Czytaj książkę: «Poems of Yeghishe Charent»

I Love the Sun Sweet Taste of Armenia

 
I love the sun-backed taste of Armenian words,
the lilt of our ancient lutes in sweet laments,
our blood-red, fragrant roses bending
as in Nayirian dances, danced still by our girls.
 
 
I love the deep night sky, our lakes of light,
the winter winds that howl like dragons exhaling fire.
The meanest huts with blackened walls are dear to me;
each of the thousand year old city stones.
 
 
Wherever I go, I take our mournful music,
our steel forged letters turned to prayers.
However, sharp my wounds or drained of blood
or orphaned, my yearning heart turns there with love.
 
 
There is no brow, no mind, like Narek's, Koutchak's,
No mountain peak like Ararat's.
Search the world there is no crest so white, so holy.
So like an unreached road to glory, Masis mountain that I love.
 

Fatherland

 
Snow-wrapped mountains and blue lakes,
Skies like dreams of the soul,
Skies like children's eyes.
I was alone. You were with me.
When I heard the whispers of the lake,
And looked unceasingly into the distance,
There rose in me that old longing
For you, that dream, holy, star-filled, infinite.
In the clear evocative sunset
I called, called to the snow covered mountains;
Night fell, darkening the distance,
Mingling my soul with the starry dark.
 

Our Language

 
Our language is flexible and barbaric
masculine and rough. At the same
time keeps an inner light, a lighthouse
lit with an eternal flame.
 
 
Honorable, ingenious craftsmen
have carved its ancient stones
for centuries, so they shine
like crystal. Sometimes weather blown
 
 
mountain rock, always with its own
animus. Today, it is by design,
if we chip it, to stop rust
from settling on our minds.
 
 
Neither Narek's rustling parchment
nor Toumanian's bright Lori-grown
dialect can sheathe its modern spirit
-not even Derian's silken tone.
 
 
But wait. From the iron harvest
our new language will be honed
to hold the deep and homesick thoughts
that are ours, ours alone.
 

PARTING WORDS

 
I have put out so many fires in my eyes
And so many stars have I put out in my desperate soul.
Don't curse my life as you leave – it's just a memory now,
My life will pass and fade away, but my song will live on.
My life will pass and fade away like a fire in a swamp,
Inconsolable and dull, without hope, without aim.
In my songs no one recognizes me, you know,
As if it were another singing the blue longing of my soul.
Forever mute and estranged, I have wandered in silence.
No one, no one knows who I am, what my life is about.
All they know is in my life I have written a few songs,
As I know that you exist, as I know that you are loved.
I have sung to your soul, to your luminous smile,
To the sacred sadness of your eyes and your face.
My life abandoned in infinity, I have sung the profound love
And the longing of my arms that could never reach you.
Oh, sister, my foggy evening is coming closer,
How can I stop my longing soul from weeping?
How, how can I accept the drained cup of my fate,
So that my hands do not shake, so that my days forgive me?
And what if suddenly I start doubting myself,
And my sacred longing for you begins to feel like a lie?
Whatever happens, sister, don't curse, when we part,
The pitiable longing of my arms that could never reach you.
 

1917

GIRL LIKE A LAMPSHADE

 
Girl like a lampshade – with the Virgin Mary’s eyes,
Tubercular, transparent, a body in a dream,
Girl – blue, agate, milky, enchanting,
Girl like a lampshade …
What can I do, what can I do so that my soul doesn’t die,
So that my soul doesn’t burn out in your agate eyes?
What can I do to keep the rainbow tricolored,
To keep the depth of my soul from fading and burning?
Girl like a lampshade – with the Virgin Mary’s eyes,
Tubercular, transparent, a body in a dream,
Girl – blue, agate, milky, enchanting,
Girl like a lampshade …
 

1916-1917

BLUE

 
Blue is the soul's prayer, sister,
Blue is sorrow.
Blue is longing, transparent and pure,
Clear and immaculate.
Blue is the morning, infinite and wet,
Of a sister's eyes.
My soul in the blue helplessly wept
On one ancient night.
Blue is the ringing of the morning bell
Calling for prayer.
Blue is a tear, blue is the dew
Of soul and heaven.
Through blue true words flow
From heaven to heaven.
In the labyrinth of the blue
My soul – a sanctified seal.
Whatever is not, and has yet to come
In a child's heart-
Flows like wine of light
In the blue of the soul.
 

1916-1917

Travelers of the Milky Way

 
We are two travelers of the Milky Way,
Two travelers in rags.
We have cherished the sadness of our souls,
Full of nostalgic dreams and love.
We have cherished the sadness of our souls,
These nostalgic dreams and this love.
And from early morning until darkness falls,
We like to wander and forever dream.
Our eyes have held the magic sight
Of distant and heavenly paths,
As we tread these earthly roads
Where countless souls once dreamt and now are gone.
Our childhood vanished like a haze,
Sunless, disconsolate and gray-
Our childhood vanished in delirium,
And we went away. We can never return.
We left in silence and tirelessly walked,
Envisioning eternal distance.
Our life became an everlasting quest -
Absurd, unusual and dark.
And in these piebald, varied days
Our hearts burned with life so many times,
But our eyes saw no sun
And our hearts, no distant lights.
Our misty eyes forever searched
The gilded paths of the Milky Way,
And its boundless, infinite span
In the eyes of every passerby.
But in those eyes we never glimpsed heaven,
Nor in their hearts a golden sun.
And our orphaned, agonizing hearts
Broke into pieces from their lifeless gaze.
I wanted to sing praises to God
And the glory of luminous love and bread -
My heart swelled… But instead
I sang the anguish of these gloomy days…
And the legend of an infinite blue-eyed happiness -
The story of a heavenly connection, -
Remained forever buried in my eyes-
My heart hardened, turned barren and dark.
No one understood us in this life-
They laughed at our shining eyes,
They jeered at our burning longings
And retreated. Not one brought us a sliver of light.
The sister laughed, the friend mocked,
The stranger cursed and hurried past.
Only the whore granted us a kiss,
And the madman murmured a greeting in the mist.
But never mind that our days passed like a fever,
And our life became an inconsolable delirium-
We shall smile, happily smile as we die
For we dreamed in our dreams and went away.
 

BUFFOON

 
"And your soul like wine
Will inundate their black
And morbid floor."
The Feast, Ballad I
Would you like me to sing
For you
– Now?
I sing so that you feel
Whatever you want -
Be it love or death.
I sing to move your hearts.
I give my song of light
To you all,
Even to the last whore.
Do you like at all
This bearish tenderness
Of mine?
I sing despite myself.
Whatever I sing – whether about love,
Or death,
It is never fake.
Listen to my songs,
Here they are:
Listen but don't get
Drunk.
I don't want you to get drunk.
It is not good, you know,
When an infinite yearning turns into a cloying
Breeze.
Don't you understand?
Alas, alas – but you must
Understand.
We need to fly? – but where to?
Don't you understand?
I want my luminous
Songs
To seem like paper and ink to you.
Don't you understand?
But you must!
Nothing else.
And now
It’s the same again
I sing to move your hearts.
I sing despite myself.
Whatever I sing – be it love
Or death.
I am a buffoon now.
 

1920

TO A CHANCE PASSERBY

 
The two of us, the two of us, in this world with no return,
Live, exist, wherever we go – the destination is the same.
Stop, traveler, wait, let's look at each other, stay there, stand.
Maybe we'll smile all of a sudden, as we recognize an unknown friend.
Stop. Stop. Where are you rushing, where are you running so fast?
Look closely, perhaps you will find the fire of a golden smile in my eyes.
Aren't you glad that we both lived and met each other in this world?
Stop, don’t go away, like an unreturning one-way road.
I too will go on, lonely and sad, down the endless path of dreams
Which this evening you have followed blindly and disappeared in the mist.
You passed by, you didn't look and disappeared in the haze,
But I will forever remember your unfamiliar, unknown face.
I will remember that somebody crossed my wandering path.
A chance passerby. It was evening, it was evening, misty and sad.
 

1916

THE WIND

 
The wind,
The autumn wind
Lashes its yellow stallions.
Somewhere now
It gathers its weighty soul
And in the autumnal agony
Draws its last breath from a gigantic maw.
The wind,
The autumn wind
Rumbles.
And giant heaps of dust chase each other
Like herds in panic.
The wind,
The autumn wind…
The city dark and gloomy.
Every passerby is a yellow delirium
Dreamed by the wind in the evening haze.
The endless streets,
Monotonous like the autumn rains,
The streets in rows,
The streets here, now,
The cruel streets, repugnant and evil,
They are so, so, so frightening now!
The wind,
The autumn wind
Is wandering lost.
And wounded by fear of death
It might destroy every barrier,
The wind,
The autumn wind …
Rumbles,
Snorts,
Frenetically shakes the tarnished signboards,
Windows echo fearful and strident vibrations,
And the wind flies like an iron winged bird
Through dreadful and loathsome streets.
Swirling, lost in abandoned streets,
Full of awesome revenge and fury,
Like a giant panther tracking his foe,
Dust and bloodstained sand in its glances,
The wind, the autumn wind now assails
The boulevards helplessly crouched.
Oh, the sick and orphaned trees on the boulevard,
Like old women in rags,
Lacerate their yellow tresses
And shake their heads with grief!
The trees sick and old,
The trees crooked and dry,
The trees poor and stripped like beggars:
The wind strikes their decrepit heads
And shrieks the ill omen of death.
Never,
Never,
Never!
Oh, have mercy now
On these trees crucified on the desolate boulevards,
Oh, save them from the blows of the wind
That bring them mortal grief and death!
Oh, have mercy now!
Listen, listen, listen…
In this awful and cruel hour of agony,
It will return and invade your souls -
The wind,
The autumn wind.
 

1922

IMMEASURABLE SONNET

 
“… Will you accept alone
This new Golgotha?”
Vahan Terian
Where are you carrying your black wooden Cross,
Oh, my tormented Soul? – is there a new Golgotha
That you shall mount with pride – and people will admire
Your luminous crown with infinite love?
Are you ascending the mount today as Jesus?
Or… just a robber condemned to death?
Is every man today a Pilate
Washing his hands of you?
What crown of light?.. And how will you, my Soul,
Ascend Golgotha with a willful passion, when, alas,
You don’t know yourself whether you are Jesus or Judas?
And do you have, my Soul, the ruthless scales
To measure this immeasurable thought -
In this black midnight of your suffering…
 

LIKE MY PAST DAYS

 
Like my past days,
Like my weary days,
I am already gone,
I am already aged.
I am worn-out,
I am old now,
I am gone away and passed on,
I have grown old.
But in these shiny days
When the winds bluster,
My old heart also
Blows and sings.
As though I were still young,
As though I were enchanted,
And my heart has kept alive
The flames of the past.
Yes, I know, it is you
Who is enchanting me
And charming and gazing
In these fiery days.
You are whispering sweetly,
A siren song that enchants me,
Whispering and calling to
I don't know where.
And now I can feel
That in my last dream
My soul starts longing
For you again.
As though I grew old,
And came back again
And dreamed as before
Of longing and love.
 

1918-1920

TO ELEGANT MISS L

 
Your soul – so delicate, starched,
Your heart – a spoiled little bitch.
While my soul is, you know,
Used to sleeping in the streets.
Your soul – so delicate, starched.
Pardon me, but do you think
That it could sit on its paws
And howl from longing til dawn?
Could your soul in the streets -
Where one is not even allowed to fight -
With the first dog it meets
Unite, that is mate?
Oh, pardon me, Miss; but although
I am a poet, as you know,
I cannot restrain my feelings
With good manners, as you do.
And without being shy, tomorrow,
As soon as spring starts blooming,
I will let my wandering soul
Unite, that is mate with all.
Although I know that later
When sated it will start to sing,
On the gums of my soul
Blue sores will appear.
However, again on the sidewalks,
Looking for crumbs of bread,
I'll squander my generous soul
And give it to the stray dogs.
Whores will become my sisters,
Dogs – my beloved brothers,
But what a pity you'll remain stranger to me
With your spotless, your starched soul.
 

1921

THE FEAST

 
The torches hesitantly
Wink and signal
In the nocturnal yet viscous
Ambushes of enchantment.
There, stylish and corpulent
Women, like mannequins,
Display the tinny jewels
Of false madness.
Men tired and pale,
And cold like corpses
Are filled with joyful
And fervent madness.
Pass through alone! In the half darkness
With their passionate gestures,
Unspeakable enchantments
They will enchant you.
Sit down there. Let them,
In their dark halls,
Burn a red fire,
Charmless and dim.
May their old songs
And their fragile smiles
Remain estranged
From your longing soul.
Pretend that long ago
You eagerly dreamed of
This belated feast and love,
This enchantment – for sale.
And all will turn into lies,
And your soul like wine
Will inundate their black
And morbid floor.
You will be there
Until morning with them,
In their suffocating feast,
Meaningless and absurd.
Now surrender until dawn
Like a frail captive
To their belated feast,
Joyless and slaughterous.
May the wild whirlwind
Never stop even for a blink,
Get drunk from their gruesome love
Lest your lips part in a scream..
 

SEMIRAMIS

 
With unquenchable craving for passion and embrace
You have returned to visit the cities of Nairi.
Your unattractive and green corpse's eyes
Are flaming again with insatiable desire.
You are passing through and seeing those cities
Where there were just weeds at the time of Ara.
The world has changed. And Nairi has changed also.
Now every king would give himself to your flame.
There is no need for quarrels, no need for deadly battles-
For the new kings just a smile will suffice.
Just a small hint – and they will give themselves to you,
To your bewitching, lascivious and feverish love.
They will come one by one – and you will torture them
With the sharp arrows of your greedy love and allure.
And they will make love to you with such passion
That your soul consumed with desire will heal at last.
…But there will be a night, – when, full of Nairian charm,
Your Ara will rise from the mist with his boyish smile.
Your desolate soul will burn with desire again,
And you will declare war with bewildered dismay.
Lest to succumb to her morbid flame –
The ancient Nairi will rise with him to fight.
And in the fields of Nairi again he will fall,
The troops will retreat, and the land will be yours.
He will die as a martyr – but you will not defeat him.
Bitter is the mystery of love, you, voluptuous Semiramis.
 

1920

MARIONETTE

 
Slowly, slowly, slowly, slow,
Feet on the ground, the ground, the ground,
It came and went, it came and went,
Pale and yellow, pale and yellow.
Moving the hand – first up, then down,
Stamping its feet – a corpse, a corpse!
Coming forward, painfully, slow,
The hand falls down then up it goes.
Here, here, look, it’s bending down,
Will fall, will fall, but no, no, wait,
One lip parts from lip below,
Stops for a moment – staring at death.
Then sharply screams, as if by force,
Motionless eyes staring afar,
This is the way my soul will die
Slowly, slowly, slowly, slowly…
 

1920