Preface

Avetik Isahakian is one of the greatest Armenian poets of the 20th century. The centenary of his birth is being celebrated this year in Armenia and in many countries throughout the world.
He is a poet of intricate temperament embodying the "sorrow of love," the "sorrow of the Armenian people" and the so-called "world sorrow"; he has expressed with a burning passion the grief and desolation, the faith and rebellion of all mankind in many of his poems and especially in his "Abu Lala Mahari", now being brought to your attention.
A. Isahakian was born in the country in an Armenian family; he traveled all over the world, and was educated in Germany and Switzerland; he got acquainted with all the religions and teachings, the faiths and sects known to the world; he studied Buddha and Confucius, Christ and Mohammed, Lao-Tsze, Nietzsche and Schopenhauer, Marx and Lenin; and all this complex moulding of human emotions and thoughts Isahakian expressed in his limpid, almost rural songs.
He began his life under the light of the oil lamp; he ended it under the radio signals of the first artificial satellite of the Earth, and expressed, during the whole of his lifetime, the complicate and often unchangeable inner soul of Man-- from the cave of the protoman up to the…rocket.
Isahakian's poems, especially his love and pilgrim songs, have won the highest approval of many poets of modern times; Louis Aragon admired him; so did Nikolai Tikhonov; Alexandre Blok translated his verses and considered him as one of the best poets of Europe of the twentieth century.
Isahakian's song-verses are so deeply rooted in the hearts of the Armenian people that almost all of them…are being sung; and it must be noted, that a considerable number of them have been composed by unknown and anonymous peasant-artisans.
Isahakian is a master in creating lyrical miniatures full of wisdom; they immediately penetrate deep into the heart of the reader and accompany him all his life; as, for instance, his verse "Where is that stone fallen now?", and the one devoted to Mt. Ararat ("At Ravenna") which is probably the best of all the verses dedicated to that eternal mountain.
But it seems we went just a little astray; so let's turn to our real subject, to the poem "Abu Lala Mahari" which is now being introduced to both Armenian and foreign readers.
"Abu Lala Mahari" is a poem, but not in its classical sense with a narrative subject as those written in the twentieth century.
The subject of the poem may be told in a few words: Abu Lala Mahari is t he renowned Arab poet; he traveled all over the world; lived in Baghdad for scores of years and sat at the table of the mighty and the needy; he saw and tried everything that was evil and good; and disappointed and embittered of this unjust world, one night, he gathered his caravan of camels and moved out of Baghdad, or rather left the world, never to return…
He sets out in search of Freedom and Truth; he goes towards the Sun which is for him a symbol of what is Good and Perfect…
The Arab poet himself is purely a literary device which might as well…be omitted; since, for one thing, calling the hero of the poem by his historical name would naturally give way to undesirable parallels and arouse arguments and misunderstandings; and, for another, it wouldn't be convenient, either, for the mere reason that, as we know, Abu Lala Mahari, the Arab poet, had been deprived of his sight at the age of three; therefore, he would be absolutely unable to embody a hero who could see and observe everything thoroughly and deeply.
As for the caravan, it really existed and should exist, inasmuch as A. Isahakian was a truly Armenian poet; and the caravan has been the main symbol accompanying the Armenian people and its literature beginning from the early caravans of the medieval pilgrim songs up to t the caravan of Hovanannes Tumanian's poem "In the Armenian Mountains" which symbolizes the Armenian people itself.
Then, there was the Sun and its Light which has also been the permanent symbol accompanying the Armenian people and its literature beginning from the ancient times of sun-worship up to the medieval songs of "Aravot Luso" (=Morning of Light), "Luyss Zvard" (=Merry Light) and Daniel Varoujan's wonderful poem "I go towards the Spring of Light".
The poem "Abu Lala Mahari" consists of seven "Sura's"; each of them, in its own way, is a passionate and wrathful "NO!", or rather a "Down with!" flung violently at this pillar or that column of the world surrounding the poet…
Down with the man and friend, the woman and love, the family and kins-man, religion and gold, the law and rights, the masses and homeland, all of them degenerated in this unjust and defective world!
Each "Sura-Down with!" of the poem possesses a shocking power and a shocking effect; because A. Isahakian, the talented poet and master of deeply felt emotions, thoughts and images, was able to crystallize all he wished to express in his sharp, almost aphoristic lines which are as formidable as the power of the curse of a heathen priest…!
So, what is a woman?
Trust yourself to the sea, in a rotten boat,
But never trust in a woman's word…
Love?
But to tortured spirits a woman's love
Is like salt-water, it fires them more.
Triumphant woman your passions will take,
And leave you thirstier than before.
A friend?
The dog who calls you his friend will not bite;
The friend will attack and slander your deeds…
Gold?
Hypocritical world, where Almighty Gold
Will prove the villain noble and right.
The idiot a genius, the coward brave,
The shameless harlot, an Angel of Light.
Glory?
… To-day you will find
The populace carry you shoulder-high;
To-morrow those people will throw you down,
Will trample on you, your merits decry…
or,
They worship your gold, their hearts are not
true…
The law?
The laws that you make are burdens and whips,
Like a spider's web, a maze without clues;
…All-powerful weapon in mighty hands,
A sword hanging over the poor and meek.
The masses?
… The enemy's camp,--each man a slave
With invisible chains…
The homeland?
I do hate, alas, the homeland, as well,
Which the lustful rich make a pasture bed;
The toiler who tills its damned bloody soil.
Gets the stone to gnash, deprived of his bread.
(Transl. by M. H. Soghikian) .
The Power?
It sits like a monster upon my breast,
Its talons are struck in my very heart,
It has put a lock on my mind and tongue,
It has chained my steps and my every part.

And finally, what is Man, degenerated by the traditions of that unjust world?

…the Image of God,
Whom 'Sons of the Devil' would best describe…

One just reads this poem and is upset not only by its contents and the red-hot form expressing it, but also…out of sheer Surprise!
How bitter and outrageous, loathsome and inhuman the world and life must have been, so as to break up the patience and inborn kindness of even…an Armenian! The Armenian people, whose son he was, stood firm (and this is one of the greatest miracles and enigmas of history) in the face of many centuries of sufferings; grieved and was embittered most of all, but never nursed or held in its heart any grudge and misanthropy; and with every new suffering grew kinder and kinder, forbearing and… philanthropic, or rather Altruistic!
As a proof of this, here is, for one, A. Isahakian's mother's prayer, where the Armenian mother, checking her own sufferings and the grief of absence of her pilgrim son, prays:
Let Him, first of all, keep under His guard,
The sick and the poor, and the traveler mild;
Let Him reach you last and be on thy guard,
Wherever you are, my only poor child!
(Transl. by M. H. Soghikian)

And, for another, here is an Armenian proverb expressing the kind of hospitality characteristic for the Armenian people, as noted above:

"My home is not mind; it belongs to the one
who happens to open the door of my home…!"

Just to think of it! A proverb of this kind created by the Armenian peasant who had seen for many centuries the door of his house flung open by the gun and plot, by the fist and kick; who had been subdued and robbed of everything he had; and then slaughtered at the very threshold of his house for all the hospitality and philanthropy he had shown as a host…
With all this havoc in mind, it would be difficult, indeed, to find anybody still willing to avoid becoming a misanthropist, and, instead, utter such kind and open-hearted words…!
Then why and how had the Armenian poet "profaned his lips with imprecation?". Was it a sense of malediction and misanthropy? A violent fury of Nietzscheic Superman to destroy the world? Or, something else? A. Isahakian, the son and poet of his people, had suffered every bitterness and grief which befell his nation…
In his early youth, when the whole world seemed to him to begin and to end with love, he was soon bitterly deceived by that same love; it opened in his heart the first deep wound, the scar of which grieved him to the end of his life.
When he grew up, he witnessed and understood the tragedy of his people and homeland; this opened the second, and probably the most horrible and incurable wound; its scar agonizes up to this day the heart of the whole Armenian people (that was the holocaust and massive deportations of the Armenians and the seizure of their lands by the Turkish yataghan…)
Now the world seemed to him to begin and end in his fatherland, as it did with love in his early youth; the poet appeared to believe that in this wide and free world, only his homeland and people endured such a deep sorrow.
But when he traveled, like most Armenian emigrants from one country to another, he understood that it was the whole of mankind plunged in sorrow and grief; thus, he sustained the third deep wound which led him to ponder over the "world sorrow", apart from the "sorrow of love" and the "sorrow of the Armenian people".
He understood that the root of the evil was hidden in the implacable and unjust structure of this world; that "something was wrong somewhere in the world". and that, one had to look for the Sun, Justice and Truth not only for his own sake and his people's, but also…for the whole of mankind!
Where was that Truth and which was it? He knew not, and he couldn't have known it, either! (And which poet has ever known it?)
Being faithful to the centuries-old traditions of his people, he was simply going towards the Light, towards the Sun!
It is always easier to depict clearly what is negative and defiable (as well as…evil) in life, (and life, alas, offers always too many such opportunities), than the positive, Ideal (which, in this case, was luminous -- the Sun --but not too tangible); and, on this ground, some people were inclined to think that "Abu Lala Mahari" was only a poem of negation, escape, or departure from life, without piercing into the essence of the poem.
But they were wrong; it was necessary to penetrate deeper into the poem; it would enable them to understand that such a departure was only a departure from the object (in this case, from the world) and to see and appreciate it fuller and more thoroughly (indeed, as the saying goes -- "The high mountain is seen better from afar")
Then, it wouldn't be difficult to notice that in each of Isahakian's imprecations, wrathful words and ailing stings, there are…seas of tears, all of them springing out of his love, deep love for the man and friend, the woman and love, the people and homeland suffering and degenerating in the "unjust world…"
He caressed and fondled the gentle beast,
And he kissed its innocent limpid eyes,
While on his own lashes there trembled and shone
Tow burning tears he could not disguise…
Or,
And tearlessly he wept in his heart,
And his sorrow resembled infinity…

At any rate, in the whipping and stinging words of the poet there is much more love (and a passionate and feverish love) than in the most joyous smile and enthusiastic blessing of an indifferent man, or a "philanthropist"…!
Love, a sea of tears, and, above all, admiration, a deep admiration for the "wondrous story" of this world, the only world which is granted to man only once!

And the wondrous story is always told
To every babe as it enters the world,
For each new-born babe it begins and ends,
To every person the scene is unfurled…

And for the "Fairy tale" which people, alas, hear not, because,
They turn its nobleness into a hell,
And like beasts of prey each other they rend…

There is, indeed, a deep love, sorrow, admiration, a yearning for what is good and perfect, and…above all, confusion and excitement; an excitement resulting from a desperate situation with no room left for a way out whatsoever! because "it would be unthinkable to live in a society and to be out of it", as one of the great thinkers of our century would say; so that, here, neither a caravan, nor any desert would ever be a safety place to be saved…
Indeed, Abu Lala Mahari, who had violently abandoned and run away from the world in search of Freedom outside it, seems to have finally reached his goal; he is in the desert and feels himself free, absolutely free… He even advises the desert to cover the unrighteous and unjust world under its sandy blanket.
But why cover it? Was it for the sake of ruining and destroying the world, as Nietzsche's Superman would have wished? NO, no! And a thousand times, No…!
It turns out that the poet's greatest wish was to see "Freedom reign all over the world"; or, the sun of Truth illuminate the world. But which world? Would there ever be any world after the poet had cursed it and covered under the sands of the desert? And how much of a petty penny would Freedom cost…without Man? And the sun of Truth, or simply the sun, without …the World?
To ruin the world and enjoy the sun…? It sounds quite strange, indeed! As, in the first place, the sun itself would be utterly displeased! After all, the glory of the sun is nothing less, than the illuminated world and man; and the glorifying word and blessing-prayer of those who are illuminated and warmed…!
If it is true that a poet is the breath and spirit, the word and voice of his time, then, in this poem, Isahakian has expressed his time most ably and passionately. And this poem (apart from its exceptional literary merit) is bound to retain its immortal, ever-burning and up-to-date traditions degenerating man, as described by the poet, will continue to drag on even at one corner of the globe…
It is no wonder, then, if Isahakian's "Abu Lala Mahari" has been translated into many foreign languages; and the immortal caravan of Abu Lala Mahari has marched on over Italy and Germany, Spain and Japan, France and the Arab countries; and has left its footprints everywhere, and the cling of its bells ringing in the ears and hearts of many peoples in all parts of the world…

Gevorg Emin

By Avetik Isahakian
Translated from Amemeinan
By Zabelle Boyajian

Abu Lala Mahari, renowned Arab poet of the 10th - 11th century, for thirty years lived in Baghdad, the magnificent city of the Khalifs, always lived in glory and munificence; sat at the table of the mighty and the wealthy; argued with the learned and the wise; loved and tempted his fellow-beings; traveled far in the lands of other nations; saw and observed people and their laws, and his penetrating soul understood the man, and comprehended and deeply hated the man and his laws.
And because he did not have a wife and children, he distributed all his wealth among the poor and the needy; and one night while Baghdad slumbered on the bands of the cypress-dotted Tigris River, he gathered his caravan of camels and silently moved out of the city towards the unknown…

FIRST SURA

And the caravan of Abu Lala through the sleeping night moved calmly along;
Stepped softly along through the hush of night, like a gentle stream's soft, murmuring song.

With measured footsteps they followed the road, that winding and twisting before them lay;
The music that streamed from their swaying bells flowed over the desert and far away.

Baghdad lay lost in voluptuous dreams of Houris and Paradise, passing fair;
The nightingale warbled of love and pain in rose-gardens scented with perfumes rare.

The fountains tossed high their waves in the air with diamond laughter they filled the night;
Perfumes and kisses were wafred around in the Caliph's palace ablaze with light.

While above caravans of gem-like stars were wandering along uncharted careers,
And the heavens were filled with their majesty, with the glorious music of the spheres.

Soft tales were told of Arabian Nights by breezes heavy with gilly-flower scent,
The poplars and palm-trees that lined the road to the sighs of the night wind swayed and bent.

Swinging and ringing the camels went on, they never looked to the left nor the right,
And joyful visions filled Abu Lala as he watched the road get lost in the night.

"Move on, move on, beloved caravan, move forward until I have ended my days".
"Twas thus that he mused, the Poet sublime, Abu Mahari, the Maker of Lays.

"Go forth to the lonely place of earth, the emerald fields, unsullied and bare;
Fly on to the burning heart of the sun, in that mighty heart consume me up there.

"No gratitude to my mother I feel, to my father's grave no duty is owed.
Nothing but bitterness fills my soul for the life which they gave, the love they bestowed.

"I loved all mankind; to comrades and friends I was ever faithful, loving and true.
I saw men's hearts and I loathed what I saw; my love to a torturing viper grew.

"I hate and despise what I loved before- in the soul of man such things I have seen;
The spirit of man, so lofty and grand, is filled with evil, and passions obscene.

But most of all I loathe and detest, the halo thy don so shining and bright,
That sanctifies all the evil they work, and crowns their foul deeds with a pious light.

"O language of man, whose accents divine conceal his infernal spirit from view,-
Soft accents, in fragrant gossamer veiled – didst ever thou speak one word that was true?

"I will pitch my tent amidst writhing snakes – yes, on the poisonous basilisk's den-
A thousand times safer I'll be with them than in cities with false and smiling men.

"Or with a companion upon whose breast my weary head I trustingly laid-
A heart that I loved, which with lying smiles my love and my infinite trust repaid.

"For ever- as long as on Sinai's flanks the fiery sun beats mercilessly –
As long as the heaving waves of the sand break into spray like the foam of the sea –

"I will not return to the haunts of men, nor will I salute them or with them eat;
The beasts of the wild my comrades shall be, with them I will gladly sit down to meat.

"Let ferocious beasts dismemeber my limbs, and the sun pour down his fiery rays –
Onward, still onward, my sweet caravan – move onward until the end of my days!"

Abu Mahari threw a parting glance at sleeping Baghdad that behind him lay.
But his fingers sought the camel's soft neck as with frowns and anger he turned away.

He caressed and fondled the gentle beast, and he kissed its innocent limpid eyes,
While on his own lashes there trembled and shone two burning tears he could not disguise.

To the gentle rhythm of measured tread they went through the landscape, peaceful and lone,
So onward towards the distance they passed, to the virgin distance of realms unknown.

SECOND SURA

They twisted and turned as they wound along between slender palm-trees that lined the roads;
They raised as they passed caravans of sand, that wind-tossed like waves of the ocean flowed.

"March on caravan! Have we left behind one thing we shall pine for at any time?"
Thus spoke from his heart Abu Mahari, the maker of verse, the Poet sublime.

"Have we left behind a wife or a friend, or justice or law, or honour and truth?
March on, never stop! For all we have left is fetters and chains, and lying uncouth.

"And what is a woman but crafty and mean? Like a jealous spider she weaves her thread;
Her kisses are false; in your very arms she dreams of others – loves only your bread.

"Trust yourself to the sea, in a rotten boat, but never trust in a woman's word –
She is fair and sweet, a beautiful hell; the voice of Iblis through her lips is heard.

"You have dreamt of a distant star of light – a lily as white as an angel's wings;
A radiant being to live at your side, to soften your sorrows and sufferings.

You have longed for her voice breathed in your ear by the sound of distant, murmuring streams
Have visioned soft dews of eternity, and wept on her heavenly breast in dreams.

"But to tortured spirits a woman's love is like salt-water – it fires them more,
Triumphant woman your passions will take, and leave you thirstier than before.

"O serpentine shape that a woman wears, - criminal, fiendish, beautiful shell
Thou that with bitter delights of the flesh turnest the sun of the soul into hell!

"Love I detest – it is cruel as death; for ever it burns and secretly stings
A poisonous wine that to him who drinks wickedness teaches, or slavery brings.

"And woman I hate. She's the fertile cause of unbridled crime, of passion the seed;
A well never failing, whose copiousness steams earth's growing wickedness water and feed.

"Once more I repeat – I hate woman's love. Her pangs of childbirth I curse and denounce.
Her sinister kiss is loathsome to me, her arms and her unclean bed I renounce

"Agonized childbirth forever her lot, her progeny over the earth run wild.
Vipers and snakes, that each other devour, till their sins the very stars have defiled.

He is guilty of crime who begets a child. Who out of the heart of nothingness
Endows the atom with feeling and thought, and flings it into life's storm and distress.

"My father sinned against me, but I have sinned against no one," I write in my will;
I would have these words engraved on my tomb when some crevice beneath the moon I fill.

"As long as the sea with its gnawing waves the emerald shores of Hejaz devours
I will never long for a woman's charms, nor visit her baneful, pestilent bowers.

"The prickly thorns of the desert I'll kiss, on the angry thistles I'll take my rest;
I will lay my head on the burning rocks, and weep out my heart on their fiery breast!"

And with gentle ringing the caravan measured the twists of the tortuous road;
To the golden far-off dreamland ahead, all peaceful and calm, it tranquilly flowed.

As though the musical sound of the bells were gentle laments, that would fall and rise,
For all Mahari had loved and forgone, they seemed to be mourning with tender sighs.

While the flutes of the zephyrs, soft and mild, sweet melodies played with their dreamy sound;
Of the wounds of love, of longing and pain, they wafted entrancing music around.

And Abu Lala, in his musings lost, visions as long as eternity dreamed;-
Visions as long as the road he pursued, that endlessly winding before him streamed.

Enmeshing himself with that endless road he mourned in his heart by night and day;
He sought the invisible stars of heaven, and somberly pensive went on his way.

And he never vouchsafed a glance behind; for all he had left there was no regret.
No word he exchanged, no greeting he gave to the passing wayfarers that they met.

THIRD SURA

And the caravan of Abu Lala to its rippling bells marched calmly along.
Went softly along in the moon's soft light, to the sound of its sweet and gentle song.

Like a beautiful Houri of Jennet, now heedlessly showing her snow-white breast,
Now coyly hiding in gossamer clouds, the moon glided over a world at rest.

The sweet-scented flowers had fallen asleep, they sparkled with diamonds and jewels bright;
The rainbow-winged birds each other caressed, and warbled their songs in the hush of night.

And the scented breezes unfolded tales of the thousand and one Arabian Nights,
While over the road the poplars soughed, and the palm-trees swayed in their feathery heights.

And listening to the speech of the wind, Abu Mahari spoke his wordless thought;
"The world is also a tale that is told, with endless, beginningless wonders fraught.

"And who has woven this tale sublime, entwined it with stars, and its wonders planned?
Who tells the story in thousands of forms, in eternal words surpassingly grand?

"Great nations have come, great nations have gone; but none of them could this marvel descry;
to poets alone it is revealed, who have lisped it in words that will never die.

"No man its beginning has ever heard, and no one will hear the end of this tale;
Each accent and word for ages endure, no syllable can be irksome or stale.

"And the wondrous story is always told to every babe as it enters the world –
For each new-born babe it begins and ends, to every person the scene is unflured.

"the world is a story, life is a dream, nations and men, caravans that pass by.
From cradle to grave still onward they pass, in a living dream, without knowing why.

"O dull and visionless children of men, to this transcendence you will not attend;
You turn its nobleness into a hell, and like beasts of prey each other you rend.

"The laws that you make are burdens and whips, like a spider's web, a maze without clues;
They poison the very nightingale's song, the perfume of flowers and their rainbow hues.

"O hapless men, your iniquitous hearts, the contemptible works in which you trust,
By Time's indiscriminate hand effaced, will turn to ashes and crumble to dust.

Your mouldering bones, your miserable works, by ruthless storms will be shattered and blown;
And you never turned to gladden your hearts with the glorious works around you strown!"

On the pathways of heaven the star-jewels blazed, wandering along their lonely careers,
And the heavens were filled with the joyful sound, the majestic music of the Spheres.

And the whole of the earth overflowed with joy, enchanted with these eternal strains;
She lifted her soul from the slimy depths, and listening, forgot her sorrows and pains.

"Onward caravan! And mingle your bells with the jubilant music of the sky;
Onward through Nature's motherly heart; let your sordid cares to the tempest fly!

"To new horizons bear me away, to an unknown climate, a luminous strand;
A lone oasis my cloister shall be, an ever fresh stream in a thirsty land.

"Softly, in star-language, speak to my heart – converse with my spirit, thou wordless sky.
Comfort my soul lacerated by men, and list to my tortured, pitiful cry.

"There lives in me an unquenchable thirst for a mourning heart akin to my own—
A vision divine possesses my soul, a dream out of all my sufferings grown.

"My spirit is free – I will not permit coercion or force to rule over me;
Neither laws or bounds, nor evil nor good; neither courts of judgement nor destiny.

"I want no protection over my head, no rights I demand, no surety ask –
All is debasing that's outside my will – it's Tyranny wearing Protection's mask.

"Without any restraint – yes, god-less, too—I wish for unlimited liberty;
My soul for unbounded liberty cries – for freedom as infinite as the sea!"

And the caravan weaved it's way along, while star-jewels brightly shone overhead –
The ever-free stars, with their child-like smile – the eternal stars over all were spread.

And lovingly to his spirit they called, with luminous twinklings of golden eyes,
And with noble music his soul was filled, the unbroken harmonies of the skies.

In the turquoise night the enchanted road like a wisp of silver before them lay;
So swinging and ringing its magic bells – the caravan went on its endless way.

FOURTH SURA

Like an ebon eagle, gigantic and grim, the awesome Night spread its wings around;
Swooped down from the skies on camels and road, and about the desert its pinions wound.

The heavens were blackened from end to end, covered with threatening, lowering clouds;
The moon and the stars no longer shone out; black vapours enwrapped them with sombre shrouds.

Like reinless horses the terrible winds without any check to the onslaught flew.
They raised in columns the burning sands, and the face of the sky was hidden from view.

While in mortal terror they shrieked and yelled, and their howlings filled the spaces around;
They sounded like agonized beasts of prey which in upheaval a voice had found.

In the narrow valleys they staggered and reeled, in the palm-groves they seemed to shiver and mourn;
The suffering winds lamented and wept, like spirits disconsolate and forlorn.

"March on, caravan, on the edge of the world unfearingly face the pitiless wind!"
Thus Abu Lala, the Poet sublime, conversed with himself in the depth of his mind.

"Ye tempests, your fury pour down on my head - - collect your forces from far and near,
I stand in your presence with blameless heart, I don not fear you – my conscience is clear.

"The venomous cities, where senseless men allow their passions to swelter and burn
Are whirlpools of blood and hot-beds of crime, to them I shall never again return.

"My shelterless head shall never return to luxuries which I loathed and disdained;
Woe unto the man that posses wealth—to his doorstep like a dog he is chained.

"Strike at the house of my father ye winds – its very foundation annihilate.
Scatter its dust over all the earth, for endless wanderings are henceforth my fate.

"Nothing but solitude henceforth I crave, the camels alone my comrades shall be;
My consolation the road without end, and the star-strewn heavens my canopy.

"O enchanted road, whose vanishing end is in magic realms and unexplored skies—
Bear away my heart with its ceaseless grief to regions untarnished by human eyes.

"With en thou must ever be on thy guard – thy sword in thy hand and always alert;
Must guard against friend and foe alike if thou wouldst not be rifled or wronged or hurt.

"And first from my friends I ask to be saved. Like insatiable gnats they buzz around.
They will fly away if your blood is thin, and follow you if you're rich or renowned.

"Only a friend or a comrade I loved could have wouldned me so incurably.
My heart with a lying kiss they unlocked, with kisses they stabbed and agonized me.

"A thousand times false is the heart of man. With the friendship which he proffered and gave,
He stole the innermost thoughts of my heart, then bound me in chains and made me his slave.

"Once more, what are friends? For jealous and mean, though they dog you steps they are broken reeds.
The dog who calls you his friend will not bite; the friend will attack and slander you deeds."

The winds like mischievous friends rushed on, and lunged at the face of Abu Mahari.
They sported and revelled and clapped their hands, and tugged at his garments mercilessly.

And slithering down the slopes of the hills raised legions of sand with every gust.
They broke on the sages's desolate thoughts; they plugged his eyes and his nostrils with dust.

FIFTH SURA

And turning neither to right nor to left the caravan made its fearless advance.
To the sound of its agitated bells it cut through the elements' impish dance.

"What is a friend?" Thus Abu Mahari, resumed his reflections, that had no end,
"In my faithful heart I cherished a snake – fly on caravan, my only true friend.

"Wherever you go pass on from that place – still onward! – march on, never rest nor stay.
And let men never my sufferings know – take me and lose me in realms far away.

"What have we foregone, what is left behind that should call us back to the seething town?
Fly on, caravan! – what is there behind? Power and glory, or wealth and renown?

"And what is glory? Today you will find the populace carry you shoulder-high;
Tomorrow those people will throw you down; will trample on you, your merits decry

"What is the applause, the homage of men? They worship your gold – their hearts are not true.
When you are fallen, the dust of your feet becomes a hero and persecutes you.

"And what is money? The symbol of power, the robe of office an idiot wears.
It is blood pressed out of a million souls, the flesh of dead bodies, the orphan's tear.

"The untaught rabble I view with contempt; tyranny's anchor, man's spirit they crush.
Their ignorance is the germ of all crime, like beasts of prey on their victims they rush.

"What are the masses? The enemy's camp – each man a slave with invisible chains.
Have they ever soared to your spirit's height, or followed the nobler trend of your brains?

"Pitiful millions, a struggling mass, your good and your evil imposed with the lash;
With ravenous shears, that rifle the world, reducing all to a uniform hash.

"And what is the law, so reverenced by man? A shield to the strong, a threat to the weak.
All-powerful weapon in mighty hands, a sword hanging over the poor and meek.

"Seven times seven, I loathe human rule; whole generations it swallows or maims.
Rapacious usurers, sponging thieves, ever inciting to war and flames.

"The law was a brigand and murder in all past ages – and coming ones, too.
The paths which it tool are strained with crime, they are full of sorrow and blood and rue.

It sits like a monster upon my breast, its talons are struck in my very heart;
It has put a lock on my mind and toungue, it has chained my steps and my every part.

"It crushes our shoulders and weighs them down, it finds and oppresses us everywhere.
And in our innocent country's name raises tombs and monuments high in the air.

"The will of the ruler is all in all; righteousness, justice and law he decides;
He is our conscience for evil and good; we are just nothing – our morals be guides.

"I curse the potentates – pillars of state; like long-clawed badgers they stir up the mud.
Infants and aged are their victims alike – each of their steps is a downpour of blood.

"Contemptible man, both coward and slave, who placed the sword in your similar's hand?
Who gave him the right of revenge, and the task his fellow-men to rule and command????

"Beloved caravan to the home of the asps take me and bury me peacefully.
Deliver me from the rulers of men, from their cruel protection liberate me!"

The lightnings, flashing in fiery haste tore up into shreds the mountains of cloud.
The sand in columns flew from the assault, and the silvery hills their summits bowed.

And the tempest roared, while the poplars and palms swaying and moaning wept overhead.
The camels flew on the wings of the wind – faster and faster still onward they sped.

They ran and they raced to their jangled bells, they raised up the sands that hid them from sight.
You would think that they fled from some evil power—form the drunken despot's malice and spite.

SIXTH SURA

And under the burning noonday sun narcissus and rose wafted fragrance around,
While the caravan, exhausted and worn, crawled languidly over the sand-heaped ground.

"Fly on caravan, through storm and through stress, to the heart of the sands your journey's goal!"
Thus Abu Lala, the Poet sublime, still voice the laments of his bitter soul.

"Let the desert wind my countenance lash, forever my footprints let it efface;
Let no man breathe the air I have breathed, and let no one discover my hiding place.

"I see the tawny lions at time, through their golden lashes they look in my eyes.
I see them and see with each gust of wind from their ruffled manes bright flashes arise.

"Come on! I call to them, I'm not afraid; my sickened heart you can take and devour.
I ask no protection of wicked men; before you I neither tremble nor cower.

"For what are men but demons in masks? What tentacles armed, and invisible claws,
Sharp teeth they have and are raving wolves', their toungue is a poisoned spear in their jaws.

"A pack of foxes, malicious and false, designing and hypocrites—men are such;
They are brutal slayers of innocent babes; they torture all that fall in their clutch.

"Adversity makes them servile and mean – when they are needy they kneel and they whine.
When thriving they give no thought to the poor, they're contemptuous, haughty and malign.

"Virtue is ever the victim of vice, the loss of the one is the other's gain;
The handful of good in the field of life they smother with thorns and thistles remain.

"O far-away men, your evil and good, your sham religions I loathe and dipraise,
They only serve to forge fetters and chains, for your hapless victims of dungeons to raise.

"Hypocritical world, where Almighty Gold will prove the villain noble and right –
The idiot a genius, the coward brave, the shameless harlot an Angel of Light!

"O world of men, an ocean of blood, where the weak is guilty, the mighty is just;
Where contemptible man will use his powers to work for nothing but profit and lust!

"For nothing but gain. To the grabbing claw honour and sanctity men will ascribe;
Such ever is man, 'the Image of God' – whom 'Sons of the Devil' would best describe.

"My camels' footsteps could I but count impressed by one by one on this measureless way;
Those footsteps would never equal the sum of wickedness done in a single day.

"The North and the South, the East and the West, I challenge, denouncing the human race.
Let the winds of heaven give heed to my words, and candidly judge the rights of my case.

"From ocean to ocean, from land to land transport on your wanderings my thoughts of flame.
That if there is anything worse than man, it is man again –this dogma proclaim.

"As long as the stars with unquenchable rays above the desert twinkle and gleam;
As long as the shifting sand of the waste with hissings and rustlings like serpents stream –

"Fly on caravan! --and leave far behind, those disgraceful scenes of pleasures obscene --
Lascivious feasts and wicked delights, lies and hypocrisy, profits unclean.

"Escape from it all -- from the vengeance of man-- his bloodstained justice and righteousness;
Fly from your friend, your wife and your love-- discard all those pleasures that storm and stress.

"Go on, my camels, and under your feet trample down the laws of Justice and Right.
Let all authority, evil and good by the dust you raise be hidden from sight.

"Let lions and tigers tear me to bits, let serpentine whirlwinds about me twist --
Go on through them all, beloved caravan, as long as I live on your way persist!"

Their bow-shaped necks to the utmost stretched the camels like arrows shot forward and sped.
They ran and they raced, while the dust they raised in towering columns behind them fled.

To the distant horizon, the desert's heart, through many a sundried plain they flew,
Veiling in curtains of dust the huts and the palm trees that in the oases grew.

You would have thought that Abu Mahari was flying away from some dreadful sin;
You would have thought that Woman and Law with their fearful weapons were close upon him.

So faster and faster, with clanging bells, the camels raced on, and never looded rourd.
Many a city they passed on their way, in chains of passion and avarice bound.

For ever their pace accelerating, spurred on by their love for the Star of Day
They ran and they clanged past towers and towns where age-long ignorance petrified lay.

To his joyless eyes the camels appeared like a flight of falcons tossed by the wind All scattered about and trying in vain from the blasting storm some refuge to find.

And tearlessly he wept in his heart, and his sorrow resembled infinity --
Like the endless road that before him lay, which seemed to wind onward eternally

He never repined for what he had left -- on look of regret he did not accord;
He never greeted the passers-by, and their greetings to him he camly ignored.

SEVENTH SURA

And the caravan of Abu Lala in the great Arabian deserts wild knelt wearily down.

All the horizon, the wastes of sand, and the desert around flamed fiery red;
And Darkness was weaving her velvet screen across the flames of the heavens to spread.

And Abu Lala sat down by himself, his forehead against a boulder reclined,
His eye still searching the distance, but now his soul was at rest and peaceful his mind.

"At last I am free -- unfettered and free! Did the desert perform this miracle?
Has it taken me into its sandy arms my tortured spirit to soothe and still?

"No human eye can behold me now, no wickedness cause me grief of despair;
O liberty thou art sweet to my heart as the roses of heaven with perfumes rare.

"Enlighten my soul with thy shining torch, thy roses entwine round my forehead pale;
O liberty, essence of Paradise, immortal Koran of the Nightingale!

"And beautiful desert of golden sands, a thousand times I pay homage to thee--
Thou undefiled land, where no evil is wrought, no wickedness lives -- man from man is free!

"Let thy waves flow out over all the earth -- thy yellow waves over nation and race--
Over town and hamlets, markets of gain, the glorious palace, the meanest place.

"Let thy dragon-tempests Freedom enthrone, let Liberty reign over all the world,
And let it be sanctioned and glorified by the noble Sun, with its beams unfurled!"

With a thousand, thousand effulgent hues and dazzlingly brilliant the sunrise came;
Majestic, and steeped in ineffable light, with rainbow colours and shafts of flame.

And to greet the light of the radiant Sun the awakened desert its face upraised --
Like some titanic lion of old the aureate waves of its sandhills blazed.

"All hail unto thee, bright Day Star, all hail! Thou fountain of life, all-powerful one;
My mother eternal, my mother's arms, thou only art pure, and good thou alone.

"Inexhaustible cup of golden wine, thou dispensest happiness everywhere --
The wine of pleasure, the light of joy, and peace and contentment are all in thy sphere.

"O thou that inspires a thousand hearts, thou beautiful Sun, come forth in thy might!
I open before thee my thirsting soul; O pour into it the wine of thy light!

"Thy brightness vouchsafe, with thy joy of life, with joy eternal intoxicate me!
Grant me everlasting forgetfulness, replenish my spirit with ecstasy!

O make me drunken, intoxicate me, with wine immortal intoxicate me!
I want to forget what is dark and false; I would fain relinquish life's misery!

By your deathlessness and nobility enrapture my heart with radiant delight;
Invincible fow of all that is dark, mother of springtime and everything bright.

"My only beloved, thou alone art good, beloved as my mother's spotless embrace.
Thou art all-merciful, loving and sweet, thou art enchanting, and lovely thy face.

"Thou art my loved one, thou art my beloved, with fiery love consume me, and burn.
Thy glorious tresses over me spread, speak softly to me, to caress me turn.

"And draw the blood from my colourless lips, with kisses of fire; let them burn and sting;
And clasp me close to thy bosom of light, my passionate heart to thy feet I bring".

Then Abu Lala to the camels turned. "My noble camels, arise to your feet,
And shake from your knees the serfdom of earth; rise up the all -- glorious Sun to greet!

And let my ears grow heavy and deaf, let me no more hear the turmult of earth,
And let my eyes be blinded and gone that they never more see what is nothing worth.

"Forever towards the Sun you must fly, beloved caravan, from age until age--
Forever towards the Centre of Light whose splendour alone my grief can assuage.

"Dear Sun, my mother, thy rainbow of gems around my shoulders encircle and bind --
That triumphantly I may fly to thee, and in thy effulgence salvation find!

"O strongest of gods, and light of my Eyes, my only mother, I come unto thee!
Only thou art good, thou holy and pure, I would rest in thine arms eternally."

LAST SURA

And the camels shining like golden boats, through the ardent sandhills cleaving their way
Raced forward anew on their nimble feet in the dazzling light of the new-born day.

And never sirocco on wings of flame was rapid enough to fly in their wake;
And never a dart from the Bedouin's bow their fleeting footsteps could overtake.

Cool shadows that lay at the sandhills' foot seemed songs of passion to breathe and inspire;
And the rippling fountains warbled and sang of innocent love to a virgin lyre.

But Abu Lala would pay them no heed; with the joys of earth long since he had done
Relentlessly on and onward he fled his visage aglow, his eyes like the sun.

The mirages gave him transcendent thoughts with myriads of strange and alluring dreams.
They made his enchanted spirit to leap with their shimmering lights and flashing gleams.

With loosened halters the camels flew on -- exalted, alert, still quickening their pace,
They rushed wildly on like a mighty wind, swirling and frenzied they fled into space.

And still as farther they joyously pressed more brightly in the transcendence they glowed,
And the music of their sonorous bells in the purified air more sweetly flowed.

His eye unflinching bent on the sun, like an eagle that knows no thought of fear,
Abu Mahari flew tirelessly on, his spirit lightened and full of cheer.

Behind him lay only the desert sands in the arms of the glowing light outspread,
And the blazing hair of the beautiful Sun streamed far in the heavens above his head.

And clothed in purple all broidered with gold Abu Mahari, the Poet sublime,
Triumphantly flew through the fields of space victorious and great till the End of Time.

The End

Դարդը` սըրտիս, աղքատ ու խեղճ, ցուպը ձեռիս, գլխակոր,
Շա’տ տարիներ պանդուխտ եղած` նորեն դարձա հայրենիք.
Կեանքի բեռով մէջքս ծըռած, միտքըս շուար ու մոլո’ր,
Եօթը սարէն, եօթը ծովէն դարձայ նորէն հայրենիք:

Իմ հայրենի գեղի հանդում տեսայ մանկութ ընկերիս.-
Ա՜խ, ընկեր իմ, կարօտ սրտով նըրա առաջ վազեցի,
Ասի.- Բարո´վ, անգին ընկե´ր, չե՞ս ճանաչում դուն ինձի:
-Ախըր ես շա´տ փոխվեր էի…չըճանաչեց նա ինձի:

Ցուպը ձեռիս գեղը մտայ, անցայ եարիս տան ճամփով.
Տեսայ եարըս վարդը ձեռին` մենակ կանգնած դռան մօտ.
Ասի.- Քուրի´կ, ազիզ տեսքիդ արժանացայ ես բարով…
Նա էլ ինձի չճանաչեց…- աղքատ էի ու փոշոտ…

Դարդը սրտիս հասայ մեր տուն, տեսայ ծերուկ, խեղճ մօրս.
Ասի.- Նանի’, ճամփորդ մարդ եմ, գիշերս ինձ հիւր կընդունե՞ս:
Ա՜խ, մէրիկ ջան…վզովս ընկավ, սըրտին գըրկեց ու լացեց,-
Ա՜խ, բալա´յ ջան, ղարիբ բալա´յ, էդ դո՞ւն ես…:

ՊԱՆԴՈՒԽՏ ՈՐԴԻՆ
(Նոր Ուղղագրութեամբ)
Ավետիք Իսահակյան

Դարդը` սըրտիս, աղքատ ու խեղճ, ցուպը ձեռիս, գլխակոր,
Շա’տ տարիներ պանդուխտ եղած` նորեն դարձա հայրենիք.
Կյանքի բեռով մեջքս ծըռած, միտքըս շվար ու մոլո’ր,
Յոթը սարեն, յոթը ծովեն դարձա նորեն հայրենիք:

Իմ հայրենի գեղի հանդում տեսա մանկութ ընկերիս.-
Ա’խ, ընկեր իմ, կարոտ սրտով նըրա առաջ վազեցի,
Ասի.- Բարո’վ, անգին ընկե’ր, չե՞ս ճանաչում դուն ինձի:
-Ախըր ես շա’տ փոխվեր էի…չըճանաչեց նա ինձի:

Ցուպը ձեռիս գեղը մտա, անցա յարիս տան ճամփով.
Տեսա յարըս վարդը ձեռին` մենակ կանգնած դռան մոտ.
Ասի.- Քուրի’կ, ազիզ տեսքիդ արժանացա ես բարով…
Նա էլ ինձի չճանաչեց…- աղքատ էի ու փոշոտ…

Դարդը սրտիս հասա մեր տուն, տեսա ծերուկ, խեղճ մորս.
Ասի.- Նանի’, ճամփորդ մարդ եմ, գիշերս ինձ հյուր կընդունե՞ս:
Ա’խ, մերիկ ջան…վզովս ընկավ, սըրտին գըրկեց ու լացեց,-
Ա’խ, բալա’ ջան, ղարիբ բալա’, էդ դո՞ւն ես…:

Արարատի ծեր գմբէթից
Դար է եկել, վայրկեանի պէս,
Ու անցել:

Անհուն թւով կայծակների
Սուրն է բեկւել ադամանդին,
Ու անցել:

Մահախուճապ սերունդների
Աչքն է դիպել լոյս գագաթին,
Ու անցել:

Հերթը մի պահ քոնն է հիմա.
Դո´ւ էլ նայիր սէգ ճակատին,
Ու անցի´ր.

ԱՐԱՐԱՏԻ ԾԵՐ ԳՄԲԵԹԻՑ
(Նոր Ուղղագրությամբ)
Ավետիք Իսահակյան

Արարատի ծեր գմբեթից
Դար է եկել, վայրկեանի պես ,
ՈՒ անցել :

Անհուն թվով կայծակների
Սուրն է բեկվել ադամանդին,
ՈՒ անցել:

Մահախուճապ սերունդների
Աչքն է դիպել լույս գագաթին,
ՈՒ անցել:

Հերթը մի պահ քոնն է հիմա .
Դո´ւ էլ նայիր սեգ ճակատին,
ՈՒ անցի´ր...