the altar of Mesopotamia<br />To the Urartian mask of Anahit,<br />stones, stones, stones,<br />eons, eons, eons<br />scripts, scripts,scripts…<br />And this is also script<br />Halved by the sword of fate,<br />These are lines<br />Turned to cinders in the fire of time,<br />Immolated in the flames of the furnace<br />of sighs,<br />In the wounds of regrets,<br />They are brittle, fragile,<br />They are throbbing, docile,<br />In short, they are stems of snow-flowers,<br />They are lines…born in your absence…</strong><br /><br />VARAND<br />2006<br /><em>Translated By: Tatul Sonentz</em>YAVALIAhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11551442551372438816noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1077512565637726506.post-69131234644060134462008-10-03T21:14:00.003+05:002008-10-07T11:13:21.607+05:00T H I R D E Y E<p><a href="http://varandpoetry.blogspot.com/2008/09/blog-post_4086.html"><span style="color:#ff6600;"><strong>ԵՐՐՈՐԴ ԱՉՔ</strong></span></a> </p><p><strong>Nine years have gone by<br />Since I damn well jilted you…<br />Now, is it century, year, moment?<br />I cannot tell…<br />I cannot tell,<br />Because afterwards,<br />Time, as such, ceased to exist,<br />Only hours,<br />Hours survive,<br />heavy or light,<br />And, thank the Lord’s foresight<br />In setting on man’s<br />And animal’s face<br />Only two eyes --<br />In my hours<br />There is no third – or middle one,<br />And if there were,<br />That third eye<br />(or the middle hour)<br />It would conjure either<br />A cyclopean idol<br />Or a monster…<br />My third eye --<br />What is it to do,<br />When with your two<br />It forms only<br />A triangle with a three<br />On each side,<br />While the three angles<br />Measure thirty<br />degrees<br />(three threes amount to one<br />Ordinary nine…)<br />Nine years have passed<br />Since that day<br />I jilted you,<br />My self-satisfied you –<br />And had no doubts<br />After that –<br />Have not doubted<br />Mentally, that is,<br />While you -- do you know<br />This thing called heart?<br />This creature,<br />This godless being --<br />How able it is<br />To exist without benign<br />Or malevolent doubt!<br />And since you<br />Are clueless,<br />And since you<br />Have entered<br />Only lately<br />My real delusion,<br />And since I sense that<br />You don’t even<br />Know the date<br />Of our severance –<br />Why am I still<br />Putting up with blame<br />And pangs of conscience<br />As to why<br />I did let you go<br />Nine years ago…<br /><br />I kept it brief.<br />As for the rest,<br />Try to remember<br />And do not dump<br />On me as ‘most proper’<br />The steel-hard screams<br />Of self-flagellation.<br /></strong><br /><br />VARAND<br /><em>Translated By: Tatul Sonentz</em></p>YAVALIAhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11551442551372438816noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1077512565637726506.post-89264383555299488292008-10-03T21:12:00.002+05:002008-10-07T11:32:04.024+05:00“YEAR OF TANGO”<p><a href="http://varandpoetry.blogspot.com/2008/09/blog-post_2204.html"><strong><span style="color:#ff6600;">«ՏԱՆԳՈՅԻ ՏԱՐԻ»</span></strong></a></p><p><strong>Sunset, you somber sunset,<br />Ardent music, boundless sorrow.<br />New stairs, new terrace, a new abode,<br />Golden age of dreams, of senses…<br /><br />Sunset, you ceaseless sunset,<br />With mementos of sadness and song.<br />Now fading, then flaming, setting fire<br />To desire. Eyes like black blades.<br /><br />Sunset, sundown of memories,<br />Let the new world dance to a crazy beat.<br />You stay steadfast and high above,<br />You, Year of Tango, of mindless love.<br /></strong><br />VARAND<br /><em>Translated By: Tatul Sonentz</em></p>YAVALIAhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11551442551372438816noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1077512565637726506.post-68785419233722445632008-10-03T21:09:00.001+05:002008-10-07T11:34:10.525+05:00FROM DAY ONE<p><strong><a href="http://varandpoetry.blogspot.com/2008/09/blog-post_386.html"><span style="color:#ff6600;">Ի ՍԿԶԲԱՆԷ</span></a></strong></p><p><strong>And from day one love was deceitful,<br />And from day one love was deceitful,<br /><br />…The boy loved the girl to excess<br />Always saying “you are my heart”,<br />And when the girl<br />Turned real cheap<br />And favored another man --<br />To kill her first, the boy<br />Pointed a gun at his own heart…<br /><br />But from day one love was eternal,<br />But from day one love was eternal.<br /><br />* * *<br /><br />A blush of autumn gleams<br />In the almond of your sweet gaze<br />Stirring daydreams<br />in this nightmare.<br />In hasty response,<br />I am lost in the misty maze of your eyes,<br />Lost like an orphan<br />I remind myself<br />Of the golden castle<br />At the end of this road.<br /><br />A blush of autumn gleams<br />In the almond of your sweet gaze…<br /></strong><br /><br />VARAND<br /><em>Translated By: Tatul Sonentz</em></p>YAVALIAhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11551442551372438816noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1077512565637726506.post-43616964095149037622008-10-03T21:05:00.001+05:002008-10-07T11:38:57.251+05:00YOU ARE – I AM<p><strong><span style="color:#ff6600;"> </span><a href="http://varandpoetry.blogspot.com/2008/09/blog-post_2861.html"><span style="color:#ff6600;">ԿԱՍ - ԿԱՄ</span></a></strong></p><p><strong>I know this song<br />Is becoming stale—<br />You are in your bed,<br />I am in my shell.<br />We are separated<br />Both by cruel fate,<br />And this murky road<br />That seems not to end…<br />I toss and turn.<br />I know this wound<br />Can hurt to the core,<br />Even cold indifference<br />Turns livid in vain,<br />There is no decision,<br />No vacillation<br />In the court of sin…<br />I toss and turn.<br />Even nocturnal dreams<br />Are by now silent,<br />The bridge over the limits<br />Of life and demise,<br />The strident roses<br />In the fancy vase…<br />I toss and turn.<br />I know this song<br />Can lead us far,<br />Sometimes remote,<br />At times intimate,<br />Sometimes detached<br />At times coupled…<br />I am in the tranquil tent<br />Of the stellar dreams<br />Of outer space,<br />But what is this game?<br />What song is this?<br />I toss and turn…<br /></strong><br />VARAND<br /><em>Translated By: Tatul Sonentz</em></p>YAVALIAhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11551442551372438816noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1077512565637726506.post-43997758732234503272008-10-03T21:03:00.000+05:002008-10-03T21:04:50.702+05:00SERENE AND SLOW…<strong></strong><br /><strong>I set the night-colored flowers<br />On the hem of your florid quilt—<br />All dream-hued flowers<br /> Plucked in the dark of night…<br /><br />I give the white, colorless flowers<br /> To your vibrant dream,<br />For you to sleep in peace on the white sheet,<br />Serene as a jasmine…<br /><br />Do you see<br />How ‘uneventful life’<br /> Changes with love?<br />How you, woman,<br />Are blooming again,<br />Slow…<br /> Slow…<br /> Slow…<br /></strong><br />VARAND<br /><em>Translated By: Tatul Sonentz</em>YAVALIAhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11551442551372438816noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1077512565637726506.post-11499249056994846172008-10-03T21:00:00.000+05:002008-10-03T21:02:20.685+05:00J U V E N I L E<strong></strong><br /><strong>Emerald lucent gaze,<br />Single and brunette,<br />Not quite forty yet--<br />Do you feel content?<br /><br />Named snow-flower,<br />Known by one and all,<br />No longer safflower--<br />A mere thorn in the fall…<br /><br />Never got to give you<br />A springtime posy…<br />Yet it’s so cozy and true<br />In this modest boutique!<br /></strong><br />VARAND<br /><em>Translated By: Tatul Sonentz</em>YAVALIAhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11551442551372438816noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1077512565637726506.post-24784914578387956882008-10-03T20:58:00.000+05:002008-10-03T21:00:35.111+05:00NOCTURNAL LONGING<strong></strong><br /><strong>It is night. I miss you so,<br />Your subtle silence, searing charm,<br />So alluring and so calm<br />Like no other in this world…<br /><br />It is night. I miss you so,<br />It seems all lights have gone out<br />Lest I go forth and find you --<br />Or perhaps, to reach you in stealth…<br /><br />It is night, I miss you so,<br />Your serene eyes, flaming hair,<br />To behold unseen, and mute,<br />With no words, no dispute.<br /><br />It is night, I miss you so,<br />A single touch, all lights will bloom,<br />And the next one can make the sun<br />Come out and rise above the gloom…<br /><br />Yet, it is night, and I miss you so.<br /></strong><br /><br />VARAND<br /><em>Translated By: Tatul Sonentz</em>YAVALIAhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11551442551372438816noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1077512565637726506.post-3703161080443112862008-10-03T20:55:00.000+05:002008-10-03T20:57:41.449+05:00Tango - From Pages of Love<strong></strong><br /><strong>I’d like to approach you someday<br />On a day of Easter or Sunday<br />To whisper a trifle or two<br />With unusual audacity<br /><br />Then after a month or so<br />To snatch your ultimate pledge<br />As we parade -- a pair in public --<br />And let the rumors fly home…<br /><br />Your life -- a lone lane at dusk<br />Just right for an easy pick-up<br />With piercing lustful whistles<br />At your lithe gait erect with pride<br /><br />And your solid unyielding stance<br />Of unreachable dazzling beauty…<br />A pristine goldmine of life --<br />A maiden approaching forty…<br /></strong><br />VARAND<br /><em>Translated By: Tatul Sonentz</em>YAVALIAhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11551442551372438816noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1077512565637726506.post-65795627167088406452008-10-03T20:51:00.002+05:002008-10-07T11:44:13.485+05:00YOU STILL DON”T KNOW…<div align="left"><span style="font-size:78%;"><a href="http://varandpoetry.blogspot.com/2008/09/blog-post_18.html"><strong><span style="font-size:100%;color:#ff6600;">ԴՈՒ ԴԵՌ ՉԳԻՏԵՍ. . .</span></strong></a> </span></div><div align="right"><em><span style="font-size:78%;">“Remember me when it rains...”<br />Your words</span></em></div><strong>You still don’t know,<br />That each rain has its own color,<br />You still don’t know, that each corner<br />Has it’s own shadow.<br />You are yet to know,<br />That each single dream<br />Is memory yet to bloom,<br />And each remembrance,<br />A trembling reverie.<br /><br />Since you don’t know,<br />Come, listen, behold –<br />I love you as much<br />As all showers that turn into seas,<br />With all the longing of veiled specters<br />Of all my dreams<br />– Now mere mementos –<br />And all budding memories yet to bloom.<br /><br />My rain, my memory,<br />My dream, my love…<br /></strong><br />V A R A N D<br /><em>Translated By: Tatul Sonentz </em>YAVALIAhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11551442551372438816noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1077512565637726506.post-92078339920378235262008-10-03T20:47:00.001+05:002008-10-07T11:48:03.654+05:00HONEY-SOAKED SIN<p><strong><a href="http://varandpoetry.blogspot.com/2008/09/blog-post_5791.html"><span style="color:#ff6600;">ՄԵՂՔ ՄԵՂՐԱԹՈՅՐ</span></a></strong></p><p><strong>I sit and stare at your empty chair,<br />I miss your essence so clear, so fair,<br />The restless flow of your golden hair,<br />And the honey-yellow blouse you wear.<br /><br />Sitting here I stare at your empty seat,<br />And I yearn to see your smile so sweet,<br />Your naughty eyes’ twin candles when lit,<br />The orb of your mouth when you open it …<br /><br />* * *<br /><br />So I sit and stare at your empty chair,<br />Sipping this coffee dark as my kismet,<br />That keeps us apart -- yet in its despair --<br />This honey-soaked lust snubs the sunset…<br /></strong><br /><br />VARAND<br /><em>Translated By: Tatul Sonentz</em></p>YAVALIAhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11551442551372438816noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1077512565637726506.post-75898267000299787852008-10-03T20:46:00.000+05:002008-10-03T20:47:24.846+05:00FROM ME TILL YOU<strong></strong><br /><strong>I am forty and you, little one, are four,<br />My life span is ten whole times more,<br />My age is ten times that of yours<br />Yet, I learn from you how to bloom.<br /><br />You are my small bundle of spring,<br />My multiplied motive to live,<br />My fervent drive to go on living,<br />With you, I am young once more.<br /><br />We, a devastated race and realm,<br />Scattered in dozens of distant abodes,<br />With countless woes on our rocky road,<br />We’ve lit again the fire in our hearth.<br /><br />Each “1” from you, a roof to my “10”,<br />Each “10” of mine, a pillar to your “1”,<br />From you till me… one small family,<br />From me till you… living history.<br /></strong><br /><br />VARAND<br /><em>Translated By: Tatul Sonentz</em>YAVALIAhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11551442551372438816noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1077512565637726506.post-80372562215862869722008-10-03T20:43:00.000+05:002008-10-03T20:45:14.916+05:00NUPTIALHOUSE<strong></strong><br /><strong>They are gathered in the room<br />Cozy and intimate guests<br />A goblet full to the brim<br />With booze<br /> Silver-veiled moon<br /><br />Time is far far away<br />All feel no pain<br />A narrow brook outside<br />Gurgles with glee…<br /> And sings<br />A dark woman<br />(With enormous eyes)<br />The windowpanes<br />Reflect Haiastan<br /><br />The delicate bride of twenty<br />Will bear four children<br />(Life will come and go<br />Before a future is built…)<br />Four boys One of them me<br />(A dark woman still sings)<br />We are not there Yet<br /> It’s my mother’s wedding…<br /></strong><br />VARAND<br />1977<br /><em>Translated By: Tatul Sonentz</em>YAVALIAhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11551442551372438816noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1077512565637726506.post-31629127185899294722008-10-03T20:05:00.000+05:002008-10-03T20:09:02.189+05:00“New Man”<div align="right"><em><span style="font-size:78%;">“…Try to enter through the narrow door…”</span></em></div><div align="right"><em><span style="font-size:78%;">St. Luke the Evangelist</span></em></div><strong>Hit by the vicious blow<br />Of an outrageous life,<br />Nauseous of pricey fads,<br />And cheap deference,<br />Distant from bourgeois<br />Custom and mores,<br />Already aging<br />Way before my time…<br />I walk in distress,<br />I walk… lifeless,<br /> headed towards the streets<br /> of my childhood.<br />…And here each single moment<br />Is my very own --<br />Here a storefront<br />And window in lights,<br />There a bunch of flowers,<br />‘The Yellow Boutique’<br />And the sweet dead-end<br /> of ‘dream’ and ‘recall’.<br />* * *<br />In the memory store,<br />Silent toys,<br />Flashing smiles<br />Of decked-up dolls,<br />Stand side by side<br /> with soldier and car…<br />My maimed souvenirs --<br /> Go away… get lost!<br />* * *<br />Hall of fantasy,<br />Dauntless champion,<br />Azure mountain-lake,<br />Daring on the wing,<br />Sporting items,<br />Ski, skate, javelin…<br />I was meant to be<br /> king of the mountain!<br />* * *<br />Stay this way,<br />Always side by side,<br />Familiar windows<br /> of memory and dream.<br /><br />But…between the pair<br />A narrow door,<br />That is shut tight<br />As the lid of a sightless eye:<br />So, do they still stand as one?<br />Or, have memory and dream<br /> split in two…?<br />* * *<br /><br />Hit by the vicious blow<br />Of an outrageous life,<br />Nauseous of pricey fads,<br />And cheap deference,<br />Distant from bourgeois<br />Custom and mores,<br />Already aging<br />Way before my time …<br />I have vowed to enter<br />Through the locked door,<br />To unite memory<br />And dream… through life.<br /><br />* * *<br />When you are livid<br />At your rotten luck,<br />Go through the narrow door and<br />step out as New Man.</strong><br /><br />VARAND<br /><em>Translated By: TATUL SONENTZ</em>YAVALIAhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11551442551372438816noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1077512565637726506.post-50635983071486069622008-10-03T19:59:00.000+05:002008-10-03T20:05:00.671+05:00THE CITY 1 - 2 - 3 - 4<strong></strong><br /><strong>THE CITY 1</strong><br /><strong></strong><br /><strong>My city of desire,<br />city of dreams,<br />there was a time<br />when I mused<br />at each and every<br />of your corners of light.<br />There was a time,<br />I daydreamed of<br />the virgin I loved,<br />at a time, when<br />all were gathered<br />here together.<br />Whatever happened<br />to your big shindig?<br />What shadow fell<br />on your shining face?<br />Which scam was it<br />of your spiteful luck,<br />that left you thus,<br />on your own…<br />my city of desire,<br />city of dreams…?<br /><br />Can there be a more<br />fascinating game?<br />Is there a fortune<br />more false and frigid,<br />to beckon me<br />for a last encounter?<br />To show up as a stranger,<br />just passing by?<br />To appear as an alien…?<br />Heartfelt yearning<br />will draw me there…<br />but don’t let anyone<br />be there, no one<br />to open a gate,<br />not even my virgin --<br />let’s walk alone.<br />Who thinks of you now,<br />city of desires,<br />city of my dreams?<br />It seems they walked out<br />on both the quick<br />and the dead…<br /><br />…No matter, let all go well<br />at your new festival<br />(feast or circus?<br />Who can tell!)<br />I stand here<br />guarding your dreams,<br />your possessions,<br />but in particular, that<br />which you don’t have…<br />I stand guard<br />till sleep vanishes<br />and untainted memory<br />drops in as visitor…<br /><br />My city of desire,<br />my city of dreams…<br /><br /><br /><br />THE CITY 2<br /><br />Now, darkness<br />has veiled the magic city<br />of my yearning.<br />Sinful eyes glisten<br />in the gloom<br />above groping hands.<br />Caught in there,<br />a love-sick woman<br />goes insane waiting<br />for a blood red<br />dusky dawn.<br /><br />Now, darkness<br />has settled on the wet<br />sidewalks of my longing.<br />Blood-red eyes<br />come alive in the dark,<br />as hands weave a nasty plot.<br />Blood drips down<br />the plucked cheeks<br />of my virgin of hope,<br />gripping my lone dream coin<br />in her icy fist.<br /><br />Love seeks hope<br />in a frenzy,<br />and finds nothing.<br />Hope seeks love<br />to find warmth without fear,<br />while I seek them both,<br />with no faith at all…<br />Because darkness has<br />descended on the<br />city of my dreams.<br /><br /><br /></strong><br /><strong>THE CITY 3<br /><br />Half-perceived cat<br />in the creek,<br />I believe it is<br />tainted water.<br />Either my eyes<br />are no longer keen,<br />or your cats are<br />far from clean.<br /><br /><br /><br /><br />THE CITY 4<br /><br />An ant strolls on a drum,<br />it sees itself as a large army.<br />Echoes reaching from the rim<br />sound to it like a solemn hymn.<br /><br />They ogle each other from skyscrapers<br />(the drum already a taught square),<br />a man, a god, in mirrored reflection,<br />flash thin smiles at the sculpted ant.<br /></strong><br /><br />VARAND<br /><em>Translated By: Tatul Sonentz</em>YAVALIAhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11551442551372438816noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1077512565637726506.post-30004968992608483132008-10-03T19:57:00.000+05:002008-10-03T19:59:02.303+05:00UNKNOWN LOVE To T.<strong></strong><br /><strong>I don’t know whom I waited for<br />all my life<br />I don’t know what I liked<br />or did not like<br />At times I caught a faint gleam<br />in an eye<br />And shades of a dream<br />on another’s lips…<br />.<br />I saw a soft glimmer in the hair<br />of another<br />I admired yet another one’s<br /> long limbs<br />Another charmed me with her<br /> dainty steps<br />And another when she smiled<br /> in silence…<br /><br />I desired another one’s mere<br /> breath and smell<br />As I coveted another’s marble<br /> neck and back<br />Another when she got drunk<br /> and giggled<br />Another one’s crystal clear<br /> virgin tears…<br /><br />I don’t know whom I waited for<br />all these years<br />I don’t know what I liked<br />or did not like<br />It may be the one who loved me<br /> in secret<br />And cried her heart out<br /> all night…<br /></strong><br />VARAND<br /><em>Translated By: Tatul Sonentz</em>YAVALIAhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11551442551372438816noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1077512565637726506.post-21617275329029142702008-10-03T19:54:00.001+05:002008-10-07T11:57:20.950+05:00NO… DON’T!<p><strong><a href="http://varandpoetry.blogspot.com/2008/09/blog-post_1763.html"><span style="color:#ff6600;">ՉԷ՛… ՄԻ՛…</span></a></strong></p><p><strong>Winter is already in deep freeze<br />—As you said, dear soothsayer—<br />At this bitter moment of farewell,<br />I utter a last whimper…no…don’t!<br /><br />The scorpion of life has stung deep,<br />No peaceful hour, no moment to grasp,<br />The scarf of illusion, threadbare,<br />May now unravel…no, do not gasp…<br /><br />Dark looks have seared us too often,<br />We are now shackled in taut cuffs,<br />Often attempting to discard our skin<br />Shaking split tendons — no…don’t!<br /><br />Pain has so badly torn its mask,<br />That darkness now despises blood<br />And as we seek solitude’s embrace<br />You shudder, shiver, spell, no…don’t!<br /><br />Sometimes I wish to end this game,<br />I say it’s a shame, a wanton deed,<br />To sever all ties with one fell swoop,<br />As my mad soul screams, no…don’t!<br /></strong><br /><br />VARAND<br /><em>Translated By: Tatul Sonentz</em></p>YAVALIAhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11551442551372438816noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1077512565637726506.post-76604736141596716422008-10-03T19:53:00.000+05:002008-10-03T19:54:32.602+05:00* * *<strong></strong><br /><strong>Can you surmise<br />What mortal sons of Adam<br />Covet most in their lives?<br /><br />A strong<br />Attractive daughter of Eve<br />They can depend on<br />And trust -- all life long…<br /></strong><br />VARAND<br /><em>Translated By: Tatul Sonentz</em>YAVALIAhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11551442551372438816noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1077512565637726506.post-91063705879000098842008-10-03T19:16:00.000+05:002008-10-03T19:17:39.992+05:00CAROUSEL<strong></strong><br /><strong>Bright carousel of my childhood,<br />Since I last heard your sweet melody,<br />How many sinful songs I have spun!<br />And before tumbling to the ground<br />From your smooth, soothing seat,<br />I have suffered countless falls<br />At each ambush and hurdle.<br /><br />I never could make out<br />Where that little horse was running,<br />Or what the long necked swan gazed at<br />Beckoning in the distance…<br /><br />Still, in time, I did find out,<br />That not unlike your haunting melody,<br />Our lives passed in warm, childish reverie.<br /></strong><br />Varand<br /><em>Translated By: Tatul Sonentz</em>YAVALIAhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11551442551372438816noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1077512565637726506.post-39707107476274048382008-10-03T18:00:00.000+05:002008-10-03T18:01:05.522+05:00N I G H T M A R E<strong></strong><br /><strong>You will pass by this dark street<br />Looking in vain for its habitat…<br /> Hitting the road with cinders of regret<br /> You will only find bare sidewalks…<br /><br />You will swear at each other – and solicit<br />God for a heaven-sent drop of crimson<br /> To absolve all your festering sins,<br /> To cleanse countless sores and rancor…<br /><br />One will say: “With me, he was chummy,”<br />Another will exclaim: “He was my buddy,”<br /> A third will claim casual knowledge<br /> Of a dejected looking derelict.<br /><br />You might murmur: “He was a sick puppy,”<br />Or proclaim him “A wandering Jew!”<br /> One may claim he was lovesick, too,<br /> Yet, no one has said: “He’s my enemy.”<br /><br />And when it starts to snow blue-lit flakes,<br />Dreams surround you with bits of memory,<br /> You will all rush home in a big hurry<br /> Before your home-fires go out…<br /><br />Then you’ll say: “Let the ice melt first --<br />Come March, we shall look for that chap…”<br /> The years will pass, empty, relentless,<br /> And darkness will descend on earth…<br /><br />You will set a table on Good Friday,<br />With Holy Bread and cups of wine,<br /> You will wait for him, you will pray,<br /> But the Poet will be held up… on a cross.<br /></strong><br />Varand<br /><em>Translated By: Tatul Sonentz</em>YAVALIAhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11551442551372438816noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1077512565637726506.post-23772985008136985182008-10-03T17:58:00.000+05:002008-10-03T17:59:13.180+05:00RING AND DAGGER<strong></strong><br /><strong>Autumn has raised its dais of gold<br />And spoken its decree -- “Gloom!”<br />Earlier, I’d decked your road with gold<br />To greet you with the bloom of spring.<br /><br />Autumn has arrayed its golden rings<br />Anointing the air with… clear bias --<br />Lighting a lantern at a corner of the sky,<br />Piling fog, mist and cloud at another.<br /><br />Autumn has raised its dais of gold<br />Setting its teeming tresses free.<br />It has stuck a dagger in the sun’s chest,<br />Flecking winter’s bright white with red…<br /><br /> * * *<br /><br />Come spring, there will be good cheer,<br />Breeze and brook will simmer and sing.<br />A cracked goblet will thirst for wine,<br />And a woman’s hand will covet a ring…<br /></strong><br />Varand<br /><em>Translated By: Tatul Sonentz</em>YAVALIAhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11551442551372438816noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1077512565637726506.post-2855650852811514012008-10-03T17:56:00.000+05:002008-10-03T17:57:37.760+05:00ANCHOR<strong></strong><br /><strong>We met<br />On a clear evening.<br />The town was down with the blues,<br />Yet, we did not speak,<br />We said nothing,<br />Even though<br /> we had missed each other so.<br /><br />Such is life –<br />Hollow delirium<br />Striving for speech and wisdom,<br />Yet when uttering an “A”<br />It fails to connect<br />with any “B”…<br /><br />Maybe that is good, even a must,<br />To keep the flame of dreams alive,<br />Like a wrecked vessel<br />laden with treasure<br />That does not rust<br />On the sands of<br />The shore…<br /></strong><br />Varand<br />1987<br /><em>Translated By: Tatul Sonentz</em>YAVALIAhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11551442551372438816noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1077512565637726506.post-68185433307579474302008-10-03T17:54:00.000+05:002008-10-03T17:55:51.911+05:00F L O R I S T<strong></strong><br /><strong>I said, “Look<br />At that poor old<br />Florist’s<br />Twisted back,<br />Totally bent towards<br />The bouquet held<br />In his hand…<br /><br />“Yes,” he replied, “but you see --<br />As a result,,<br />His nose is close<br />To the flowers’ smell…<br />There is no gain<br />Without pain!”<br /></strong><br />VARAND<br /><em>Translated By: Tatul Sonentz</em>YAVALIAhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11551442551372438816noreply@blogger.com0