Since today is the 100th anniversary of the
beginning of the Armenian genocide at the hands of the Turks, I thought I’d
give us a couple of poems from Armenia.
Our first sample comes from Saint Nerses IV, 12th
Century bishop and Catholicos of Armenia. Nerses’ epithet, Shnorthali, often
converts him to Saint Nerses the Gracious, but apparently it actually means “filled
with Grace”, it came from his work attempting to reconcile the Eastern Orthodox
and the Armenian churches.
He was a theologian, poet, writer and composer of hymns,
and the latter shows in his “Morning Song”, which reads to me like a hymn
missing the music.
“Mourning Song”
O Day-spring, Sun of righteousness, shine forth with
light for me!
Treasure of mercy, let my soul thy hidden riches see!
Thou before whom the thoughts of men lie open in thy
sight,
Unto my soul, now dark and dim, grant thoughts that shine
with light!
O Father, Son and Holy Ghost, Almighty One in Three,
Care-taker of all creatures, have pity upon me!
Awake O Lord, awake to help, with grace and power divine;
Awaken those who slumber now, like heaven's host to
shine!
O Lord and Saviour, life-giver, unto the dead give life,
And raise up those that have grown weak and stumbled in
the strife!
O skilful Pilot! Lamp of light, that burnest bright and
clear!
Strength and assurance grant to me, now hid away in fear!
O thou that makest old things new, renew me and adorn;
Rejoice me with salvation, Lord, for which I inly mourn.
Giver of good, unto my sins be thy forgiveness given!
Lead thy disciples, heavenly King, unto the flocks of
heaven!
Defeat the evil husbandman that soweth tares and weeds;
Wither and kill in me the fruits of all his evil seeds!
O Lord, grant water to my eyes, that they may shed warm
tears
To cleanse and wash away the sin that in my soul appears!
On me now hid in shadow deep, shine forth, O glory
bright!
Sweet juice, quench thou my soul's keen thirst! Show me
the path of light!
Jesus, whose name is love, with love crush thou my stony
heart;
Bedew my spirit with thy blood, and bid my griefs depart!
O thou that even in fancy art so sweet, Lord Jesus
Christ,
Grant that with thy reality my soul may be sufficed!
When thou shalt come again on earth, and all thy glory
see,
Upon that dread and awful day, O Christ, remember me!
Thou that redeemest men from sin, O Saviour, I implore,
Redeem him who now praises thee, to praise thee evermore!
This translation is incomplete, as there are 36 three-verse
stanzas, each of which begins with a letter of the Armenian alphabet. If you’d
like to see it in Armenian, you can do so here.
Let’s move forward, however, to a contemporary Armenian,
Gregory Djanikian, who here takes on the 1915 genocide. He, too, uses the
alphabet as a device for shaping his thoughts.
“Armenian Pastoral (1915)”
If Anoush were
holding her child
and watching
the sheep
carted off like
men to the slaughter
and Armenag in
his dark vest and trousers
were hobbling
barefoot in the village square
toward the
pockmarked wall
and Ashod in
his prison cell
were counting
the sprigs of parsley
that must be
rising in his garden now
if Araxi were
razor-thin by the roadside
dreaming of a
while mountain
turning red in
the alpenglow
if Antranig
refusing to walk
were shod like
a horse
and tethered in
his own pasture
and Azniv were
a wet nurse now
to a battalion
of mouths
her infant slit
clean in the straw
how long would
it have to go on then
beginning with A
and spilling over
into all the
alphabets
before mother
sister father child
could wear the
same faces in any language
be cut from the
same tongue.
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