Transcript 2001 - 2014

Poetry – Marine Petrossian

By Marine Petrossian
Original language: Armenian
Translated into English by the author
Theme: Armenia
Standard text | Formatted text

Tramway

an accidental
unexpectedly cheery
accident happened to me
on paronian street
long two hours
i had been waiting
for the tramway
suddenly i remembered
that there is nothing at all
to lose

The Key

i went out to buy some bread they had written on the door
the salesman has gone to the forest
i tried to follow him but there was no forest nearby
it was rather amusing but i was hungry
i wanted to eat some mulberries then i remembered it was autumn long ago
then i was both sad and hungry
and the key was not in my pocket maybe i had lost it
or maybe i had not closed the door probably i had not
probably i had not but does it make any difference

Counter

unthinkable things were on sale
in that strange shop
but the most surprising
was the color of the counter an ungraspable color
that emitted warmth and the walls
were probably sloping because my head suddenly swam
with astounding realization that everything was there
that everything was there
that i lacked for nothing

The Others

the others
have walked
on this snow

but they are not
nearby
now

only me
the snow still coming down
and the trees

but these are not
others

the other
is the one
that can ask questions

I Am Not  Sona Baghdassarian

i am not sona baghdassarian
it was summer when i was born
like now
except that
nobody knew then
that we would walk and walk together
and come to this place
where it is summer again
like before
except that
nothing is for sure now
including the fact
that i am not sona baghdassarian

From the photo story

From the photo story “Demented Fairytale” by Anahit Hayrapetyan


Stove

this empty room –
i did like it
and make it mine –
only when the weather is snowy
i turn on the stove
there is nothing else
in the room
even this window
with a view of the city –
i did like it
and make it mine –
even this window
is not there

Bus-Stop

early in the morning
the streets yet empty of people
i went out
and sat at the bus stop
waiting for the city to wake
my eyes shutting heavily
i had a dream
early in the morning
the streets yet empty
i’m sitting at the bus stop
my eyes are shutting heavily
and i know for sure
the moment i shut them
there will be no more bus stop
and no more city
to return to

Heraclitus

it might not rain
but it rains
i’m drenched
and you say speak slowly speak slowly
so that i understand what you say
i say it might not rain
but it rains
and now when the earth and the trees
and we both are drenched
it is too late to swim in the river of yesterday
it is too late

Suspicion

the water
had flooded the streets
so many people around
shouting something incomprehensible
it was absolutely a feast day
everything was flowing
everything was soaked
and warm
then a suspicion sneaked into my mind
that all this was a dream
i opened my eyes
really
no one was shouting
it was absolutely not a feast day

From the photo story

From the photo story “Lebanon” by Anahit Hayrapetyan


Happy End

the film
was about the war
they had already dropped the bomb
and there was no way
we could escape
all of us knew
we were to die
in 10 minutes
or maybe 20
the next day at best
does it make any difference
when there is no hope
of escape
then all of a sudden
the lights went off
the film stopped
and i realized
the salvation sometimes may come
the very moment
you give up your hopes

Alice and the Train Whistle

a bucket of water
and not a single glass
i thought for a bit
and drank it with my hands
but nothing changed
it was the same room
and the same door
i had passed through
i thought for a bit
then i went out into the street
it was raining
and there was no one around
i walked for a while
the sun began shining
and everything became utterly unbelievable
though everything was real
like the whistle of the train
let’s take it easy
that there is no train

Pears

the cold
spreads from the corner part
near the cupboard

this is why
it is colder now
though the winter
is over

i decided
to find another room
then i realized
that the cold
is not linked
to the room

rather
it is linked
with strangely tasting pears
i had bought
last autumn

and now there is no way
the cold would stop
because i have eaten
all of them

and I have no other choice
but to have eaten
those pears

Metaphysics

our father, i said…
but he didn’t let me continue

rather strange
i never say our father

perhaps it was a dream
or maybe i was bewildered
to see that he exists

our father, i said…
but as if he knew
what I would inquire about

take it easy

these were his only words
then he left

Postmodern

while sitting at the café
i saw myself
walking down the street

and it was like…

i can’t tell
what was it like

it was like a film

that one will end
and a new one will start

i will be always there
as a part of the film

and also as the one
watching the film

The Fanta Bottle

the dog chased crazily the fanta bottle
that was rolling and rattling up and down by the wind
he was too busy to notice me looking back again and again
to watch the play

on my way back
the dog was there as well as the bottle
but the rattling was not there
the dog stared at me blankly
i hurt the fanta bottle to remind him of the play
but he did not seem to remember

maybe it was not the same dog

Photo de la série "The Ghost House" d'Anahit Hayrapetyan.

Photo de la série "The Ghost House" d'Anahit Hayrapetyan.