Peter Manuelian: For Justine

That night in desert places
by three lime trees,
vanilla malted vines --
white five-petalled
blossoms on brown walls;
we slept,
a courtyard oasis.

Under the moon
the cock was quiet
from twelve to four;
growing full,
in limelight then,
with boasts of distant hens.

Leaving, we forgot
three oranges on the
still mossy fountain's
cracked rim.

In the city
we placed three oranges
on the roof ledge,
loved, forgot.

When I left
avoiding morning
the cabman whispered;
the breeze that just
touches the face
is called the naseem.



This poem has appeared in Armenian-American Poets: A Bilingual Anthology. Garig Basmadjian (Translator).







Ամերիկահայ անգլիագիր բանաստեղծներ
Երկլեզու ծաղկաքաղ
Կարիկ Պասմաճեան (Թարգմանիչ)

AGBU Alex Manoogian Cultural Fund
1976 / Detroit

Peter Manuelian: New Year's Day, Azerbaijan

I

The tea house
across the bitter river
sits in its squat of snow
warm against the world.
The story-teller sucks his words
from an ancient waterpipe,
blowing out tales
to encircle the sun
at noon's repose.

II

At a country funeral
maps of snow
idly dissipate
under the warmth
of the afternoon sun,
while donkeys
patiently stand
in mourning,
hind legs
coyly bent together.

III

Beyond the barren flats
seven poplars lattice
the rising moon;
mute storks lift their way
to ascetic perches;
shifting on the scree
of life's banter,
wail of the coming spring.

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