Leo Hamalian: "Suite for Shushanik VIII" [Explicit]

Click here to hear the poem Suite For Shushanik VIII read by Lola Koundakjian.

This poem was written by Leo Hamalian, in the voice of Arshile Gorky

VIII: GORKY'S LAST WORDS

People of Turkey, this is Arshile Gorky speaking to you,
the son of Sedrak and Shushanik Adoian.
Listen to me.
With my last breath, I forgive you.
I forgive you for driving Shushanik and her children
across the desert,
for shoeing neighbor Sarkis like a horse,
for eating Armenian babies because you were hungry,
for burning Armenian children in self-defense,
for violating Vartoosh with your thick cocks.
Your country was at war
and these acts were necessary.
Now you have our house near Aghtamar
you are rich with Armenian real-estate
and every day you get more and more
cars, radios, and American dollars.
You take vacations at the seashore.
And I, Arshile Gorky,
about to leap out of this life,
forgive you for everything.

This poem has appeared in the Summer 1997 issue of Ararat Quarterly and in the Summer 2004 tribute to Leo Hamalian (1920-2004).

Leo Hamalian: The Expose

I am the shell that awaits the word.

I am the gun that shoots the shell
That shocks the weeping flesh so well.

I am the hand that pulls the cord
(Now more potent than the sword)
When the certain word is roared.

I am the one that roars the word
That lifts aloft the shining bird
When ordered by the one who's heard
From those who say it's time to gird.

I am the one who teaches to read
Those who cry the ancient creed
To the ones who feed the need
Of the hand that's go to heed
The word that fathers forth the deed.

I am the one who works the drill,
Who tills the soil, who takes his pill,
Who backs with tax the shell he makes
To feed the hand of him who takes
The word that comes from certain men
Who give the word to fire when.

Who is the one who gives the word
To life aloft the shining bird?

I am the one behind the shell.

I am the one who makes this hell.


Leo Hamalian

Leo Hamalian: Two poems on the same theme, but each in a different mood

(1)
Oh, I have seen the oak tree
Beaten by the storm,
Uprooted by the fury,
Lose its mighty form.

I have seen the fortress
Fall to the siege of sand,
I have seen the brute sun
Burn out the works of hand.

Oh, weak is the hand,
And weak is the tree:
But the force behind them
Shall tomorrow be.

(2)
By three shapes knocked to numb,
In the bowl of the blasted land,
A stream threads through the sand,
Across the kingdom come.

Towards that silent stream
Two thirsting creatures crawl,
With no pride left to fall,
With nothing left to dream.

Ararat 3: II, back cover, Summer 1962

Leo Hamalian: Home Thoughts from Abroad

Click here to hear Leo Hamalian's Home Thoughts from Abroad read by Harry Koundakjian.

Sometimes on Friday evenings,
I say to myself,
“To Hell with this jazz, “
and I drift over to Al-Cazar,
where I drink too much Scotch,
talk very loudly,
and slap the sumptuous behind
of the belly-dancer.
Afterwards I get the eye
From the pimp with a crooked smile.
Al-Cazar is a nice place
To visit on a Friday,
But no place to live.

The next morning,
Cursing a small hangover,
I am at work again
In the confines of my study.
I pause from my pursuits,
And wait for the children
To return from school,
The quiet cocktails before dinner,
And the pleasant talk afterwards.
This is no place to visit,
But it’s a nice place to live.

This poem has appeared in "ARMENIAN-NORTH AMERICAN POETRY: AN ANTHOLOGY" (St-Jean-sur-Richelieu, Manna Publishing, 1974), Lorne Shirinian, editor.

Leo Hamalian: Suite for Shushanik III

Click to hear Suite for Shushanik III read by Lola Koundakjian.

This poem was written by Leo Hamalian, in the voice of painter Arshile Gorky (Vosdanik Adoian).

III. DESSERT

Shushanik is standing by the stove.
Her eyes darken and stare out.
I ask, "What's for dessert, ma?"
Dessert? "Son, for dessert
there is the tonir
where we can sleep
and dream of paklava."
Her mouth smiles sadly.
"That's what's for desert."
Vartoosh clears the table
and we all lie down on the floor,
mother and sister and brother
huddled together under our rug
while Zango* whimpers in his sleep.


This poem has appeared in the Summer 1997 issue of Ararat Quarterly, and in the Summer 2004 tribute to Leo Hamalian (1920-2004).

*Zango was the name of Adoian's dog.