Նարեկ արք. Ալեէմէզեան։ ԵՐԿՆԱՒՈՐ ՄՍՈՒՐԸ
Գալ տարի նոր մսուր պիտի շինե՞ն
մսուրին առջեւ նկարուող մանուկները նորէն պիտի գա՞ն
Հայ Բանաստեղծութեան Համացանցը։ Projet de Poésie Arménienne
Posted by Armenian Poetry Project at 12/24/2017 11:37:00 AM 0 comments
Labels: Canada, Contemporary, Nareg Srpazan
Life is a dream.
Boulders on the beach assume the form
Of animals. No man is certain. Death
Speaks in the wings, coaching, prompting
Emotion, the love of wood
Burning, the child's face waiting, laughing.
The sun comes up so many times, lighting
The life that is there to be seen.
We have been traveling through this tunnel
In eternity. Rocks persistently speak
To us, saying something so pure it is only
Feeling. This and that, this and that.
The buildings of the mind shut down
Before the advance of this truth.
We are here for good. There is no one
To be us instead. We are alive and dead.
This poem appeared in the September 1974 issue of Poetry Magazine
Posted by Armenian Poetry Project at 12/19/2017 07:00:00 AM 0 comments
Labels: Aram Saroyan, Contemporary, USA
I have 30 minutes before the children awake,
wrinkled thumbs soaked,
eyes small with sleep. I sit
under one of California’s oldest oak trees
with the video monitors next to me.
I lift a cigarette to my lips and digress
to the smell of my mother’s hair as she lifts
me, wet with tears and urine, tangled
in soaked sheets and blankets.
Not even two, I was left
asleep. My parents walked over
to Avo’s for a round of cribbage.
20 minutes now, and the children rustle.
I hustle another cigarette out of my purse
and listen to the rescue copters circling
Millard Canyon where hikers go missing every week.
Millard, where the native Hahamog’na lived
before Portola made his messy bed there.
10 minutes, and the crow circles the nests
where my friend the Blue Jay just fed her newborns.
It is May, that mother of all months,
when the Arroyo dries up, children skip classes
and everyone leaves their windows open
for the cool breeze to steal in from the coast.
They are cooing now, but I was screaming alone
that night before they came for me, rushing in together,
eyes big with worry, huddled over me like conspirators
as they unwrapped me gently with their sorry hands.
Posted by Armenian Poetry Project at 10/21/2017 07:00:00 AM 0 comments
Labels: Armine Iknadossian, Contemporary, USA
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