ASA Announces 8th “Arthur Halvajian Memorial” Armenian Poetry Competition

Providence RI —The Armenian Students Association, Inc. is delighted to announce the start of its 8th annual poetry competition. As in the past years, the ASA, Inc. is partnering with the Armenian Poetry Project for the writing competition named in memory of Arthur Halvajian, a trustee who led its Board in sponsoring the first competition.

"In the past, we have enjoyed reading about the winning entries and look forward to reaching out to even more communities in North America" said Alice Movsesian, a member of the ASA, Inc. Board of Trustees as well as its liaison to the competition’s organizing committee.

ASA National Board Vice President M. Manoog Kaprielian, a staunch supporter of poetry, believes in its power to heal communities and individuals who have settled throughout the United States and Canada.

The Armenian Poetry Project, led by poet Lola Koundakjian, is a research and documentation site for 19th to 21st century Armenian poems and related topics. Currently containing over 3000 poems, it celebrated its 12th anniversary in April.


APP has a worldwide following and releases poems through RSS feeds, Twitter and podcasting.

Rules:

All individuals of Armenian descent, residing in the United States and Canada are invited to submit their work, in English or Armenian for the competition.

• Poems must be original, unpublished and not accepted for publication. 
• They should be written in English or Armenian and not exceed 50 lines.
• Only one original unpublished poem per individual may be submitted.

The deadline for submissions is November 1, 2018; winners will be announced by the jury in December 2018.

Entries should be e-mailed by November 1, 2018 to ArmenianPoetryProject@gmail.com with the subject heading "Halvajian ASA/APP Poetry competition".

The competition groups submissions into three categories; students (ages 12-17), college age (ages 18-22), and adult (ages 23 and older).

A top prize will be awarded for each of the categories in the amounts of US $75 (students), $125 (college age), and $300 (adult).

Each poem submitted by students must be accompanied by the author's full name, age, home address/telephone number, school name and sponsoring teacher's telephone number.

College and adults only add age and contact information.

To learn more about the Armenian Poetry Project visiting http://armenian-poetry.blogspot.com.

The Armenian Students' Association of America, Inc. encourages educational pursuits by Armenians in America and the raising of their intellectual standards, providing financial assistance in the form of scholarships to deserving Armenian students, developing fellowship among them, cultivating in them the spirit of service in the public interest, and acquainting them and the entire American community with Armenian culture.

Announcing the winner of the 7th “Arthur Halvajian Memorial” Armenian Poetry Competition - Adult category

 The winner is Michael Minassian of Charlotte, NC. Congratulations!

TWELVE VIEWS OF MT. ARARAT

I

From my exile

across the border,

I see Ararat

through the parting clouds

above Yerevan:

the blue sky splits –

window panes shatter –

         shards fly

across the horizon.

Rain, then sunlight

falls upon the piano

         dappled

black & white keys:

dual cones –

arpeggio of mountains.

II

I fall asleep

in the laundromat

& dream of a hand

         emerging

from the firmament,

kneading the mountains,

seeding the clouds;

whose whistling do I hear

as I awaken?

whose sins are being washed?

III

“My eyes are on fire,”

my grandmother always said.

(an Armenian idiom

that defies translation).

My eyes are on fire,

         Ararat;

I have glimpsed

your flaming vulva

the magma of your crowning birth.

IV

I see Ararat

captured in Ani’s eyes:

she parts her crimson lips,

opens her mouth to sing –

light as air,

she slides from beneath me

and brushes her hair

front and back

in a mirror turned towards

         the sky

like cicadas trapped

far from mountain or tree

amid the sunken ruins

of an ancient

         abandoned city.

V

Ararat:

         I found you sleeping

         inside an ancient white shell –

at Easter time    

my mother

would save one egg

for each year,

placing it in a bowl

in the curio cabinet

near the front door –

dried seed

of blood’s dawn.

VI

Ararat:

if I laid your body

flat on the earth,

your groin and head

would stretch across

the plains and rivers

stabbing Asia

like an archaic word:

caravan, oasis, tapestry,

spun silk sword.

VII

Ararat:

         I see your architecture

older than Athens

or Rome;

older than Babylon’s

towers and spires;

older than words

this tongue could form –

your cuneiform crown.

VIII

Ararat:

         I dream of you:

I am obsessed

w/ your stones, your snow

your volcanic voluptuousness.

I am possessed by your

nouns and verbs,

your personal pronouns.

I am in love with

your catechisms, your catalogues

your indescribable and infinite

solidity and structure.

IX

Ararat:

Will you press

your mouth to my ear?

will you press your ear

to my chest?

will you be silent

for the beating of my heart

and the roaring of the clouds

as they stray beneath

your summits –  

your sharp-tipped

         forked tongue.

X

Ararat:

         what were you called

before man named you?

Before words existed

for stone & fire

or mountain & ocean.

         What name did you call

your creator?

what name did she call you?

XI

Ararat:

the human body

has 206 bones:

how many bones

lie beneath your rubble, rock, and ice?

how many centuries

will you hold your secrets?

The human heart

has no bones;

love has no skeleton;

forgiveness not made of flesh.

  

XII

Ararat:

        

         I find a postcard

with your photograph

taken over a hundred years ago –

you have not changed.

On the back,

in black ink

a message is scrawled

in Armenian letters

I cannot read;

                                                                

now slightly smeared

by tears or rain

they lie curled

like ancient fruit

in a paper coffin:

        

this confluence of time

and science

sadness or weather –

         your unmarked grave.