Hamazkayin Canada presents a reading

HAMAZKAYIN Canada presents

a bilingual reading of Daniel Varoujan's 

SONG OF THE BREAD

with a new translation by Tatul Sonentz-Papazian

SUNDAY, November 21, 2021 at 2:00PM EST

 Click to expand

Tatul Sonentz: Then And Now…

We were there

and our here and now

was always there

mocking tomorrow

bedecked with desire

festooned with time

to spare …

 

We  were there

even when time was rare

to be where our love

could face the morrow

with youthful stare

and never blink

or despair

 

even when

our here and now

decked out with care

was still there…

alas unaware

that you and I were

no longer a pair

 

………………Tatul Sonentz

2014

 

Tatul Sonentz: SOUNDS

The sound

of disturbed silence

heard before you arrive

is my soaring heartbeat

and squeaky shadows

in fast retreat…

 

The beat

Of a racing heart

you hear as light sweeps

the room when you  are here

Is my very own answering

The rising rhythm of

Your own…

 

The moan

of silent solitude

after your departure

is my very own which

I alone can hear

when you are

gone…

 

……….. Tatul Sonentz

2014

Tatul Sonentz: Deir Ezzor…

 

               

In this desert

where nothing grew

but silence

disturbed only

by the wind that shifted

the sands of time

and the dunes of eternity

whose gaping gates

then opened wide

to receive the remains

of those who had witnessed

the very dawn

and the redemption

of humanity…

 

In this desert

where the sun bleaches

the very soul of all things

alive with the breath

of life and will of God

walked the skeletons

of those who used to be

man woman and child

father mother sister and son

now an endless spread

of human carrion

an infernal feast

for vulture and jackal

and manlike beast…

 

In this desert

far from the highlands

the ancient seed of Haik

was burned as incense

to the glory of Bel and Cain

who slew Abel and fled Eden

to plant and grow blades of sin

in the blood soaked

soil of the east

birthplace of a sun

now heading ever west

in its futile journey

in quest of a place to rest…

 

In this desert

there are no cranes

soaring serene above a land

whose tillers have been mowed

felled by the scythe

of hatred and greed

of crimson dreams of empire

like a rising tide

flowing red from east to west

and back to a mythical east

of Ergenekon

foaming with fury

in a savage rampage

to a final conquest and lasting glory

of the crescent moon

reflected in a sea of blood

flowing from sacked highlands

covered with gore

and scorched fields

to the searing sands of this place…

 

This desert

Where no crane on the wing

ever hovered over a dune

to answer the strangled call

and silenced quest

of news from the quick

and the dead

whose bleached bones

now call for loving hands

to touch them

with the promise of a place

of eternal rest…

 

 

---------------------Tatul Sonentz

April 24, 1995

Tatul Sonentz: SHOWTIME…

Come one  come all

Come one-and-all

Come and see

This death-defying act

Featured in bright cosmic lights

Across the dazzling marquee

Of this traveling circus of

Ever expanding, ever elusive

Big Bang’s Motion and Sound

Star-studded program

Introduced today by a gaggle

Of hilarious creationist clowns

This seven-day wonder miracle

Full of raucous belly laughs

Of swift burning meteors

Of instant romance

And scorching satiric strife…

Come one  come all

To the only show in town

Come and witness

This preordained accident

With no survivors…

This ultimate crash pile up

On the crowded highway

Of death-defying life

………………. Tatul Sonentz

2014

Tatul Sonentz: CAPITAL IDEA

in oak paneled rooms

designer suits raise glasses

tinkling with ice melting

in single malt and close a deal

and like mangy dogs in heat

money sniffs and follows money

into dark vaults of glass and concrete

temples like the one where once

a young carpenter thrashed

money lenders and was absconded

sacrificed at countless missa solemnis

and fed as sacrement to repenting accountants

and such kneeling in cross-topped temples

of stone mortar and stained glass

through which the Sunday sun strains

descends with the holy ghost in colorful bits of light

on gucci clad wives no longer virgin

bearing diamond and blood red ruby crosses

around ample necks wrists ankles

shackled and fattened with mouthfuls of faith hope

and charity doled out in fetid favelas

around yuletide by armed deacons as alms

to knife club curse bearing mendicants

bereft of faith hopeless loveless

now bursting at the seams

of a globe gone mad

 

……………………………………tatul sonentz  

2013

Tatul Sonentz: Letter to Hovsep

 

When beheaded

on your native soil

on a bright April day

by those with dark souls

whose brood still do worship

gray wolves on moonlit nights

you were a much younger man

than my sons–your own grandsons

whose blood was spilled that day

long before they were born…

 

That – we’re told – is our yesterday

that never was or ever happened

to be banished from memory 

and to be interred in haste

with your severed head

in the name of today

as the pack of gray wolves

howls a lewd dirge of sublime

rapture and joy at the final burial

of all recall of their forebear’s crime…

 

      * * *

 

Allow me to call you Hovsep

since I am your elder now

and in my mind you are

and will forever be

the young father

of my mother

loving husband

of my grandmother…

Hovsep--my faceless

headless silent forebear          

forever spouse and parent

yet a mute and blind memory

    …of a lost grandfather.

 

------------Tatul Sonentz

2007

ԹԱԹՈՒԼ ՍՈՆԵՆՑ: ԱՐԵՒԱՄՈՒՏ

Մայրամուտին
Էդ ծառն անտէր
Տերեւաթափ ու միայնակ
Կանչում է ինձ քամու
Ձայնով...տաղ է ասում
Հին օրերի ջահէլ սիրոյ
Բորբ բառերով...

Յանգող յոյսի
Շիչող լոյսի
Էդ թէժ ժամուն
Շիկանում են ճիւղերը հին
Բոց են դառնում
Տերեւ ու շիւղ
Մինչ ցուրտ քամին
Ձայնը սրած կաղկանձում է
Առանձնութեան
Հին մեղեդին...

Մթնշաղին
Արեգակի յուշով կանգուն
Էդ ծառն անքուն
Վաղուց գունատ տերեւների
Ու ծաղկազուրկ պուրակների
Կորած գարունն է
Որոնում...

Tatul Sonentz: Butterfly

 

A butterfly

With wings white

As two snowlakes

Fluttering together

Joined in that ecstasy

Of a single winter day’s

Endless Illusion of eternity

Landed on your shoulder

On that warm spring day

As I held your hand

In mine and said

I love you

 

………….Tatul Sonentz

2012

 

Tatul Sonentz: SIXTEEN…

To Ani



When?
When did
Sixteen springs
Turn you into a swan
Gliding on the blue waters
Of time that seemed
Eternal at the time…
Yet waits for
No one…

Only yesterday
I held you in my arms
Light as a feather, sweet
As the gentle breeze
Of early springtime
And timeless
Sunshine…

When?
When did
Sixteen springs
Turn you into
A swan?


Tatul Sonentz
2012

Tatul Sonentz: Dream Boat

In the blue shadow
of the pyramids at Giza, 
a shallow, open grave in the guise
of museum displays a solar boat,
a ship of royal hopes, dreams
of a cruise to immortality...


A dream boat of the soul, sailing
by faith in stars, soaring with the sun,
now becalmed in a sea of sand and silence, 
sails neatly tied to a mast laid to rest
after a journey through millennia
to a place beyond distance,
beyond eternal quest,
beyond history...


I do know that place,
I played as a child in the sands
of its time, drank the water
of its timeless river, slept
in its sun and -- in a host
birthplace -- I dreamt
of my own space.


Tatul Sonentz


Appeared in the Spring 1999 issue of Ararat.

Tatul Sonentz-Papazian: The Call (to Neda)

26-year-old Neda Soltan was killed during a protest in Iran earlier this month. The video capturing the last few minutes of her life was watched by millions worldwide.

On a summer day
in this ancient land
where a pagan sun
once reigned supreme
in a merciless encounter
between hope and fear
in the eternal sphere
of creation—
on the streets of a city
torn between what was
and what is to be—
between Adam
and Eve—on the eve
of a new dawn you ventured
forth with childlike candor
holding the hand
of destiny…

You wondered for whom
the shots were meant
as your chest exploded
and you fell…
your wide open young eyes
turned to the skies
to the fading light
of a silent sun
seeking an answer
to the divine thirst
for a sacrifice—
a burnt offering
on the blood soaked altar
of freedom of the soul…

Your unuttered call
yet to be heard
is suddenly silenced
by a pierced heart
bleeding on the dust
of a long road paved with pain

leading to the final abode
of the human spirit
in its quest for peace
in an Eden without bars…

You are home at last
nestled in a million hearts
that witnessed in your demise
and your frozen gaze
the surging triumph of light
over darkness.

(2009)


This poem has appeared in the Armenian Weekly in print and online in June 2009.


L’APPEL

C’était un jour d’été
En cette terre ancienne
Où, suprême, un soleil païen avait régné
Sur l’implacable lutte
Entre crainte et espoir
Dans le cycle sans fin de la création
Dans les rues d’une ville
Combattant ce qui fut pour ce qui devait être
- Adam combattant Eve –
Tu es venue curieuse, avec des yeux d’enfant
Pour voir l’aube nouvelle,
Ta main dans celle du destin
Tu te demandais qui méritait qu’on tirât
Quand la poitrine ouverte par une balle, tu tombas
Tes yeux jeunes d’enfant
Se tournèrent, grands ouverts,
Sur le soleil muet qui s’éteignait au ciel
Et voulait cette offrande…
Offrande calcinée sur un autel en sang
Des âmes qui s’envolent
Ton cri interrompu
Mais sitôt entendu
D’un coup fut englouti par ton cœur qui s’ouvrait
Saignant dans la poussière
Du long chemin pavé de peines
Qui nous mène 
Au sanctuaire de l’âme
De l’être humain en quête
De paix dans un Eden ouvert et sans barreau
Tu es enfin chez toi
Nichée au fond du cœur
D’un million de témoins
Qui ont vu ton décès
Et ton regard figé
Est le flot de lumière
Devant l’obscurité.

Tatul Sonentz
Traduit de l’Anglais par Nanehlala 

Tatul Sonentz-Papazian: Captive@limbo.com

The other day
A laptop won me
In a raffle
Until then
My lap had favored
Softer bottoms
And carrot-tops
Now I spend
Most of my time
In virtual life
In a cosmos called
The internet
With a machine
In my lap
As the drama
In the limbo of a
Growing hard drive
Unravels
In endless acts
With rare
Intermissions
For food sleep
And the touch
Of flesh
Smell of flowers
Or the sweet
Sorrow of
Love.

(2009)
This poem has appeared in the Armenian Weekly, May, 2009.