ԻԳՆԱ ՍԱՐԸԱՍԼԱՆ: ԱՌԱՍՊԵԼ

Թել թել

Առասպելներ հիւսեցի յոյսերով

Ձեզի համար

Ճիւղ ճիւղ

Եղեւիններ զարդարեցի մոմերով

Ձեզի հետ

Թերթ թերթ

Օրացոյցներ թղթատեցի մատներով

Ձեզի պէս

Մինչ օրերու խօլ պարին մէջ

Առասպելները փշրուեցան

Եղեւինները թառամեցան

Օրացոյցները փճացան

Եւ հիմա

Ժամացոյցը երբ 12 անգամ լացաւ

Ան դարձեալ չեկաւ

Թէեւ խոստացած էր – պիտի գար

Ան իմ երջանկութիւնս էր – քու խաղաղութիւնդ

Ան մեր ազատութիւնն էր

Ան իմ – Ան քու – Ան մեր առասպելն էր խաբուսիկ

31.12.1974

Alan Semerdjian: ADVENTURELAND

Fifteen and flipping
burgers and selling
dreams, in one ear
and out the other
door to the big park
of the mind, the kid
stares at infinity,
loses his virginity,
swoons recklessly
at the elevation.
And when the older
machines creak and
groan when bending
this way or that, it's
all about the rides
they've seen, neon-
dipped romantic rides,
lonely ones, serious
ones, ones that leap
the heart to places
like the future where
adventure never fades
and the past, which
is, sometimes, empty
seats in winter, so
much potential still.

This poem appeared in the Fall/Winter 2014 issue of the Long Island Quarterly and its poetry section --  Walt's Corner -- named after Walt Whitman.  As per its founder and editor, George Wallace, "The Long-Islander is the oldest continuously-published community newspaper on Long Island, and Walt's Corner has been home to over 1500 poems written by the famous and the unknown in America and abroad".

PETER BALAKIAN: Here and Now

The day comes in strips of yellow glass over trees.

When I tell you the day is a poem
I’m only talking to you and only the sky is listening.

The sky is listening; the sky is as hopeful
as I am walking into the pomegranate seeds
of the wind that whips up the seawall.

If you want the poem to take on everything,
walk into a hackberry tree,
then walk out beyond the seawall.

I’m not far from a room where Van Gogh
was a patient—his head on a pillow hearing
the mistral careen off the seawall,

hearing the fauvist leaves pelt
the sarcophagi. Here and now

the air of the tepidarium kissed my jaw
and pigeons ghosting in the blue loved me

for a second, before the wind
broke branches and guttered into the river.

What questions can I ask you?
How will the sky answer the wind?

The dawn isn’t heartbreaking.
The world isn’t full of love.

Peter Balakian, "Here and Now" from Ozone Journal. Copyright © 2015 by The University of Chicago. Reprinted by permission of The University of Chicago Press.
Source: Ozone Journal (The University of Chicago Press, 2015)