Friday, April 24, 2015

April soft and cold: Beginning with A

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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