Ruben Sevak - THE HARLOT

It was way past midnight, a muggy night of showers, 
Under the wet lantern light you stood there forlorn,
The water sang on the sidewalk, cars ran at random; 
You waited there, lingering on that bit of plot of yours. 

A strained smile sobbed deep in your sapphire eyes, 
There was the strain of pain on your brazen painted lips,
And under the pretty paired decline of your décolletage, 
There was no bound to ardors that would last all night. 

You were waiting prepared, submissive and compliant,
without love or choice, to offer yourself, eyes shut tight, 
To that condescending male who had bread to impart… 

I felt a faint flame, like pity, or passion within my heart, 
And maybe that night, I would have ceded to you, sister,
If a lone teardrop had not congealed on my cheeks… 
It was way past midnight, a muggy night of showers.

RUBEN SEVAK

 Translated by Tatul Sonentz

Ruben Sevak - ARMENIA

Who is sobbing thus in front of my shack?

            It is the exile -- sister, open the door…

Lamenting skeletons? Elapsing outside, alack!

            It is the famine – open your door…

Is that a cleaver battering my door to wreck?

It is the slaughter – open your door…

……………………. Ruben Sevak

(1909)

Translated by Tatul Sonentz

Ruben Sevak - THE SWANS

T H E   S W A N S

Il est d’etranges soirs,

Ou les fleurs ont une ame…

                Albert Samain

Silent is the night, a serene summer night,

Darkness has draped the vastness of the sky;

In the distance, only a few scattered lights

Flake down their snow ever so softly…

Not a whisper. Silence shimmers and shivers

In the endless, limitless expanse of space;

And like blinking eyes, the distant glimmers

Of street lights gleam in the palm of suburbs.

Towering in the eyes of the dark, the far away

Shadow of the Juras naps serene, soundless;

Further up, enormous, with disdainful sway

Rises high the Alps’ amethyst countenance.

Couched sensuously in the primeval cradle

Of the ageless pair of the most majestic chain,

Slumbers the azure spirit of Leman, lovable

As the fairest of fairies of those mountains.

* * *

The night is still, the lake, sad. In the distance,

Enticing as early sunrays, playful as bubbles,

On the becalmed surface of the sleeping waters,

Two swans slide silent, in secluded loneliness.

Their bodies are lovely, unsoiled by any speck,

With snow-white feathered wings of silver,

And their long, marble-cast, curvilinear necks

Akin to temple columns designed by dreamers.

They approach each other, oh, ever so slowly,

After a straight surge avast, they join beaks,

In a way not ever matched by lips in ecstasy,

In fervor of such turmoil that passion wreaks.

* * *

And they raise high their snow-white wings,

They entwine their soaring necks skyward,

In a manner that no two arms can ever swing,

Even at love’s peak passion’s clear command…

Far, far away, village lights flicker in the dark,

Farther, yet higher, is the Juras’ distinct likeness;

Higher yet, the panorama of the Alps, tall, stark;

Higher still, the firmament stands as witness….

Below, morose, on the placid, napping waters,

Content with the knowledge of a regal duty,

Mouth to mouth, neck around neck, ponder

The swans in deep silence, motionless, haughty….

July, 1907 ------------------ RUBEN SEVAK

Translated by Tatul Sonentz