´²ðÒð²òàôØ
ºÃ¿ Ïñݳë‘
µ³ñÓñ³óÇ’ñ,
µ³Ûó ·Çï»±ë
á’õñ, ÙÇÝã»õ
á’õñ,
ºí ù»½Ç Ñ»ï
áõñÇßÝ»ñÝ‘
»Ã¿ Ïñݳë‘
µ³ñÓñ³óá’õñ,
´³Ûó ÙÇÝã»õ
á±õñ, ÙÇÝã»õ
á±õñ...:
гõ³ï³Éáí
ÿ Ïñݳë‘
û’Ý, µ³ñÓñ³óÇ’ñ,
ù³’çïÁÕ³ë,
ê³Ï³ÛÝ ù³ÝÇ
í»ñ »ÉÉ»ë‘
åÇïÇ ÙÁëÇë
áõ ¹áÕ³ë,
ØÁݳë ÙÇݳ¯Ï,
Ë»¯Õ× ïÁÕ³ë...:
γñ»Ý³Ûǯñ
¹áõÝ »Ã¿ µ³Óñ³óÁÝ»É
ù»½Ç Ñ»ï
êÇñáõ³Í ù³ÝÇ
ÙÁ Ñá·Ç ÙÇÝã»õ
·³·³ÃÝ ³ñ÷³õ¿ï,
ØÇÝã»õ 뿯ñÁ
ù»½Ç Ñ»ï...:
γñ»ÉÇÝ
³Û¹ ¿ ÙdzÛÝ,
³ÝÁñç³Ï³¯Ý
ϳñ»ÉÇÝ,
´³ñ»Ï³ÙÝ»’ñ‘
áñ Ù¿Ïï»Õ
Ï’áõ½»Ý, Ï’½³Ý,
ÏÁ ËáñÑÇÝ
²Ýϳñ»ÉÇÝ,
ϳñ»ÉÇÝ...:
ØÇÙdzÛÝ
³’Ûë, ÙÁݳó»³ÉÝ
³ÙµáÕç å³ïñ³Ýù
¿, Ñá·Ç’ë,
ØÇÙdzÛÝ ³’Ûë,
áõ ³Ýáñ ·áõó¿
»ñµ»¯ù ãÁѳëÝÇë,
²Ýáñ ÇÕÓá¯íÁ
Ù»éÝÇë...: |
ASCENT
Rise if you can, but do you know where, how far?
And if you can, take a few friends with you in your ascent,
But do you know where, how far?
Having faith that you can rise, go ahead, o my brave son,
But the more you rise, the more you will be cold and shiver,
The more alone, my poor child...
If only you could lift up with you
A few beloved friends to the glowing summit,
To the heights of love…
That is the only possible thing, the only possible dream,
Friends that share the same desires, thoughts and feelings
Of the impossible and the possible…
That is the only truth, all the rest is illusion, my son,
That is the only truth, though you may never reach that height,
And may die of the desire… |
DAS STEIGEN
Kannst du’s, so steig’ hinauf, aber weißt
du, bis wohin?
Mit anderen zusammen steige, wenn du’s kannst,
Aber bis wohin, bis wohin? . . .
Glaubend, daß du es kannst, steig’, kühner
Junge,
Aber je höher du steigst, umso mehr wirst du dich erkälten
und wirst frösteln,
Alleine bleiben, armer Junge . . .
Könntest du es, so bring einige
Geliebte Seelen mit, hinauf bis zum sonnenüberfluteten
Gipfel,
Bis zur Liebe . . .
Nur das ist möglich, träumerisch möglich,
Freunde die einmütig wollen, fühlen, sinnen
Unmöglich, möglich . . .
Einzig allein das, alles Übrige ist Illusion, mein Lieber,
Einzig allein das, und vielleicht wirst du es nie soweit bringen,
Sondern mit dem Wunsch, es erlebt zu haben, sterben . . . |
ÉLÉVATION
Si tu le peux, élève-toi, mais sais-tu jusqu’où?
Elève-toi et puisses-tu élever les autres avec
toi,
Mais jusqu’où...? jusqu’où...?
Sachant bien que tu le peux, élève-toi mon
fils,
Cependant, plus tu t’élèveras plus tu
auras froid, plus tu
trembleras,
Plus tu seras seul, mon pauvre enfant...
Si tu pouvais t’élever avec quelques êtres
De ceux que tu chéris, jusqu’aux sommets baignés
de soleil,
Jusqu’àl’amour...
C’est la seule chose possible, le seul rêve possible
:
Des amis qui désirent, sentent et pensent la même
chose,
L’impossible, le possible...
Voilà ce qui compte, tout le reste est illusion, mon
enfant;
Mais peut-être ne l’atteindras-tu jamais,
Et tu mourras en le désirant... |
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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...
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