Monthly Archives: April 2015

Monday’s Verse 4/27/2015

This week I have taken over Monday’s Verse a bit late. I found the piece below and wanted to share it with MV in honor of the Armenian Genocide Centennial.

April 24, 1915 marked the beginning of the end of the Historic Armenia, most of its people and the death of almost seventy members of my family.



Why We Should All Read to Remember



On its face, literature is beautiful. But it can also serve a higher purpose. Many stories tell the tale of injustice, their impact transcending the mere creation of art and evolving into something that incites change. French writer Jean-Paul Sartre even surmised that literature can cause two revolutionary actions: 1) mirror back an oppressor’s wrongdoings and 2) inspire and empower the oppressed.

With the 100th anniversary of the Armenian Genocide among us, we must see the written word in this same way. The International Literature Festival Berlin and the Lepsiushaus Potsdam has memorialized the centenary of the Genocide by organizing a worldwide reading of Armenian works, which launched on April 21. The readings act as a reminder of the 1.5 million lives lost due to the Genocide, but they also share with the world the profound literary pieces by Armenians that have roused real change through storytelling.

We’ve included works from many of the Armenian writers who were honored at the event. We encourage all our readers to join in this movement and embrace the Armenian voices that the Ottoman Empire tried to silence a century ago. We, as readers of this fine literature, have a moral opportunity: to read, so we can remember.

Komitas (Wish)

Komitas, considered the “savior of Armenian folk music,” also wrote poetry and music centered on loneliness, death, nature, his mother, and love. A sufferer of Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder and a witness to the Armenian Genocide, Komitas’ poetry is haunted by the fleeting nature of love overcome by death.

“Let my trembling voice

Be nested in the sanctuary of your heart.

O my wing,

Let me part in a gasp

And fly away…”

Translation unknown

Siamanto (The Dance)

An influential thinker and national figure, Siamanto was killed by the Ottomans during the Armenian Genocide. With an emphasis on freedom and Armenian emancipation from foreign oppression, he penned a poem fueled by the spirit of revolution and an unconditional love for humanity.

“Don’t be afraid. I must tell you what I saw,

so people will understand

the crimes men do to men.

For two days, by the road to the graveyard . . .

Let the hearts of the world understand.”

Translation by Peter Balakian and Nevart Yaghlian

Yeghishe Charents (Toward the Future)

Yeghishe Charents’ poetry demands attention through grotesque metaphors and heartbreaking images of Armenian suffering. This searing pain, while dark in imagery, calls for righteousness and the global potential of social responsibility.

“Like an enormous disc made of iron

The brave will of our thousands of brothers,

So universal –

We have already thrown with immense force

Toward all the winds of the coming days,

Toward – the Future…”

Translation by Shant Norashkharian

Hovhaness Shiraz (To Arayig Shiraz)

He was called Shiraz because his poetry had the fragrance of roses like the town of Shiraz. Steinbeck visited him often, and he’s been considered a leading figure in the development of Armenian poetry. This particular poem compares Armenian children to flowers that continuously regenerate Armenian lives.

“The children are calling for me,

The children have not been patient,

The children brought to the city

Flowers of joy from the mountain and the valley.

But how would my dearest ones know

That it’s not their pretty flowers,

But they themselves are the spring’s life,

They themselves bring for us our spring…”

Translation by Shant Norashkharian

Silva Kaputikian (A Word To My Son)

This “leading poetess of Armenia” wrote poems centered on patriotism and Armenian cultural identity. A champion of the strength of Armenian women, and a heroine of life’s tragedies, Kaputikian takes on the theme of protecting heritage through demanding it be kept; a mother instructing a child.

“Open your lips and speak, my precious one,

Quick, chirp my dear one

Let it be young again on your lips

Our gray haired Armenian language

Keep it high and pure

Like the holy snow of Ararat

Keep it close to your heart

Like the ashes of your forefathers

And against the enemy’s black stroke

Protect it with your chest

Like you would protect your mother

When they threaten her life with a sword”

Translation by K. Kassabian

Paruyr Sevak (We Are Few But We Are Called Armenians)

One of the most powerful poets of the 20th Century, Paruyr Sevak’s famous poem is memorized by almost all Armenians. Pasted on T-shirts and recited at Genocide commemorations, this poem is evidence of survival and growth. Written in first person plural, it solidifies a common voice, a singular unity through empowering generations of Armenians.

“We are few, truly, but we are Armenians

And by being few we do not succumb

Because it is better to be few in life, then to control life by being many

Because it is better rather to be few, then to be masters by being many

Because it is better to be few, then to be swindlers

We are few, yes, but we are Armenians

And we know how to sign from yet unhealed wounds

But with a new juice we rejoice and we cheer

We know how to thrust into the foe’s side

And how to lend a helping hand to our friend

How to repay goodness which was done to us

by compensating for each one by ten

And the benefit of it just in the sun

We vote with our lives, not only with our hands

Yet if they desire to rule us with force

We know how to smoke and how to quench their fire

And if it is needed to disperse darkness

we can turn into ashes like burning candles

And we know as well how to make love with lust

And we do this always by respecting others

See we do not put ourselves above anyone,

but we know ourselves We are called Armenians

And why should we not feel pride about that

We are, We shall be, and become many”

Translation unknown

William Saroyan (Time of Your Life)

Pulitzer Prize-winning writer, William Saroyan, walked the same halls as classic writers of the 21st century, like Hemingway and Steinbeck. When writing fiction, he drew from his early childhood as an Armenian American in Fresno, California and his fiction often builds a series of moments that pull you into the wonders and joys of life fully lived.

“Be the inferior of no man, or of any men be superior. Remember that every man is a variation of yourself. No man’s guilt is not yours, nor is any man’s innocence a thing apart. Despise evil and ungodliness, but not men of ungodliness or evil. These, understand. Have no shame in being kindly and gentle but if the time comes in the time of your life to kill, kill and have no regret.

In the time of your life, live—so that in that wondrous time you shall not add to the misery and sorrow of the world, but shall smile to the infinite delight and mystery of it.”

Hrant Dink

Hrant Dink was a columnist and editor that was assassinated in Turkey. An advocate for Turkish-Armenian reconciliation, he advocated for truth, justice, and human rights because he believed it could lead to the coexistence of various cultural identities and a more righteous world.

“Come, let us first understand each other…

Come, let us first respect each other’s pain…

Come, let us first let one another live…

er’s pain…

Come, let us first let one another live…

Monday’s Verse 4/27/2015

Monday’s Verse 4/20/2015

Happy 4/20, everyone!

And three weeks ago, I forgot to tell everyone HAPPY NATIONAL POETRY MONTH! Only the most important month of this forum’s year, and I spaced it. Well I hope you’ve been getting your fill of April’s sweet showers, and April’s sweet poetry.

Well we’re going for a "quickie" today because I don’t have much time to write. When I saw this "random" poem posted at the Poetry Foundation today, I thought, now why does that name look familiar? Ah yea, because he used to write for the late, dearly loved Boston Phoenix. The tone of this poem is perfect for a quick, fun read. Treat yourself and try to follow its advice. -ed.

Proverbs from Purgatory

It was déjà vu all over again.

I know this town like the back of my head.

People who live in glass houses are worth two in the bush.

One hand scratches the other.

A friend in need is worth two in the bush.

A bird in the hand makes waste.

Life isn’t all it’s crapped up to be.

It’s like finding a needle in the eye of the beholder.

It’s like killing one bird with two stones.

My motto in life has always been: Get It Over With.

Two heads are better than none.

A rolling stone deserves another.

All things wait for those who come.

A friend in need deserves another.

I’d trust him as long as I could throw him.

He smokes like a fish.

He’s just a chip off the old tooth.

I’ll have him eating out of my lap.

A friend in need opens a can of worms.

Too many cooks spoil the child.

An ill wind keeps the doctor away.

The wolf at the door keeps the doctor away.

People who live in glass houses keep the doctor away.

A friend in need shouldn’t throw stones.

A friend in need washes the other.

A friend in need keeps the doctor away.

A stitch in time is only skin deep.

A verbal agreement isn’t worth the paper it’s written on.

A cat may look like a king.

Know which side of the bed your butter is on.

Nothing is cut and dried in stone.

You can eat more flies with honey than with vinegar.

Don’t let the cat out of the barn.

Let’s burn that bridge when we get to it.

When you come to a fork in the road, take it.

Don’t cross your chickens before they hatch.


Throw discretion to the wolves.

After the twig is bent, the barn door is locked.

After the barn door is locked, you can come in out of the rain.

A friend in need locks the barn door.

There’s no fool like a friend in need.

We’ve passed a lot of water since then.

At least we got home in two pieces.

All’s well that ends.

It ain’t over till it’s over.

There’s always one step further down you can go.

It’s a milestone hanging around my neck.

Include me out.

It was déjà vu all over again.


Monday’s Verse 4/13/2015


After a MV founding member and I ran along the Jersey shore all Sunday morning, we reminisced about some of our favorite Jersey poets. How could we forget Robert Pinsky, who even wrote about the Jersey shore? Here he writes about Jersey rain, the title subject of his 2000 book. Sometimes when I see rain coming, I think to myself, "Open it sky; Brr…"

I call Pinsky (b. 1940) the master cataloguer. Not only is he very erudite, a seeming library of knowledge, he also uses lists as well as any poet since Homer. For example, the place names below, and the epithets that comprise stanza six. Enjoy! -ed.


Now near the end of the middle stretch of road
What have I learned? Some earthly wiles. An art.
That often I cannot tell good fortune from bad,
That once had seemed so easy to tell apart.

The source of art and woe aslant in wind
Dissolves or nourishes everything it touches.
What roadbank gullies and ruts it doesn’t mend
It carves the deeper, boiling tawny in ditches.

It spends itself regardless into the ocean.
It stains and scours and makes things dark or bright:
Sweat of the moon, a shroud of benediction,
The chilly liquefaction of day to night,

The Jersey rain, my rain, soaks all as one:
It smites Metuchen, Rahway, Saddle River,
Fair Haven, Newark, Little Silver, Bayonne.
I feel it churning even in fair weather

To craze distinction, dry the same as wet.
In ripples of heat the August drought still feeds
Vapors in the sky that swell to smite the state —
The Jersey rain, my rain, in streams and beads

Of indissoluble grudge and aspiration:
Original milk, replenisher of grief,
Descending destroyer, arrowed source of passion,
Silver and black, executioner, font of life.

Monday’s Verse 4/6/2015

A group of New York poetry freaks have started the Sonnet Project, where they will produce a short film at an NYC location for each of Shakespeare’s 154 sonnets. Check it out at

I wonder what they’ll do with number 110? It’s a new one to me, and I’ll be damned if I know what it means. Any help? -ed.

Sonnet 110: Alas, ’tis true I have gone here and there

Alas, ’tis true I have gone here and there
And made myself a motley to the view,
Gor’d mine own thoughts, sold cheap what is most dear,
Made old offences of affections new.
Most true it is that I have look’d on truth
Askance and strangely: but, by all above,
These blenches gave my heart another youth,
And worse essays prov’d thee my best of love.
Now all is done, have what shall have no end!
Mine appetite, I never more will grind
On newer proof, to try an older friend,
A god in love, to whom I am confin’d.
Then give me welcome, next my heaven the best,
Even to thy pure and most most loving breast.