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毤.
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Ù’áõ Û³ÝϳñÍ
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ÙÁ ѳݷáÛÝ...: |
DANCE, LITTLE GIRL
Dance, little girl... With your blood a little sullied
Make me lecherous... Dance and undulate your body
Head to toe... Drive your gaze into my eyes like an arrow
Or let it slide down to your fingertips
And cover the ground drop by drop...
Bend your body left, then right like a boat
Attached to a quay whose waves in vain
Attempt to unfasten it.
Dance, little girl... The gold in your ears
And the amber on your neck gleam and sparkle
In your coal-black tresses and your fiery veils...
Dance, fall to the ground and make snakes of your arms,
Crawl behind them, take hold of them,
Then coil yourself and slither away. |
TANZ MÄDCHEN
Tanz, Mädchen . . . Mit deinem Blut, mit dem bißchen
Dreck darin
Verführe mich . . . ach, tanz mit Ober- und Unterkörper
Mit all deinem Wogen . . . Sink deinen Blick wie ein Keil
In meine Augen hinein, tropfe ihn ein, Tropfen um Tropfen
Fließe über den Fußboden auf Fingerspitzen
Bieg dich mal rechts, mal links, wie ein Schi.
Am Kaipfahl angebunden, wo die Wellen, mit ihrem leichten
Schlag,
Sich vergebens bemühen, es loszureißen . . .
Tanz Mädchen . . . Mit Gold an den Ohren,
Mit schillerndem, schaukelndem, um den Hals hängendem
Bernstein
Mit kohleglänzenden Stickmustern und feuerfarbenen Schleiern
. . .
Tanz, falle zu Boden, mach Schlangen aus deinen Armen,
Kriech ihnen nach, zieh und bring sie zurück
Winde dich, um jäh zu verschwinden, wie eine Schlange
. . . |
DANSE FILLETTE
Danse fillette... Que ton sang vil
Monte à ma tête... Danse et ondule ton corps
Des pieds à la tête... Et que ton regard transperce
Mes yeux comme une flèche, comme une pluie
Glissant de tes doigts, qu’il inonde le sol...
Balance ton buste de droite et de gauche comme un navire
Attaché au quai que les vagues tentent vainement
De détacher sous leurs faibles secousses...
Danse fillette... Les ors et les ambres de tes oreilles
Et de ton cou sautent et se balancent en scintillant
A tes cheveux de jais et tes voiles de feu mêlés...
Danse, tombe, fais de tes bras des serpents,
Rampe derrière eux, rattrape-les, retiens-les,
Deviens cerceau et fuis comme le serpent... |
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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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