Sunday, August 29, 2010
Saturday, August 28, 2010
Gregory Djanikian: My Uncle's Eye
Alexandria, 1954
the shops smelling of dark leather,
the hookah parlors spilling out
onto the crowded sidewalk.
throwing a bottle at my uncle's face,
the slivers lodging deep.
I thought my uncle must live
a shadow life, imagining with one eye
what the other couldn't see.
with my hand over half my face,
bumping into things, swiveling my head.
knitting quietly in her armchair,
"what's to become of you?"
twirling gauzily away like a ballerina.
driving from Cairo on the long desert road,
and he would be making time,
measuring speeds.
the way he moved, skimming along
hazy edges, judging distances
by inkling, relying on some part
of the tangible world
without knowing exactly
what to hold on to,
what to let go.
Posted by Armenian Poetry Project at 8/28/2010 07:00:00 AM 0 comments
Labels: Contemporary, Gregory Djanikian, USA
Friday, August 27, 2010
Michael Akillian: Her Kitchen
Such a meticulous child,
it wasn't always easy for me
to watch my grandmother cook.
She used her hands for measuring cups,
her fingers as tablespoons.
Close enough, she'd say
while she worked over the pots and cauldrons
that steamed with fasoolya, pohrov kufta,
dolma... She used garlic when she was happy,
and she was happy often.
She baked a lot, too.
Whenever I'd come over she'd stuff
flour-fingered walnuts in my mouth
and talk while I couldn't.
Like so many old-country cooks
she cleaned her kitchen through use.
The corners and back cupboards lay kittied
and abandoned, while the working parts
were wiped at least daily.
I gauged her aging
by the slow encroachment upon her kitchen.
I watched her slow, stoop, and finally sit
in her green and stainless wheelchair.
The time I discovered her at the stove fenced
in an aluminum walker, I stole
down the long empty hall of her deafness,
and out.
When she died,
the only part of her kitchen that was clean
was the right-front burner on her gas stove.
While my uncles worked in other rooms,
my father and I took the kitchen --
two pools of cleanliness spreading outward.
We stopped as the people began to arrive.
That'll have to do, my father said, sliding
the damp dish towel from his shoulder.
Close enough, I thought, and left
for the living and the mourners.
This poem is part of the volume entitled "The Eating of Names", published by Ashod Press, 1983. It is reprinted here by kind permission of the author.
Posted by Armenian Poetry Project at 8/27/2010 07:00:00 AM 0 comments
Labels: Contemporary, Michael Akillian, USA
Wednesday, August 25, 2010
Ara Shirinyan: “Afghanistan is Great”
from YOUR COUNTRY IS GREAT
“Afghanistan is Great”
Afghanistan is great, but much smaller
than previously assumed.
the need for education
in Afghanistan is great
and must be met quickly,
need for food in Afghanistan is great,
well-acquainted
with unique problems
facing Afghanistan.
The need for tough, dependable,
locally repairable wheelchairs in
Afghanistan is great.
A mountain. An airplane. Aviation in
Afghanistan is great fun.
Pipeline via Afghanistan is great.
There is no question that Allah’s
knowledge and love of Afghanistan
is great
even as he regrets
the limits of his understanding.
Ara Shirinyan was born in 1977 in, what was then, the Soviet
Socialist Republic of Armenia. Since 1987, he has lived in Los
Angeles, where he writes and is editor of Make Now Press. His first
book Syria Is in the World will be available in June, 2007 from Palm
Press. With the group Godzik Pink, he released two CDs (Es Em, Ekel
Em and Black Broccoli) on Kill Rock Stars/5rc. With Stan Apps and
Teresa Carmody, he co-curates The Last Sunday Reading Series at the
Smell in Los Angeles (an all ages punk/art rock club that he helped
co-found in 1997 and briefly ran for a year). His work has appeared
or is forthcoming in Word Ways, UBUWEB, Greetings, Trepan, Combo,
Area Sneaks, Tuli & Savu among others.
Posted by Armenian Poetry Project at 8/25/2010 07:00:00 AM 0 comments
Labels: Ara Shirinyan, Contemporary, USA
Tuesday, August 24, 2010
Uptown Stroll Podcast
Northern Manhattan is a mix of various cultures and languages. As part of June's 8th Annual Uptown Arts Stroll Author and host of the Sunday Best Reading Series Patricia Eakins curated the event Uptown Voices: Writing Across our Cultures, an evening of short stories and poetry read by authors in their native languages. The authors agreed to repeat their performances for the Manhattan Times, which recorded their readings and developed this podcast.
Click here for Lola Koundakjian's portion of the podcast here.
Posted by Armenian Poetry Project at 8/24/2010 09:43:00 PM 0 comments
Labels: Contemporary, Lola Koundakjian, USA
Յակոբ Ճէլալեան: Աղերս առ ցուլն
Նախնիներուս սրբազան ցուլ
Մեր հեթանոս մեհեաններուն
Աստուածութիւն պղնձաձոյլ
Սեւեռաբիբ ու մշտարթուն:
Մեր պատմութեան չափ հնամեայ
Ու թշնամեաց դէմ կուռ ասպար
Հայ աշխարհի անյաղթ հսկայ
Երկնատարած ձիգ լեռնապար:
Հովանիիդ տակ նոր սերունդ
Հեռասլաց շանթէ մկունդ
Ոգոռումի վճիռ անդուլ:
Թող եղջիւրներդ երկգագաթ՝
Վահագնաշունչ ուժի հաւատ,
Մեր երթին լոյս ծորեն, ո՜վ ցուլ:
Posted by Armenian Poetry Project at 8/24/2010 07:00:00 AM 0 comments
Labels: Contemporary, Greece, Hagop Djelalian
Monday, August 23, 2010
Յակոբ Ճէլալեան: Տխուր Վալս
Իրանդ բաղեղ՝
Որ կը պլլըւի
Մարմնիս ծարաւի:
Ձեռքերդ աղեղ՝
Որ կը պարուրեն
Կեանքս համօրէն:
Համբոյրդ հիւթեղ՝
Տրուած դառն ու հեշտ
Որպէս հրաժեշտ:
Լռութիւնն ահեղ՝
Երգն է կարապին
Ցաւը քարափին:
Posted by Armenian Poetry Project at 8/23/2010 07:00:00 AM 0 comments
Labels: Contemporary, Greece, Hagop Djelalian
Sunday, August 22, 2010
The Armenian Woman: from the Armenian Renaissance (Zartonk) tօ the 1915 Genocide
Posted by Armenian Poetry Project at 8/22/2010 10:53:00 AM 0 comments
Յակոբ Ճէլալեան։ Ղարաբաղ
Posted by Armenian Poetry Project at 8/22/2010 07:00:00 AM 0 comments
Labels: Contemporary, Greece, Hagop Djelalian
Saturday, August 21, 2010
Յակոբ Ճէլալեան։ ԱՆԽՈՅԱԳԻՐ
Արշալոյսներ անմայրամուտ,
Աչքերդ սեւ
Արփացոլանք են հրաթեւ
Աչքերդ բաց,
Այժմ յամեցող երազ մ՛անգանձ
Աչքերդ փակ
Անտես հրա՜յրք մը մաշկիս տակ:
Posted by Armenian Poetry Project at 8/21/2010 07:00:00 AM 0 comments
Labels: Contemporary, Greece, Hagop Djelalian
Friday, August 20, 2010
On translations
"But as her contemporaries’ memoirs clearly tell us, Akhmatova did read quite a lot of poetry translated from Armenian. If she did, then why in the world shouldn’t we?"
From the article Is true translation impossible? at Poetry Foundation.
Posted by Armenian Poetry Project at 8/20/2010 07:00:00 AM 0 comments
Thursday, August 19, 2010
Peyo Yavorov: Armentsi
Изгнаници клети, отломка нищожна
от винаги храбър народ мъченик,
дечица на майка робиня тревожна
и жертви на подвиг чутовно велик -
далеч от родина, в край чужди събрани,
изпити и бледни, в порутен бордей,
те пият, а тънат сърцата им в рани,
и пеят, тъй както през сълзи се пей.
Те пият... В пиянство щат лесно забрави
предишни неволи и днешни беди,
в кипящото вино щат спомен удави,
заспа ще дух болен в разбити гърди;
глава ще натегне, от нея тогава
изчезна ще майчин страдалчески лик
и няма да чуват, в пияна забрава,
за помощ синовна всегдашния клик.
Кат гонено стадо от някой звяр гладен,
разпръснати ей ги навсякъде веч -
тиранин беснеещ, кръвник безпощаден,
върху им издигна за всякога меч;
оставили в кърви нещастна родина,
оставили в пламък и бащин си кът,
немили-недраги в далека чужбина,
един - в механата! - открит им е път.
Те пеят.. И дива е тяхната песен,
че рани разяждат ранени сърца,
че злоба ги дави в кипежа си бесен
и сълзи изстисква на бледни лица...
Че злъчка препълня сърца угнетени,
че огън в главите разсъдък суши,
че молния свети в очи накървени,
че мъст, мъст кръвнишка жадуват души.
А зимната буря им сякаш приглася,
бучи и завива страхотно в нощта
и вихром подема, издига, разнася
бунтовната песен широко в света.
И все по-зловещо небето тъмнее,
и все по се мръщи студената нощ,
и все по-горещо дружината пее,
и буря приглася с нечувана мощ...
Те пият и пеят... Отломка нищожна
от винаги храбър народ мъченик,
дечица на майка робиня тревожна
и жертви на подвиг чутовно велик -
далеч от родина, и боси, и голи,
в край чужди събрани, в порутен бордей,
те пият - пиянство забравя неволи,
и пеят, тъй както през сълзи се пей.
Posted by Armenian Poetry Project at 8/19/2010 07:00:00 AM 0 comments
Labels: Bulgaria, Peyo Yavorov
Wednesday, August 18, 2010
Raffi Wartanian: dear stranger who is probably homeless and has sat next to me for the past three-and-a-half hours
Posted by Armenian Poetry Project at 8/18/2010 07:00:00 AM 0 comments
Labels: Contemporary, Raffi Wartanian, USA
Tuesday, August 17, 2010
Sharon Olds: Portrait of a Child
(Yerevan, capital of a republic set up by those Armenians who had not been massacred by the Turks. In 1921, Turkey and Russia divided the republic between them).
His face is quite peaceful, really,
like any child asleep, though the skin
is darkened in places, the curved eyelids
turgid, part of the ear missing
as if bitten off. He lies like a child
asleep, on his side, one arm bent
so the hand curls near his face, one arm
dangling across his chest, fingertips
touching the stone street. His shirt has
two rents near the waist, the slits hunters make
in the stomach of the catch.
Besides the shirt he wears nothing. His abdomen is
swollen as the belly of a pregnant woman
and sags to one side. His hip-joint bulges,
a bruise. His thigh is big around as a
newborn's arm, and from hip-bone to knee
the tendon runs sharp as a crease in cloth,
the skin pulling at it. His knees are enormous,
his feet peaceful as in deep sleep,
and across one leg delicately rests
his penis. Pale and lovely there
at the center of the picture, it lies, the source
of the children he would have had, this child
dead of hunger
in Yerevan.
Sharon Olds, The Dead and the Living, New York, Knopf, 2000.
Posted by Armenian Poetry Project at 8/17/2010 07:00:00 AM 0 comments
Labels: Contemporary, Sharon Olds, USA
Monday, August 16, 2010
Յովհաննէս Ասպետ Ասատուրեան: ԱՐԵՒՄԱՐՔԻՆ
Ձօնուած Ժօաննային
Իրիկուան թոյլ ձայներուն,
Հեծեծմունքը կը լսեմ.
Արեւմարքի շողերուն,
Բոցավառ հուրքերը կ՝ըմպեմ:
Թռչուններու օրօրուն,
Խոնչ սիրերգը խօլագին,
Իրիկուան մէջ կիսափաղփուն,
Երբոր հանդարտ աւարտին:
Բոցահեր սիրավառ կոյսին,
Հծծիւնները կ՝ըմբոշխեմ,
Անոր հոգին մտերիմ
Կը պագնէ յոյսերս վերջին:
Ու հայելիէ գետակին,
Մակերեսին վրայ յստակ,
Զոյգ մը սագեր սպիտակ,
Հպարտօրէն կը յածին:
Արեւմարքին մէջ արփաւոր,
Բոյր ծաղիկներ երերուն,
Անզօր կը խամրին գլխիկոր,
Երազելով լոյս այգուն:
Ու հսկայ ծառեր անդին,
Իրիկուան ջուրերուն մէջէն,
Յուշիկ մեկնող արեւին,
Վերջին ցոլքերը կը ծծեն:
Յովհաննէս Ասպետ Ասատուրեան:Սոյն բանաստեղծութիւնը քաղուած է ՛ Սիրոյ Քնար՝ի էջերէն.
Posted by Armenian Poetry Project at 8/16/2010 07:00:00 AM 0 comments
Labels: Contemporary, France, Jean Asadour
Saturday, August 14, 2010
Albert Kapikian: Notes on a Newborn Sleeping
Alexander Zareh Kapikian
You command our attention
Just by the tremor of your lips
Or by the beauty resulting
From the balanced and harmonious
Arrangement of your fingertips
As they reach for something
You must have seen
When you were feeding
Before you got drowsy
And your eyes closed
To your mother
But not to the world
Developing behind them
That you transmit to us
With your astonishing facial expressions
And all they communicate
Depict and describe
That we can only guess at
And infer by the depth
And extent of our love
Albert Kapikian lives in Silver Spring, Maryland. A seminary and law school graduate, he was once posted to the White House for the National Archives. His poems have appeared in the Graham House Review, the Washington Review, Elysian Fields and other publications.This poem has previously appeared in Ararat Online.
Posted by Armenian Poetry Project at 8/14/2010 07:00:00 AM 1 comments
Labels: Albert Kapikian, Contemporary, USA
Friday, August 13, 2010
ՄԱՐԻԱՆՆԱ ՊԷՐԹԻԶԼԵԱՆ-ՂԱԶԱՐԵԱՆ: Շուրջպար
Տարիները զիրար կը հրմշտեն
Մինչ երկնասոյզ գագաթներ աղօթք կը մրմնջեն:
Ո՞ւր եմ, չեմ գիտեր
ծեր լեռներու՞, թէ՞ տարիներուն մէջ.
Իմ մէջ անոնք են հիմա,
որ բնաւ չկան,
ես նորէն կը պարեմ
հին պարը մահուան.
անոնք՝ եկողները իմ մէջ կը պարեն:
Ձայն մը մութին մէջ ծնունդ կ’աւէտէ.
կը հարցնեմ ինծի` ո՞ւր եմ ես հիմա:
Անցնող-գացողին,
նորերուն ալ կը հարցնեմ:
Անոնք այս պահուն հինին
փէշէն կը ճօճուին.
ես ալ արեւին լոյսը
ամուր գրկած եմ.
հինը կը նորոգուի…
Posted by Armenian Poetry Project at 8/13/2010 07:00:00 AM 0 comments
Labels: Contemporary, Mariana Bertizlian Ghazarian, Syria
Thursday, August 12, 2010
Եղիշե Չարենց: [Օ՛, գրքերի աշխարհը ]
Posted by Armenian Poetry Project at 8/12/2010 07:00:00 AM 0 comments
Labels: Armenia, Yeghishe Charents
Wednesday, August 11, 2010
Նուարդ Մանուէլեան։ Վախից այն կողմ
ես իմ երկինքն եմ փնտրում
ճամբարենով յայտնի ու անյայտ
տեսանելի ու գաղտնի
իմաց ու անիմաց։
եւ ես իմ քարտէզն եմ գծում
թանաքով ու մատիտով
իւղով ու իւղաներկով
մրոտած մատներով։
ես լքում եմ հողը,
կրակը,
ջուրը
օդը։
եւ ես անցնում եմ վախից այն կողմ։
2008
Posted by Armenian Poetry Project at 8/11/2010 07:00:00 AM 0 comments
Labels: Armenia, Contemporary, Nvart Manuelyan
Tuesday, August 10, 2010
Իգնա Սարըասլան։ Ճիւղ
Posted by Armenian Poetry Project at 8/10/2010 07:00:00 AM 0 comments
Labels: Contemporary, Ikna Sariaslan, Turkey
Monday, August 09, 2010
Michael Akillian: Self portrait
His entire body is a stenciled crate
Posted by Armenian Poetry Project at 8/09/2010 07:00:00 AM 0 comments
Labels: Contemporary, Michael Akillian, USA
Sunday, August 08, 2010
Michael Akillian: The Life course
This poem is part of the volume entitled "The Eating of Names", published by Ashod Press, 1983. It is reprinted here by kind permission of the author.
Posted by Armenian Poetry Project at 8/08/2010 07:00:00 AM 0 comments
Labels: Contemporary, Michael Akillian, USA
Saturday, August 07, 2010
Michael Akillian: Ascent
This poem is part of the volume entitled "The Eating of Names", published by Ashod Press, 1983. It is reprinted here by kind permission of the author.
Posted by Armenian Poetry Project at 8/07/2010 07:00:00 AM 0 comments
Labels: Contemporary, Michael Akillian, USA
Friday, August 06, 2010
Michael Akillian: Another poem about colored leaves
falling from the morning skies of New England,
of frost like a small white bird climbing
the panes cut with isosceles light,
of pumpkins stealing from the star-dark porch
in search of vines,
but it isn't so.
This is about a woman who paints herself red
and goes out to inflict
upon herself the onus of our attention.
It's about standing here
while she, flustered but adamant,
circles the yard collecting
what she can manage of departure.
And it's about how much I love this loneliness,
heavy as the weight of fallen leaves
and slow as the slow of sap that huddles
towards the vague bus constant promise of the dark.
This poem is part of the volume entitled "The Eating of Names", published by Ashod Press, 1983. It is reprinted here by kind permission of the author.
Posted by Armenian Poetry Project at 8/06/2010 07:00:00 AM 0 comments
Labels: Contemporary, Michael Akillian, USA