Մատթէոս Զարիֆեան։ՁՄԵՌ ԻՐԻԿՈՒՆ

Դագաղի պէս նեղ օրեր,
Գերեզմանի փայտեայ խաչի պէս տխուր...
Դեռ երա՞զ, սէ՞ր -
Զո՜ւր է, զո՜ւր...
Գերեզմանի փայտեայ խաչի պէս տըխուր... ։

Ահա կ՚անցնին դիակի գոյն երկինքէն՝
Խուճապահար տարմերն անբախտ ագռաւի...
Ջարդէ փախչող մարդերու պէս կը հեծե՜ն.
Երկնքին մէջ ալ կը ջարդե՜ն՝ երեւի...

Ու փոթորկոտ իրիկունով,
Նախիրն ահա՝ լեռներուն մէջ ցանուցիր...
Ո՞վ գրեց, ո՞վ,
Կեանքի օրէնքը կարմիր... ։

*

Այս առտու,
Մարդ մը հուժկու
-Որ ունէր բիրտ ու արիւնոտ աչուըներ-
Մեծ կացինով մը ջարդեց
Լելակի ծառ մը տարէց։

Խորհեցայ թէ, երբ իյնար
Ծառն իր վըտիտ հասակով՝
Այն մարդն անշուշտ պիտի լար.
Ան հեռացաւ սուլելո՜վ...

Ո՞վ գրեց, ո՜վ... ։

*

Ահա կոչնակն Հայ ժամուն.
Հիմա հարկաւ մութ գըռիհններն են լեցուն,
Հայ մայրերով, մամերով,
Որ ժամ կ՚երթան իրկուն-առտու՝
Աւետարանն համբուրելու... ։

Անոնց տըժգոյն բերաններէն,
Հարկաւ, նորէն
Պիտի քակուի աղօթքն երկար՝
Մեռելներուն հոգւոյն համար... ։

Յետոյ անոնք, հարկաւ, նորէ՛ն
Իրենց տժգոյն բերաններով պիտի ներեն՝
Նոյնի՛սկ, նոյնի՛սկ թշնամիի՜ն...

Ու երբ մեկնին
Դողդողուն՝
Պիտի նորէ՛ն ունենան
Յիսուսի Ձեռքը շուշան՝
Ուսերնուն.. ։

*

Իրիկնամուտ, երկինքն ինչպէ՜ս կ բռընկի...
Աստուա՜ծ, Աստուա՜ծ,
Մարդիկ՝ ծունկի՝
Կարծես կ՚այրի՜ն,
Դիւային
Սա ամպերուն մէջ նետուած...

Ու կարծես թէ՝
Հեռուն,
Գլխատուած մարդ մ՚աստղերուն
Դե՜ռ կ՚աղօթէ
Բազկատարած. -
Աստուա՜ծ, Աստուա՜ծ... ։

*

Մա՜հ։
Ո՞վ է հըզօր իրեն պէս։
Մա՜հ, մա՜հ...
Պէտք է դընել, վերջապես,
Մեր հոգիները յըստակ՝
Իր երկարած սուրին տակ...
Ժըպտելո՜վ... ։

Ո՜վ գրեց, ո՜վ...

ՄԵԾ ԿՂԶԻ, ԱՊՐԻԼ 1923

Մատթէոս Զարիֆեան։ ԱՊՐԻԼԻ ՀՈՎԸ

Ապրիլի հովն աղջիկ մ՚է՝
Վարդ-մանիշակ շըրթներով...
Ապրիլի հովը, սակայն,
Երբ ըլլայ մո՜ւթ-մո՜ւթ գիշեր,
Աստուածուհի՜ կը դառնայ՝
Խենթեցընող համբոյրով... ։

1923

Յովհաննէս Ասպետ: ԿՐԱԿ ՈՒ ՄՈԽԻՐ

Այլեւս չեմ մտածում բեղումնավոր,
Քանի դեռ թանձրանում է սրտիս թախիծը.
Վա՜խ, անցել են տարիները ուղղեմոլոր,
Տանելով իրենց հետ իմ լուսե երազը:

Մ՛ի զղջում լռեցրել է իմ հոգին,
Տեսնում եմ որ հույլորեն անհետացել է,
Իր անփոխարինելի սերը՝ անգին,
Նրա երազը՝ ինձանից հեռացել է:

Արծաթափայլ հուշերի՝ ցոլքեր երբեմնի,
Տեղափոխում են իմ միտքը աղետալի,
Երբոր հոգուս կորովը՝ անհույս հատնի,
Փութով տանում են ինձ վայրեր սիրելի:

Երազը՝ մոլեգին այդ լույս օրերի,
Նրանց ջերմ շոյանքը՝ անցել են ինձանից.
Ա՜խ, վաղաժամ մարած մի կրակից,
Մնացել են մոխիրները երեկի:


Յովհաննէս Ասպետ, «Սիրոյ Քնար»
06/1973

Lory Bedikian's upcoming reading at Claremont Libray, Claremont, California

ASA Announces 2017 Arthur Halvajian Memorial Armenian Poetry Competition

The Armenian Students’ Association, Inc. recently announced the start of its seventh annual poetry competition. As in the past six years, the ASA, Inc. is partnering the Armenian Poetry Project for the writing competition named in honor of the late Arthur Halvajian, a trustee who led its Board in sponsoring the first competition. The 2017 competition is now open and the deadline for submissions is April 30. The competition winners will be announced by the jury in May 2017.

“Over the past six years we have received hundreds of entries from across North America and continue to be impressed with the creativity, quality and range of poems. We look forward to reaching out to even more communities in the coming months,” said Alice Movsesian, a member of the ASA, Inc. Board of Trustees as well as its liaison to the competition's organizing committee.

ASA national board secretary M. Manoog Kaprielian sees the poetry competition as a particularly meaningful window of expression for Armenians who endured as Azerbaijan refugees out of and survivors of the ongoing war in Syria, who have settled throughout the United States and Canada. “We will do all that we can to reach out wherever they may be”, stated Kaprielian.

The Armenian Poetry Project lead by poet Lola Koundakjian, is a research and documentation site for 19th to 21st century Armenian poems and related topics. Currently containing over 2,500 poems, it is celebrating its 11th anniversary this year. APP has a worldwide following and releases poems through RSS feeds, Twitter and podcasting.

All individuals of Armenian descent, residing in the United States and Canada are invited to submit their work in English or Armenian for the competition. Entries should be e-mailed by April 30, 2017 to ArmenianPoetryProject@gmail.com with the subject heading “Halvajian ASA/APP Poetry competition”. Only one original unpublished poem per individual may be submitted.

The competition groups submissions into three categories: students (ages 12-17), college age (ages 18-22), and adult (ages 23 and older). A top prize will be awarded for each of the categories in the amounts of US $75 (students), $125 (college age), and $300 (adult).

Each poem submitted for the competition must be accompanied by the author’s full name, age, and home address/telephone number. Students must include school name and sponsoring teacher’s telephone number. You can learn more about the Armenian Poetry Project by visiting http://armenian-poetry.blogspot.com.

The Armenian Students’ Association of America, Inc. encourages educational pursuits by Armenians in America and the raising of their intellectual standards, providing financial assistance in the form of scholarships to deserving Armenian students, developing fellowship among them, cultivating in them the spirit of service in the public interest, and acquainting them and the entire American community with Armenian culture.

Shahe Mankerian: WHERE I WAS BORN

Twenty years later, we went back to Beirut

and stood in front of CMC Hospital
for a photograph. We couldn’t go

inside because during the war,
it burned down, not because of misguided bombs,
but because a doctor set himself on fire

after they wheeled his dead wife
into the Emergency. Years later, hollyhock
bushes and wild fig trees covered the pink

and black walls of the entrance.
Militiamen had posted pictures of martyrs
on the crooked wall that separated

the sidewalk from the front lawn.
The statue of Virgin Mary with broken
hands cried near a dehydrated water fountain.

This poem appeared in Poetry City, USA, Vol. 6. 

Shahe Mankerian: HAPPY BIRTHDAY—ON THE 63RD ANNIVERSARY OF GORKY’S SUICIDE

Today you will have breakfast, two hardboiled eggs 

and squeeze blood oranges. Today you will save

the peeled shells to feed the mad waterfalls in your head.
Today your fingers will feel pain without paint.

You cover the canvas with the Mother’s face.
Today you will remove the clothespins from the clothesline.

You will need the rope and the sunshine of your studio.
You will need a sturdy chair and the ceiling fan.

Today will mark another birthday as you swing lightly in midair,
suspended like the butcher’s meat back in the city of Van.

This poem appeared in Poetry City, USA, Vol. 6. 

Aaron Poochigian: Song: Defiantly of Love

Meet her at Grand Central Station
and walk her down under the bridge
where the wild kids play in the street all day
and your neighbor, a passionate Haitian,
sings ecstatically, ecstatically, ecstatically of love.
Feed her potatoes au gratin,
meatloaf and corn on the cob
when the couple upstairs quarrels and swears,
and all the rats in Manhattan
sing discordantly, discordantly, discordantly of love.
Worship her like a religion,
like Mary the Mother of God,
while he-dogs compete for a she-dog in heat
and a lonesome grizzled pigeon
sings obsessively, obsessively, obsessively of love.
Promise to love her forever
and always, come what may,
while the basso bum with his bottle of rum
and the post-industrial river
sing defiantly, defiantly, defiantly of love.




This poem appeared in Don't Talk to Me about Love

Aaron Poochigian: The Only Way

When Mister Right has strayed so far you hate him,
pluck a winter leek from peat-rich soil
and eat the stalk before you go to bed.

Spit thrice at sunrise, bathe, then scratch, verbatim,
this lethal summons into kitchen foil:
“Vengeance, go find him, bind him guts, heart, head.

Compel the traitor, no will of his own,
into my bedroom to be mine till death.
Should rival hags assail him, make him fail

to function, make him pleasure me alone—
KALOU KAGOEI BAINA-BAINAKETH.”
Roll up the love-charm, pierce it with a nail

and seed it in a field where fireweed
attests to ashes. With the next moonrise
he will arrive, the lover you deserve,

less work than when you knew him, guaranteed
to lock you, goddess, in his zombie eyes,
worship you, service you, and never swerve.






This poem appeared in Don't Talk to Me about Love

Alina Gregorian: FORMIDABLE BEGINNINGS

I want to believe in something unique.

Like fluorescent blue light bulbs?

Like senators projecting themselves in cautious dance.

I’ve got something you may need.

A duty-free container?

Someone to write letters to.

They say, “Kindness exists in portions.”

Like a cake.

Like a football field.

They say, “Happiness exists in corners.”

Like a pile of sweaters.

Larry Levis said something about trees.

That’s why I’ve called you here.

Take a seat.

Open the window.

No, take a seat.

I’ll open the window.

How long have you been a crocodile?

Can you stop green?

Can you begin fern?

I can’t repeat questions.

Questions have expired.

Vanished into tea air.



This poem appeared in issue 5 of Poetry City, USA

Alina Gregorian: MANICURED SKIES?

We move keyboards to different locations.

Because nothing exists without mauve in your voice.
It’s red, dear.

It’s a noun without color, analogies without verbs.
The way you coordinate galaxies using your eyes.

The way you kiss, leaving post-its on my cheek.
What’s the weather like in Hawaii?

Blue skies with grey streaks.
Like being on a farm in a computer.

Like taking lemonade to a string quartet.
You sold your clothes and got in bed.

“We make a dwelling in the evening air.”
Said Wallace Stevens.

We said hello to the illusion of something there.
Like conditioning verbs to say hi to adjectives.

So many people print documents in the night.
So many people buy bagels in Seattle.

You draw guitars on my arm.
Your lamp is like a bell.

You said.
A thought inside a ship.

This poem appeared in issue 5 of Poetry City, USA