Poems of Yeghishe Charent

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