Poems of Bedros Duryan

Poems of Bedros Duryan
Duryan Bedros

Classic bestseller
Spontaneous, eloquent and richly endowed with imagery and metaphors, his poems reveal natural artistic brilliance, and paved the way with innovation from the old style of writing. Critics have credited Tourian with originating the modern lyric tradition in verse. Knowing that he would die young, he rode the roller coaster of emotion, complaining to the Almighty in one poem and beseeching forgiveness in another. Unrealized dreams and an anxiety to live to contribute to his nation caused him deep pain and sorrow, which are reflected in his writing. The following poem, Little Lake, is an allusion to the fact that apparently Tourian who was in love with an actress, overheard her scornfully saying, “Oh him? He is trembling and so pale—he might even die one of those days!” (which, sadly, he did).

Bedros Duryan

Poems of Bedros Duryan

1. LITTLE LAKE

WHY dost thou lie in hushed surprise,
Thou little lonely mere ?
Did some fair woman wistfully
Gaze in thy mirror clear?

Or are thy waters calm and still
Admiring the blue sky,
Where shining cloudlets, like thy foam,
Are drifting softly by ?

Sad little lake, let us be friends!
I too am desolate ;
I too would fain, beneath the sky,
In silence meditate.

As many thoughts are in my mind
As wavelets o’er thee roam ;
As many wounds are in my heart
As thou hast flakes of foam.

But if heaven’s constellations all
Should drop into thy breast,
Thou still wouldst not be like my soul, —
A flame-sea without rest.

There, when the air and thou are calm,
The clouds let fall no showers ;
The stars that rise there do not set,
And fadeless are the flowers.

Thou art my queen, O little lake !
For e’en when ripples thrill
Thy surface, in thy quivering depths
Thou hold’st me, trembling, still.

Full many have rejected me :
“ What has he but his lyre? ”
“ He trembles, and his face is pale ;
His life must soon expire! ”

None said, “ Poor child, why pines he thus ?
If he beloved should be,
Haply he might not die, but live, —
Live, and grow fair to see.”

None sought the boy’s sad heart to read,
Nor in its depths to look.
They would have found it was a fire,
And not a printed book !

Nay, ashes now! a memory !
Grow stormy, little mere,
For a despairing man has gazed
Into thy waters clear !

2. WISHES FOR ARMENIA

WHEN bright dews fall on leaf and flower,
And stars light up the skies,
Then tears and sparks commingled
Burst forth from my dim eyes.
Forget thee, O Armenia!
Nay, rather may I be
Transformed into a cypress dark,
And so give shade to thee !

The starry sky no comfort brings :
To me it seems a veil
Strewn with the tears that Ararat
Sheds from his summit pale.
O graves! O ruins! to my soul
Your memory is as dear
As to the lover’s thirsting heart
The maiden’s first love-tear.
And shall my spirit after death
Oblivious be of you ?
Nay, but become a flood of tears,
And cover you with dew !

Not sword nor chains, abysses deep
Nor precipices fell,
Not thunder’s roll, nor lightning’s flash,
Nor funeral torch and knell —
Not all of these, ’neath death’s dark stone
Can ever hide from me
The glowing memories of the past,
Our days of liberty.
Forget you? Ne’er will I forget,