Although aware that “the language in which I wrote was read by few / On the face of the Earth, and there are fewer yet left...” Tekeyan did not stop writing in a disappearing language for a people he knew had no need for poems (“Does one eat verses?”). For the thought that his heart’s pain might console others gave him the needed strength to go on writing.
And it is not to disprove Tekeyan’s prophecy, that “Only a hundred years later, / The dear language, in this false or correct form and pronunciation / [...] will have no speakers,” that Berge goes on singing. It would be a lost cause anyway. Yet these are the only ones worth standing for. The ones Providence wants to succeed do not need individual help, for a blind will, finding manifold expression in countless agents, does its work in the service of History. Only Truth, the one destined to never become History, needs its knight of the lost cause, if it is to leave the realm of the possible a fleeting moment in that of the actual.
And it is precisely the tension between the possible and the actual, and the persistence of the possible in memory, regret, hope, consolation that is prevalent in much of Tekeyan’s poetry, in particular in the poems selected here. The possible, that never was, is no less real for him than the actual, as it populates what Rilke called “the one space,” Weltinnenraum.
Aside from the question of the purist, whether one should alter poetry’s own music by a superimposed one - which is answered together with “Should one make rhapsodies on themes by Paganini? Or write Lieder after poems of Goethe, Schiller, Heine, Uhland, or Rückert? Or compose studies after Chopin’s Etudes? - One could ask whether these songs reveal or emphasize aspects absent or understated in the read poem.
The answer would be emphatically “yes”, as the music reinforces a certain sense of restraint, hesitation, caution, and vulnerability inherent in every stanza, and creates a sound architecture for that “one space”, which Tekeyan’s brush had brought to life with words from an ancient orchard.

Victor Pambuccian,
Associate Professor of Mathematics at Arizona State
University West

Vahan Tekeyan (1) at an informal gathering at the
Gegharvestasirats Armenian Cultural Center in Cairo.
Among others, Sahag, Poghos, Torgom, Shaké, Sona and Alice Turabian (2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7).
[1940-1942]

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...
Despite the fact that in Cairo and in other diasporan centers, one could sense the presence of a real “Tekeyanomania”, in Armenia, including the literary milieus, the attitude towards his poetry was rather neutral. This neutrality and other contributing factors delayed my encounter with Tekeyan’s poetry for a few more years. During this period, I had only one serious correlation with Tekeyan: I was translating Baudelaire and studied his translations in the course of my work.
Later on, in the United States, going through the first stages of my intellectual suffering, one day I got hold of a guitar and as a result, I re-discovered the inspiring moments of my recent past and attempted to write songs again, to fight this persistent emotional crisis. Perhaps because I was in the Diaspora again, the Western-Armenian awakened within me, Tekeyan naturally came to my mind; I wrote two songs to his poems “I Loved”and “Yearning” which I recorded and mailed them to a prominent intellectual in Armenian cultural life hoping to receive an encouraging reply and to see a light in front of me. The answer was grimly realistic: “There is hardly an audience for this type of songs, dhol-zurna (party music) - this is what the public likes.” That was the end of my impulse to write songs and,thus, my lasting encounter with Tekeyan did not occur.
Years passed, things changed; I began writing songs and publishing CDs, and thanks to that, I met wonderful people. These thirteen songs on the poems of Tekeyan —- I owe them to one of them— Victor Pambuccian. He found me after listening to my CD on Charents’ poetry and, elated, sent me enthusiastic letters analyzing my songs.
Our correspondence became regular. Victor is a true expert of poetry and poetic song, and his analysis and opinions often helped me to overcome my uncertainties. Though a mathematician by profession, he translates poetry, including Tekeyan’s, into German. He suggested that I produce a CD of songs on Tekeyan’s lyrics with his sponsorship. He guided me into Tekeyan’s world. This world is not an easy place to be; it is delicate, multilayered, and complex. I fought many times with the creator of that world; at times, I admired it, was puzzled by it, questioned it, and got lost in it. I loved Tekeyan’s hesitations, his vulnerability, and his incessant quest for the secret of the ascent.
In conclusion, I wish to thank Victor, and primarily for his trust in me. I want to thank my friend Tigran Nanian for his masterful musical arrangements and for almost patiently coping with me. To my family, Anahit and Arousiak, and my friends: Arevik Gabrielian, Patrice Poingt, Manuel Keusseyan, for assisting me in all stages of this work – from the selection of poems to translating, editing, proofreading, etc. In the end, I wish to go with the inner impulse of my heart and to dedicate these songs to my grandfather Sahag Turabian because I know that he would be extremely proud if he could see how his grandson’s encounter with Tekeyan finally came to fruition.

Berge Turabian
New York, October 13, 2003