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AM I PERHAPS THE LAST POET
Am I perhaps the last poet,
The last singer of my country?
Is it death or torpor
Embracing you, my bright Nairi?
Exiled in an obscure country,
I dream of you, my luminous land,
And like a prayer, echoes
Your magnificent language.
It echoes always deep and clear,
It pierces and it burns.
Are those your flaming roses that burn,
Or my feverous wounds?
I am calling you in distress,
Shine on, my illusory Nairi.
Am I perhaps the last poet,
The last singer of my country?
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Est-ce moi le dernier poète
Est-ce moi le dernier des poètes,
Le dernier chantre de mon pays?
Est-ce la mort ou la torpeur
Qui t’a figée ainsi splendide Naïri?
Exilé dans un pays obscur,
Je rêve de toi, ma splendeur.
Et ta langue princière
Résonne comme une prière.
Elle résonne claire et profonde
Et me perce et me brûle.
Est-ce la flamme de tes roses brûlantes
Ou la fièvre de mes douleurs?
Voici que je t’appelle en ma détresse,
Resplendis, Naïri, mon mirage.
Est-ce moi le dernier poète,
Le dernier chantre de mon pays?
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Several years ago, the Tekeyan Cultural Association
had a celebration in New York City, honoring the 75th
anniversary of the Armenian writer and poet Khachik
Dashtents. I took part in the evening, interpreting
two songs that I wrote using the lyrics of his poems.
The text of one of 
these
songs, Armenian, which I adapted into the form of an
anthem, is included in all handbooks of Armenian literature
published in the Diaspora. The audience greeted the
song with great enthusiasm. I believe there were two
reasons for this. In the first place, its message exhorts
students to speak Armenian in the countries where it
is threatened with disappearance; and in the second
place, I sang it with a little choir of young girls
who presumably have gotten the message...
