Swaddled newborn baby, Stepanakert -- Karabagh, winter of 1991-92.
Poetry from "I Want to Live" and "The Other Voice"
Exhibition created by
Gina Hablanian
105 years old Sima, in Degh village, Goris, southern Armenia, 1989.
Forget your childhood, I was told,
It was a dream, a blink or eye.
Don't look back, don't search or call,
It was a fairytale, a lie.
Forget your lost love, I was told.
It was a rainbowed tear that dried
with the heartbeat of a new day.
Push old sorrow from your mind.
Forget past losses, I was told.
Be happy with this day. You know
today is all that counts;
and then we close our eyes to go.
All this advice unasked and free
is telling me to forget me.
by Maria Hagopyan
translated by Diana Der-Hovanessian
Old man and woman sitting on a bench, Etchmiadzine church, 1989.
You never offered me a share
of your hard life and deep despair.
I found no way into your heart
to ease the hurt and torment there.
Aloof, correct, nothing but kind
your words belied the tortured mind.
Our smiles the smile of those who part,
you on one road, I left behing.
I had no right to make complaints.
You gave me none. But it's a shame
life passes by and we remain
strangers who left the past unclaimed.
by Maro Markarian
translated by Diana Der-Hovanessian
Bride against tiger blankets. 1990. A 15 years old Yezidi (Kurdish) bride.
Today she is our princess.
Today she is our queen.
Let us praise her beauty.
Let us list her charms.
Dress her in silken veils,
with bracelets on her arms.
Today she is our queen to crown
more radiant than sun's rays,
like the apricot tree in springtime
her baeuty beyond praise.
Place the bracelets on her arms
and list her matchless charms.
anonymous folk chant
translated by Diana Der-Hovanessian
SOLD
With double chains of gold, rings
bracelets, necklaces of dazzling pearls
they dressed her; she turned into an angel,
a rosebud of softness, a lily of grace.
Speechless and mute she followed her future
husband, holding on to his heavy hand,
her beautiful face turned ashen,
dumb with fear, as they took her to the altar.
stanzas 3 and 4
by Shushanik Kurghinian
translated by Shushan Avagyan
Pulling cut wood in Yerevan. 1994, during the harsh winter years of economic blockade.
Soft foamy flakes descent-rest
on my face, merrily swaying.
So cool, with such sweet ringing,
as a playful May zephyr at dawn.
So light, with such gentless-joy,
as in a dream a lover's yearning kiss.
Soft foamy flakes on my face,
sigh in grief as soon as they land.
So joyless, so timidly quivering,
they weep silently, deprived of wings.
So suddently die-dissolve from my face,
as wilted flowers from the cold autumn breath.
Ah, face of misery, crazed by burning fevers,
that turns into a grim mausoleum for the flakes.
Shushanik Kurghinian, 1906
translated by Shushan Avagyan
Little girl with a cat. Earthquake region of Leninakan (Gumri today).
In the smiling gaze of your enchanting eyes,
my tormented soul at times rests quietly
and dozes forgetfully,
yeraning
for future days.
In the depths of your enchanting eyes
that reflect a child's world, unknowing of sorrow,
my weeeary heart finds consolation in
endless dreams
of days to come.
There, I see reflections of my pure soul,
as yet unchained by the gonds of life,
visions of my forgotten girlhood days,
crowned by
the magic of childhood.
My soul rejoices, though life is etched in pain,
that I will not perish without a trace;
even in defeat and my battles lost,
when I depart,
I elave a Me.
Carried in the depths of my soul, I will you a dowry
of noble ideals, trapped in a life of duress,
and the strength to shatter the chains of ignorance
cast form these
cark, black days.
Shushan Kurghinian, 1906
translated by Shushan Avagyan
A couple in southern Georgia, 2000. Neighbors in Akhalkalak region.
I want to live, not a lavish life
trapped in obscurity, indifferent and foolish,
nor as an outright hostage of artificial beauty,
a frail creature, delicate and feeble,
but equal to you, oh men, prosperous
as you are, powerful and headstrong,
fit against calamities, ingenious in mind,
with bodies full of vigor.
I want to lvoe, unreserved, without a mask,
self-willed like you, so that when in love
I can sing my feelings to the world
and uncahin my ehart, a woman's heart,
beofre the crowds...ignoring their stern
judgments with my shield and destroy
the pointed arrows aimed at me
with all my vitality unrestrained!
first two stanzas
Shushanik Klurghinian, 1907
translated by Shushan Avagyan
Preparing to bake bread. Village of Guetachen, Azerbaijan, 1990.
Entire village of 5000 Armenians were forced to evacuate in 1993-1994.
My grandfather was a minister,
He believed in God from 9 to 6.
At night he would rest.
My father was a physicist.
From 9 to 6 he ignored God.
After 6 he secretly believed.
My aunt kept all her love letters
in her Bible. And read them both
with the same rapt look.
Watching her through the keyhole
I couldn't tell which rememption she preferred.
I almost forgot to mention my mother.
She was too busy to believe or not.
She was too busy making things,
baking all day long.
My father, the physicist believed in Christ's manger birth.
He said most ridiculous stories were true because
no one would make up such stuff.
He also believed in miraclesl For instance Mother.
Father always said she was a miracle
and had made us all from dough.
translated by Diana Der-Hovanessian
Young shepherd sleeping. 15 years old Avedik, in the Lori mountains, northern Armenia. 1992.
Everyday my heart changes color.
Today copper yellow, tomorrow green
as spring leaves, glistening wet.
Everyday my heart changes color
like the hare in winter over snow,
or tulips bright as they can get.
My heart wears a different color daily.
It's too soon to grow up yet.
by Vergine Ziflioglou
translated by Diana Der-Hovanessian
The exhibition was shown at the Armenian Library and Museum of America during the spring and fall of 2006, at the Three Rivers College gallery in Norwich, Connecticut, and at the Watertown Free Public Library, Watertown, MA, in 2007
The Arts of Photography, Poetry, and Translation explores the conceptual link between photography and poetry and identifies translation as an art form.
Specifically the exhibiton showcases Armenian women's voices framed in images and verse. In a much wider sense it explores the subtleties of universal human experience.
The poetry sources are two recent books published by AIWA. I Want to Live rpresents the work of one poet, Shushanik Kurghinian, who lived at the turn of and beginning of the last century. Translated by Shushan Avagyan, it is a bilingual volume. The Other Voice: Armenian Women's Poetry Through the Ages, translated by New England poet, Diana Der-Hovanessian, represents as many as 65 voices that span a few centuries to today.
Armineh Johannesis an award-winning photojournalist, whose assignments and interests have taken her to Armenia for the last seventeen years, and to some eastern and middle-eastern countries. The photographs she provided for this exhibition are primarily from her "Transitions" series. More on Johannes can be found on the AIWA Artists site.