Posted By shirley on March 27, 2012
A Tribute to Arpi Vanian
Translated from Armenian by Gaytzag Palandjian
‘ TIS THE HOUR OF RETURN
SPRING HAS COME DOWN TO MY
GRANDPA’S FOOTPRINTS
‘TIS THE HOUR OF RETURN
I FEEL THE GENTLENESS OF HIS CRACKED FINGERS
UPON MY HAIR
I OPEN MY EYES TO TASTE THE MORNING DEW-COVERED TAMARISK
PICKED BY MY GRANDPA FROM AGHALOR VALLEY
Tamarisk
TAMARISKS PICKED ONE BY ONE
WITH MY GRANDPA’S FINGERS
I MISS SO THOSE FINGERS….
THE SMELL OF CHILDHOOD REACHED MY NOSTRILS
FROM BEHIND THE HILL, UPFRONT, I HEAR
GRANDPA’S VOICE, MELODIOUS…
I GIVE THE GOOD TIDINGS TO MY GRANDMA
“HE IS COMING FROM HARVESTING”
UNTIL NOW, ALL ARE SURPRISED HOW WAS I ABLE TO FEEL HIS COMING
FROM BEHIND THE HILL?
MY GRANDPA, DECREPIT AFFABILITY
HAVING STORED MY CHILDHOOD IN HIS KNOWLEDGEABLE OLD AGE.
I GREW UP AT ONCE WHEN I LEARNED THAT HIS IS NO MORE
NOT ANY MORE
NOW THE WALLS OF MY CHILDHOOD HAVE CRACKED
MISSING HIS HOT BREATH
THE TREES DO NOT HISS
NO ONE IS THERE TO WATER MY GRANDPA’S GARLIC AND ONIONS,
THE MULBERRY TREES HEAVE UNDER THE WEIGHT
OF UNPICKED BERRIES
THE SPADE LEANING AGAINST THE APRICOT TREE
IMPRINTED BY OXIDATION
THE NARROW PATH LEADING TO HIS HOUSE WILL SOON FORGET
HIS FOOTPRINTS TOO
AT START, I AM BRAVE, THEN SURE, THEN SHAMEFUL, THEN TREMBLING…
THEY WILL NOT LET ME SHED TEARS
“HE WAS OLD, ALSO WAY OF LIFE IS SO….”
THEY SAY….IF LIFE IS SO, THEN I AM ETERNALLY ITS OPPONENT
I AM ANNOYED FROM YOU, LIFE
YOU DID NOT ASK ME
ONE NIGHT YOU TOOK WITHOUT RETURN
MY GRANDPA
STEALING CHILDHOOD AWAY FROM ME
I MISS YOU GRANDPA, COME VISIT ME, IN MY DREAMS
CARESS MY HAIR, THERE IS SO MUCH TO TELL YOU
NOW THAT I AM ALONE IN THE ROOM
AT LEAST I CAN SHED TEARS
A LOT
Wow Momma, that was pretty intense. Love you very much.
Hi Crystal, honey – thanks for reading. I didn’t write it – a reader sent it in. It was originally written in Armenian. I thought it was a very nice poem also.