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#1 Arpa

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Posted 10 March 2002 - 11:39 AM

Varouzhnakis by Daniel Varouzhan.

First a few words.

It is unfortunate and somewhat frustrating that as a rule Armenian biographers ignore any personal reference and information. We know very little about the presonal and social lives of our intellectuals. No mention of social life, marital status, family and relevent anecdotes. At the surface this kind of information may seem trivial and irrelevent yet it will give a better picture of the writer and the poet, about their philosphy and outlook on life, and even shed some light about their style and work in general. It is a sad irony that we may know more about their deaths than their lives. The only exception to this rule may be Hovannes Toumanian as there are some anecdotes about him, and his family life is better documented. He even has some poems dedicated to his children.

Varouzhnakis may be one such poem that gives a chance to peek into Daniel's personal life. The poem is obviously dedicated to his child. Varouzhan/varouzhnak means "male bird" in Armenian.(Commonly and more specifically a male dove. See also under Language). Judging from the title I was under the impression that the child was an infant boy, but careful reading may indicate that it is in fact a girl.
I may dare to translate too.

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#2 Arpa

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Posted 19 March 2009 - 03:50 PM

WOW!!
This is mind boggling. How tragically wonderful. I didn't know "varuzhnak"was actully alive, even though I had seen Danile's son in Fresno. No wonder Varuzhan was so enamored with her. See how beautiful she is.
Her name was Veronica?
I wonder if that was her actual given name or was it a westernized version of Varuzhnak?
QUOTE
Veronica
From Wikipedia, the free encyclopedia
Veronica is a female given name, the Latin form of the Greek name Berenice, Φερονίκη,[1] which in turn is derived from Greek pherein (bring) and nik (victory), meaning "she who brings victory".[2][3] In medieval etymology, Veronica was sometimes wrongly supposed to derive from Latin vera (true) and Greek eikon (image).[4] Its popularity in medieval and modern times is based mainly on the importance in Christianity of Saint Veronica and her Veil of Veronica
.
====
http://www.reporter....aniel-varoujean
And here, see my poor attempt of a translation.
http://hyeforum.com/...hl=varouzhnakis
QUOTE
Veronica Safrasian, 98, was daughter of Taniel Varoujean
Published: Wednesday March 18, 2009
Purdys, N.Y. - Veronica Safrasian (ne Varoujean Tchiboukerian), daughter of Taniel Varoujean perhaps the greatest poet ever to have written in Western Armenian and his wife Araxie, died on February 2 in Purdys, New York, at the age of 98.
Mrs. Safrasian was born in Perkenik, a village of Sepastia, on June 6, 1910. In a letter to a friend, written in 1911, her father reported, "I have been married for two years now. My wife is named Araxie, a fair-haired beauty for whom I have a bucolic love. In addition, I have a one-year-old daughter, who is endowed with a precocious intelligence. She can already say hayrig'; that word fills me with indescribable joy. I've dedicated a poem to her, titled To my Varoujeanig.' That's the name of my little angel, of whom I'm so terribly fond."
Aghvor, aghvor, aghvor vartn im Karunis,
Vor srdis vra patsvetsar,
Yev kezi hed patsir hokis vshdaheghts,
Nor yerazi me baidzar....
Lovely, lovely, lovely rose of my spring,
Who bloomed upon my heart,
And with you bloomed in my troubled soul
A new, bright dream....
The poet was murdered in 1915 as part of the Armenian Genocide. Veronica studied in Geneva, Switzerland, coming to the United States in the 1930s. She became a librarian and worked for Rizzoli and Doubleday Bookstores in New York and for the New York Public Library for many years until she retired in 1982. She was very proud of her Armenian heritage and always participated in April 24th demonstrations in New York City.
In 2007, Mrs. Safrasian published a collection of postcards kept in her family album, translated into English by Aris Sevag. It is titled, The Tchiboukkearians of Perknig.
Veronica Safrasian is survived by a daughter, granddaughter, great grandson, nieces, nephews, and cousins.

A mother's vigil
It's victory night and we're all jubilant.
Bride, pour some oil in the lamp.
My boy will return from battle, triumphant.
Bride, raise the wick of the lamp.
A carriage stopped by the door, beside the vine.
Bride, go ahead, light the lamp.
My laureled son is coming from the front line.
Bride, come on here with that lamp.
But the carriage holds blood and grief, laid at rest.
Bride, reach outside the door frame.
My son the hero was struck right in the chest.
Oh, bride, extinguish the flame.
Taniel Varoujean (trans. V.L.)

Copyright 2009 Armenian Reporter | reporter.am

Edited by Arpa, 19 March 2009 - 04:41 PM.


#3 Louise

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Posted 28 May 2009 - 09:06 AM

QUOTE (Arpa @ Mar 19 2009, 03:50 PM)
WOW!!
This is mind boggling. How tragically wonderful. I didn't know "varuzhnak"was actully alive, even though I had seen Danile's son in Fresno. No wonder Varuzhan was so enamored with her. See how beautiful she is.
Her name was Veronica?
I wonder if that was her actual given name or was it a westernized version of Varuzhnak?
.
====
http://www.reporter....aniel-varoujean
And here, see my poor attempt of a translation.
http://hyeforum.com/...hl=varouzhnakis

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Can you tell me if it was his wife who died at 98 years old, or his daughter Veronica ?
thank you.

Edited by Louise, 28 May 2009 - 09:08 AM.


#4 Arpa

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Posted 28 May 2009 - 09:25 AM

QUOTE (Louise @ May 28 2009, 04:06 PM)
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Can you tell me if it was his wife who died at 98 years old, or his daughter Veronica ?
thank you.

His daughter, to whom the poem "Varouzhnakis"" was dedicated.
BTW "varouzhan"means "male bird", in this case "varouzhnak" means "little varouzhan", female.
I was under the impressin that "varouzhnak" was a male child, but apparently not.
The Armenian for Veronica is "kousatsaghik" See ԾԱՂԻԿՆԵՐ which is also known as Vinca Minor/Periwinkle

Edited by Arpa, 28 May 2009 - 09:27 AM.


#5 Louise

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Posted 18 June 2009 - 11:57 AM

QUOTE (Arpa @ May 28 2009, 09:25 AM)
His daughter, to whom the poem "Varouzhnakis"" was dedicated.
BTW "varouzhan"means "male bird", in this case "varouzhnak" means "little varouzhan", female.
I was under the impressin that "varouzhnak" was a male child, but apparently not.
The Armenian for Veronica is "kousatsaghik" See ԾԱՂԻԿՆԵՐ which is also known as Vinca Minor/Periwinkle

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

I have translated the poem in French with the Title : A ma petite Colombe
she was his daughter, one year old,when he wrote that.

#6 Louise

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Posted 18 June 2009 - 12:02 PM

if you read French here is the poem:

http://www.armenweb....ie/varoujan.htm

#7 Arpa

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Posted 18 June 2009 - 01:14 PM

QUOTE (Louise @ Jun 18 2009, 06:02 PM)
if you read French here is the poem:
http://www.armenweb....ie/varoujan.htm

I had already seen it at your site.
It is beautiful.
As to your question from a few days back;
QUOTE
Can you tell me if it was his wife who died at 98 years old, or his daughter Veronica ?
thank you.

She was his daughter Veronica also known as Varouzhanik. It makes sense since she was born in 1911 she would be 98 years old. Varuzhan would have been 125 years old this year and his wife would be about he same.
PS. Louise, a small corrrection, the family was from the town of Prknik/Brgnik/Բրգնիք in the region of Sebastia, where she was born.

Edited by Arpa, 18 June 2009 - 02:38 PM.


#8 Arpa

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Posted 04 July 2009 - 07:58 AM

The following is in the form of a letter to the editors of Asbarez.
It is a wonderful article where we finally get a limited picture of the personal and social lives of our celebrities. Look again at the picture of Veronica/Varouzhanik, observe her fair complexion and consider the highlight below about his wife Araxie.
I retyped the Armenian text in Unicode as the original font is incompatible.
Aris Sevag was the longtime executive editor of the Armenian Reporter, at the present he is the Executive editor of the AGBU Magazine.
====
http://www.reporter....aniel-varoujean
----
I recall a letter written in 1911 by Daniel Varoujan from Perknig [his birthplace near Sebastia] to his friend, a student in Belgium: Dear Pierre, Ive been married for two years already. My wife is named Araxie, shes a fair-haired beauty whom I have a bucolic love for. In addition, I have a one-year-old daughter, whos endowed with a precocious intelligence. She can already say %u218 (հայրիկ)hayrig, that word fills me with indescribable joy. Ive dedicated a poem to her, titled (Վարուժնակիս) %u218 To my Varoujanig. Thats the name of my little angel, whom Im so terribly fond of.
Varoujan often used to put his little girl on his lap and recite that poem:
Aghvor, aghvor, aghvor vartn im Karunis,
Vor srdis vra patsvetsar,
Yev kezi hed patsir hokis vshdaheghts,
Nor yerazi me baidzar;.
A lovely, lovely, lovely spring rose,
You bloomed on my heart,
Relieving my troubled heart,
Becoming a bright new dream;
The firstborn child of the great poet, Veronica Varoujan Safrasian, is now 96 years old, living in the United States. She recently published a book of reproductions of postcards kept in her family album. The Armenian texts of the cards, which were mainly holiday greetings, were translated into English by the well-known translator Aris Sevag. Varoujan wrote 16 of the 26 cards published, when he was a student, first in Venice, then in Ghent, and sent them to his mother, father and brothers. Thanks to [the fine state of the cards' preservation and] the high quality of the printing, his handwriting thats now over 100 years old is still quite legible.
The Easter card sent by Varoujan to his mother Takouhi in 1908 from Ghent is particularly moving:
Sweet Mother, Christ is risen from the dead. God willing, next Easter well color eggs red together. Im hale and hearty. I have a new suit and my belly is full. Dont worry. If there is something missing, that is you. It wont be too long now. Pray that I pass my exams this year so that I can come to Perknig in the summer and kiss your two hands, your two eyes, which get no sleep from watching over me. Hugging you, jan jigger mayrig [my dear mother], I remain. Your son, Daniel.
He often tried to match the contents of the cards to their illustrations, and even created his message in poetic form. On the front of a card showing swallows on a telephone wire (see accompanying photo), which he sent to his father Krikor, Varoujan wrote a poem entitled Farewell:
Hayr, art yes al dzidzernag,
Myegha bantukhd, dar Asdvadz,
Vor tarnayi voghch, usadz,
Poons hayreni cherm, kaghtsrig.
Mnas parov, hayr im,
Pajanman keri me vortit.
Father, now I too have become an emigrant swallow. I pray to God that I may return an educated man, safe and sound, to my nesting ground warm and sweet. Stay well, my father. Im a prisoner of separation.
The last card sent by father to son is dated January 7, 1915 (January 20, according to the new calendar). It is interesting to note the latters address on the card: Mr. Daniel Varoujan (Tchiboukkear), Principal S. K. L. [Sourp Krikor Lusavorich, or St. Gregory the Illuminator] School, Yeshil St. No. 1, Pera, Constantinople.
In response to his sons New Years greeting card, the father also sent greetings, promising to always pray for your health and wishing may the Lord keep you happy, together with my lovely grandchildren. In addition, he expressed hope for God to grant total peace to the entire world in the New Year.
What happened just three months after this exchange of greetings is universally known. I have quite another reason for writing about this album. When I go abroad, I often leaf through such family documens-turned-relics. In particular, I see libraries of old Armenian books and always worry over the fate of such riches, in light of the fact that even the grandchildren of Diasporan Armenian writers, not to mention their grown-up great-grandchildren, dont read Armenian. Its easy to say, Armenia is the final homeland of any given national value, its rightful heir is the Armenian people. However, carrying it out, judging from our cultural values turning to dust in the Diaspora, is difficult. This is so, despite the fact that we have embassies throughout the world representing the Republic of Armenia, and cultural attaches working in them;.
This article originally appeared in one of the November 2007 issues of Yerevans Grakan Tert [Literary Gazette]. Copies of the album, entitled The Tchiboukkearians of Perknig, may be obtained by writing to: Aris Sevag, 33-39 80th St., Apt. 2, Jackson Heights, NY 11372 USA. Price, including postage and handling, is $15 USD. (Orders placed from outside the US are payable only by money order.)





#9 Arpa

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Posted 14 February 2014 - 11:15 AM

Varouzhnak Veronica

http://www.reporter....aniel-varoujean
Little known facts about the life and loves of Varuzhan.. See highlight below of how he charmed his student Araxie and snatched her away from the clutches of her promised cradle suitor. BTW, did we say that Araxie was blond ans blue eyed just like Veronica? Yes, we did.
Why do I get teary and my glasses fog up everytime I read about him!! He is so tenderly powerful and powerfully tender.
http://www.keghart.c...pelian-Varoujan

Published in Keghart.com (http://www.keghart.com)
Levon Sharoyan Translated and edited by Vahe H. Apelian, 4 February 2014
 

The Dreamer
Levon Sharoyan Translated and edited by Vahe H. Apelian, 4 February 2014

What of the dying life? (Ինչ փոյթ կեանքը մեռնող)
When the dream lives on (Երբոր երազը կ՝ապրի)
When the dream is immortal (Երբոր երազն անմահ է)
Taniel Varoujan (Դանիէլ Վարուժան)
The Budding Poet
This year marks the 130th anniversary of poet Taniel Varoujans birth. He was born on April 20, 1884 in the village of Prknig (Բրգնիկ), on the outskirts of Sepastia, Turkey. He hailed from the Chboukarian (Չպուգքեարեան) family. His father, Krikor, spent most of his life in Istanbul working in brokerage. His mother, Takouhie, was a homemaker. She bore four sons. Taniel was the eldest. His siblings, all male, were named Vahan (Վահան), Bedros (Պետրոս) and Arshag (Արշակ), the youngest. Arshag was 24 years younger than him and was two-years-old when Varoujan married.
After attending the local school, he was sent in 1896, the year of the Hamidian Massacres, to Istanbul where his father lived. In Istanbul he attended the Mekhitarian School. He continued his education at Mourad-Rafaelian School of Venice, and in 1906 entered the Ghent University in Belgium where he studied literature and economics.

His first book of poetry appeared in the Keghouni (Գեղունի) periodical that was published in San Lazzaro (Ս. Ղազարի) Island, Venice. It was titled Shivers (Սարսուռներ). The Hamidian Massacres and the imprisonment of his father had left profound impression on the young man he would articulate in the book. He was 21-years-old. Of course his early poems lacked the artistic mastery of his later literary works.

The Teacher
In 1909, right after the declaration of the Ottoman Constitution, he returned home. He started teaching at the Aramian School of Sepastia (Սեբաստիոյ Ազգ. Արամեան վարժարան).

Some of his students later wrote about him in their memoirs. One of them was Arakel Badreg who reminisced that one year, just before their summer break, they went to Prknig to visit Varoujan in his paternal house. On their way they passed through the same road and along the same stream that Varoujan alluded to in his autobiography in Teotigs Yearbook (Թէոդիկի Տարեցոյց). In it Varoujan had written, Thats where I spent my childhood, under the melancholic shade of the pomegranate trees, or along the stream, mischievously throwing pebbles to the ducks.

As the boys passed by the same stream, they turned to one of their classmates and said, Dikran, you better throw pebbles at the ducks too, perhaps you may become another Varoujan one day.

Varoujan and his parents welcomed them to their home with jubilation. It was a two-storey building, simply furnished. A vegetable garden surrounded the house. The library of the poet was rich with books. Varoujan read a poem by Dante and then asked them Did you pay attention to the languages silvery sounding beauty? The Italian is a song, it is a song.

He taught there for three years. After his marriage to Araxie in 1912, he became the principal of St. Gregory the Illuminator School in Istanbul.

The Poet
Not long after his return from Europe (1909) he published his second literary work, a book of poetry titled The Heart of the Race (Ձեղին Սիրտը). It is there that Varoujan revealed the eminent poet he was. His writing had reached an unsurpassed mastery of language and of depth and form. He was only 25-years-old when he published the literary masterpiece.

A great deal has been written about his poetry. Our greatest literary critic, Hagop Oshagan, after reading The Heart of the Race declared that Varoujan is our greatest poet.

Varoujan had a special approach to writing. Events from his life inspired him. He would stir his imagination and dreams and turn personal occurrences into an all-Armenian longing and at times into an all-humanity yearning.

Once Father Ghevont Alishan (Հ. Ղեւոնդ Ալիշան) sent one of his books to Catholicos Mgrdich Khrimian inscribing in it To the Nations Father (Հայոց Հայրիկին); The catholicos, in turn, sent him a boxful of soil from Armenia addressed to The Patriarch of the Nation (Հայոց Նահապետին). Inspired by the exchanges, Varoujan wrote one of his most memorable poems--The Red Soil (Կարմիր հողը)--in The Heart of the Race collection of poetry.

In 1912 he published Pagan Songs (Հեթանոս երգեր), his third book of poetry.

His last book, The Song of Bread (Հացին Երգը), was published posthumously in 1921. The poems celebrate the toiling Armenian peasantry. He describes the peasant standing tall and imposing in the fields he cultivates. The eloquence of his writing remains unmatched.

The Poets Marriage
To supplement his teachers meager salary at the Aramian School, Varoujan gave private lessons to a young girl named Araxie, the daughter of a wealthy family. As was the local customs at the time, Araxie had been promised in betrothal to the son of a wealthy family when still in her crib. Thats why Araxies mother always chaperoned her daughter and attended her classes. Yet, the improbable happened. The teacher and the student fell madly in love with each other.

Rumors started flying in greater Sepastia. The classes ended abruptly and Araxies parents and the prospective in-laws began hasty plans for an earlier-than-planned wedding, but Araxie remained adamant refusing to comply with her parents wishes. Instead of a wealthy husband she preferred the country teacher of meager means.

The event became the talk of the town among the Armenians. Many regarded the incident scandalous. Some supported Varoujan and wanted the lovers to marry. Others blamed Varoujan for having seduced his young student. The animosity toward Varoujan became so great that he began to carry a stick to defend himself should he be attacked.

Finally, the prominent Armenian freedom-fighter, Sepastatsi Mourad, who, as his name indicates was from Sepastia, intervened on behalf of Varoujan. Mourad's stature was such that his intervention quelled all gossip and put an end to what was deemed scandalous. Three children were born from their union: Veronic (Վերոնիք); Haig (Հայկ); and Armen (Արմէն).


The Poets Demise
In April 1915 Varoujan, along with many other Armenian notables, was apprehended in Istanbul. Their arrest would be the prelude of what would be the greatest catastrophe that has befallen on the Armenian nation, the Genocide. He was subjected to torture and died a slow and painful death in August of that year, near a Turkish village called Changher (Չանղըր). He was 31-years-old.

Varoujans father was killed in Sepastia. The fate of his mother and two brothers is not known. Only his brother, Vahan, survived. For many years he worked in a printing shop in Paris.

His widow, Araxie, remarried and emigrated to the United States. Their son, Haig, settled in Fresno, California where he worked for a local newspaper. He passed away in 2002. His second son, Armen, settled in Hawaii with his family. He passed away there. Veronic worked in New York city public libraries. She would always attend the April 24 commemorations and reflect upon her talented father.

Nothing is known about the great Armenian poets grandchildren.

The Poet Remembered
In 1958 the Armenian students in Belgium secured the permission of the Ghent University to have a bilingual plaque commemorating Taniel Varourjan placed in the university library hall.

The unveiling of the memorial plaque took place on February 9, 1958. The poets widow, Mrs. Araxie Varoujan-Apigian attended the unveiling.

A representative from ministry of culture, the president of the university, Luc-André Marcel (who had translated Varoujans work into French); Frédéric Feydit, the eminent Armenian linguist; writer Garo Poladian, and Edouard Emirzian (the latter on behalf of the Armenian students) took part in the ceremony and spoke about the poet. A former classmate and academician Pierre Maes delivered a most poignant personal testimony about the slain poet. He said Taniel Varoujan had mastered the French language--not long after his enrollment--to deliver a lecture at the history department about Armenians and Armenian culture. Varoujan would read to him, the academician said, the poems Varoujan had written in Armenian, leaving him mesmerized by the eloquence of their sound and delivery, although he did not understand Armenian.**
Varoujans appeal as a prominent poet continues to reverberate to this day.

Below is Tatul Sonentz-Papazians translation of Taniel Varoujans Antastan poem.

Արեւելեան կողմն աշխարհի (At the Eastern part of the earth)

Խաղաղութի՜ւն թող ըլլայ...
 (Let there be peace)
Ո՜չ արիւններ, քրտինք հոսին
 (Let sweat, not blood, flow)
Լայն երակին մէջ ակօսին.
 (In the broad vein of the furrow,)
Ու երբ հնչէ կոչնակն ամէն գիւղակի՛ (And at the toll of each hamlets bell)

Օրհներգութ՜իւն թող ըլլայ։ (Let there rise hymns of exaltation.)

Արեւմտեան կողմն աշխարհի (At the Western part of the earth)
Բերրիութի՜ւն թող ըլլայ... (Let there be fecundity )
Ամէն աստղէ ցող կայլակի, (Let each star sparkle with dew,)
Ու ամէն հասկ ցուլէ ոսկի. (And each husk be cast in gold,)
Եւ ոչխարներն երբ սարին վրայ արածին՛ (And as the sheep graze on the hills)
Ծիլ ու ծաղիկ թող ըլլայ։ (Let bud and blossom bloom.)

Հիւսիսային կողն աշխարհի (At the Northern part of the earth)
Առատութի՜ւն թող ըլլայ... (Let there be abundance )
Ոսկի ծովուն մէջ ցորեանին (In the golden sea of the wheat field)
Յաւէտ լողայ թող գերանդին. (Let the scythe swim incessantly)
Ու լայն ամբարն աղուններուն երբ բացուի՛ (And as gates of granaries open wide)
Բերկրութիւն թող ըլլայ։ (Jubilation let there be.)

Հարաւային կողմն աշխարհի (At the Southern part of the earth)
Պըտղաբերում թող ըլլայ... (Let all things bear fruit)
Ծաղկի՜ մեղրը փեթակներուն, (Let the honey thrive in the beehive)
Յորդի գինին բաժակներուն. (And may the wine run over the cups)
Ու երբ թխեն հարսերը հացը բարի՛ (And when brides bake the blessed bread)
Սիրերգութի՜ւն թող ըլլայ։ (Let the sound of song rise and spread.)


** To see the meaning of Andastan see;
http://hyeforum.com/...e=1

#10 Arpa

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Posted 15 February 2014 - 12:45 PM

Please bear with me. This is kind of a repeat, except where I juxtaposed the original in Armenian and the English translation (by me) for the benefit of all. My desperate attempt to revive HyeForum and bring it back to its original mission.
========
ՎԱՐՈՒԺՆԱԿԻՍ

Աղուո՜ր, աղուո՜ր, աղուո՜ր վարդն իմ Գարունիս`
Որ սըրտիս վրայ բացուեցար,
Եվ քեզի հետ բացիր հոգիս վըշտահեղձ
Նոր երազի մը պայծառ:

Հին օրորանն, որ թաղարի պէս լըքուած,
Կըլլար խըշտեակը սարդին,
Կենդանացա՜ւ ճըռվողիւնով, բոյնի պէս
Պաճուճուեցավ վերըստին:

Արեւ մը նոր, շողերուն հետ աչքերուդ,
Շէմիս վըրա ցաթեցավ.
Եվ վանդակին մէջ կաքավս վիրավոր
Կարկաջեց երգ մը անձկավ:

Դուն սենեակէ սենեակ թըռար դեդեւուն
Բոյնէն ինկած ծիտի պէս.
Ձայնէդ դիււթուած` այցելեցին տընակիս
Սերոբեներ լուսագէս:

Աղուո՜ր, աղուո՜ր, աղոո՜ր վարդն իմ Գարունիս,
Եկուր նըստէ` ծունկերուս.
Թող լուսնակի պէս` մըռայլ ծոցս ողողեն
Ոսկի վարսերըդ սընդուս:

Շըղթայէ վիզըս այդ թեւերովըդ քընքոյշ
Նըման ծաղկէ մանեակի.
Ժըպտէ՛ ինծի, որ ցուրտ անդունդը սըրտիս
Արշալոյսո՛վ բըռընկի:

Խոսէ՛ ինծի, անծանօթ խօսքը, զոր դուն
Երկինքէն հետըդ բերիր,
Կը բանայ շողը` վարդն, իսկ շուրթը մանկան
Աստուծոյ մատը կարմիր:

Նայէ՛ ինծի, լուսնակն ինչպէս կը նայի
Դամբանին խորը խաւար.
Սերըս մեռած` պիտի առնէ հարութիւն
Ու պիտ ապրի քեզ համար:

Քեզի՜ համար, որուն միսն է գոյացած
Շուշաններու թերթերէն,
Միւռանաբոյր շապիկն հիւուսուած է թեւով
Թիթեռներու նըկարէն:

Քեզի՜ համար, ո՛վ իմ քերթուածըս անմահ`
Զոր արիոնովս յըղացայ,
Զոր երգեցի` հպելով սըրտիս լարերուն
Լարն ամենէ՛ն դիւրազգայ:

Քու ձեռքըդ լոկ դեռ կը բըռնէ զիս կանգուն
Աւազներուն վրայ փառքիս.
Եվ մազիդ մէկ թելը բա՛ է կապելու
Տիեզերքին հետ` հոգիս:

Վարուժնա՛կդ իմ, իմ փափկասո՛ւն Դիցուհիս,
Ո՛վ քընարէ դու հոգեակ,
Թող որ արցունքս, որ այտերուդ վրայ կիյնա,
Ըլլա ծիծաղ կամ սուտակ.

Բիբերուդ թող սըրսկեն աստղե՛րն երկընքին
Իմ խորշոմած ճակատիս`
Որ իր վըրա,յ թագի պէս, բա՛րձըր բըռնեց
Խոր ըսպիները սըրտիս:

Զի ես անդո՛ւնդն եմ` որ կըլլա երջանիկ
Փոսուռայի մը լոյսով.
Անապա՛տն եմ, որ երկինքին կը ժըպտի
Իր ծըլարձակ մէ՛կ բոյսով:

=======
(Remember that Varouzhan means male bird and Mari is a female bird. Also se where I translated Vard as Bloom, not Rose.)
===
TO MY LOVELY CHICK

lovely, lovely nice bloom of my Spring,
You that blossomed into my heart,
And opened my soul flooded with grief,
Into a new sunny bright dream.

That old cradle, an abandoned planter
Turned into a spiders' bed
Took a new life as if a nest full of bird talk
Was adorned once again anew.

A new sun, that gleam of your eyes,
Dawned at my doorstep,
And in that cage my wounded partridge
Babbled a new song with ardent.

From room to room you flew so lightly
As the chick fallen off its nest
Enchanted with your sound came in my chamber
Seraphs with hair of luminous light.

Lovely, lovely, nice bloom of my Spring,
Come sit on my knees,
Let that brightness my dark bosom flood
Your sunny golden locks.

Encircle my neck with those arms tender
As if a string of flowers
Smile to me, this cold hole of my heart
Be fired up with the dawn.

Speak to me with those alien words which
You brought down from the heavens
Like the dew opening a flower, the lip of a child
Opened by the red finger of God.

Look at me, as the moon looks down
Over the tomb dark and somber,
My dead love will rise again
And live for you forever.

For you whose flesh is made
Of the petals of lily,
With sweet smelling shirt woven
Of butterfly pictures.

You, oh my poetry immortal
That I bore of my blood
Touching the chords of my heart,
Those chords, sensitive of all.

Only your hands still hold me up
On these ashes of my glory
One strand of your hair is all one needs
To tie my soul to the universe.

My lovely young bird, my sweet goddess
Oh, the lyre of my soul,
Let my tears wetting your cheeks
A smile and laughter be.

Let your iris pour the stars in heaven
On my shriveled face
So like a crown hold high
Those deep scars of my heart.

For I am that abyss become happy
With the mere glimmer of a firefly,
I am that arid land that smiles to heaven
By even one flowering plant.

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