Mariné Petrossian: SAM BECKETT COME HOME

ու հիմա գրում եմ էս մի քանի տողը

որ հասկանամ թե ինչու

էսքան միանգամից ու էսքան շատ

սիրեցի քաղաքը որ կոչել են նյու յորք

էնքան շատ սիրեցի որ հիմա ինչ էլ գրեմ

կլինի նամակ նույն հասցեով

դու երբեք չես կարող

հանդիպել բոլոր էն մարդկանց

որոնք կարող էին լինել քո ընկերը

բայց իրանք թողնում են նշաններ

որ դու հասկանաս որ մենակ չես

որ դու համոզվես քո ընկերները կան

չնայած դու իրանց երեւի արդեն չես հանդիպի

որովհետեւ մեծ  ա տարածությունը

եւ քիչ ա ժամանակը

սեմ բեքեթ

արի տուն

գրած էր շենքի վրա

թարթող լույսերով

ու քանի որ բեքեթը

էլ չի կարող գալ

ուրեմն էդ բառերը

իմ համար էին գրած

ես էլ կանգնել նայում էի

բայց ո՞ւր ա տունը

տուն չկա

կան անտուններ

ու կա նյու յորքը

սեմ բեքեթ

արի տուն

արի տուն

արի

հետո երբ որ տուն էկա

երեւան

ինտերնետով search արեցի

էդ բառերը

ու իմացա որ

էդ նախադասությունը

չինացի մի արտիստ էր սարքել

հա էլի

չայնաթաունում էր էդ շենքը

նյու յորքի չինաստանում

ես էլ առանց իմանալու

հայաստանից հասել

կանգնել էի էդ շենքի առաջ

որ պատահաբար

կարդամ վրան գրածը.

սեմ բեքեթ

արի տուն

արի տուն

արի

մարդը սարքում ա տուն

որ անձրեւ չգա վրան

որ քամին չքշի իրան տանի

որ շները չուտեն իրան գիշերով

բայց անձրեւը մեկ ա գալիս ա

քամին մեզ տանում ա էս ու էն կողմ

ու շները որ կերան սեմ բեքեթին

չնայած շան կերպարանք չունեին

բայց շուն էին մեկ ա

SAM BECKETT COME HOME

traducción: Alice Ter Ghevondian

y ahora escribo algunos renglones

para entender por qué

tan de inmediato y tanto

me gustó la ciudad que llaman nueva york

me gustó tanto que todo lo que escriba ahora

se convierte en una carta a la misma dirección

nunca podés

encontrar a toda esa gente

que podrían haber sido tus amigos

pero ellos dejan señas

para que comprendas que no estás solo

para que estés seguro que tenés amigos

aunque quizás ya no los encuentres

porque es grande el espacio

y poco el tiempo

sam beckett

vení a casa

estaba escrito sobre el edificio

con luces titilantes

y como beckett

ya no puede venir

entonces estas palabras

están escritas para mí

me paré y miré

pero dónde está la casa

no hay casa

hay sin hogares

y hay nueva york

sam beckett

vení a casa

vení a casa

vení

después cuando volví a casa

a erevan

busqué search [2] por internet

aquellas palabras

y me enteré que

aquella frase

la escribió un artista chino

y sí, por supuesto

ese edificio estaba en chinatown

en la china de nueva york

y yo sin saberlo

llegué de armenia

y me paré frente a ese edificio

para leer por casualidad

lo que estaba escrito en él

sam beckett

vení a casa

vení a casa

vení

el hombre construye la casa

para abrigarse de la lluvia

para que no lo arrastre el viento

para que no lo coman los perros por la noche

pero igual llueve

el viento nos arrastra de un lado para el otro

y los perros que se comieron a sam becket

aunque no tenían el aspecto de perros

eran igualmente perros

Պարոյր Սեւակ։ Միաչքանին

Մի աչքով եմ նայում կյանքին:

(Երկրորդ աչքըս ապակուց է):

Եվ մի հատիկ իմ այս աչքով 

Շատ եմ տեսնում,

Իսկ երկրորդով՝ ավելի՛ շատ,

Որովհետև

Առողջ աչքով ես տեսնում եմ,

Իսկ կույր աչքով... մի՜շտ երազում...

14.XI.1963 թ.

Երևան

(«Դիմակներ» շարքից)

Գրիգոր Զոհրապ: Ոչ ոք

Դաշնակ մըն է հոգիս լեցուն
Նուագներով շատոնց լռած`
Որ մատիդ ծայրը դիպչելուն
Կը սարսռա, կ՛երգէ յանկարծ:

Երգեր մոռցուկ, երգերս իմ հին,
Խոր քուներնին թողածի պէս,
Որ շփելով գոց աչւընին
Կանցնին կարգով ահա դէմէս:

Նախ երգերը օրօրոցիս
Որոնցմով մայրս զիս մեծցուց.
Ու խոլ երգերն իմ փողոցիս
Զոր տակաւին գիտեմ բերնուց:

Վերջը, սիրոյ երգերը որ
Կէս մը իրաւ, կէս մը կատակ,
Նետեցի չորս դին ամեն օր,
Ծաղկանց նըման ոտքերու տակ:

Վերջը, վերջը բոլոր զուարթ
Այդ երգերուն, - դադարը մեծ,
Լըռութիւնը, զոր մինչև ցարդ
Քենէ զատ ո՛չ ոք չէ վրդովեր:

1901

The inaugural international poetry festival on Youtube.com

A short film clip about the 2013 International Poetry festival in Yerevan, Armenia.

Armenian Literature featured in Literature Across Frontiers

Armenia  is the featured topic in the current issue of this European online review. The article may be read in English, French or German by clicking the link here.

Daniel Varoujan Award

New England Poetry Club

Daniel Varoujan Award

Deadline:

May 31, 2013

Entry Fee: 

$10

Website: 

http://www.nepoetryclub.org/contests.htm

E-mail address: 

contests@nepoetryclub.org

A prize of $1,000 is given annually for a poem in honor of Daniel Varoujan, an Armenian poet killed in the genocide in Turkey in 1915. Submit a poem with a $10 entry fee by May 31. Send an SASE, e-mail, or visit the website for complete guidelines.

New England Poetry Club, Daniel Varoujan Award, c/o Contest Coordinator, 654 Green Street, #2, Cambridge, MA 02139.

A quiet anniversary

On April 30, 2013, The Armenian Poetry Project turned 7. This one was a quiet celebration. 

With hundreds of daily visitors and over 1900 entries, we are by no means resting on our laurels. 

I believe APP helped me achieve several goals: bringing Armenian poetry to an international audience; access to the masses, including those who don't have Armenian books in their homes and public libraries; encouraging readers to discover new writers, while providing forgotten poems and their authors a new readership.

If you have noticed that the number of entries has slowed down recently, it is because we are coming up with new ideas and projects:

1 - Resources for groups who want to start their own DEAD ARMENIAN POETS SOCIETY. This was the core of what eventually became APP. I will be writing some guidelines on how to run evenings dedicated to readings of works by late Armenian authors.

2. As a way of archiving, I will be copying our audio files to SoundCloud. The new group has already been created and episodes will be uploaded in the future. This will help APP reach a larger audience as the blog format restricts us for posting them all in the same page, and iTunes cannot archive old episodes.
The APP group on SoundCloud will be here.

3. Resources for Armenian poetry workshops.

4. Support for cultural events and help in finding authors for reading series in the United States and Canada.

5. Support for the annual poetry competition, which for the last three years has been sponsored by the ASA.

6. Regular postings -- albeit not daily -- of poems, translations and announcements. 

I invite all readers to stay in touch, add comments and share your thoughts.



All best, and thank you for being a reader and supporter of the APP.

Lola Koundakjian
Curator and Director, The Armenian Poetry Project

Birth of Hovhannes Shiraz (April 27, 1915)

       Poet Hovhannes Shiraz, one of the most popular names in Armenia and the Diaspora during Soviet times, was born in Alexandropol (later Leninakan, now Gumri), in 1915. His birth name was Onik Karapetian. At the age of five, he lost his father, who was killed in the Turkish invasion of Armenia that followed the Armenian-Turkish war of 1920. He grew in poverty. He went to work at the textile factory of Leninakan in 1932. He published his first poems in the factory newspapers. Apparently, he first signed them with the pseudonym Hovhannes Shirak (Gumri is located in the plain of Shirak).
        One year later, he was hired as teacher in the village of Haji Nazar (now Kamo), in the district of Akhurian. He published his first book of poetry, “Spring Initiation,” in 1935, with the pseudonym Hovhannes Shiraz. According to his testimony, writer Atrpet (1860-1937) gave him the pseudonym of Shiraz (a city in Iran, well known for its flowers), saying: “The poems of this young man have the perfume of the fresh and dew-covered roses of Shiraz.” In the same year, Shiraz became a member of the Writers Union of Armenia.
        He attended the Faculty of Philology of the Yerevan State University between 1941 and 1947, where he studied Armenian language and literature. Afterwards, he lived from his pen. He also followed the courses of the Institute of Literature Maxim Gorky of Moscow from 1952-1954.
        Shiraz’s most important collection of poetry was “Lyre of Armenia” (three volumes, 1958, 1965, and 1974). He won the State Prize of Soviet Armenia in 1975 and the Hovhannes Tumanian prize in 1982.
       Although the press run of his books was over half a million copies and his poems were translated into 58 languages, Shiraz ran into many problems with censorship. His patriotic poetry, particularly his evocation of the historical injustice suffered by Armenians and the lost territories of Western Armenia and, at the time, Gharabagh, was forbidden several times. In 1974, when the well-known literary critic Suren Aghababian told Shiraz about receiving the Lenin Medal, the response was: “And what do they want from me in exchange? To buy my silence?”
        He was never allowed to travel outside the Soviet Union, but many of his unpublished poems were smuggled outside the country and published in the Diaspora press. For instance, the first draft of his poem “The Armenian Dante,” about the Armenian Genocide, was written in 1941. Only a few excerpts were published in Armenia during his lifetime and a few chapters in Beirut and Tehran. The entire poem was posthumously published in 1990. His poem “Ani,” about the medieval capital of Armenia, written in 1950, was also published in excerpts in the Diaspora, and the final edition only appeared in 2012.
       Shiraz first married poet Silva Kaputikian (1919-2006). They had a son, the future sculptor Ara Shiraz. Shiraz and his second wife, Shushan, had seven children, including poet Sipan Shiraz (1967-1997).
        Shiraz, who had become a living legend, passed away in Yerevan on March 14, 1984. He was buried in the pantheon of Komitas Park, where many famous Armenians are buried.

Frank J Cunningham: KHACHATURIAN’S LULLABY

In Memoriam of The Armenian Genocide, 1915-1923

Sleep, sleep away young child
Twist and turn in the dark -
Dream lightly on.
-
I relate our tale of woe, woe
in all it’s depth of saddening loss.
The madness so long endured
The waste of youth demanded
Mother’s grief handed down
Creeping of seasons past seasons.
Hush, Hush, Wake not……sleep, sleep.
-
Invaders came through the ages
Plundered, Ravaged, Destroyed.
On and on cross centuries
come screams of nothingness -
Blowing o’er our trampled lives.
-
Then the greatest trial of all –
Words fail me to describe the horror
So, so many lost in that long, long march -
Of brutal life or death.
-
We mouth the past in our native tongue
Let loose yearnings for those now gone
We, the flickering emblems of our race
Hold fast our culture, long,
in music, words and dance.
Pummeled, Squashed again yet again
Near to obliteration
Still, always, some sparks…a glow -
Where burns the hope.
-
Devastated, Broken,  Rebuilt,  Smashed
Countless times,  Empire after Empire
Must we …To what end -
Bent in servitude.
-
Beyond reason
I exist
Lost in red haze of blood and rage
Blinded by tears
This orgy of humanity
History I tread, ours and others
To thrive on knowing
We are not alone –
The scythe’s edge dulls.
-
Hark the deafening sighs, who’s listening.
Walk the villages of tears, who’s weeping.
I sing you words of ours
that caress our ways.
Now is my piece of happiness
recalling greater days -
As you grow in slumber.
-
This great treasure of lore,
though laced with strife
I pass on
To flood your tranquil mind.
Torrents of thoughts
on our people’s strength
That conquers all –
Now you slowly stir.
-
My songs echoing
Through your dreams
I try to rise, rise up.
To you I will
Many a bright dawning day –
This time is yours my child.
-

VIDEO of the Rehearsal held on June 27th, 2009 for World Premier Performance, on Nantucket, MA, June 28th, 2009

Armen Ghazaryan (Violinist), Frank J Cunningham (Poet) & Robert Behrman (Piano) performing Cunningham’s poem “Lullaby” written for Aram Khachaturian’s Ballet “Gayane”

Birth of Taniel Varoujan (April 20, 1884)

Taniel Chibukkiarian was born in the village of Perknik, in the vilayet of Sepastia. After attending the local school, in 1896 he went to Constantinople, where he attended one of the schools of the Mekhitarist Congregation of Venice. He then continued his education at the Moorat-Raphaelian school of Venice from 1902-1905. In 1905 he entered the University of Ghent, in Belgium, where he followed courses in literature, sociology, and economics. He adopted the surname Varoujan (from an Armenian word that means "male dove") when he started to publish his poems. In 1906 he published his first volume of poetry, Shivers, followed the next year by a booklet that contained a long poem, The Massacre. He graduated in 1909 and returned to the Ottoman Empire. The same year he published a new volume, Heart of the Race, which established him as a poet.
       Returning to Sepastia, he became a teacher between 1909 and 1912. In 1910 he married his student, Araksi Tashjian, vanquishing the opposition of her father. In 1912 they moved to Constantinople, where he became the principal of the St. Gregory the Illuminator School until his deportation in April 1915.
       He published a new and even more powerful collection of poetry, Pagan Songs, in 1912. In late 1913 he joined forces with four young writers, Kostan Zarian (1885-1969), Hagop Oshagan (1883-1948), Kegham Parseghian (1883-1915), and Aharon Dadourian (1888-1965), to create the group "Mehyan." They issued a manifesto that called for the renovation of Armenian literature and language, and founded a short-lived but important monthly journal, Mehyan, that published seven issues (January-July 1914). Due to aesthetic divergences, Varoujan left the group after the third issue (March 1914).
        The poet had three children: Veronica, Armen, and Haig. His wife was pregnant with their third child, when Varoujan was included in the Turkish black list and arrested on the night of April 23-24, 1915, by the police with hundreds of Armenian intellectuals and leaders. He was deported to Changr (Chankiri) together with many of his colleagues, where they lived in a sort of internal exile for the next two months. On August 26, 1915, along with his friend, the poet and physician Rupen Sevag (Chilingirian, 1885-1915), and three other Armenians, they were taken to Kalayjek. On the road, following a previous plan, a group of Turkish chetes (irregular soldiers) attacked the carriage that transported them. They were forced to take their clothes out, and then savagely assassinated. The same day, Varoujan's son, Haig, was born in Constantinople.
       The poet's papers had been confiscated at the time of his arrest. In 1921 his wife Araksi was able to recover, after paying a hefty bribe, his unfinished last book, The Song of the Bread, which was published the same year in Constantinople.
        After his death, Varoujan's works were published in no less than thirty editions over the past nine decades. Collections of his poetry have been also published in French and Italian. His daughter Veronica Safrasian (1910-2009) lived for many years in New York, while his younger son Haig (1915-2002) passed away in Fresno.

Armenia Hosts an International Poetry Festival

Yerevan hosted its first International Poetry Festival. Over 50 notable foreign poets from 30 countries attended the festival, and an anthology of 50 poets was published in Armenian and English.

The Union of Writers invited each poet to plant a tree to make the Poetry Square. The union also marked the 500th anniversary of book-printing in Armenia.

As reported by the Armenian Diocese in New York City:

This week at Holy Etchmiadzin, His Holiness Karekin II, the Supreme Patriarch and Catholicos of All Armenians, received the participants of the International Poetry Festival taking place in Armenia. His Holiness offered his pontifical blessings and best wishes to the visitors, and encouraged them to use their God-given talents to foster peace and love in the world.

The poetry festival, organized by Levon Ananyan, president of Armenia’s Writers Union, drew poets and writers from 30 countries for a week of readings and workshops. As part of the program, participants also planted acacia trees in a new poetry park in Yerevan.

The festival was organized in the spirit of last year’s celebration of Yerevan as the UNESCO World Book Capital.

New Spanish book of Armenian poetry

Un idioma también es un incendio (Alción editora - Activo Puente). 

We are happy to announce the publication of this book edited by our colleague Ana Arzoumanian. The book will be presented in Argentina on April 22, 2013.

I Left My Shoes In Istanbul (film trailer)

I Left My Shoes in Istanbul,” a documentary film by Beirut-based writer and director Nigol Bezjian, was screened at the Istanbul Independent Film Festival in February. The film chronicles the journey of a Lebanese-born Armenian poet through his first visit to the city, and the discovery of his cultural roots. It first premiered at the Golden Apricot Film Festival in Yerevan last summer, and finally made its way to the titular city of Istanbul. 

Read the entire article in the Armenian Weekly. 

Film by Nigol Bezjian (1955, Aleppo, Syria)



http://youtu.be/ZAG-3ksdjgw

20 poetas de Armenia (UBA)

El 22 de abril a las 19.30 horas en el Salón Azul de la Facultad de Derecho, UBA, 20 poetas de Armenia

La caída de la Unión Soviética, la Tercer República de Armenia, la guerra de Nagorno Karabagh.

La violencia, la melancolía, la rabia, la desintegración, el amor.

Por primera vez el Cáucaso Sur en Latinoamérica.

20 poetas de la Armenia de hoy traducidos al castellano.

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

Cheri Babajian: Miles of Dirt and Sand

Forced across miles of dirt and sand

Singed not only the soles of their feet on the land,

But sent shock waves of pain deep into the souls

Of men, women and children, forced into roles

That none had chosen but at gun point coerced,

Pushed along in terror, parched in thirst,

Watched in horror as loved ones no longer stand

From murderers’ hands or the stark stinging sand.

Parents screamed as their children collapsed,

And cried out in desperation unable to grasp

That Hell had opened up right at their feet

In the faces of Turkish soldiers intent on defeat

Of the Armenian people…a true genocide.

While a generation of youth and intellectuals died

For no other reason than their ethnicity

Hatred so vile—no empathy!

Scientists, scholars, poets and more

Captured, tortured-- wiped out at the core.

The nightmare returns as I sleep in my bed

A comfortable place where I lay my head

In soft and warm bedding until the scene comes again

As I see my tribe bleeding …I see Turkish sin.

I feel myself walking across hot desert sands

Parched, weak and frail, it is hard to stand.

I am angry with every gasp of air that I breathe

And feel protective of all of my brethren I see.

As I choke on the dust from the dirt and debris

I wonder why no one has set my people free.

I see beautiful children slaughtered by grown men.

Innocent young ones unable to defend

Themselves, as their parents have already died

On the blood soaked trail of deceit and lies.

I gasp for air as my lungs search for more

And awaken confused and away from the horror.

Stand up and demand that the truth will be known!

All nations, all people must take hold and own

Their past, their present and their future too.

No immunity from truth, for me or for you.

Copyright Cheri Babajian 2013. This poem appears on APP with kind permission of the poet.

Martin Melkonian lit Zabel Essayan

UNESCO: World Poetry Day

March 21 is World Poetry Day. A decision to proclaim 21 March as World Poetry Day was adopted during the UNESCO’s 30th session held in Paris in 1999.

"Poetry is one of the purest expressions of linguistic freedom. It is a component of the identity of peoples and it embodies the creative energy of culture, for it can be continuously renewed".

Irina Bokova, Director-General of UNESCO
Message for the World Poetry Day

Conference in Yerevan, Armenia

The Armenian Union of Education and Culture, together with Yerevan State University and The Writers Union of Armenia are organizing a 2 day conference devoted to the core problems of the modern Armenian prose. Scientists and philologists from Armenia, Nagorno Karabakh and the Diaspora are invited to this event. As per Hamazkayin, the main goal of the conference is to praise the modern prose by its comprehensive literary modern standards, as well as professional review of the core problems, development trends and perspectives. 

The opening of the conference and the report presentations is going to be held in Yerevan State University, Philology department, in April 5. The continuation of the conference will be in Writer’s house in Tsaghkadzor. There round table discussion and debates will be organized. 

The applications should be handed in by March 25, 2013. 

The applications may be delivered to:

The Armenian office of Hamazkayin: Mashtots Ave. 37/10

                                                  Tel. 53-39-49

                                        e-mail: hamazg@netsys.am This e-mail address is being protected from spambots. You need JavaScript enabled to view it

YSU Philology department:             Abovyan 52/a 

                                                  Tel. 54-43-94 (137)

Writers Union of Armenia:               Baghramyan 3 

                                                  Tel. 56-45-70

Arto Vaun reading (video)

Click to watch the poet reading his work.

Arto Vaun is the author of Capillarity and lives in Massachusetts.

Silva Merjanian: Your Poem

Write me a poem
drunk on solitude
when night strips off shell
calloused on your voice

shatter crystal veins
in midnight clouds
raining on my hands
words from angels' mouths

write me a poem --
silk covering my flaws

and I will wear it
like blue starlight cast
on a night resigned
to a poet's heart

let our fingers touch
in between your lines.



December 2011

This poem appears in Ms. Merjanian's inaugural book Uncoil a Night. All proceeds of this book will go to the Syrian Armenian Relief Fund (SARF). The book may be purchased at https://www.createspace.com/4113245

Գրական մրցոյթ. նիւթ՝ Հայ մայրը:

Գրական մրցոյթ. նիւթ՝ Հայ մայրը: Մանրամասնութեանց համար դիմել յայտարարութեան:

Armenian Writing contest, organized by the Hamazkayin executive committee of Canada. 
Open to Armenians of all ages, across Canada.
Language: Armenian.
Topic: The Armenian mother. 
Submission deadline: May 10, 2013. 
Previously published works are not accepted.
Email us with your questions @ info@hamazkayin.ca.

ԻԳՆԱ ՍԱՐԸԱՍԼԱՆ: ՔԱԼԻՍԹՕ ԿՈՒԱԹԷԼԼԻ

ՔԱԼԻՍԹՕ ԿՈՒԱԹԷԼԼԻ
1818-1900

Խոտերու օրօրին մէջ անվերջանալի
Մարմարեայ պարզ խաչի մը տակ հազիւ տեսանելի
Կը ննջէ հիմա Քալիսթօ Կուաթէլլի

Խաչին վրայ ոչ բառ մը պակաս – ոչ բառ մը աւելի
Միայն «Քալիսթօ Կուաթէլլի»

Անոնք որ կը յիշեն թէ ով է ան
Չեմ յուսար որ գիտնան
Թէ ուր թաղուած է ան

Իսկ անոնք որ չեն լսած իր մասին
Արդէն անտարբեր են իր շիրմին

Խաչին վրայ ոչ ածական մը – ոչ տիտղոս մը աւելի
Լոկ «Քալիսթօ Կուաթէլլի»

Քիչ անդին կը հոսի
Կը հոսի աղմկալի
Հսկայ քաղաքի
Երթեւեկն ահռելի

Մինչ հոս խոտերու օրօրին մէջ անվերջանալի
Խաչի մը տակ հազիւ տեսանելի
Կը հանգչի հիմա Քալիսթօ Կուաթէլլի


8 Մարտ 2013

Aramayis Sahakyan

It is with sadness that we announce the passing of  poet, editor and satirist Aramais Sahakyan (b May 24, 1936, Artsvashen, Armenian SSR - March 14, 2013, Yerevan, Republic of Armenia. May he rest in peace.

ԽԱՉԻԿ ՏԷՏԷԵԱՆ: Ե՞ՐԲ ԵՒ Ո՞ՒՐ

Ըսէ´ք ինծի՝ ե՞րբ եւ ո՞ւր

Հոգին մարդուն պիտի գտնէ

Իր անդորրը մնայուն.

Ե՞րբ պիտի խաղաղին ալիքները ծովուն,

Ե՞րբ պիտի լռեն շառաչները անհուն

Ի´ր ալեկոծ ծովուն:

Պճեղ մը սիրտ տրուած է մարդուն,

Բայց ան շալկած է հեղեղ մը ցաւ անհուն,

Տրուած են համրուած օրեր անկայուն,

Ու կը սպասուի որ գործէ հրաշք գերագոյն:

Ռոպոթի նման նետուած գիրկը աշխարհին,

Կը տարուբերի ճօճանակի նման մշտարթուն,

Կը ցատկռտէ, կը վազէ, կը քալէ ետ ու առաջ,

Ապա կը նետուի թափօնի նման ետեւը իր տան:

Ըսէ´ք ինծի՝ ինչո՞ւ այս խաղը անհրապոյր

Իր ճակատագի՜րն է եղած դարերէն հնագոյն,

Ի՞նչ նպատակի մը գերագոյն

Կը ծառայէ տուայտանքը հէ´ք մարդուն:

Ըսէ´ք ինծի՝ ե՞րբ եւ ո՞ւր

Կանգ պիտի առնէ այս զաւե՜շտը տխուր....

ԽԱՉԻԿ ՏԷՏԷԵԱՆ: ԿԸ ՔԱԼԵՆ ԱՌԱՋ

Դաժան օրերուն այս,
Դաժան պահերուն մեր,
Երբ խաժամուժին մէջ նետուած
Վակոնները շոգեկառքին կը յառաջանան արագ,

Երբ գալիքի պահերը թուխպ
Երկունքի ցաւերով են յղի,

Երբ մարդը՝ երկնքի ու երկրի  
Ահեղ մարտին մէջ նետուած էակ մըն է անիծեալ,

Մինչ սեւն ու սպիտակը ձուլուած իրարու,
Անշունչ պատկեր են նկարիչին
Պաստառին վրայ.-
Կը քալեն ամբոխները առաջ
Յոյսի մը, ապաւէն լաստի մը պատրանքով,
Նոր ճանապարհի որոնումի 
Յորձանուտին մէջ նետուած ակամայ,

Երբ ճապաղ առօրեան իրենց օրագիրն է միանուագ,
Ու սերմը պտուղին՝ այլոց ձգուած բարիք մնայուն,
Կը նային ետեւ, կը նային առաջ,
Ու մշուշն է միշտ հորիզոնը ծածկած,
Բայց դեռ կը յուսան,
Դեռ կը տագնապին, 
Դեռ կը քալեն առաջ...