Jack Antreassian: Farewell
I.
Will I see Yerevan again again
walk in the streets that intersect my past
inhale again the incense of dead ends
and hear the echo now receding fast
the summons of ancestral pleas no more
except perhaps by reveries possessed
no more however much I weep the door
between has rusted on its hinge I come
to you on knees turned red with blood and sore
but no one comes to me I wait in numb
expectancy invoking love and prayer
and worlds beyond your world if only some
could venture to this shore and with me dare
no more however much I weep the door
between has rusted on its hinge I come
to you on knees turned red with blood and sore
but no one comes to me I wait in numb
expectancy invoking love and prayer
and worlds beyond your world if only some
could venture to this shore and with me dare
beguile those wretched siblings joy despair
I see Armenia in my father's face
the age inscribed with twisted squirming lines
beneath a thin veneer of stoic grace
a smile not certain it should smile benign
curved in a wistful arc small flecks of fear
flawed diamonds out of place a crude design
of frayed illusions to redeem the cheer-
of frayed illusions to redeem the cheer-
less image of a world not his but rude
alternative to death the hymns he hears
are anthems of the dispossessed imbued
are anthems of the dispossessed imbued
with vestiges of faith the resonance
an echo of a past aspersed pursued
by wilful demons taunting his laments
by wilful demons taunting his laments
forever victim of his innocence.
Ill
Others prevail who revel in their pride
indulging fantasies of eminence
insensitive to time's recessive tide
the brawling scavengers of violence
the brawling scavengers of violence
who for their tribal glory sacrifice
what lingers yet of love and innocence
heralds of genocide quick to devise
heralds of genocide quick to devise
a righteous warrant for a filial curse
insinuating virtue in their lies
so many have excelled among them first
so many have excelled among them first
the Turks discerned that hell has its rewards
but not for us the slaughtered and dispersed
who seek not death although by death restored
who seek not death although by death restored
better to bare the neck than wield their sword.
Jack Antreassian, Armenia: Reflections in Verse, Ashod Press, New York, 1986.
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