Armenian poetry

[Anoush]

WISHES FOR ARMENIA

When bright dews fall on leaf and flower,
And stars light up the skies,
Then tears and sparks commingled
Birst forth from my dim eyes.
Forget thee, O Armenia!
Nay, rather may I be
Transformed into a cypress dark,
And so give shade to thee !

The starry sky no comfort brings :
To me it seems a veil
Strewn with the tears that Ararat
Sheds from his summit pale.
O graves ! O ruins ! to my soul
Your memory is as dear
As to the lover's thirsting heart
The maiden's first love tear.
And shall my spirit after death
Oblivious be of you?
Nay, but become a flood of tears,
And cover you with dew !

Not sword nor chains, abysses deep
Nor precipices fell,
Not thunder's roll, nor lightning's flash,
Nor funeral torch and knell --
Not all of these, 'neath death's dark stone
Can ever hide from me
The glowing memories of the past,
Our days of liberty.
Forget you? Ne'er will I forget,
O glorious days of yore !
Rather may I be changed to fire
And bring you back once more !

Whentwinkle pale the stars at dawn,
When dewy buds unclose,
And tenderly the nightingale
Is singing to the rose,
All nature's harmonies, alas !
Can ne'er give back to me
The sighs that sound where cypress boughs
Are moaning like the sea.
Forget you, black and bitter days ?
No, never! but instead
Rather may I be turned to blood,
And make your darkness red !

Armenia's mountains dark may smile,
Siberia's ice may smoke,
But stern, unbending spirits still
Press on my neck the yoke.
Inflexible and cold are they;
When feeling surges high,
And I would speak, they stifle down
My free soul's bitter cry.
Forget thee, justice ? Never !
But ere my life departs,
Rather may I become a sword,
And make thee pierce men's hearts !

When e'en the rich man and the priest
A patriot's ardor feel,
And when Armenian hearts at length
Are stirred with love and zeal ---
When free-souled sons Armenia bears,
These days of coldness past,
And fires of love and brotherhood
Are lighted up at last ---
Shall I forget thee then, my lyre?
Ah, no ! but when I die
Rather may I become thy voice,
And o'er Armenia sigh !


Bedros Tourian

[Mos]

Re: Poems - armenian poetry

Շատ սիրուն բանաստեղծություն էր:

[MrHyeSev]

Re: Poems - armenian poetry

MICHAEL GHAZARIAN NALBANDIAN

DAYS OF CHILDHOOD

DAYS of my childhood, like a dream
Ye fleeted, to return no more.
Ah, happy days and free from care,
Ye brought but joy in passing o’er !

Then Science came, and on the world
He gazed with grave, observant looks ;
All things were analyzed and weighed,
And all my time was given to books.

When to full consciousness I woke,
My country’s woes weighed down my heart.
Apollo gave me then his lyre,
To bid my gloomy cares depart.

Alas ! that lyre beneath my touch
Sent forth a grave and tearful voice,
Sad as my soul; no single chord
Would breathe a note that said “ Rejoice !”

Ah, then at last I felt, I knew,
There never could be joy for me,
While speechless, sad, in alien hands,
My country languished to be free.

Apollo, take thy lyre again,
And let its voice, amid the groves,
Sound for some man who may in peace
Devote his life to her he loves!

To the arena I will go,
But not with lyre and flowery phrase;
I will protest and cry aloud,
And strive with darkness all my days.

What boots to-day a mournful lyre ?
To-day we need the sword of strife.
Upon the foeman sword and fire, —
Be that the watchword of my life !

[Yedtarts]

Re: Poems - armenian poetry

Speak Up, Armenia!

Speak up, Armenia!
Speak, you who suffered all these ages,
whose joy is only decades old,
Speak up now, unabashed, courageous,
There is so much the world and men must yet be told.

Behold,
The dove of peace alights on a new roof -
Peace which you drearned of
Since to life you came.
Let words of ancient, sacred truth
Be spoken by your poet in your name.

Men, have you heard?
Not long ago in Karmir-Blur* was found
A pitcherful of grain -
The sole remains
Of harvests grown by our Armenian forebears
Upon the rocks of Urartu
The stony soil they irrigated with their sweat
Long ages through.

On that same day
Besides the grain was found
A spear our ancestors took up
When foes advanced,
Defending every inch of sacred ground.
No one can say today,
with all these centuries flown away,
What harvests it could yield,
That ancient, that primeval field,
For only this - a pitcherful of grain
Today remains. No one can say
After so many centuries have flown away,
How many tillers lived upon the land
Where now so few survive,
Slaughtered, dispersed and banned.

Yet every grain that excavations have revealed
Will it not multiply and cover a whole field?
And each Armenian is like a tight-coiled spring,
And you may rest assured:
In spite of all the suffering it has cost,
This grain,
This handful of brave men - will bring
Back into life all that we ever lost!

Gevorg Emin

[Yedtarts]

Re: Poems - armenian poetry

Komitas* In The Desert

Long to those hearts by sad thoughts possessed
Seemed the weary, sorrowful road.
Mournful, they stumbled along without rest,
Driven on by their sufferings' goad.
The crowd of Armenians wandered along.
Nature appeared as dead.
A monk of his people's plight sang a song,
His soul full of death's cold dread.
"Ages of plunder," he thought as he sang,
"Massacres, exile, migrations...
The Lord is deaf to the voice of man,
To his groans, to his supplications.
If you can but see from your heavens, Lord,
Try and count the millions of corpses.
Never by thirst is the flesh so torn
As the soul is by Misery's tortures:"
He thought as he sang :
"These boulders, too,
If they had conscience,
Would blacken with tears.
Dim with tears, flows the fast Araks, once blue.
Gray with grief Masis appears.
But the Lord cannot see - too far to the skies.
Ravaged by robbers, gutted with fire,
The ancient Armenian motherland dies;
What remains of its people weep on its pyre."
He sang, but sorrow is not a cowl
To be cast off and forgot.
So much pain and suffering - how
Endure it, endowed with a heart so hot?
Events and surroundings - all seemed so wild,
In gloom medieval clad.
Overcome by the pain in his temples, he cried:
"All the world has gone mad!"
Ashes and dust filled the Turkish vale.
The escort - asker** reported:
"The group was shot, except... on the way
One monk went mad," he snorted.

Gevorg Emin

[MrHyeSev]

Re: Poems - armenian poetry

ARCHBISHOP KHORENE NAR BEY DE LUSIGNAN

LET US LIVE ARMENIANS

LIVE as Armenians, brethren, in this world!
That name to us do history’s pages give ;
The heavens above salute us by that name :
Then, brethren, as Armenians let us live !

Armenians we ! That hero was our sire
Who taught mankind for freedom first to strive ;*
He gave us for our portion a great name :
Then, brethren, as Armenians let us live !

Our land is holy; on its -sacred soil
God walked, what time he Adam forth did drive; **
Our language he devised; he spoke it first:
Then, brethren, as Armenians let us live !

We have one cradle with the human race;
Our land salvation to the world did give ;
Faith’s earliest altar was Mount Ararat:
Then, brethren, as Armenians let us live !

Noble our name is; not on earth alone,
But in the heavens it shines forth gloriously.
The stars of valiant Haig are deathless there :
Brethren, Armenians let us ever be !

Live as Armenians ! From the past what land
So many ancient glories doth derive ?
What nation has so beautiful a home ?
Then, brethren, as Armenians let us live !

Unto what nation did the King of heaven
Send four apostles as an embassy,***
And with what monarch did he correspond ?
Brethren, Armenians let us ever be !

Who can count o’er the names of all our saints ?
One roll of martyrs is our history ;
Our church on earth is like to heaven itself:
Brethren, Armenians let us ever be !

To us was Christ’s first benediction given ;
The champions of the faith for aye were we ;
Armenia’s deeds astonished earth and heaven :
Brethren, Armenians let us ever be !

Our nation, ever following the Lord.
Has borne the cross for many a century;
No, she will not be a deserter now !
Brethren, Armenians let us ever be !

Yes, sorrowful is life beneath the cross ;
Yes, as Armenians we with pain must strive;
Yet wears the cross the seal of victory :
Then, brethren, as Armenians let us live !

Our home beloved, our sceptre and our crown,
With clouds are covered in obscurity :
Have hope ! the heavens yet shall give us light:
Brethren, Armenians let us ever be !

No, not forever shall our fate be sad,
Our lot, to eat and drink of misery;
A new and happy future waits for us !
Brethren, Armenians let us ever be!

Live as Armenians, that our sons as well
May boast that they are our posterity;
Let us do no dishonor to our name !
Brethren, Armenians let us ever be!

Live as Armenians! Some day, over death
Armenia yet shall rise in victory.
Soon may that glad day dawn for us, O heaven !
Brethren, Armenians let us ever be !

[Anoush]

Re: Poems - armenian poetry

NEW DARK DAYS

The centuries of bloodshed
Are past, those cruel years;
But there is still one country
Whose moutains drip with tears,
Whose river-banks are blood-stained,
Whose mourning loads the breeze,--
A land of dreary ruins,
Ashes, and cypress-trees.

No more for the Armenian
A twinkling star appears;
His spirit's flowers have faded
Beneath a rain of tears.
Ceased are the sounds of harmless mirth,
The dances hand in hand;
Only the weapon of the Koord
Shines freely through the land.

The bride's soft eyes are tearful,
Behind her tresses' flow,
Lest the Koord's shout should interrupt
Love's whisper, sweet and low.
Red blood succeeds love's rosy flush;
Slain shall the bridegroom be,
And by the dastard Koords the bride
Be led to slavery.

The peasant sows, but never reaps;
He hungers evermore;
He eats his bread in bitterness,
And tastes of anguish sore.
Lo ! tears and blood together
Drop from his pallid face;
And these are our own brothers,
Of our own blood and race !

The forehead pure, the sacred veil
Of the Armenian maid,
Shall rude hands touch, and hell's hot breath
Her innocence invade ?
They do it as men crush a flower,
By no compunction stirred;
They slaughter an Armenian
As they would kill a bird.

O roots of vengeance, heroes' bones,
Who fell of old in fight,
Have ye all crumbled into dust,
Nor sent one shoot to light?
Oh, of that eagle nation
Now xxxxxled by the Koord,
Is nothing left but black-hued crows,
And moles with eyes obscured?

Give back our sisters' roses,
Our brothers who have died,
The crosses of our churches,
Our nation's peace and pride !
O Sultan, we demand of thee
And with our hearts entreat --
Give us protection from the Koord,
Or arms his arms to meet!

Petros Duryan (Bedros Tourian)

[Anoush]

Re: Poems - armenian poetry

NEW DARK DAYS

The centuries of bloodshed
Are past, those cruel years;
But there is still one country
Whose moutains drip with tears,
Whose river-banks are blood-stained,
Whose mourning loads the breeze,--
A land of dreary ruins,
Ashes, and cypress-trees.

No more for the Armenian
A twinkling star appears;
His spirit's flowers have faded
Beneath a rain of tears.
Ceased are the sounds of harmless mirth,
The dances hand in hand;
Only the weapon of the Koord
Shines freely through the land.

The bride's soft eyes are tearful,
Behind her tresses' flow,
Lest the Koord's shout should interrupt
Love's whisper, sweet and low.
Red blood succeeds love's rosy flush;
Slain shall the bridegroom be,
And by the dastard Koords the bride
Be led to slavery.

The peasant sows, but never reaps;
He hungers evermore;
He eats his bread in bitterness,
And tastes of anguish sore.
Lo ! tears and blood together
Drop from his pallid face;
And these are our own brothers,
Of our own blood and race !

The forehead pure, the sacred veil
Of the Armenian maid,
Shall rude hands touch, and hell's hot breath
Her innocence invade ?
They do it as men crush a flower,
By no compunction stirred;
They slaughter an Armenian
As they would kill a bird.

O roots of vengeance, heroes' bones,
Who fell of old in fight,
Have ye all crumbled into dust,
Nor sent one shoot to light?
Oh, of that eagle nation
Now tram'pled by the Koord,
Is nothing left but black-hued crows,
And moles with eyes obscured?

Give back our sisters' roses,
Our brothers who have died,
The crosses of our churches,
Our nation's peace and pride !
O Sultan, we demand of thee
And with our hearts entreat --
Give us protection from the Koord,
Or arms his arms to meet!

Petros Duryan (Bedros Tourian)

[MrHyeSev]

Re: Poems - armenian poetry

MY DEATH

WHEN Death’s pale angel stands before my face?
With smile unfathomable, stern and chill,
And when my sorrows with my soul exhale,
Know yet, my friends, that I am living still.

When at my head a waxen taper slim
With its cold rays the silent room shall fill,
A taper with a face that speaks of death,
Yet know, my friends, that I am living still.

When, with my forehead glittering with tears,
They in a shroud enfold me, cold and chill
As any stone, and lay me on a bier,
Yet know, my friends, that I am living still.

When the sad bell shall toll—that bell, the laugh
Of cruel Death, which wakes an icy thrill—
And when my bier is slowly borne along,
Yet know, my friends, that I am living still.

When the death-chanting priests, dark browed, austere,
With incense and with prayers the air shall fill,
Rising together as they, pass along,
Yet know, my friends, that I am living still.

When they have set my tomb in order fair,
And when, with bitter sobs and wailing shrill,
My dear ones from the grave at length depart,
Yet know, my friends, I shall be living still.

But when my grave forgotten shall remain
In some dim nook, neglected and passed by,—
When from the world my memory fades away,
That is the time when I indeed shall die!

BEDROS TOURIAN

[Anoush]

Re: Poems - armenian poetry

Բայց երբ շիրիմս ալ մոռացուի
Անտեսուած ու անշուք մի քարի անկիւնում,
Երբ հիշատակս ալ թառամի,
Այն ժամանակ ես կը մեռնիմ:

Պետրոս Դուրեան