Category Archives: Armenia

chums & the eight of cups

16 Friday Sep 2022

Posted by in Armenia, Poetry, self-portrait, sonnet

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Q: What is the meaning of the Eight of Cups?

For me, the Eight of Cups is all about how we deal with problematic situations … and by “deal” I mean running away from it. It is a card full of disappointment and regret. This isn’t about being judgmental; the world is full of horrible, no-win situations that only get worse the longer we stay with them. It’s why we have the term, “Survivor’s Guilt,” which often accompanies PTSD. Free will can only take us so far. Or, as Goldsmith reminds us: “He who fights and runs away/ May live to fight another day;/ But he who is battle slain/ Can never rise to fight again.”

That might be true, but often it does not heal a spirit broken by shame and guilt. They say you never know how you’ll react during war until you’ve actually fought in one. I haven’t. I’ve been nearby but that’s not the same. A memory of my time in Peace Corps came back to me yesterday so I wrote this:

All through red suns at dusk. All through dark suns

at dawn. Those low rumbles. I’ve heard thunder.

I’ve heard earthquakes. Neither sound deafens

nor numbs me utterly like gun powder.

Once, while drunk (I was always drunk) some chums

and I drove to the outskirts of Artsakh,

“to watch the fireworks.” Back when my eardrums

were still naïve over certain noise. Raw

and green. The border guards turned us away.

Being dumb we parked on a hill to eyeball

the «pff-boom» flashes down in the valley.

That’s called privilege: turning someone’s doomsday

into drinking games. Fireworks fell. Nightfall

fell. We drank … numbing their rage and fury.

Armenia and Azerbaijan have been fighting for decades over an area of land called Artsakh (formerly known as Nagorno-Karabakh). While geographically it has been claimed by Azerbaijan its inhabitants are Armenian and since the fall of the USSR Artsakh has been a democratic republic, mainly unrecognized by the rest of the world. The First Nagorno-Karabakh War lasted from 1992–1994. I was living in Yerevan in 1997 while shelling and guerrilla warfare were still going on. It wasn’t the only military conflict happening in the area, though. That same summer I watch plumes of smoke billowing from the foothills around Mt. Ararat as Turkish troops battled Kurdish resistance fighters.

“in fair verona, where we lay our scene”

22 Tuesday Feb 2022

Posted by in Armenia, Armenian, drama, Translation

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I am working on a translation of the Shakespearian sonnet that opens the play Romeo and Juliet.

Two households, both alike in dignity,
In fair Verona, where we lay our scene,
From ancient grudge break to new mutiny,
Where civil blood makes civil hands unclean.
From forth the fatal loins of these two foes
A pair of star-cross’d lovers take their life;
Whose misadventur’d piteous overthrows
Doth with their death bury their parents’ strife.
The fearful passage of their death-mark’d love,
And the continuance of their parents’ rage,
Which, but their children’s end, naught could remove,
Is now the two hours’ traffic of our stage;
The which if you with patient ears attend,
What here shall miss, our toil shall strive to mend.

Since it’s impossible to translate the English rules of what makes a sonnet into Armenian I have simply used prose and so far this is what I have:

Վերոնա կոչվող գեղեցիկ քաղաքում կային երկու մեծ ընտանիքներ, որոնք իրար հետ հին վիճաբանություն ունեին, որը հավերժ պահեցին՝ նոր ոխը դնելով հին վնասվածքների վրա, ձեռքերը թաթախելով միմյանց արյան մեջ։ Այս թշնամիների դժբախտ արգանդից մի զույգ ծնվեց չար աստղի սիրահարվածությամբ, որի վիշտն ու մահը վերջ դրեցին այս դինաստիաների հին ատելությանը: Այս սիրահարների հանդեպ սիրո սարսափազդու անցումը, իրենց խեղճ երեխաներին մահ տված ծնողների կատաղի ոգին մեզ երկու ժամ նյութ է տալիս, որ եթե համբերատար լսեք պակասը, այն կփոխարինեք մեր ջանքերով ու պատրաստակամությամբ։

It is difficult finding people who can or will comment or critique my poor attempts at translation, though I keep hoping that if I post enough attempts someone, somewhere, might read it and offer their own suggestions. Fingers crossed.

onibaba [i,i]

17 Wednesday Mar 2021

Posted by in drama

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SCENE I.

A semi-dark room scantily furnished. A sliding door opens and the distant chaos of a battle can be heard as two ghosts enter. The first, the soul of the legendary Hangaku Gozen, is dressed in her full samurai armor. The second, Lady Seishin, wears a kimono that might have been stylish 100 years ago and a kabuki fox mask that she never takes off. At the back of the stage is a small fire pit and a small window. Seishin stirs the embers and then stands by the window, peering anxiously out.

SEISHIN.

It is a wild night outside.

HANGAKU.

Help me off with this helmet. Is the rain still coming down?

SEISHIN.

In torrents. I cannot see the other side of the road.

HANGAKU.

That’s good.

SEISHIN.

If not being able to see someone ten feet away is good, then hai. Luck is with us. Should I put the oil wick in the window?

HANGAKU.

[Sitting down next to fire with her helmet in her hands.] Why? No. Only when we hear her order a retreat. That’s what she said.

SEISHIN.

But on a night like this she may have pulled the troop all the way back to Kyoto and we’ll never know.

HANGAKU.

Do not be so querulous, you cranky fox.

SEISHIN.

This isn’t me being cranky. Something is about to happen. Listen to the wind sobbing around the house … a lost soul that we’re refusing to let enter.

HANGAKU.

Why would we do that? The wind loves us.

SEISHIN.

The wind puts up with us. Ever since— What was that?

HANGAKU.

[Listens.] It is our message, I think. [Listens harder.] Something is coming. Douse the fire.

[The room is reduced once more to semi-darkness.]

SEISHIN.

Shouldn’t we—?

[This time the sound is heard by both women. Someone or something in groaning in the dark. They stand as the door slides open and Jiutian Xuannu enters.]

XUANNU.

Cousins, why are we wasting time here? I was going to call retreat but those stupid Takahashi samurai are milling about right over there and look so smite-able.

HANGAKU.

But who is going to do the smiting? You?

XUANNU.

You look sad, cousin. We’re shadows, azure-

eyed, made from lust and stardust and despise

blood and afterbirth. Fools fear our power

to peel off our pelts. Fools fear change, disguise,

the way floods deform and do not deform

dry earth. But, cousin, what use are nightmares

if you can wake up? Why try to transform

when we can slaughter? We don’t need more snares

fools keep slipping free from. Call Onibaba.

She’s a friend. She has farseeing vision

and short cruel knives. Fools call her, “Hag with Tusks

and Fangs Chitter-Chatting in her Vulva.”

Fools fear her carnage; her love of carrion;

how she sucks both down to their very husks.

HANGAKU.

Fetch her.

[Jiutian Xuannu exits.]

HANGAKU [cont.]

But first, let’s test her skills. Seishin, you pretend to be me.

SEISHIN.

I’m not a ghost. I think she’ll notice.

[Jiutian Xuannu, Onibaba and Kijo all enter.]

SEISHIN.

Ah, Lady Onibaba. Chrysanthemum in the Legion of Flowers. Mire in the Order of Tenacity. Chalice of Malice. Fury of the Divine Crest. It is I, your Lady Hangaku!

ONIBABA.

Xuannu, I find it odd that the, “Terror of Genpei,” would be both Jiuzhou and alive.

XUANNU.

[Aside.] That was the worst Hangaku impersonation I’ve ever seen.

HANGAKU.

Lady Onibaba, please forgive me for being cautious. Who is this?

ONIBABA.

[Indicating Kijo.] My daughter, Lady Kijo.

HANGAKU.

[Incredulous.] You had sex?

ONIBABA.

Hai.

HANGAKU.

[Skeptical.] With a mortal?

ONIBABA.

Hai.

HANGAKU.

[Scandalized.] O my, you nanty narking chuckabog.

ONIBABA.

I don’t think you brought me all this way to make snide comments about my lovers.

[A loud moaning begins from outside and the wind rattles against the hut’s walls.]

ONIBABA [cont.]

The dusk wails and you pray for Onibaba

to smite souls. It’s fitting that twilight

moans for us, glimpsing our hitodama,

our blue-green flames, as we pass in the night,

searching for the spot where we died; where our

blood touched the earth and our hubris melted

when we found out all our sweet truths were sour,

our faiths false. Who claims to know what’s sacred?

How I don’t know. But they’ll kill for it.

You want me to go out and lay the Eight

Ring Curse on those men? Men who love carnage

and their samurai bushido bullshit?

I’ll do it. Saints say hate cannot kill hate.

I say all we are is gristle and rage.

SEISHIN.

[Aside.] These mountain demons can be very tempting with their tongues.

ONIBABA.

Don’t frown, Lady Hangaku. That was you once, too: a butcher. Now you’re just dead and vague.

[The door opens and a little battlefield spirit acting as a messenger enters.]

SENJO BOZU.

[Bowing.] My sovereign. Ladies of the court. I come from the walls of Osaka. Takahashi’s soldiers have stormed our outer defenses. We are now fighting in the streets.

XUANNU.

What sort of necromancers do they have that can breach our spells?

HANGAKU.

I heard that Emagami The Blight was selling herself again, but her skills are pitiful.

XUANNU.

[To Onibaba.] My lady, do you think that we should give up on Osaka, or not?

ONIBABA.

Of course not. Only cowards and monks run away.

HANGAKU.

Yattaaaa! I agree with what she says: we’ll fight it out.

ONIBABA.

Glory is like the ripples on the water. You have given me the task of whipping the Takahashi then I will beat those waters until they froth.

HANGAKU.

Lady Onibaba, drive the living daylights out of Osaka. They says the root of suffering is attachment. I say we beat that koan home on the skulls of Takahashi and his men.

[All exit.]

][][

Notes:

Onibaba is, as her name states, is a red-skinned, white-haired Japanese ogre. She carries a kanabo (Iron war stick) slung over her shoulder.

Hangaku Gozen  was an actual warrior and fought in the Genpei War (1180-1185 AD).

Jiutian Xuannu (Dark Lady of the Nine Heavens) is a Chinese goddess of war, lust and longevity. With long Mandarin robes and her Dadao (“Big sword”) she justifies showing up in this play by saying that she is on holiday.

Seishin kitsune is one of the names used for a fox spirit.

Senjo bozu. A spirit from the battlefield.

Jiuzhou is an ancient name for China.

Hitodama are a pair of blue flames (similar to will o’ the wisps) that accompany a ghost when it manifests.