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POETRY REVIEWS > Paruyr Sevak

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message 1: by Knarik (last edited Jul 02, 2010 06:07PM) (new)

Knarik Gasparyan My most favorite Poet, one of the Best Armenian poets, was the symbol of 1960's. Sorry, but i wasn't able to find a better translation. In the native language he is magical.

CLOSE YOUR EYES
It so often happens,
man shoots himself
in lucid water, a mirror,
or in someone’s eyes,
and is killed instantly.
But his double remains:
he remains = we remain.
And we bury ourselves without mourning,
then we live once again
first like fauna and flora,
thousands of years later,
with the hard life of man.
And all this takes
perhaps an endless moment,
a week or a short year.
My god, you know well
how many times I’ve repeated
this rocky and thorny road.
And I’m overtired
of killing myself
and (above all) of reliving.
And it is worthwhile
for me to attempt it again,
this time shooting at myself
in the eyes of this girl?
Close your eyes darling,
I have a fearful foreboding
that I shall not get killed this time,
that I shall destroy your eyes…


message 2: by Knarik (new)

Knarik Gasparyan Love
It always comes by roads uncharted and unmapped,
Like water falling during rain or spring-time thaw,
That’s love.
For centuries now the Dutch fight hard to capture land
From sea, the omnipotent sea,
They wrestle sand from water, grain by grain, one handful at a time,
That’s love.
As the colossus of a ship approaches
The low-hanging bridges of the river,
They fling their arms up in the air—
A gesture of immediate surrender.
That’s love.
You wittily converse with everyone around you,
Producing answers, swift like a machine,
But in your mind, you only speak with her,
The one that’s far from you,
Whose name is all you have in your possession—
A passport missing the official stamp,
That’s love.
The drumming of your arteries resounds like stillicide,
The kind that eats its way through rocks,
At night, insomnia weaves an impenetrable net,
It’s not a net for catching fish,
It’s thick enough to strangle people
That’s love.
You find you’ve grown vulnerable and tender
As if you’ve suddenly been forced to shed your skin,
That’s love.
Two eyes relentlessly pursue you,
Two eyes—two stamps that burn their brands into your life,
into the water that you drink, into your world
into your every drop of blood.
Two eyes,
Two stamps,
Two seals,
Two branding irons,
That’s love.


message 3: by Knarik (new)

Knarik Gasparyan TRANSIENCY
When twilight rakes the clouds like a comb
and the thin, sniffing wind stops like a puppy
before every shrub, tree, clod and man,
when the young cold shows its strength
making us button our shirts and grumble,
when the day’s bark is deadened on the deep velvet
and the strewn lights seem ancient adornments—
once again I become naïve,
once more I believe in justice,
and it seems to me
I shall die a natural death.


message 4: by Poppy (new)

Poppy | 1323 comments Knarik: Even in translation these poems take my breath away. Thanks so much for the introduction to a new-to-me poet.


message 5: by Ruth (new)

Ruth | 5063 comments Marvelous. Thank you, Knarik, for posting these.


message 6: by Janet (new)

Janet | 103 comments Beautiful poetry. I just love it. Thank you, yet again, Knarik.


message 7: by Dana (new)

Dana Miranda (unmoored) | 108 comments beautiful pieces, thanks for the introductions.


message 8: by Knarik (new)

Knarik Gasparyan Thank you, I am so happy you liked his poetry, I'll try to find some other translations of some of his best poems and post them.


message 9: by Knarik (new)

Knarik Gasparyan Good Evening

The sun slides down,
The day narrows to a close,
And again the mountains bear children,
Shadowshapes
That grow little by little
And bury their mothers.

The whirlwind
Leaning on its foot
Soars up into the sky,
Confirming
The recanted legend of the Ascension.

In the chilling air, a small
Warm body, some say a bird,
Stumbles in flight.

A woman stands in an enclosed field,
And under her feet
The axis of the earth turns, unseen,
And unseen, forms a part of her.

Without being caught red-handed,
Without eyewitnesses present,
I see myself guilty;

And drawn by fear unto myself, I mumble from afar,
And I mumble now, not to that one,
But to this one - me, the remote one-
'' Good evening, my solitary one…''


message 10: by Rose (new)

Rose (Boehm) | 345 comments Oh wonder. Beautiful. This last one even more so. Thank you.


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