Like a rose – Anoush Krikorian

Like a rose…

Like a rose,
We sprout forth,
Emerge from
Our Mother, Earth.

Sometimes, We shimmer
under the bright sun,
Our gentle fragrance
emanates from all around.

But one day, near the end
of our short lives,
We find ourselves aged-
We have withered…

It’s all but
a short dream.
And just like that,
We are gone.

Anoush Krikorian, 1994

Anoush Krikorian's "Like a rose", rose, poem, armenian, poem, modern poetry, new jersey

Anoush Krikorian’s “Like a rose”

Like so many others – Anoush Krikorian

armenian, poem, poetry, Anush Krikorian, Armenia, USA, New Jersey poets

Anush Krikorian’s “Like so many others”

Like so many others…

Like many others,
I too
Arrived to this world
for a brief visit.

I too saw
the land and the sky,
I too felt the gentle caress of daisies
in sun-kissed fields.

I too saw
humanity,
viscous and cruel,
Roaming the planet like barbarians.

I too felt
Like so many others,
joy and sorrow.

And
I too will
one day
become dirt -
Like the the dirt of many, many others…

Anoush Krikorian, 1994

It is written somewhere… – Anoush Krikorian

armenian, poetry, armenian, poem, modern, USA New Jersey, poet, translation, translate

Anush Krikorian’s “it is written somewhere…”

It is written somewhere…

It is written somewhere,
“Laugh and smile
and the world will
laugh and smile with you.”

But how can I laugh,
How can I smile,
When deep within my heart,
Deep within my soul,
I feel such pain.

How can I laugh
With you, dear world,
with such unhealed wounds –
the warm blood still running down my chest.

How can I laugh,
With you, dear world,
When my soul feels such pain
and sheds such tears.

How can I laugh,
with you, dear world,
When my soul feels such pain.

Anoush Krikorian, 1994

Autumn Leaves

Autumn, leaves, tree, armenian, poem, Anoush Krikorian

Anoush Krikorian’s “Autumn Leaves”

The leaves of autumn -
Yellowed and wilted,
They fall from their tree,
Gently drifting
As the wind arrives and takes them away.

They now travel,
These dead leaves,
In an eternal dance,
Locked hand in hand,
Without knowing where the wind will lead them…

It is only their mother who feels the pain,
She can do nothing but watch – and weep,
As the wind takes the leaves away from her,
Never to be seen again…

Anoush Krikorian, 1994

The Final Sprint

This is a poem that I wrote while crossing the George Washington bridge during a thunderstorm sometime last week. Such storms are quite awe-inspiring – flashes of light illuminating the city skyline whilst suspended over the fog-covered Hudson river…Enjoy…

armenian, poetry, george washingon bridge, new york, new york city, lightning, thunder, flashfloo

A translation of Haig’s “The Final Sprint”

Vera Seinian – A Song for my Daughter

Աղջկան երգը

Աղբոյր, աղբոյր,
Սարի աղբոյր,
Հովերի հետ
Խօսող աղբոյր,
Գիշեր ու զօր,
Հոսող աղբոյր,
Իմ երգն ես դու,
Իմ սէրն ես դու,
Զուլալ աղբոյր։

Վերա Սեյնեան
Բաքու, 1978

A Song for my Daughter

Over there, do you see?
The fountain,
The mountain spring,
Singing alongside the wind,
My chanting fountain.
Night and day,
Everflowing,
You are my song,
You are love,
My mountain spring…

Vera Seinian
Baku, 1978

Raphael’s “Le vent d’hiver” and an excerpt from a Vera Seinian poem

Here is a song that I fell in love with on a 2008 trip abroad…

I was listening to this song as I translated this poem from Vera Seinian’s 1978 collection “Our blossoming Mountains.” Enjoy – I recommend reading the short poem immediately before playing the song…

Վերա Սեինեանի «Պատկեր»

Շուշան մատներով
Ձմեռը վարդ է
Նկարել տանս
Ապակիներին,
Շուշան մատներով
Ձմեռը փոխեց
Թէ թիւ, թէ տարիք…

“Picture” by Vera Seinian

With her delicate fingers,
Winter drew a rose
on our broad
glass windows.
With her delicate fingers,
Winter has ushered in
a new year for us all…

La bonne chanson – Verlaine

La bonne chanson

La lune blanche
Luit dans les bois ;
De chaque branche
Part une voix
Sous la ramée…

Ô bien-aimée.

L’étang reflète,
Profond miroir,
La silhouette
Du saule noir
Où le vent pleure…

Rêvons, c’est l’heure.

Un vaste et tendre
Apaisement
Semble descendre
Du firmament
Que l’astre irise…

C’est l’heure exquise.

Here is Roupen Sevag’s translation into Armenian…

Վեռլենի «Բարի Երգը»

Լուսինն պուրակի
Վրայ կը հատի.
Ամէն մէկ ճիւղէն
Ձայներ կ՚ողողին
Անտառ ոստալի…

Ով իմ սիրելի։

Մեքող դառնահեղ
Սեւ անագին մեծ
Ստուերը հստակ
Ջրակայքին տակ
Երեր կը սուզի…

Ժամն է երազի։

Անպարփակ, անտես,
Անուրջ մը կարծես
Ա՚անձրեւէ վերէն
Հուր ճաճանչներէն
Աստղ մը կը փայլի…

Ժամ փայփայելի։