I'm An Armenian

Gevorg Chavush

I'm an Armenian, as old as Ararat;
My shoes were wetted by the waters of the Flood.
Beside these shining peaks where Noah sat
My sword once drew the dread Bel's* evil blood.
 
These boulders overgrown with moss since time
Beyond remembrance, my hand hewed to lie
In the foundation of an ancient shrine
Which my own blood I shed to sanctify.

One morning here, in Ararat's green valley
My hammer and my pick aside I flung
And lit a fire on the Chaldean altar.
Those days both Ararat and I were young.

Then crimson every valley-flower was dyed;
All we had sown in it through ages past
Grew on the blood of countrymen who died.
Beneath each hillock killed Armenians rest.

With trusty shield I met attacking hordes,
Suffering countless wounds from countless swords.
I'm an Armenian, as old as Ararat.
High as the hills I bear my head. My story's sad:
 
Each century that passed brought grief to me.
My sons throughout the whole wide world were scattered;
With bloody showers Ararat was spattered.
My ploughlands crops of misery would yield.

I lived and breathed among my burned-out fields
On wasteland rubble, ashes steeped in gore.
But now, with my own blood revived once more,
Again the holy altar-lights burn bright,
 
Warming my heart and gladdening my sight.
New ploughshares out of rusted swords I forged;
Our fathers' heritage to my children I gave back.
Our sorrow fills my verse with hot blood gorged.

A twentieth century Gregory Narek**
I'm an Armenian, as old as Ararat.
Beneath my sorrows Ararat itself would bow.
Any ill-omened, blood-thirsty Attila that
Arose in history, would deal me his first blow.

Inured to massacres, I lived in thrall for ages.
An orphan, in the fight for life I'm steeled.
My thousand-year-old grain, preserved by hearts courageous,
Sown in new times, sprouts in my virgin fields.

Blessed be my roots, whose strength is marvelled at!
A homeless outcast once, a motherland have I.
I'm an Armenian, as old as Ararat.
I hold my head as high as eagles fly.

Gevorg Emin (Born 1918-1998)

"We Are Few But We Are Called Armenians"

Battle of Avarayr

We are few but we are called Armenians
We do not put ourselves above anyone
Simply we also admit that we, only we have Mount Ararat
And that it is right here on the clear Sevan
that the sky could make its exact duplicate
Simply David has indeed fought right here
Simply the Narek was written right here
Simply we know how to build from the rock, a monastery
How to make fish from stone, how to make man from clay
To learn to become the student of the beautiful,
the kind, the noble, and the good

We are few, but we are called Armenians
We do not put ourselves above anyone
Simply our fortune has just been so different
Simply we have just shed too much blood
Simply in our lives of centuries long
When we were many and when we were strong
Even then we did not oppress any nation
See, centuries have come and centuries have passed
Yet over no one have we become tyrants
If we have enslaved, only with our eyes
And if we have ruled, only with our books
If we have prevailed, only with our talents
And if we have ever oppressed,
it has only been with our wounds

Simply with us death had fallen in love
Yet we willingly did not give ourselves
And when we were forced to leave our own land
Where ever we reached, where ever we went
Everywhere we left indelible trace
We have joined efforts for everyone, always
We plowed everywhere, we built bridges, we tied arches
We plowed everywhere and we brought forth crops
We gave everyone mind, proverbs, and songs
Another words we defended them from spiritual coldness
Every where we left our eyes reflection
A peace of our soul and a sacrament from the heart itself

We are few, truly, but we are Armenians
And by being few we do not succumb
Because it is better to be few in life, then to control life by being many
Because it is better rather to be few, then to be masters by being many
Because it is better to be few, then to be swindlers
We are few, yes, but we are Armenians
And we know how to sigh from yet unhealed wounds
But with a new juice we rejoice and we cheer
We know how to thrust into the foe's side
And how to lend a helping hand to our friend
How to repay goodness which was done to us
 by compensating for each one by ten
And the benefit of it just in the sun
We vote with our lives, not only with our hands
Yet if they desire to rule us with force
We know how to smoke and how to quench their fire
And if it is needed to disperse darkness
we can turn into ashes like burning candles
And we know as well how to make love with lust
And we do this always by respecting others
See we do not put ourselves above anyone,
but we know ourselves We are called Armenians
And why should we not feel pride about that
We are, We shall be, and become many

Baruyr Sevag (1924-1971)

A SONG OF FATHERLAND

Ancient Armenia / Future Armenia

WE are the sons of valiant men, Armenians great and free;
Our grandsires were descended from a hero-ancestry ;
Our fathers brave on Ararat were strong to draw the bow ;
Our Haig, the son of Japhet, laid haughty Nimrod low.
From mountains high, from giants proud, this race of warriors starts.
Then, ardent brothers, let us possess Armenian hearts !

Lift up your eyes unto the heights that pierce the heavens vast,
The land that was the cradle of all nations in the past.
God on free Ararat abides, and raises in the air,
To give us hope, a temple built of seven colors fair.
The hearts of the Armenians with courage to inspire,
He spans the heavens with a wide and wondrous arch of fire.

No nation can survive unless it glows with patriot flame ;
No son of the Armenian race is worthy of his name
Unless to all the virtues of his fathers he aspires.
Then let us, brothers, emulous of our exalted sires, in
Now gird ourselves for usefulness, to serve in word and deed.
To the vain words of foreigners no more let us give heed,
But let the spirit bright of Haig sway all our inward powers.
Then, brothers, ardent brothers, Armenian souls be ours!

Brothers, let hand to hand be pressed, and heart to heart, in love,
And toward one common object together let us move ;
And let the touch of fiery lips unite our minds in one,
While in all hearts a common pulse shall beat in unison !
Let us from tombs and monuments decipher and unfold
The glorious deeds achieved by our immortal sires of old,
To show to all the nations round our ancestors of fame,
And show our ancestors, in us, sons worthy of their name!

To the arena, patriots, go forth and cry, “ Behold,
We are the children of those great Armenians of old !
Through us a new Armenia in splendor shall arise,
And cast away the sombre veil that hid her from men’s eyes.
Armenia, sit no longer mute and hidden in the shade !
Through us among the nations shall thy name be glorious made.
Loyal until our deaths, for thee we'll strive with heart and hand.”
Then, brothers, ardent brothers, long live our native land!

LEO ALISHAN
(1820-1901)

COMPLAINT TO EUROPE

Armenian Freedomfighters

MY hands, my feet, the chain of slavery ties,
Yet Europe says, “ Why do you not arise ?
Justice nor freedom shall your portion be ;
Bear to the end the doom of slavery! ”

Six centuries, drop by drop, the tyrant drains
The last remaining life-blood from our veins ;
Yet Europe says, “ No strength, no power have they,”
And turns from us her scornful face away.

A needle is not left to us to-day,
And yet, “ You ought to draw the sword!” they say.
To powder and to shot could we give heed,
While we sought bread our starving ones to feed ?

Have you forgotten, Europe, how the dart
Of the fierce Persian pointed at your heart,
Until, on that dread field of Avarair,
Armenian blood quenched his fanatic fire ?*

Have you forgot the fell and crushing blow
Prepared for you by Islam long ago ?
We would not see your desolation then,
Burning of cities, massacre of men.

Two hundred years Armenia, bathed in blood,
Withstood that great invasion’s mighty flood.
Europe was safe, our living wall behind,
Until the enemy’s huge strength declined.

Have you forgotten, Europe, how of yore
Your heroes in the desert hungered sore ?
What then could strength or force of arms avail,
Had we not fed your hosts, with famine pale ?**

Ungrateful Europe, heed our woes, we pray ;
Remember poor Armenia to-day!
_________________________
* Geographically, Armenia is the bridge between Europe and Asia.
In the early centuries the Armenians acted the part of Horatius
and “ kept the bridge,” defending the gate of Europe against the
uncivilized hordes of Asia, — first against the Persian
fire-worshippers, whose advance toward Europe the Armenians checked
at the battle of Avarair in A. D. 451, and later against successive
invasions of the Mohammedans.

** The Armenians acted as guides to the Crusaders in Asia; and when
they were about to raise the siege of Antioch for want of food, the
Armenians of Cilicia supplied them with provisions and enabled them
to take the city.

RAPHAEL PATKANIAN
(1830-1892)

LIBERTY

Armenian Army Emblem

WHEN God, who is forever free,
Breathed life into my earthly frame,
From that first day, by His free will
When I a living soul became, —
A babe upon my mother’s, breast,
Ere power of speech was given to me,
Even then I stretched my feeble arms
Forth to embrace thee, Liberty!

Wrapped round with many swaddling bands,
All night I did not cease to weep,
And in the cradle, restless still,
My cries disturbed my mother’s sleep.
“ O mother !” in my heart I prayed,
“ Unbind my arms and leave me free ! ”
And even from that hour I vowed
To love thee ever, Liberty!

When first my faltering tongue was freed,
And when my parents’ hearts were stirred
With thrilling joy, to hear their son
Pronounce his first clear-spoken word,
“Papa, Mamma,” as children use,
Were not the names first said by me;
The first word on ray childish lips
Was thy great name, O Liberty!

“ Liberty ! ” answered from on high
The sovereign voice of Destiny :
“Wilt thou enroll thyself henceforth
A soldier true of Liberty ?
The path is thorny all the way,
And many trials wait for thee ;
Too strait and narrow is this world
For him who loveth Liberty.”

“ Freedom !” I answered, “ on my head
Let fire descend and thunder burst;
Let foes against my life conspire,
Let all who hate thee do their worst:
I will be true to thee till death ;
Yea, even upon the gallows tree
The last breath of a death of shame
Shall shout thy name, O Liberty !”

MICHAEL GHAZARIAN NALBANDIAN
(1830-1866)

A BRAVE SON OF ARMENIA

General Antranik

THERE leaned against a gravestone
Upon a mountain steep,
A fair-haired youth of gallant mien,
Who mused in sorrow deep.

His eyes now sought the heavens,
And now the earth below.
Son of the hills and valleys,
Why dost thou sorrow so ?

Dost thou desire, to soothe thee,
A vast and stormy sea,
Whose ranks of wind-stirred billows
Shall sing to comfort thee ?

Or heaven’s immense and wondrous vault,
Star-strewn, thine eyes to greet ?
Or smiles from nature’s fairest things,
The flowers, the zephyrs sweet ?

Or dost thou yearn for solace
All other joys above, —
A gentle mother’s kisses,
A sweetheart’s tender love?

To cure thy heart’s deep sorrow
What wouldst thou have, oh, what?
“ My longing is for powder,
For powder and for shot!”

MUGURDITCH BESHIKTASHLIAN

(1829-1868)