ì²Ð²Ü ¾ø¾º²Ü VAHAN TEKEYAN 125

In Cairo, where I was born and lived the first fifteen years of my life, I had many occasions to come across Vahan Tekeyan’s name and, indirectly, his persona. At times, holding my mother’s hand, walking through a neighborhood I would always notice the plaque with Tekeyan’s name on the facade of one of the buildings. I relished the feeling of mystery that would fill me each time I passed by this house.
In our home, as in many other Egyptian-Armenians’ homes, while flipping through family albums full of group pictures of respectable men and tastefully dressed women, a finger would suddenly slow down to point to a figure in spectacles, and a voice of admiration would utter: “This is Vahan Tekeyan...”
I would hear his name most often in my grandfather, Sahag Turabian’s house– they used to be close as members of the Ramkavar Party for many years, and both collaborated in the Arev newspaper. My aunt would tell me that in his moments of restraint and hesitation when he would become reclusive, Mr. Tekeyan would not tolerate being surrounded by people, except for a few, one being my grandfather... My perception of Tekeyan’s persona was being formed within the layers of my diasporan daily life, enveloped by an enigma. I was very proud that such a great man had been my grandfather’s friend.
As for my own perception of Tekeyan’s poetry, I could say there was none. At school and party events, – as a rule – mainly young ladies or women would emphatically and trembling with emotion read his poems, the selection being repetitious, and as the last words of the stanza would slowly fade into the ovation, I would stand there, distant, unrelated to the meaning of it all...
more about Disk "Your Name":

DownLoad Lyrics from this disk (365Kb)