Blackwell Family Blackwell, Alice Stone Subject File Armenia: Poems translated By Alice Stone BlackwellNew Dark Days From the Armenian of Bedros Turian Rendered into English verse by Alice Stone Blackwell (Bedros Tourian, one of the best Armenian poets was the son of an Armenian blacksmith of Scutari. He died of consumption in 1872, at the age of 20. When this poem was written, the Armenian Christians were forbidden by the Turkish government to possess any weapon while their oppressors were fully armed The situation today is a thousand times worse The centuries of bloodshed Are past, those cruel years, But there is still one country Whose mountains drip with tears, Whose river-banks are blood-stained, Whose mourning loads the the breeze-- A land of dreary ruins, Ashes and cypress trees. No more for the Armenian A twinkling star appears. His spirit's flowers have faded Beneath a rain of tears. Ceased are the sounds of harmless [mir?] The dances hand in hand: Only the weapon of the [Ko?] Shines freely through the [?] The bride's soft eyes are tearful Behind her tresses' flow, Lest the Koord's shout should interrupt Love's whisper, sweet and low. Red blood succeeds love's rosy flush; Slain shall the bridegroom be, And by the dastard Koords the bride Be led to slavery. The peasant sows, but never reaps: He hungers evermore. He eats his bread in bitterness, And tastes of anguish sore Lo! tears and blood together Drop from his pallid face; And these are our own brothers, Of our own blood and race. The forehead pure, the sacred veil Of the Armenian maid, Shall rude hands touch, and hell's hot Her innocence invade? They do it as men crush a flower, By no compunctions stirred;They slaughter an Armenian As they would kill a bird O roots of vengence, heroes' bones, Who fell of old in fight, Have ye all crumbed into dust, Nor sent one shoot to light? Oh, of that eagle nation Now trampled by the Koord, Is nothing left but black-hued crows, And moles with eyes obscured? Give back our sisters' roses, Our brothers who have died The crosses of our churches, Our nation's peace and pride! O Sultan, we demand of thee And with our hearts entreat - Give us protection from the Koord, Or arms his arms to meet! ______________________________________________ If published, please send me a copy. If not wanted, kindly return to A. S. Blackwell 3 Monadnock St., Dorchester, Mass. Stamp enclosed. From the Armenian of A. Aharouien. Oh, sleep, my little one; oh, sleep once more! Thou must not weep, for I have wept full sore. The blind wild geese flew, screaming mournfully, Across our heavens black, o'er vale & hill; Blinded they were among our mountains high! Thou need'st not weep, for I have wept my fill. The gale is moaning in the forests dark; 'Tis the lament of homeless corpses chil[?] Ah, many & many a corpse unburied lies! Thou needst not weep, for I have wept my fill. Laden with tears, the caravan passed by, Knelt in the forest black, & stays there still. It was our land's calamities & woes! Thou needest not weep for I have wept my fill. Beads have I strung & on thy cradle bound To save thee from our foeman's evil eye. Oh, sleep & grow, my little one, make hasteThou needn't not weep; my tears were seldom dry! My milk has frozen on thy pallid lips; Tis bitter, and thou dost not want it more. With it is mixed the poison of my grief. Thou needst not weep for I have wept full sore. Oh, with my milk drink in my black grief too! Let it black venegenance in thy soul instill! Short of, my darling, grow to stature tall! Thou need'st not weep, for I have wept my fill. Homeless Armenians. Homeless Armenians, onward we roam! Homeless Armenians far from our home; On through the desert sadly we go! Onward! onward! through the deep snow. Footsore, tired and weary are we. Again our dear homes we would gladly see. Give us our homes that war has taken! Homeless Armenians, onward we roam. Homeless Armenians far from our home. Bernard Phillips Dec. 1916.Always hard, so hard, so hard! Ever slave, from bad to worse, Even seek and seek and seek - Blessings from the foeman's curse! From one end of this dark world To the other do we go Out of sorrow evermore Into suffering and woe. Ever step and step and step, Plead and plead, with every breath; Always need and need and need - Never joy, not e'en in death!2 copies A Goluth March From the Yiddish of Morris Rosenfeld. Rendered into English verse by Alice Stone Blackwell. With the wanderer's staff in hand, Without country, without home, With no morrow, no today, With no goal, no friend, we roam. Suffered not, but still pursued, Chased and driven on our way. Wheresoe'er we pass the night There we must not pass the day. Always woe and woe and woe, Always go and go and go; Ever step and step and step - While strength lasts, no rest we know. Our heroic might lies low, And our Torah is a prey. And our name a danger dire; (3 times) Yea, our lineage proud today Is but an anxiety That with trouble racks the breast; Our deep learning is a crime, Our nobility a jest. (over)THE LONGINGS OF ARMENIAN FIELDS From the Armenian of Siamente ----- rough, literal draft. From the domains of Ararat, to The Valleys of the Euphrates,, We address to thee the longings and complaints Which arise from the depths of our hearts,- Ye traitors, deserters, and cowards to life! Exiles, outcasts, wanderers, where are you? Where are your arms which ploughed our sides? Where are you the unbribable and unfrowning foreheads of the old days When the sweat of the mighty and noble tiller poured like pearls into the felds of out furrows Hands of the old days, where are you? Blessed hands, pure hands, fruitful hands, good and fertile hands, noble and decisive hands-? When, the holy seed of wheat in your balms you sewed it freely like handsful of molten gold,) - And when you sang the song of the plough, and your stout oxen plunging their iron like bolts into our [xxxxxxxxxxx] hearts, from acre to acre, lowing proudly, they furrowed- And rain and the sun, harmoniuosly in accordance with the measure of the great law, descended to fertilize the seed which you commette to the soil. And when the summer was young, or before the Fall died away you came from the cities and villages laden with scythes and sickles - You came by the thousands to reap the golden harvests of ripe impartial wheat from Armenian fields as a gift to Man. But how many springs and yearning autumns have come and gone, and our fruitless and flowerless fields wait for you. Oh have pity on thy faithful ancestral soils. Have pity on widows and rose-like orphans, who, dissappointed in the morning, tragic in the evening, Page 2 THE LONGINGS OF THE ARMENIAN FIELDS ----- Siamento beating their breasts, they implore for a handful of wheat from our sodden sides/; And they go away from the Armenian fields cursing the law of life, and nature, too, her [xxxxxxxx] blessings and her products inaccessible Turn to us, unworthy heirs of thousands of years, Turn to us from the ways of foreignness and vice, You who are disappointed or calamity-driven, and yet [evil-cen quering] workers, come all of you to the embrace of your benevolent nature. All good proceeds from our breasts and mountains- Every metal has under our strata its marvellous treasure- From us only you can wrest the gold of Hope and the wine of the Dream. We give the victories, and ours are the defeats. Return sons to your tilling and polish and clean the rust off your plough. Let once more the soil of your ancient fatherland flourish- Let our crops spread like oceans from valley to valley- Let the sheaves and thrieshing floors above the hills, to the moon rise, Let the Armenian shephers in the pasture, like his ancestors, charm his fleck with the melodious thrill of his flute. Let the water-mill in the vale be set in the motion- And peace and plenty come to brighten the dim eyes of the Armenian race who have shed tears over our hearts. All good and all remedy for human ills you must expect from our thoughts, our depths, and our laws. And thus, with the branches of the divine olive tree, the sword is born from us as well as the holiness of the [xx] wheat.In my memory she dwells Ever sweet and ever young, As in days of long ago When for us her songs were sung. Sweet her face was as her voice; Every eye with feeling glistened; Hearts she charmed as well as ears, And we loved her while we listened! Sweet her soul was as her face For the night her voice was lifted Noble were those thrilling strains That o'er listening thousands drifted. Ah, how many ears that heard her Now are closed to earthly voices! Singers pass, but [the] song [*continues*] goes on, And the music still rejoices Whereso'er her old friends [lr] [stray] go In the land[s] of the hereafter yet rings the voice [Still their hear] In their [hearts must dwell] souls [still must dwell] the voice [They must be] That once woke their tears and laughterShe is beloved In both worlds her name is dear Surely she is blest forever Mio has hosts of loving friends On each side of death's dark river! To Mrs. Flora Barry On her 80th birthday Sept. 19, 1916.along life's hard way. And the seeds of your kindness, like sands of the sea Uncounted in number, you [shed] sow full & free. The body grows weaker with years that depart, But [richer] stronger & richer the soul & the heart. And we see ever brighter, around your dear head, A saint's golden halo its clear lustre shed! May you stay with us long, for that soft, hallowed ray Makes us stronger for duty, and helps on our way!Dear Clara, the bells of these flowers that you see Are ringing a soft birthday greeting from me. All blossoms, with beauty & mystery rife, Seem to whisper to me of your beautiful life. From the wee baby bud in your cradle fold, The years have beheld your existence unfold Your soul growing fairer with every new day And shedding here fragranceThe smiling Spring [time] has come once more To hill & vally, wood & plain And with the blossoms & the birds Your birthday comes again Twas right that you were born in spring For all your long & noble life Has been with [bloss] sunshine & sweet air With birds & blossoms rife Now could foresee your horoscopeCatherine Breshkovksy to I.C. Barrows Jan.18. x 1912 Tchaykovsky Jan 20 x " Wellesley Feb 10. x " A.S.B. Mar 8. x " " Mar. 14/27 x " I.C. Barrows Mar. 31 x " " " April 13 x " Friend April. " H. C. Dudley June. " I. C. Barrows Aug 6/19. x " H. C. Dudley in French Sept 26. " Mr. Lewis Herishoff " " " " Oct 10/23 x " I.C. Barrows " 2 Upon that fair, far-off spring day Men in the old log cabin's shade A tiny baby lay. That babe was destined [to] the world To class like spring & put to flight The colors of the winter cold Of darkness & old night. With those who labored by her sideKatherine Breshkovsky to A S. Blackwell Sept 20, 1911 " " " Miss. [Wal??]. Sept 11. x " " " " A.S.B. " 6. x " " " " Mr. Layeref. Autumn " " " " A. S.B. Card Oct 24 . " " " " H.C. Dudley & A.S.B. Nov.15. " " " " A. S. B Nov.13. x " " " " " Nov 20} x " Dec. 3 } " " " H. C. Dudley Dec 15/25 " " " " A. S. B Dec. } " Jan 12} " " " J.C. Barrows Card " 3 She quite transformed the old world's face And did it as the [?] works, With gentleness & grace, If clouds above her pathway lowered And broke in showers of weeping rain She kept a buoyant heart & soon the sun shone out againGeo. Lazarell to Helen Dudley - Nov. 5, 1911 " " " A. S. B. " 27 " " " " " " " Dec. 20, " " " " " " " Jan. 20 1912 " " " " " " " 21 " " " " " " " " 30 " " " " Mrs. Barrows Aug. 11. " " " " A. S. B Feb. 2, 1913 " " " " " " Mar. 31 " " " " " " " Nov. 7 " " " " " " " Dec. 8 " " " " " " " " 12 " " " " " " " " 14 " " " " Mrs. Ulussey Jan. 20, 1914 " " " A.S.B Feb. 11, " " " " " " " Mar. 23, " " " " " " " July 11 " " " " " " " June 12 " " " " " " " Sept. 9 " " " " " " " Dec. 28 " " " " Helen Dudley. Mar, 18 1915. " " " A.S.B " 28 " " " " A.S.B. May 29. " " " " " " " Oct. 12. " " " " W. Mussey " 18. " " " " Helen Dudley Nov. 15. " " " " A.S.B. Dec. 30 " " " " " " " Jan. 2 1916. " " " " " " " 5, " " " " " " " Feb. 25 " And as the springtime in its wake Brings lovely flowers of every hue Her children & grandchildren fair Now make a springtime new Religion & philosophy With pious heart & able brain She's cultivated all her life And wooed them not in vain And now that she is 93 And dark her once keen sight has grew[*II*] Mrs. Brushkovsky to Ellen Starr. undated " " " Arthur Bullard " " " A.S.B {May 27} " " {June 9} 1911 " " {June 15/28} " " undated " " Mrs. Barrows {May 30} {June 12} 1911 " " A.S.B. {June 18} " " Hellen Dudley {June 20} " " {July 2} " " A.S.B. July 11/22 " " " " " July 21 " " " J.[?] Herreslo?? July 15 " " " A.S.B {Aug. 24} " {Sept. 6} " " Miss Wald. {Aug. 29} {Sept. 11} " {Aug 31} {Sept. 13} " " " Mrs. Barrows. {Sept. 23} " {Oct. 13} {Sept. 30} " {Oct. 13} Religion & philosophy still make her heart their throne. The dreary spring weather her breast Answers the call of spring outside A bright example she displays To Christians far & wide You keep a forward-looking mind Although with shadowed eyes you sit Fair [Bright] visions of the future life Shining around [before] you flit [Before you rise &] 79 letters counting clippings & cards.Catherine Breshkovsky to H.C. Dudley Jan 17/30 1915 " " " Mrs. Mussey April 19 " " " " A.S.B Aug. " " " " G. Lazareff Nov. 25 " Catherine Breshkovsky to H.C. Dudley spring 1916 " " " L. Herishoff July 24. " " " " H.C. Dudley Aug. 2 " " " " Ernest Pool Oct 20 " " " " A.S.B. Oct. 28 " " " " A.S.B. Nov. 10 " " " " H.C. Dudley Nov. 5 " " " " A.S.B. " " " " " " Catherine Breshkovsky to A.S.B May 3. 1917 Catherine Breshkovsky to Tchaykovsky Nov. 10, 1910 From Fellow Exile ...... Setp 16/24 1910 6 [You'll always be a spirit bright On earth below, or A spirit bright you'll always be] You'll always be a spirit bright, If here below, or up above And all your kindred send today Their greetings & their love! Catherine Breshkovsky to A.S.B. Feb/ 12/25 x 1913 " " " I. C. Barrows Feb. x " " " " A. Bullard Feb. 14/27 x " " " " H. C. Dudley Mar. 15/28 x " " " " A. S. B. Mar 15/28 x " " " " Effie Danforth Mar. 15/28 x " " " " A. S. B. Mar 30 x " Apr 2 x " " " " " April " " " " " card May 11/24 x " " " " " card June 3/16 x " " " " H. C. Dudley Aug 12/25 x " " " " L. Wald Oct 20 " To future Generations by S. Viatkin No place for murmuring no place for reproaches before this war, which may be the last one: for the sake of the whole earth, for the sake of new life, we accepted the challenge and rushed into battle. And onward move we in mighty ranks, beneath a hail of bullets, yet full of courage, in order that over your fields the war's mad laughter henceforth sound no more. Trenches, exploding mines, conflagrations, fragments of guns and bayonets, are mounds of dead bodies, - all this, dear future generations, in order that you have as your heritage, the heritage happiness of living peacefully and brightly. Alas, our grandsons horrified will not believe us: so many tears are all around so much shame, and so many insults, that at times it seems our souls can bear no more this dreadful torment, our intellect cannot contain it. 2 And shall we count our wounds while still the battle rages, or will history, some time, count them all, and, grateful for our saving sacrifice, in future will adjudge us fame and glory? And you, so far away, with hearts all free of anger, you wised by [?] nourished by blesséd ages, will you recall then all our wrath, and pain, and fear, and will your maidens with their lily hands upon our dust lay wreathes of flowers? Stanza: u - u - u - u - u - u - u a u - u - u - u - u - u - b u - u - u - u - u - u - u a u - u - u - u - u - u - b Last Stanza u - u - u - u - u - u - u a u - u - u - u - u - u - u a u - u - u - u - u - u - b u - u - u - u - u - u - u a u - u - u - u - u - u - b A B - Armenian Translation "Cradle Song" Johannes gave me an English version [of me a [?]] more Armenian poems including one very [?] cradle song, that I shall [?] put into English verse, though a good deal, fit [?] [?] inevitably, he [?] in the [?].