And what were we
And our land?
Let us stand tall, and tell the truth!
If a vessel – then on dry rock;
If a cask – then full of tears;
If soil – then petrified by fear;
If stone – then screaming with pain;
A mighty spirit, devoid of body;
A unique quality, devoid of quantity;
Valiant, yet without army,
A creed of antiquity and relics…
And what were we
And our land?
Even if we told the truth, standing tall –
Tourists all, in our own homeland;
Guests in our own home and hearth;
River, with only one bank in our view;
Mountain, visible only from far;
Land without people;
People without land,
And scattered beads, that never gather.
We are half deaf,
Though acutely aware of any new sound,
Yet unable to fall in line and follow;
In our ears,
Rumbles the chaos of Armenia’s history
Trying to turn into clear words.
We are half lame,
For wherever we set foot –
On Syrian sand,
On a Paris sidewalk,
On the banks of the Nile,
Our other foot
Is sunk in the snow of Massis Mountain,
And we do not walk,
We do not reach,
We only trace
The closed circle of our exile
Wandering endlessly around Massis…
We are half blind;
Our eyes were always wet with tears,
And we see things in a mist,
Incomplete;
We have built only with one hand,
Forced to hold a weapon with the other,
With incessant warfare on our land.
We are half mute;
They have cut off our tongue so many times,
Preventing us to speak our thoughts…
So that we may not rejoice in our joy,
To stand proud with our pride
And…not to mourn our countless dead.
We fall in love like Ara;
It always seems to us,
That we leave our land with feelings of love
And…the fear of a new Semiramis.
We are assessing the world with half a brain,
The other half has gone dark
With curses
And pain…
Bisected –
We are halved,
Had we not been half,
We would be Armenian,
Not Turkish-Armenian,
Not French-Armenian,
Or Arab-Armenian,
(And tomorrow, Star-Armenian
Or Moon-Armenian…)
We are half,
Bisected,
Split,
Bi-summitted
Like our Mountain, our sacred symbol…
But, as our split Massis Mountain is our witness,
As our half, slaughtered at Der Zor, is our witness,
And that half,
Which is me,
Which is you, and the other,
We shall unite
And become whole,
Finding someday the unattainable way
Of becoming one…
We are small, yes,
Small,
Like a stone breaking loose from a mountain top,
That has the clout of a rock fallen in a field;
Small, like our mountain streams,
that have dammed up enormous might,
Unknown
To the languid rivers of the valley.
We are small, yes,
We are small,
But like the bullet in the barrel,
Like the seed of the oak tree in fertile soil,
A nugget of gold,
That looks from above
Upon lead and tin;
We are small,
But we are spice…
That pinch of salt,
That gives taste to an entire meal…
We are small, yes –
Who told you
To squeeze us with such force
That…turned us into diamonds?
Who forced you
To scatter us like stars,
So that you always see us
Wherever you go…?
We are small,
But, like our country,
whose boundary
Stretches from Biurakan to Luna, the Moon,
and from Lunavan to Urartu…
Small,
Like that awesome Uranium,
Which, for century after century
Radiates
Emitting its light
With no end in sight…
…………………. GEVORG EMIN
Translated by Tatul Sonentz
Tatul Sonentz-Papazian
Latest posts by Tatul Sonentz-Papazian (see all)
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Thank you Mr. Sonentz-Papazian for this masterful and moving translation.
You made me “half-blind” again
hrashali er, mi pokr hishecnum e “yes I’m anush Hayatani” banastexcutune. nuin hpartutiunn apreci inch vor Charenci togheric . Sirum em mer poezian ,mer azgn u yerkire. Tekuz inks el kisvac u kes yexac hay em.