![ีีธึีทีกีตีซึ ีฎีธึีญีจ [ีฅึีฏีซีถึ ีขีกึีฑึีกึีกีพ] [version 07]](https://64.media.tumblr.com/982fae6e6863d8df29b9913bf3ef3757/0a66c7e7de284f66-c5/s1280x1920/fbf2e87df770413ee7168a0053609c9ef47884c3.png)
ARMENIAN ิตีพีฝ ีดีฅีฏ ีขีกีถีกีฝีฟีฅีฒีฎีธึีฉีตีธึีถ ีซีถึีถีกีฐีผีนีกีฏีพีกีฎ ยซีกึีฝีธึีตีกีฌีซยป ีฏีธีฒีดีซึ, ีธึีถ ีกีผีกีปีซีถ ีกีถีฃีกีด ีงึ ีฟีฅีฝีถีธึีด ิฑึีกึีกีฟีจ, ึ ีฐีซีกีฝีฉีกึีธึีฉีตีกีถ ีณีซีนีธีพ ิฑีถีซีถ ีขีกีถีกีฝีฟีฅีฒีฎีธึีฉีตีธึีถีถีฅึีซ ีฃีซึึีจ ีถีฅีฟีฅึ ีฝีฅีถีตีกีฏีซ ีดีตีธึีฝ ีฏีธีฒีดีจ: ิฒีกีถีกีฝีฟีฅีฒีฎีธึีฐีธึ ีฌีฅีฆีธึีถ ีนีกึีกีฆีกีถึ ึีถีกึีกีฏีกีถ ีงึ. ยซิฑึีกึีกีฟ, ีฅีฝ ีฃีฅึีพีกีฎ ีฅีด ึีธ ีฏึีกีฏีธีพโฆยป ึ ีคึีกีถีธีพ ิฑีถีซีถ ีขีกีถีกีฝีฟีฅีฒีฎีธึีฉีตีธึีถีจ ีบีธีฏีฅึ ีฃึึีซึ ึ ีกีตึีฅึ ีกีตีถ ีซึ ีฏึีกีฏีกีตึีซีนีธีพ: (ีีธึีทีกีตีซึ ีฎีธึีญ ีขีกึีฑึีกึีกีพ ีคีฅีบีซ ีฅึีฏีซีถึ): ีีซีทีธึีด ีฅีด, ีฐีธีฏีฟีฅีดีขีฅึีซีถ ีฉีกีพีปีธึีฉีกีฏีกีฐีกึ ีึีกีฏีจ ีถีพีกีฃีฅึ ิฟีธีดีซีฟีกีฝีซ ยซิฟีผีธึีถีฏีจยป ีีกีฆีกีถีนีฅึีธึ ีฟีกีณีกึีซ ีผีดีขีกีฏีธีฎีพีกีฎ ีกีพีฅึีกีฏีถีฅึีธึีดี ีีธึีทีกีตีซ ีกีถีฏีธึีดีซึ ีดีซ ึีกีถีซ ึ ึ ีกีผีกีป (ิฑึีกึีกีฟีจ ีีธึีทีซีซึ ีนีซ ีฅึึีธึีด, ีฆีกึีดีกีถีกีฌีซ ีนีง, ีธึ ีขีกีถีกีฝีฟีฅีฒีฎีถีฅึีจ ีคึีก ีดีกีฝีซีถ ีนีฅีถ ีฃึีธึีด): (ยซิถีกึีฏีกีฎ ีฅีด ีซ ีทีกีดึีธึึีถ, ีขีผีถีกีฎ ีฏึีกีฏีซีถ,/ ิฑีตึีซีฌีฝ ีนีฅีด ีฐีธีฃีกึ, ีฑีฅีฆีถีง ีฏีกึึ ีฟ ีฅีด./ ิฟีผีธีึีถีฏ, ีดีฅึ ีกีทีญีกึีฐีงีถ ีญีกีบึีซีฏ ีดีซ ีนีธึีถีซีีฝ:ยป) (ีีธึีทีกีตีซึ ีฎีธึีญีจ ีคีฅีผ ีขีกึีฑึีกีถีธึีด ีงึ ีคีฅีบีซ ีฅึีฏีซีถึ): ีีซีทีธึีด ีฅีด, ีฉีฅ ีซีถีนีบีฅีฝ ิฑีถีซีถ ีกีฝีกึ, ีธึ ีฟีฅีฝีฅีฌ ีง ีีฅึีชีซีถี ีีกีฆีกีถีนีฅึีธึ ีฟีกีณีกึีธึีด ีฅึีฃีฅีฌีซีฝ ยซีีงึ, ีธีฒีธึีดีฅีกยปึ (ีีธึีทีกีตีซึ ีฎีธึีญีจ ีฅึีฏีซีถึ ีขีกึีฑึีกึีกีพ)ึ ีีซีทีธึีด ีฅีด, ีฉีฅ ีซีถีนีบีฅีฝ ีงึ ิฑีถีซีถ ีฏีฅีฝึ ึีซีถ ีดีฅึีฅีถีกีตีธีพ ีฃีถีธึีด ีีธึีทีก, ีฏีฅีฝึ ึีซีถ ีถึีก ีดีฅึีฅีถีกีถ ีฐึีฉีซีผีถีฅึีธีพ ีญีธึีพีฅึึ (ีีธึีทีกีตีซึ ีฎีธึีญีจ ีฅึีฏีซีถึ ีขีกึีฑึีกึีกีพ)ึ ิดีก ีฐีซีถีฃ ีกีดีซีฝ ีกีผีกีป ีงึึ (ยซิถีกึีฏีกีฎ ีฅีด ีซ ีทีกีดึีธึึีถ, ีขีผีถีกีฎ ีฏึีกีฏีซีถ,/ ิฑีตึีซีฌีฝ ีนีฅีด ีฐีธีฃีกึ, ีฑีฅีฆีถีง ีฏีกึึ ีฟ ีฅีด./ ิฟีผีธีึีถีฏ, ีดีฅึ ีกีทีญีกึีฐีงีถ ีญีกีบึีซีฏ ีดีซ ีนีธึีถีซีีฝ:ยป) ิผีฝีฅีฌ ีฅีด, ีธึ ีขีกีถีกีฝีฟีฅีฒีฎีจ ีฐีซีดีก ีดีซ ีกีดีขีธีฒีป ีฃีซึึ ีง ีฃึีธึีด ยซีฝีธึึีข ีฌีฅีผยป ีซึ ีธึีญีฟีกีฃีถีกึีธึีฉีตีกีถ ีดีกีฝีซีถึ ิดีชีพีกึ ีง ีดีฅึ ีฌึีกีฟีพีกีดีซีปีธึีถีฅึีซึ ีฌีธึึีฅึ ีฝีฟีกีถีกีฌ, ีฅึีข ีคึีกีถึ ีดีซีกีตีถ ีฏีกึีธีฟีกีญีฟ ีฅีถ ีฐึีกีบีกึีกีฏีธึีดึ ิฟีผีธีึีถีฏ, ีดีฅึ ีกีทีญีกึีฐีงีถ ีญีกีบึีซีฏ ีดีซ ีนีธึีถีซีีฝ: ิฟีผีธีึีถีฏ, ีดีฅึ ีกีทีญีกึีฐีงีถ ีญีกีบึีซีฏ ีดีซ ีนีธึีถีซีีฝ: ิฟีผีธีึีถีฏ, ีดีฅึ ีกีทีญีกึีฐีงีถ ีญีกีบึีซีฏ ีดีซ ีนีธึีถีซีีฝ: ENGLISH Another poem by a self-proclaimed โexileโ who was seeing Ararat for the first time, and with a cry of disappointment, Ani threw the book of poems across the room. The poetโs language was extremely lyrical: โArarat, I am captivated by your fireโฆโ and with that, Ani tore the poem out of the book and burned it with her lighter. (Smoke rose to the sky from Shusha). I remember, in October, the cellist Sevak [*] played Komitasโ โCraneโ in the bombed ruins of the Ghazanchetsots Cathedral, a few days before the fall of Shusha (Shusha is not visible from Ararat, it is not surprising that poets do not write about it). (โThey have put me on the spit and placed me at the fire,/ I donโt care about my life, I miss you./ Crane, don't you have any news from our country?โ) (Smoke was still rising to the sky from Shusha). I remember how Ani said that she saw Serj [**] singing โLord, have mercyโ in the Ghazanchetsots Cathedral. (Smoke rose to the sky from Shusha). I remember how Ani was driving to Shusha in the afternoon, and in the afternoon her car was hit by rockets. (Smoke rose to the sky from Shusha). That was five months ago. (โThey have put me on the spit and placed me at the fire,/ I donโt care about my life, I miss you./ Crane, don't you have any news from our country?โ) I heard that the poet is now writing a whole book about his pilgrimage to the "holy mountain". It's hard to get news from our media when they only publish nostalgia. Crane, don't you have any news from our country? Crane, don't you have any news from our country? Crane, don't you have any news from our country? ึ Notes. [*] Sevak Avanesyan [**] Serj Tankian
ARMENIAN ิฑีถีทีธึีทีฟ, ีฏีกีถ ีขีกีผีฅึ, ีธึีธีถึ ีฏีกึีธีฒ ีฅีด ึ ีฃีฟีกีฃีธึีฎีฅีฌ ีกีตึีพีธีฒ, ีคีธีฒีกึีธีฒ ึ ีฐีกีถีฏีกึีฎีกีฏีซ ีกีถีทีกึีช ีดีกึีดีถีซ ีถีฏีกึีกีฃึีฅีฌีธึ ีฐีกีดีกึึ ิฒีกีตึ ีคึีกีถึ ีดีธีญึีกีฃีธึีตีถ ึ ีดีผีกีตีฌ ีขีกีผีฅึ ีฅีถึ ิฑีตีค ีฐีธีฟีจ ีธีนีถีนีธีพ ีนีซ ีถีดีกีถีพีธึีด ีฐึีฉีซีผีถีฅึีซ ีดีฅีป ีบีกึีธึีถีกีฏีพีธีฒ ีฏีกีตีฎีกีฏีซีถ ีธึ ึีธีฉีธึีฏีซีถ, ีฐีกีถีฏีกึีฎีกีฏีซ [ีขีธึีด-ีขีธึีด-ีขีธึีด] ีบีกีตีฉีตีธึีถีซีถ, ีธึีจ ีฅีฝ ีฌีฝีฅึีซ, ีขีกีตึ ีนีฟีฅีฝีกึ ิฑีตีค ีฐีธีฟีซ ีฉีธึีตีฌ ีถีทีธึีตีฌ ีฏีกึ, ีฅึีข ีฐีกึึีกีถีถีฅึีจ ิฑีถีซีซีถ ีคีธึึีฝ ีฐีกีถีฅึีซีถ ีกีตึีพีธีฒ ีดีฅึีฅีถีกีตีซึึ ีึีก ีดีกีฆีฅึีจ ีดีซีถีนึ ีฃีฌีญีกีดีกีทีฏีจ ีกีตึีพีกีฎ ีงีซีถึ ิตีพ ีซีีถีน ีฏีกึีธีฒ ีฅีฝ ีกีถีฅีฌ ีถีดีกีถ ีฐีธีฟีฅึีซ ีฐีฅีฟึ ิตีฝ ีพีกีฆีฅึีซ ีณีกีถีกีบีกึีฐีธีพ, ีธึีทีกึีกีฎึ ิฒีกีผีฅึีซึ ีกีฒึีกีฟ ีฅีดึ ิตึีขีฅึ ีนีฅีถ ีขีกีพีกีฏีกีถีกึีถีซ, ีธึ ีฟีฅีฝีถีฅีฝึ ิฒีกีตึ ีฅีฝ ีฐีกึีธึีฝีฟ ีฅีด ีฐีธีฟีซ ีฝีกึีฝีกึีธีพึ ิตีฝ ีฃีซีฟีฅีด ีดีฏีกีถีถีฅึีซ ึ ีณีกึีบีซ ีกีตึีธึีดีจึ ิตีฝ ีฃีซีฟีฅีด ีกีตึีพีกีฎ ีกึีตีกีถ ึ ีฅึีฏีกีฉีธีพ ีฐีกึีธึีฝีฟ ึ ึีฃีกีถีถีฅึีซ ีดีฅีฟีกีฒีกีฏีกีถ ีฐีธีฟีจึ ิตีฝ ีฃีซีฟีฅีด ีกีตึีพีธีฒ ีธึีฒีฅีฒ-ีธีฒีถีธึีฒีฅีฒีกีตีซีถ ีฐีฅีฒีธึีฏีซ ีฐีซีพีกีถีคีกีฃีซีถ ึีกีฒึึ ีขีธึีตึีจึ ิตีฝ ีฃีซีฟีฅีด ีฐีกีฌีพีธีฒ ีดีกีฆีฅึีซ ึ ีฅีฒีธึีถีฃีถีฅึีซ ีฎีฎีดีขีกีตีซีถ ีฐีธีฟีจึ ิตีฝ ีพีกีฆีฅึีซ ีณีกีถีกีบีกึีฐีธีพ, ีธึีทีกึีกีฎึ ิตีพ ีซีีถีน ีฏีกึีธีฒ ีฅีฝ ีกีถีฅีฌ ีถีดีกีถ ีฐีธีฟีฅึีซ ีฐีฅีฟ, ีขีกึีซ ีฃีกึีทีฅีฌีธึึึ ENGLISH There are certainly words I can use to describe a burning, quivering, and suddenly still body. But they are gray and gloomy words. That smell is nothing like the lightning and storm contained in rockets, the sudden [boom-boom-boom] explosion that I heard but did not see. There was a faint hint of that smell when the neighbors pulled Ani out of the burning car. Her hair was burned to the scalp. And what can you do with smells like that? I ran down the road, late. I am poor in words. They will never be enough for you to see. But I am rich in the horror of smell. I know the burning of muscle and fat. I know the metallic smell of burnt blood and iron-rich organs. I know the sickeningly sweet aroma of burning cerebro-spinal fluid. I know the sulfurous smell of melting hair and nails. I ran down the road, late. And what can you do with such smells except stink? ึ
