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memories of my ghost sista

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memories of my ghost sista

Category Archives: Armenia

SAVAGE: some thoughts on motivation and alien puppets

08 Thursday May 2014

Posted by babylon crashing in drama, Feminism, introduction

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drama, introduction, Lady Macbeth, Medea, puppet, Vicious, xenomorph

all mockery is laughing
all violence is cheap …
you savage.

— Eurythmics

When I started writing this retelling of Medea I wasn’t worried about how the alien Xenomorph that would represent the tragic heroine, precisely, come to life on a shoe string budget; rather, I was curious what she would say if given a voice. This age of multimillion dollar Hollywood CGI has made modern storytellers lazy, I feel. I would rather work with Old School break dancing team or a high school drama class with a budget of $50 because that requires thinking outside the box. However, since the entire play succeeds or fails on the strength of its main character a little in-depth examination about the source material and costume is in order.

… Come, you spirits/ That tend on mortal thoughts, unsex me here,/ And fill me from the crown to the toe top-full/ Of direst cruelty …
… Come to my woman’s breasts,/ And take my milk for gall, you murd’ring ministers …
Come, thick night … That my keen knife see not the wound it makes,/ Nor heaven peep through the blanket of the dark/ To cry “Hold, hold!”
— Lady Macbeth, from Macbeth, Act 1, Scene 5

Like Lady Macbeth, Medea is a complex creature who loses what little humanity she had in order to do what she deemed necessary: commit murder. Perhaps it is easier to see these motivations in Shakespeare than in Euripides. Power, we are told, corrupts, and by the end of the play, Lady Macbeth, driven insane by guilt over the crimes she has committed, takes her own life. “Unsex me here,” she commands, so that she might not be burdened with all the scruples and morals that would normally prevent her from turning into a monster. She enters the play human but leaves it bestial. Medea, in contrast, was never human to begin with. She enters it a beast, temporary becomes human and leaves it a monster.

Before I reread the Greek play I thought I remembered it well enough. Medea is in exile; having fallen in love with a handsome stranger, Jason, and helped him to find the Golden Fleece. She leaves her family and travels, with their children, to a foreign land to live. Once there Jason quickly becomes bored with her, marries the king’s daughter, and casts Medea and his own children aside. It is a story of an innocent woman spurned who takes revenge too far. Except that there is nothing remotely innocent about Medea. In Euripides’ play, at least, one of the reasons that Medea fled into exile with Jason was because she brutally murdered her own younger brother, Apsyrtus, and threw his severed body parts around her father’s palace. Everywhere she goes, we are told by her nurse in the prologue, she brings death and destruction with her. In one kingdom she tricks the daughters of Pelias into boiling their father alive in order that Jason might usurp the throne and become king himself. Yes, Jason does leave her, and yes, this betrayal is what drives her to kill — not only Jason’s new bride and father-in-law, but her own children as well — but she doesn’t need to call upon the darkness in her heart to make her something less than human like Lady Macbeth does, Medea was never human to begin with; a fact that tends to get overlooked in many productions of Medea that I’ve seen.

I’m telling you all this because it is Medea’s inhumanness that I find the most interesting. By making her simply a spurned mortal woman being cast aside for a younger one Medea becomes a powerless victim, one who feels that killing is the only way that she can bring agency and control back to herself. Perhaps on one level that might make sense to some, but it also creates a giant plot-hole: Medea is a sorceress. She might even be a goddess. She leaves the play in a flying chariot driven by her own dark arts. She has necromancy powers Jason doesn’t even know about. Why, then, does she allow things to get so out of hand that total annihilation of her enemies seems the only choice open for her?

“Love for her man, no matter how vile,” some critics have argued, is her motivation and while that reading can certainly be found in the text it also cranks the misogyny factor up to 11 on the dial for me. It’s that old-gristle bone that a woman without a man is nothing. It reminds me a little too much of that one Billie Holiday song:

I’d rather my man would hit me/ Than to jump up and quit me
Ain’t nobody’s business if I do
I swear I won’t call no copper/ If I’m beat up by my papa
Ain’t nobody’s business if I do.

That is, indeed, one way to read Medea and the gender politics of the play. It’s a terrible way, granted, but others in the past have made this claim, so obviously there’s enough people who believe it. It’s not my way, though.

A much more interesting approach is to examine what befell the character of Jack Torrance. Author Stephen King has been highly critical of Stanley Kubrick adaptation of The Shining (1980) over the years, saying that by having the haunting of the Overlook Hotel coming from within Jack himself robs the character of any chance at redemption. Redemption is an interesting idea for Jack’s motivation, since it infuses everything he does with an agonizing desperation as the chance to be human moves further and further away. By simply having Jack get caught in a time-loop that he is forever doomed to repeat, Kubrick, while still making a very scary movie, strips any tension, any risk, any gamble with the Devil from Jack as well. But by making Jack a fallen rebel angel being given one last chance at salvation suddenly everything is at stake.

That is how I see Medea. She committed atrocities, ran away with Jason, put up with his betrayals for ten years not because she is a doormat but because this is her only chance to try and become the one thing she longs for but will never truly have. “Imagine, the darkness in love with the light,” the demon-girl Yazuha cries despairingly at the end of the Tenchi Muyo movie, Daughter of Darkness (1998). Jason’s crime wasn’t just cheating on her, it was casting her back into the dark; it was damning her and sealing her fate forever. At the end she destroys the world not because she’s a psychopath but because, from her point of view, everything within the human world around her is. She is the ultimate Other, desperately trying to pass for something she is not and failing. Jason didn’t just break her heart; he literally turned her back into the creature that she was before the play started.

This is why retelling this ancient story as set against an alien world, literally turning Medea into a Xenomorph (Xeno simply being a prefix for foreign or alien), seemed interesting. In the Horror genre the most famous alien, for me, is the bug-like monster of Ridley Scott’s Alien (1979) that destroys the crew of the Nostromo. This nightmare was created by Swiss surrealist, H.R. Giger, who pioneered the whole concept of biomechanical, nightmarish life forms in art. As Charlie Jane Anders wrote:

”Biomechanics fused the impossible into a savage logic: metal and flesh, sex and death, hypnotic beauty and violation; its cool, corpse-silver colors pre-empting [Ridley] Scott’s industrial-tech aesthetic.” (2011)

As cool as all this might sound, the Xenomorph from the Alien franchise is a copyrighted image and, rightly so, Giger feels entitled to the artist’s royalties whenever one of his creations is used (going so far as to sue 20th Century Fox over failing to credit him in Alien: Resurrection). Other artists and film makers have taken the concept of biomechanics and expanded it over the years, from the New Flesh of David Cronenberg’s Videodrome (1983) to the metal fetishist of Shinya Tsukamoto’s Tetsuo: The Iron Man. (1989) In later Alien movies, once Giger no longer had creative control over his creation, certain changes occurred: the aliens became a lot more muscular, some had skull ridges, they could spit their own acid-blood, many developed horrendous drool problems. Why producers thought an over active drool gland was scary I do not know, it is hard to feel terror when you keep wanting to wipe a monster’s chin with a handkerchief and put a baby bib around its neck. However the Xenomorph-Medea, Lyssk, gets developed, please, no drool.

Lyssk’s species, the Lingualandicis (“clitoris-tongues”), need to look simultaneously like human females and grotesque lizards without drifting into the silly; something as familiar as a mother’s naked breast in an exoskeleton, as common child-bearing hips and ass with a segmented, scorpion-like tail. This is what confused Jason, he thought he was dealing with a female of his species, someone who’d behave accordingly. Seven foot tall Xenomorph-Medea needs to look like she could twist Jason’s head completely off if she felt like it.

Finding a seven-foot tall Amazonian actress might be difficult, which is why making a seven-foot tall Lyssk puppet might be an interesting alternative.

The idea came from a sketch on Jim Henson’s television show, The Muppet Show, with a creation called a Clodhopper. While only one performer was required for each full-figured puppet, the Clodhopper’s feet were attached to the performers’ feet while their heads and hands were the performer’s hands. Invisible wires allowed for wings to flap or tails to twitch. The puppeteer was dressed in black to hide their body against the black background. Considering that the play’s action takes place outdoors, in the dark, an eerie, ghost-like Lingualandici might add a certain amount of strangeness that an actress in body paint and a mask might not.

][][

Works Cited

Anders, Charlie Jane. How H.R. Giger’s Brilliant Madness Helped Make Alien “Erotic” (10/11/2011)
Retrieved from http: //io9.com/5851618/how-hr-gigers-brilliant-madness-helped-make-alien-so-erotic

King, Stephen. Danse Macabre. Berkley, CA.: Berkley Press. (1981)

Parish, James Robert. Jim Henson: Puppeteer And Filmmaker. New York: Ferguson Pub. (2006)

Prucher, Jeff (ed.) Brave New Worlds: the Oxford Dictionary of Science Fiction. Oxford: Oxford Press. (2007)

the nightmare girl: chapter 1

08 Saturday Mar 2014

Posted by babylon crashing in Armenia, Illustration and art, Prose

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Ararat Burns, Armenian Genocide, art, Mariam Abandian, prose

March 08, 2014 (1)

A few days after her birth in 1879 in the Cilician town of Tarsus, in what is now considered to be part of southern Turkey, Mariam’s father walked to the local government building to record the event. Her parents wanted everything in order before they moved to the Ottoman city of Kars with their infant daughter. They had decided to leave their small town for there were no opportunities in Tarsus at that time and many of their formally friendly neighbors were grumbling that Armenians were to blame.

Mariam’s father was known to the government official in charge of name keeping and the issuing of birth certificates.

“Ah, it is you, Yeghishe, what can I do for you?” the official asked.

“Help me celebrate my very good news,” her father said. “I wish to report and record the birth of my daughter. She is to be called Mariamna.” Mariamna being the Russian version of the Armenian name, Miriam.

“Mariamna?” asked the official in disbelief. “No, no. Mariamna is no good.”

Her father had not anticipated any objection to the name he and his wife had chosen. It was, though, an old maxim of the Armenians of Tarsus never to question Muslim officials without understanding what was expected of them first. Her father stayed silent and waited.

The official said, “You are going to relocate to Kars, he, Yeghishe?” There were no secrets in their town. Naturally, the Armenians knew everything about each other. It was curious, too, that their Muslims neighbors always seemed to know about the business of the Armenians as well.

“You see? there is no sense in burdening your daughter with a Russian name. What Turk would do that? No, no. Use Meryem instead. That’s a proper Turkish name and she won’t be so despised when she grows. Yes, yes, Meryem. Your daughter will be better off,” the town’s official said, presenting the startled father with a document bearing witness that one Shahani, wife of Yeghishe Zildjian, had given birth to a daughter, Meryem Zildjian, on October 30, 1879.

The story of Mariam’s forced name conversion soon became part of their family lore, and before her first birthday the three of them left Tarsus for Kars. By then, Mariam had evolved into Mare, a nickname that her parents and friends all called her, ignoring the Meryem decreed by the funny little man in a red fez.

Mariam was a good name, it suited her nature well, for it was ancient and meant “the rebellious one” and in a world that was about to be torn apart in war and fire only the rebellious shall survive.

salome: page 01

09 Thursday Jan 2014

Posted by babylon crashing in Armenia, Armenian, Illustration and art, Translation

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Armenian translation, art, English translation, Oscar Wilde, page 1, Salome, Vahan Terian

Jan 09, 2014 (2)

Jan 09, 2014 (3)

SALOMÉ
SALOME
ՍԱԼՈՄԵ

1893

PERSONNES
PERSONS
ԱՆՁԵՐ

HÉRODE ANTIPAS, Tétrarque de Judée
HEROD ANTIPAS, Tetrarch of Judea
ՀԵՐՈՎԴ ԱՆՏԻՊԱ, տետրարք Հրեաստանի

IOKANAAN, le prophète
IOKANAAN, the prophet
ՅՈՔԱՆԱԱՄ, մարգարեն

LE JEUNE SYRIEN, capitaine de la garde
THE YOUNG SYRIAN, captain of the guard
ԵՐԻՏԱՍԱՐԴ ՍԻՐԻԱՅԻ, դահճապետի [1]

TIGELLIN, un jeune Romain
TIGELLINUS, a young roman
ՏԻԳԵԼԻՆ, երիտասարդ Հռոմայեցի

CAPPADOCIEN
CAPPODOCIAN
ԿԱՊԱԴՈՎԿԻԱՅԻ

NUBIEN
NUBIAN
ՆՈԻԲԻԱՅԻ

PREMIER SOLDAT
FIRST SOLDIER
ԱՌԱՋԻՆ ՋԻՆՎՈՐ

SECOND SOLDAT
SECOND SOLDIER
ԵՐԿՐՈՐԴ ՋԻՆՎՈՐ

LE PAGE D’HÉRODIAS
THE PAGE OF HERODIAS
ՀԵՐՈՎԴԻԱԴԱՅԻ ՄԱՆԿԼԱՎԻԿԸ

JUIFS, NAZARÉENS, etc.
JEWS, NAZARENES, etc.
ՀՐԵԱՆԱՆԵՐ, ՆԱՋՈՎՐԵՅԻՆԵՐ, եւ այլն.

ESCLAVE
SLAVE
ՍՏՐՈԻԿ

NAAMAN, bourreau
NAMAAN, executioner
ՆԱԱՄԱՆ, դահիճ

HÉRODIAS, femme du Tétrarque
HERODIAS, wife of the tetrarch
ՀԵՐՈՎԴԻԱԴԱ, տետրարքի կինը

SALOMÉ, fille d’Hérodias
SALOME, daughter of Herodias
ՍԱԼՈՄԵ, աղջիկը Հերովդիայի

ESCLAVES DE SALOMÉ
SLAVES OF SALOME
ՍԱԼՈՄԵԻ ՍՏՐԿՈԻՀԻՆԵՐԸ

][][

SCÈNE
SCENE
ԲԵՄ’

[Une grande terrasse dans le palais d’Hérode donnant sur la salle de festin. Des soldats sont accoudés sur le balcon. A droite il y a un énorme escalier. A gauche, au fond, une ancienne citerne entourée d’un mur de bronze vert. Clair de lune.]

[A large terrace in Herod’s palace overlooking the banqueting hall. Some of the soldiers are leaning against the balcony. To the right there is a huge staircase. To the left, at bottom, an old cistern surrounded by a wall of green bronze. Moonlight.]

[Մի մեծ կտուր է Հերովդեսի պալատը նայող խնջույքի դահլիճը. Որոշ զինվորներ են հենվում է պատշգամբում. Դեպի աջ կա մի մեծ աստիճաններ. Դեպի ձախ, ժամը ներքեւում, հին ցիստեռնը շրջապատված է պատին կանաչ բրոնզե. Լուսնյակ.] [2]

LE JEUNE SYRIEN: Comme la princesse Salomé est belle ce soir!
THE YOUNG SYRIAN: How beautiful the Princess Salome looks tonight!
ԵՐԻՏԱՍԱՐԴ ՍԻՐԻԱՅԻ: Ինչ գեղեցիկ է Արքայադուստրը Սալոմե երեկո! [3]

LE PAGE D’HÉRODIAS: Regardez la lune. La lune a l’air très étrange. On dirait une femme qui sort d’un tombeau. Elle ressemble à une femme morte. On dirait qu’elle cherche des morts.
THE PAGE OF HERODIAS: Look at the moon. The moon looks strange! She looks like a woman rising from a tomb. She looks like a dead woman. One might think she was looking for the dead.
ՀԵՐՈՎԴԻԱԴԱՅԻ ՄԱՆԿԼԱՎԻԿԸ: Նայիր լուսնի. Լուսինը ունի տարօրինակ տեսք. Կարծես մի կին աճող մի շիրիմին. Կարծես մահացած կնոջ.Կարելի է մտածել որ նա փնտրում է մահացած. [4]

LE JEUNE SYRIEN: Elle a l’air très étrange. Elle ressemble à une petite princesse qui porte un voile jaune, et a des pieds d’argent. Elle ressemble à une princesse qui a des pieds comme des petites colombes blanches … on dirait qu’elle danse.
THE YOUNG SYRIAN: She has a strange look. She looks like a little princess who wears a yellow veil, whose feet are made of silver. She looks like a princess who has feet like little white doves … she looks like she is dancing.
ԵՐԻՏԱՍԱՐԴ ՍԻՐԻԱՅԻ: Այն նայում շատ տարօրինակ է. Կարծես մի փոքր Արքայադուստրը ով հագնում է դեղին վարագույրի, եւ որոնց ոտքերը են արծաթի. : Նա, կարծես արքայադուստր ով ունի ոտքերը նման փոքր սպիտակ աղավնիներ … կարծես նա պար. [5]

][][

notes:

Most of the footnotes here will be from my attempts at transcribing Vahan Terian’s original. I’ll state for the record here: there will be errors. I am neither a native speaker of Armenian nor particularly good at any language. But I follow the advice of the poet and translator Marilyn Hacker who said, “it is better to have a bad translation than no translation at all.” Cheers.

[1] Թիկնապահների Հրամանատար [VT]

[2] Հանդիսասըահին կից մեծ պատհգամը: Հռըովդի պալատում: Ջինվոըները կանգնել են պատհգամբի վանդակապատին Հռնված: Աջ կողմը’ մեծ սանդուղք: Ջախ կողմը, ըէմի խորքում’ մի ջըհոը: [VT]

[3] Որքան հքնա’ղ է այս երեկո արքայադուստր Սալոմեն: [VT]

[4] Նայեցեք լուսնիմ: Որքան տարօրինակ տեսք ունի լուսնյակը: Կարծես մի կին ե, որ գերեզմանից է ելնում: Սեռած կնոջ է նման: Կարծես մեռել է որոնում նա: [VT]

[5] Շատ տարօրինակ տեսք ունի: Նա նման է մի փոքրիկ արքայադստեր, որ դեղին քող է ծածկում [and] որի ոտներն արծաթից են: Կարծես նա մի արքայաղուստր է, որի ոտները սպիտակ աղավնյակների են նման: Կարծես նա պարում է: [VT]

salome: an introduction

09 Thursday Jan 2014

Posted by babylon crashing in Armenia, Armenian, Illustration and art, Translation

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Armenian translation, drama, English translation, introduction, Oscar Wilde, Salome, Vahan Terian

Jan 09, 2014 (1)

Here’s a little unknown story.

In the summer of 1997, after I came back from my psycho-vac, I ended up teaching conversational English to a classroom of Armenian students in Yerevan.

In theory it should have been an easy job … one just talks and play word-games and get people to enjoy trying something as scary and illogical as English (seriously, who in hell came up with p-q and b-d as letters that won’t get constantly reversed or turned upside down in non-English speakers minds?) Anyway, I took the hard road and decided the best way to have fun in this class was to get them to perform a play … and, you say, after reading the title of the Oscar Wilde drama up above, what better way to approach Amateur Drama 101 than with something that hasn’t been updated into modern speak since it was first translated from French in 1900? Because trying to explain “thee” and “thy” to a classroom who were just hoping to be able to say hello to their cousin Aram in Glendale might not have been the smartest move on my part, though one of my students did say she had heard someone, at some point in time, had translated the play Salome (1893) into Armenian, but she had no idea who or when.

Jump forward in time to yesterday, around 10-ish in the morning while I was at work. The Internets is fabulous, for I discovered who it was who first translated the play. Not everyone is familiar with the name Vahan Terian (Վահան Տերյան), which is a shame since his original poetry is both sad and beautiful (though not necessarily in that order), but, in 1910, he translated the French original into Armenian. And not only is the Internets fabulous but someone sainted soul actually uploaded the original translation … sadly in PDF format, but still! The whole play! translated! online! hurrah for exclamation points!

Here is the mission I’ve given myself. I want to simultaneously translate the original French into an updated English version plus translate it into modern Armenian while transcribing Terian’s original. This won’t be easy for numerous reasons. First, I’m terrible at transcribing. My ability to read Armenian is limited, but the uploaded PDF file seems to be the only version I can find online, unless someone can clue me in to where to look. Also, my ability to translate Armenian is comically absurd. There are children laughing at my attempts in Gyumri right now and I haven’t even started. Perhaps, one day, someone will read this and think helping me is a good idea, but there aren’t a lot of native Armenians in the world, even less so on-line, so I never take radio silence personally.

What I am going to present here are three versions of the play. The first is the original, taken from Project Gutenberg. The second is my attempt at an English translation and the third will be the Armenian. I’ll add notes from the Terian transcription as I go along, though I haven’t figured how exactly (I’m making this up as I go along). There are about 30 pages to the original play, depending on the font, so I’m thinking of publishing a page at a time, just to avoid confusion (mine). Of course, as always, if anyone reads this and wants to help, correct and ridicule, any assistance will only make the translations better.

With that said, the game, Mrs Hudson, is on!

cinders and thigh bones

26 Thursday Dec 2013

Posted by babylon crashing in Armenia, haiku, Illustration and art, Poetry

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Armenian Genocide, Armenienne, art, cinders and thigh bones, guerrilla warfare, haiku, poem, Poetry

Dec 26, 2013 (1)

Dec 26, 2013 (2)

Dec 26, 2013 (3)

staring at the sky
from a desert warm and still
abandoned child’s skull

][][

blank book pages filled with
caravan marching to hell
vultures circling

][][

let all my words burn
beacon fire for child’s soul lost
century ago

][][

simple things: laughter,
kissing, holding hands, all this
that she’ll never know

][][

written on the wind
her laughter, scent even name
has been lost to me

][][

silence before truth
before the question before
this desert’s secrets

][][

rocky hills sparsely
covered with ghosts of female
guerrilla warfare

][][

cinders and thigh bones
all girls who picked up a gun
stood up and fought back

notes:

We decided to play god, create life. When that life turned against us, we comforted ourselves in the knowledge that it really wasn’t our fault, not really. You cannot play god, then wash your hands of the things that you’ve created. Sooner or later, the day comes when you can’t hide from the things that you’ve done anymore.
—Admiral Adama, Battlestar Galactica

Image

in love with a ghost from war-torn nagorno-karabakh

16 Monday Dec 2013

Tags

ancient church, Armenia, art, ghost girl, ghost lover, Nagorno-Karabakh, war

Dec 16, 2013 (1)

Posted by babylon crashing | Filed under Armenia, Erotic, Illustration and art

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Image

women with weapons, girls with guns, armenians with arms

09 Monday Dec 2013

Tags

Armenians with arms, art, girls with guns, I love colors, Mafattiee, trippy, women with weapons

Dec 09, 2013 (2)

Dec 09, 2013 (3)

Dec 09, 2013 (4)

Dec 09, 2013 (5)

Super big shout out to Mafattiee for posting the original art I used to make this. The clothes are traditional Armenian, the gun a blunderbuss (a word I should try to work into more conversations). Cheers!

Posted by babylon crashing | Filed under Armenia, Illustration and art

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holocaust angel

06 Friday Dec 2013

Posted by babylon crashing in Armenia, Poetry, sonnet

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Tags

Armenian Genocide, Armenian language, holocaust angel, please help, poem, Poetry, sonnet, tutor

Maybe my problem (I stop, think about
that and laugh. Then) is English. In Paris,

perhaps, I might find a teacher without
students, a great grandchild of the rootless

tribe that escaped Der-ez-Zor. Holocaust
angel, I’ve seen photos of you holy

in a torn sack dress. I’ve seen your bones, frost
white, dug up across Erzurum, Ani,

Van. Teach me French, teacher, then the ancient
tongue. The one that I wish to know. I wait,

I wait, I wait. In English there are none
who will speak. I don’t want to be silent

like a photograph. I wish to translate
this whole dark world into Armenian.

][][

note:

Let’s call this an obsession. The whole problem with wanting to learn a language that no one who lives near you speaks is that it is very hard to find a tutor. There use to be an Armenian community in Grand Rapids, Michigan, but not any more. I know this because in the city’s museum there is a display of a store run by an Armenian shop-keeper. But whoever they were and wherever they went to I do not know. One day I will meet an Armenian-speaker who will love poetry as much as I do and help me translate all the dark poems of my heart into the language I want to love but can’t speak. One day …

wanted: armenian typewriter for poetry

23 Wednesday Oct 2013

Posted by babylon crashing in Armenia

≈ Comments Off on wanted: armenian typewriter for poetry

Tags

Armenian typewriter, help, looking to buy, thank you

armenian underwood
……….. early 20th century underwood typewriter with armenian keys

DOES ANYONE KNOW: where I could buy an Armenian typewriter? I’ve looked on eBay to no luck. It might seem silly since there are free fonts for the computer online, but I want the machine, with buttons and those crazy insect-leg keys and the satisfying “t-chunk” sound each time I hit a key. Maybe someone’s grandparents have one up in a closet somewhere just dying to be loved again. I’ll send you copies of hand-typed poems, in Armenian. How cool would that be? Cheers!

martyr’s ancestors

14 Monday Oct 2013

Posted by babylon crashing in Armenia, Illustration and art, Poetry, sonnet

≈ Comments Off on martyr’s ancestors

Tags

1988 earthquake, 1995-1997, All Saviors Church, Ani, Arcadia, Armenia, Gyumri, Katie Aune, Peace Corps, poem, Poetry, sonnet

photo by katie aune

I lived near the ruins of All Saviors
Church. If this were an altar for the dead,
worshiped since 3000 BC, martyr’s
ancestors, then I would have prayed and fed
them as I once fed the dead of Ani’s
ruins, across the border, a different
city of ghosts. But it is not. What frees
all these dead from Arcadia’s ancient
curse? They entered into me, sick larvae
in a ripe fruit, and now I can’t leave it
alone. If I could call on some unknown
fury to heal this I would. But fury
and loss is what binds these cast-off spirits;
and now, like them, I can’t leave this alone.

][][

notes:

If metaphors are the engine that drives a poem then the problem with writing about a city that 98% of the free world has never heard of is, like trying to make sense of out-of-date pop cultural references, 98% of the free world won’t get what you’re trying to say. The metaphor, in other words, fails. I’m trying to avoid that here, but I realize that if I need to write several paragraphs in my notes explaining what each reference I use means then … perhaps I need to rethink how I can “talk right down to earth in a language that everybody here can easily understand.” (thank you, Living Color).

So, as a quick reference guide, here goes:

The poem is set in the earthquake-devastated city of Gyumri, Armenia; a part of the world that archaeologists have determined has been continually inhabited since 3000 BC. All Saviors Church was a ruined church down the street from where I once lived. Ani is an abandoned, ancient Armenian city just across the border between Armenia and Turkey. As a metaphor, Arcadia usually refers to the idea of an unspoiled, utopian wilderness; sort of like what your hippie parents (or grandparents) might talk about when someone mentions California in the 1960s. Needless to say, the 1960s have never been “all that,” in much the same way that modern-day Turkey has never been the cradle of anyone’s crescent civilization.

The photo I use here was taken by Katie Aune.

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