Defixiones, Will and Testament

Por Siamanto (Atom Yarjanian).
Traduccion de Nicolas Alvarado

En un campo de cenizas donde la vida armenia
seguia muriendo,
una alemana, tratando de no llorar,
me narro el horror que atestiguo:

“Esto que te cuento
lo vi con mis propios ojos.
Tras mi ventana infernal
aprete los dientes
y vi el pueblo de Bardez ser reducido
a un monton de cenizas.
Los cadaveres se alzaban en pilas tan altas como un arbol
y, de los manantiales, de las corrientes y de los caminos,
la sangre emitia un terco murmullo
que aun clama venganza en mis oidos.

No temas; debo contarte lo que vi
para que la gente conozca
los crimenes que el hombre inflige al hombre.
Durante dos dias, junto al camino al cementerio.

Que los corazones del mundo comprendan!
Era una manana de domingo,
del primer domingo inutil que amanecia sobre los cadaveres.
Del crepusculo al ocaso habia estado en mi habitacion
con una mujer apunalada
-su muerte humedecida por mis lagrimas-
cuando escuche a lo lejos,
parada en un vinedo, a una turba oscura
que azotaba a veinte virgenes
y entonaba cantos inmundos.

Deje a la chica medio muerta en el colchon de paja
y sali al balcon de mi ventana.
La turba parecia crecer como una mata.
Un animal humano grito “ Debeis Danzar,
danzar al son de nuestro tambor!”
Con furia chasquearon los latigos
sobre las carnes de estas mujeres.
Tomadas de la mano, las virgenes comenzaron su
danza circular. Envidiaba ahora a mi vecina herida
quien, con un calmo ronquido,
maldecia al universo y entregaba su alma a las estrellas…

“¡Bailen!, clamaban
“¡Bailen hata la muerte, bellezas infieles!
¡Bailen con vuestras tetas batientes!
¡¡Sonreidnos!! ¡Estais perdidas!
¡Sois esclavas desnudas!
¡Bailen, pues, como un racimo de miserables putas!
¡Vuestros cuerpos muertos nos ponen calientes!”
Veinte agraciadas virgenes se desplomaron.
“¡Levantaos!”, gritaba la turba
blandiendo sus espadas.

Alguien trajo entonces un jarro de keroseno.
Justicia humana, escupo tu faz.
Los virgenes fueron ungidas.
“¡Bailen!, rugieron:
“¡He aqui una fragancia que no se encuentra en Arabia!”

Con una antorcha
prendieron fuego a los cuerpos desnudos
y los cuerpos calcinados rodaron
hasta alcanzar la muerte…

Cerre mi ventana,
me sente junto a mi muerta
y pregunte: “¿Como puedo arrancarme los ojos?

“The Dance”
by Siamanto (Atom Yarjanian).
(Translated by Peter Balakian and Nevart Yaghlian)

In a field of cinders where Armenian life
was still dying,
a German woman, trying not to cry
told me the horror she witnessed:

“This thing I’m telling you about,
I saw with my own eyes,
Behind my window of hell
I clenched my teeth
and watched the town of Bardez turn
into a heap of ashes.
The corpses were piled high as trees,
and from the springs, from the streams and the road,
the blood was a stubborn murmur,
and still calls revenge in my ear.

Don’t be afraid; I must tell you what I saw.
so people will understand
the crimes men do to men.
For two days, by the road to the graveyard …

Let the hearts of the world understand,
It was Sunday morning,
the first useless Sunday dawning on the corpses.
From dawn to dusk I had been in my room
with a stabbed woman —
my tears wetting her death —
when I heard from afar
a dark crowd standing in a vineyard
lashing twenty brides
and singing filthy songs.

Leaving the half-dead girl on the straw mattress,
I went to the balcony of my window
and the crowd seemed to thicken like a clump of trees
An animal of a man shouted, “You must dance,
dance when our drum beats.”
With fury whips cracked
on the flesh of these women.
Hand in hand the brides began their circle dance.
Now, I envied my wounded neighbor
because with a calm snore she cursed
the universe and gave up her soul to the stars …

“Dance,” they raved,
“dance till you die, infidel beauties
With your flapping tits, dance!
Smile for us. You’re abandoned now,
you’re naked slaves,
so dance like a bunch of fuckin’ sluts.
We’re hot for your dead bodies.”
Twenty graceful brides collapsed.
“Get up,” the crowed screamed,
brandishing their swords.

Then someone brought a jug of kerosene.
Human justice, I spit in your face.
The brides were anointed.
“Dance,” they thundered —
“here’s a fragrance you can’t get in Arabia.”

With a torch, they set
the naked brides on fire.
And the charred bodies rolled
and tumbled to their deaths …

I slammed my shutters,
sat down next to my dead girl
and asked: “How can I dig out my eyes?”

“The Desert” Verses 1 – 20
THE DIARY OF BEIRUT UNDER SEIGE, 1982
by Adonis (Ali Ahmad Said)
English translation by Abdullah al-Udhari

My era tells me bluntly:
You do not belong.
I answer bluntly:
I do not belong,
I try to understand you.
Now I am a shadow
Lost in the forest
Of a skull

I’m on my feet, the wall is a fence —
The distance shrinks, a window recedes.
Daylight is a thread
Snipped by my lungs to stitch the evening.

All I said about my life and death
Recurs in the silence
Of the stone under my head …

Am I full of contradictions? That is correct.
Now I am a plant. Yesterday, when I was between fire
and water
I was a harvest.
Now I am a rose and live coal,
Now I am the sun and the shadow
I am not a god.
Am I full of contradictions? That is correct …

The moon always wears
A stone helmet
To fight its own shadows.

The door of my house is closed.
Darkness is a blanket:
A pale moon comes with
A handful of light
My words fall
To convey my gratitude.

The killing has changed the city’s shape — This rock
is bone
This smoke people breathing.

We no longer meet,
Rejection and exile keep us apart.
The promises are dead, space is dead,
Death alone has become our meeting point.

He shuts the door
Not to trap his joy
… But to free his grief.

A newscast
About a woman in love
Being killed,
About a boy being kidnapped
And a policeman growing into a wall.

Whatever comes it will be old
So take with you anything other than this madness — get ready
To stay a stranger …

They found people in sacks:
One without a head
One without a tongue or hands
One squashed
The rest without names.
Have you gone mad? Please.
Do not write about these things.

You will see
Say his name
Say I painted his face
Stretch your hand to him
Or walk like any man
Or smile
Or say I was once sad
You will see
There is no homeland …

There may come a time when you’ll be
Accepted to live deaf and dumb, and perhaps
They’ll let you mumble: death,
Life, resurrection —
And peace be upon you.

He wears Jihad uniform, struts in a mantle of ideas.
A merchant — he does not sell clothes, he sells people.

They took him to a ditch and burnt him.
He was not a murderer, he was a boy.
He was not …
He was a voice
Vibrating, scaling the steps of space.
And now he’s fluting in the air.

Darkness.
The earth’s trees have become tears on heaven’s cheeks.
An eclipse in this place.
Death snapped the city’s branch and the friends departed.

You do not die because you are created or because you have a body
You die because you are the face of the future.

The flower that tempted the wind to carry its perfume
Died yesterday.

The sun no longer rises
It covers its feet with straw
And slips away …
Lament for Marmara
from Songs of Greek Refugees Kalamaria 1915-1925
published by the municipality of Kalamaria

In 1915, the island of Prikonisos, where the great
“Leventes” were raised, died.
A decree was issued by the Turkish ministers from Constantinople
And the Martial courts:

Three islands were ordered to be evacuated –
Marmara, Koutali and Pasalimani.

At 8 o’clock at night the news was spread that a boat
Would come tomorrow to take the residents of Marmara
At dawn on Sunday June the 7th
Marmara lost the bright light of the sun.

Ah, renowned Marmara, we’ll never forget you.
No matter how far I am from you nor for as long as I live.

I hope that when I board the ship, God will help me with
The pain of seeing the mountains of Marmara as I sail away.

Psalm 34
An Excerpt

Come, children, listen to me; I will teach you the fear of the LORD.
Who among you loves life, takes delight in prosperous days?
Keep your tongue from evil, your lips from speaking lies.
Turn from evil and do good; seek peace and pursue it.
The LORD has eyes for the just and ears for their cry.
The LORD’S face is against evildoers to wipe out their memory from the earth.
When the just cry out, the LORD hears and rescues them from all distress.
The LORD is close to the brokenhearted, saves those whose spirit is crushed.
Many are the troubles of the just, but the LORD delivers from them all.
God watches over all their bones; not a one shall be broken.
Evil will slay the wicked; those who hate the just are condemned.
The LORD redeems loyal servants; no one is condemned whose refuge is God.

Sevda Zinçiri
Anonymous

Sevda Zinciri Taktim Boynuma/ I put a chain of love on my neck
Bu sönmez atesi saldim koynuma/ I set an undistinguishable fire to my bosom
Bile bile vebal aldim boynuma/ Knowingly, I took the burden on my shoulders
(chorus) (chorus)
Yar uydun el sözüne/ Oh, beloved, you took the word of a stranger
Uyku girmez gözüme/ Sleep doesn’t come to my eyes
Garibim gurbet elde/ I am a poor man abroad
Kimse bakmaz yüzüme,vay/ No one looks at me
Gel nazli cadan/ Come, beloved
Ben sana sana hayran/ I am astonished with you
Gel nazli cadan/ Come, reluctant beloved
Ben sana kurban, aman/ I have sacrificed myself to you
Ben urdan sen yiktin taci tahtimi/ You smashed, you crashed the crown of my throne
Yine sen açarsin kara bahtimi/ You, again open my fortune
Duyuramaz oldum sana abdimi/ I became unable to make my sorrow heard by you

flag of Turkey

The text of HATRED was published by the large circulation Turkish
newspapaer Hurriyet on 18 July 1974, just 48 hours before the
Turkish invasion of Cyprus by order of the Bulent Ecevit
government.

Research: Leonidas Koumakis, Athens

Kahpe Yunan bu dünyada durdukça / As long as the vulgar Greek exists in this world
Bu kin benden vallâhi de gidemez / By Allah, my hatred won’t leave me
Durup durup köpek gibi gördükçe / As long as I see him there like a dog
Bu kin benden vallâhi de gidemez / By Allah, this hatred won’t leave me
Bin Gâvur kellesi bir kin ödemez / A thousand heads of infidel Giaours cannot wash away this hatred.

?ç almaktur yergâne tasam / My only aim is revenge
Sira g?lse sava? meydanuna u?rasam / When my turn comes to go to battle
Bir günde bin Gâvur kellesi do?rasam / In one day I’ll butcher a thousand Giaours
Bu kin benden vallâhi de gidemez / By Allah, this hatred won’t leave me
Bin Gâvur kellesi bir kin ödemez / A thousand heads of Giaours cannot wash away this hatred.

Otuz bininin ta?la ezsem ba?in? / Even if I crush thirty thousand of their heads with a stone
On bininin pensle söksem di?ini / Even if I wrench out the teeth of ten thousand
Yüz bininin çaya döksem le?ini / And throw a hundred thousand of their corpses into the river
Bu kin benden vallâhi de gidemez / By Allah, this hatred won’t leave me
Bin Gâvur kellesi bir kin ödemez / A thousand heads of Giaours cannot wash away this hatred.

Bütün dünya bilir Türk ’ün fark?n? / The whole world knows how superior the Turk is
Yunan ’in ba?ina yikan çark?nt / Who crashed the Greek’s fucked world over his head
Künhanlarda yâksam be? bin k?rk?n? / Even if I burn in stokeholes the heads of five thousand of them
Bu kin benden vallâhi de gidemez / By Allah, this hatred won’t leave me
Bin Gâvur kellesi bir kin ödemez / A thousand heads of Giaours cannot wash away this hatred

K?rk binini süngü ile pullasam / Even if I slash forty thousand of them with my bayonet
Seksen binini cehenneme yollasam / And send eighty thousand of them to the devil
Yüz binini ile çeklip sallasam / And hang a hundred thousand of them
Bu kin benden vallâhi de gidemez / By Allah, this hatred won’t leave me
Bin Gâvur kellesi bir kin ödemez / A thousand heads of Giaours cannot wash away this hatred.

by Diamanda Galás

THE WORLD IS GOING UP IN FLAMES
THE WORLD IS GOING UP IN FLAMES
THE WORLD IS GOING UP IN FLAMES
THE WORLD IS GOING UP IN FLAMES

But these flames are NOT new
To OUR dead
OUR dead did cry their final prayer in those flames
Our dead did sing their last lullaby in those flames
Our dead prayed to our infidelite GOd in those falmes
Our dead whispered a last goodbye to their mother
IN THOSE FLAMES

THE WORLD IS GOING UP IN FLAMES

OUR dead clawed their children close in
THE WORLD IS GOING UP IN FLAMES

OUR dead watched their daughters
16 times
RAPED AND BEATEN
in the still-burning of THOSE FLAMES

OUR dead watched an ax remove their
mother’s skull
and crown a wooden spit
in the continuous burning of THOSE FLAMES

OUR DEAD watched while Chrysotomos
eyes and tongue were pulled out,
teeth and fingers broken, one by one,
in the laughing and the cheering
OF THOSE FLAMES

OUR DEAD watched their sisters drenched with gasoline
and scream with melting skin
“THE WORLD IS GOING UP IN FLAMES”

OUR DEAD gave birth to Turkish victories
the gurgling and then dying trophy.
on a bayonet which marked the borders of
THE WORLD WHICH IS GOING UP IN FLAMES

OUR DEAD WERE DRAGGED IN MARCHES
THROUGH THE DESERT SUN
FOR WEEKS UNTIL THE SUN BURNED OUT THEIR LUNGS

and when the desert sun which was burning them like flames
ripped apart their lips, we heard the final prayer
LORD GOD HAVE MERCY LORD UPON OUR SOULS!

They saw the WORLD IS GOING UP IN FLAMES
buried, not yet dead inside the pits
engraved:

“GIAOURI, INFIDELI:
OUR GOD HAS CHOSEN YOU TO DIE”

And now the unblessed dead have ordered us to say:

THIS is my GRAVE, MY HOLY BED
YOU CANNOT take it

YOU can NOT ERASE MY NAME
YOU can NOT ERASE OUR DEAD

YOU CANNOT ERASE THE DEAD
Because we have been ordered now
to list their names, their numbers,

to give their date of birth, their earthly city,
their father’s name, the sweetness
of their mother’s eyes

GOODBYE

GOODBYE
and forevermore
We’ll see you when the desert meets the sky
But do not FORGET MY NAME

And so these were the orders from the dead
said without a word but with a final glance:
the

SECOND

granted to the Infidel

since an Infidelite Hell
should NOT require a prayer
should NOT require a silent moment

And now the Infidel is told
to forgive and to forget
to understand :

Advance into a paradise of Dead Memories,
of Living Death, the Old Folks Home
of Catatonia
of Madness
and Despair.

“Do not ask me for the NUMBER of that Grave:
It has been stolen.”

“What IS this love for bones and dirt?
Put this ancient thing behind you, Infidelite
You HAVE no claim to GOD
You Have no claim to PEACE
YOu HAVE no claim to JOY

YOU HAVE NO CLAIM

GIAVOURI!!!!

Remember just how lucky, sperm of Satan,
that you are:
to even BE
alive.

NOW!

HERE!

ACROSS THE SEA!

GIAVOUR!

You HAVE no God.

A man without a God
Can NOT be burned ALIVE
He never WAS alive,

not as a MAN, giavour,
but as a DOG.”

[PAUSE]

BUT I HAVE orders from the Dead
that warn me:

“DO NOT FORGET ME:
My blood will fill the air you breathe
FOREVER.”

“MY DEATHBIRD is Not DEAD

HE CARRIES ALL MY TEETH:

MY SMILE OF UNFORGETFULNESS,

MY LAUGH!

VRYKOLAKA!

I am the man unburied
who CANNOT sleep
IN FORTY PIECES!!!!!

I am the girl,
dismembered
and unblessed,

I am the open mouth
that drags your flesh
and will never rest

until

MY DEATH IS WRITTEN
IN A ROCK THAT CAN
NOT BE
BROKEN!”

And these are the orders
from The Dead.

By César Vallejo
Translated by Clayton Eshleman, Jose Rubia Burcia

Reanudo mi dia de conejo
Y, entre mi, digo:
ésta es mi immensidad en bruto, a cántaros,
éste mi grato peso, que me buscara abajo para pájaro:
éste es mi brazo
que por su cuenta rehusó ser ala,
éstas son mis sagradas escrituras,
éstos mis alarmados compañones.
Lúgubre isla me alumbrará continental,
mientras el capitolio se apoye en mi intimo derrumbe
y la asamblea en lanzas clausure mi desfile
Pero cuando yo muera
de vida y no de tiempo,
cuando lleguen a dos mis dos maletas,
éste ha de ser mi estómago en que cupo mi lámpara en pedazos,
ésta aquella cabeza que expió los tormentos del circulo en mis pasos,
éstos esos gusanos que el corazón contó oir unidades,
éste ha de ser mi cuerpo solidario
por el que vela el alma individual; éste ha de ser
mi hombligo en que maté mis piojos natos,
ésta mi cosa cosa, mi cosa tremebunda.
En tanto, convulsiva, ásperamente
convalence mi freno,
sufriendo como sufro del lenguaje directo del león:
y, puesto que he existido entre dos potestades de ladrillo,
convalezco yo mismo, sonriendo de mis labios.

Epistle To The Transients

I resume my day of a rabbit,
my night of an elephant in repose.
And, to myself, I say:
this is my immensity in the raw, in jugfuls,
this is my graceful weight, that sought me below to become a bird;
this is my arm
that on its own refused to be a wing,
these are my scriptures,
these my alarmed cullions.
A lugubrious island will illuminate me continental,
while the capitol leans on my intimate collapse
and the lance-filled assembly adjourns my parade.
But when I die
from life and not from time,
when my two suitcases become two,
this will be my stomach in which my lamp fit in pieces,
this that head that atoned for the torments of the circle in my steps,
these those worms that my heart counted one by one,
this will be my solidary body
over which the individual soul is watching: this will be
my navel in which I killed my innate lice,
this my thing thing, my dreadful thing.
Meanwhile, convulsively, harshly,
my bit convalesces,
suffering like I suffer the direct language of the lion:
and, because I have existed between two brick potentates,
I too convalesce, smiling at my lips.

by Henri Michaux
Translation by David Ball

I am rowing / Je Rame
I have cursed your forehead your belly your life / J’ai maudit ton front ton ventre ta vie
I have cursed the streets your steps plod through / J’ai maudit les rues que ta marche enfile
The things your hands pick up / Les objets que ta main saisit
I have cursed the inside of your dreams / J’ai maudit l’intérieur de tes rêves
I have set a puddle in your eye that can’t se anymore / J’ai mis une flaque dans ton œil qui ne voit plus
An insect in your ear that can’t hear anymore / Un insecte dans ton oreille qui n’entend plus
A sponge in your brain that can’t understand any more / Une éponge dans ton cerveau qui ne comprend plus
I have frozen you in the soul of your body / Je t’ai refroidi en l’âme de ton corps
Iced you in the depths of your life / Je t’ai glacé en ta vie profonde
The air you breathe suffocates you / L’air que tu respires te suffoque
The air you breathe has the air of a cellar / L’air que tu respires a un air de cave
Is an air that has already been exhaled / Est un air qui a déjà été expiré
Been puffed out by hyenas / Qui a été rejeté par des hyènes
The dung of this air is something no one can breathe / Le fumier de cet air personne ne peut plus le respirer
Your skin is damp all over / Ta peau est toute humide
Your skin sweats out waters of great fear / Ta peau sue l’eau de la grande peur
Your armpits reek far and wide of the crypt / Tes aisselles dégagent au loin une odeur de crypte
Animals stop dead as you pass / Les animaux s’arrêtent sur ton passage
Dogs howl at night, their heads raised toward your house / Les chiens, la nuit, hurlent, la tête levée vers ta maison
You can’t run away / Tu ne peux pas fuir
You can’t muster the strength of an ant to the tip of your feet / Il ne te vient pas une force de fourmi au bout du pied
Your fatigue makes a lead stump in your body / Ta fatigue fait une souche de plomb en ton corps
Your fatigue is a long caravan / Ta fatigue est une longue caravane
Your fatigue stretches out to the country of Nan / Ta fatigue va jusqu’au pays de Nan
Your fatigue is inexpressible / Ta fatigue est inexpressible
Your mouth bites you / Ta bouche te mord
Your nails scratch you / Tes ongles te griffent
No longer yours, your wife / N’est plus à toi ta famme
No longer yours, your brother / N’est plus à toi ton frère
The sole of his foot bitten by an angry snake / La plante de son pied est mordue par un serpent furieux
Someone has slobbered on your descendants / On a bavé sur ta progéniture
Someone has slobbered on the laugh of your little girl / On a bavé sur le rire de ta fillette
Someone has walked slobbering by the face of your domain / On est passé en bavant devant le visage de ta demeure
The world moves away from you / Le monde s’éloigne de toi
I am rowing / Je rame
I am rowing / Je rame
I am rowing against your life / Je rame contre ta vie
I am rowing / Je rame
I split into countless rowers / Je me multiplie en rameurs innombrables
To row more strongly against you / Pour ramer plus fortement contre toi
You fall into blurriness / Tu tombes dans le vague
You are out of breath / Tu es sans souffle
You get tired before the slightest effort / Tu te lasses avant même le moindre effort
I row / Je rame
I row / Je rame
I row / Je rame
You go off drunk, tied to the tail of a mule / Tu t’en vas, ivre, attaché à la queue d’un mulet
Drunkenness like a huge umbrella that darkens the sky / L’inverse comme un immense parasol qui abscurcit le ciel
And assembles the flies / Et assemble les mouches
Dizzy drunkenness of the semicircular canals / L’ivresse vertigineuse des canaux semicirculaires
Unnoticed beginnings of hemiplegia / Commencement mal écouté de l’hémiplégie
Drunkenness no longer leaves you / L’ivresse ne te quitte plus
Lays you out to the left / Te couche à gauche
Lays you out to the right / Te couche à droite
Lays you out on the stony ground of the path / Te couche sur le sol pierreux du chemin
I row / Je rame
I row / Je rame
I am rowing against your days / Je rame contre tes jours
You enter the house of the suffering / Dans la maison de la souffrance tu entres
I row / Je rame
I row / Je rame
On a black blindfold your actions are recorded / Sur un bandeau noir tes actions s’inscrivent
On the great white eye of a one-eyed horse your future is rolling / Sur le grand œil blanc d’un cheval borgne roule ton avenir
I AM ROWING / JE RAME

Todesfugue

by Paul Celan

Schwarze Milch der Frühe wir trinken sie abends
wir trinken sie mittags und morgens wir trinken sie nachts
wir trinken und trinken
wir schaufeln ein Grab in den Lüften da liegt man nicht eng
Ein Mann wohnt im Haus der spielt mit den Schlangen der schreibt
der schreibt wenn es dunkelt nach Deutschland dein goldenes Haar Margarete
er schreibt es und tritt vor das Haus und es blitzen die Sterne er pfeift seine Rüden herbei
er pfeift seine Juden hervor läßt schaufeln ein Grab in der Erde
er befiehlt uns spielt auf nun zum Tanz
Schwarze Milch der Frühe wir trinken dich nachts
wir trinken dich morgens und mittags wir trinken dich abends
wir trinken und trinken
Ein Mann wohnt im Haus der spielt mit den Schlangen der schreibt
der schreibt wenn es dunkelt nach Deutschland dein goldenes Haar Margarete
Dein aschenes Haar Sulamith wir schaufeln ein Grab in den Lüften da liegt man nicht eng
Er ruft stecht tiefer ins Erdreich ihr einen ihr andern singet und spielt
er greift nach dem Eisen im Gurt er schwingts seine Augen sind blau
stecht tiefer die Spaten ihr einen ihr andern spielt weiter zum Tanz auf
Schwarze Milch der Frühe wir trinken dich nachts
wir trinken dich mittags und morgens wir trinken dich abends
wir trinken und trinken
ein Mann wohnt im Haus dein goldenes Haar Margarete
dein aschenes Haar Sulamith er spielt mit den Schlangen
Er ruft spielt süßer den Tod der Tod ist ein Meister aus Deutschland
er ruft streicht dunkler die Geigen dann steigt ihr als Rauch in die Luft
dann habt ihr ein Grab in den Wolken da liegt man nicht eng
Schwarze Milch der Frühe wir trinken dich nachts
wir trinken dich mittags der Tod ist ein Meister aus Deutschland
wir trinken dich abends und morgens wir trinken und trinken
der Tod ist ein Meister aus Deutschland sein Auge ist blau
er trifft dich mit bleierner Kugel er trifft dich genau
ein Mann wohnt im Haus dein goldenes Haar Margarete
er hetzt seine Rüden auf uns er schenkt uns ein Grab in der Luft
er spielt mit den Schlangen und träumet der Tod is ein Meister aus Deutschland
dein goldenes Haar Margarete
dein aschenes Haar Sulamith
Death Fugue

by Paul Celan

Black milk of daybreak we drink it at sundown
we drink it at noon in the morning we drink it at night
we drink it and we drink it
we dig a grave in the clouds there one lies unconfined
A man lives in the house he plays with the serpents he writes
he writes when dusk falls to Germany your golden hair Margarete
he writes it and steps out of doors and the stars are all flashing he whistles his dogs out
he whistles his Jews out in earth has them dig for a grave
he commands us strike up for the dance
Black milk of daybreak we drink you at night
we drink in the morning at noon we drink you at sundown
we drink you and we drink you
A man lives in the house he plays with the serpents he writes
he writes when dusk falls to Germany your golden hair Margarete
your ashen hair Shulamith we dig a grave in the skies there one lies unconfined
He calls out jab deeper into the earth you lot you others sing now and play
he grabs at the iron in his belt he waves it his eyes are blue
jab deeper you lot with your spades you others play on for the dance
Black milk of daybreak we drink you at night
we drink you at noon in the morning we drink you at sundown
we drink and we drink you
a man lives in the house your golden hair Margarete
your ashen hair Shulamith he plays with the serpents
He calls out more sweetly play death death is the master from Deutschland
he calls out more darkly now stroke your strings then as smoke you will rise into air
then a grave you will have in the clouds there one lies unconfined
Black milk of daybreak we drink you at night
we drink you at noon death is a master from Germany
we drink you at sundown and in the morning we drink and we drink you
death is a master from Deutschland his eyes are blue
he strikes you with leaden bullets his aim is true
a man lives in the house your golden hair Margarete
he sets his pack on to us he grants us a grave in the air
he plays with the serpents and daydreams death is a master from Germany
your golden hair Margarete
your ashen hair Shulamith

Fuga de la Muerte

por Paul Celan

Leche negra del alba la bebemos en la tarde
la bebemos al mediodía y en las mañanas la bebemos en la noche
bebemos y bebemos
cavamos una tumba en los aires donde no es estrecho
un hombre vive en la casa y juega con las serpientes que escribe
que escribe a Alemania cuando oscurece tus dorados cabellos Margarita
lo escrbe y sale frente a la casa y refulgen las
estrellas y con un silbido llama a sus perros de presa
y silva a sus judíos les hace cavar una tumba en tierra
nos manda tocad para el baile

Leche negra del alba te bebemos de noche
te bebemos en la mañana y al mediodía te bebemos en la tarde
bebemos y bebemos
Un hombré vive en la casa y juega con las serpientes que escribe
escríbe a Alemania cuando oscurece tus dorados cabellos Margarita
tus cabellos cenicientos sulamita cavamos una tumba en los aires donde no es estrecho
vocifera, cavad más profundo en la tierra y vosotros cantad y tocad
coge su arma del cinto y la enarbola sus ojos son azules
hundid más profundo las palas y vosotros seguid tocando para el baile
Leche negra del alba te bebemos en la noche
te bebemos al mediodía y en las mañanas te bebemos en la tarde
bebemos y bebemos
un hombre vive en la casa tus cabellos dorados Margarita
tus cabellos cenicientos Sulamita &etilde;l juega con las serpientes
Vocifera, tocad más dulcemente a la muerte la muerte es un maestro venido de Alemania
Vocifera, haced sonar más lúgubres los violines y luego subid como humo en el aire
y tendréis una tumba en las nubes donde no es estrecho
Leche negra del alba te bebemos de noche
te bebemos al mediodía la muerte es n maestro venido de Alemania
te bebemos en la tarde y en las mañanas bebemos y bebemos
la muerte es un maestro venido de Alemania su ojo es azul
te acierta con bala de plomo te acierta con precisión
un hombre vive en la casa tus cabellos dorados Margarita
nos lanza sus perros de presa nos da una tumbe en el aire
juega con las serpientes y sueña, la muerte es un maestro venido de Alemania
tus cabellos dorados Margarita
tus cabellos cenicientos Sulamita
Traducción por Oscar E. Aguilera F.

Description

Created and performed by Diamanda Galás

DEFIXIONES refers to the warnings engraved in lead which were placed on the graves of the dead in Greece and Asia Minor. They cautioned against moving or desecrating the corpses under threat of extreme harm.

WILL AND TESTAMENT refers to the last wishes of the dead who have been taken to their graves under unnatural circumstances.

Concept:

The concert material in this song cycle includes music set to the texts of the Armenian poet/soldier Siamanto; the Belgian/French poet Henri Michaux; the Syrian/Lebanese poet Adonis; the rembetika songs of Sotiria Bellou; the Anatolian Greek Amanedhes; the blues music of the American musicians Bozie Sturdivant and Blind Lemon Jefferson, and the sacred songs of the Deep South. A new addition to the song cycle is a striking piece written by Galás called “The World Has Gone Up In Flames”, which premiered at Royce Hall (UCLA) November 2001. Galás warns that, even in death, those that were chosen to die have not been defeated nor are they forgotten. “My death is written in a rock that cannot be broken.”

The work is concerned with the poet/author living in exile, away from his homeland. DEFIXIONES, WILL AND TESTAMENT speaks for individuals who have had to live as outlaws, as they were treated as outlaws; and for those who have had to create houses out of rock.

Dedication:

DEFIXIONES, WILL AND TESTAMENT is dedicated to the forgotten and erased of the Armenian, Assyrian, and Anatolian Greek genocides which occurred between 1914 and 1923.

The Album

2003

UK 2xCD+book Mute STUMM 205

Tracks:

Disc A:

THE DANCE:

Ter Vogormia
The Desert Part I
The Desert Part II
Sevda Zinçiri
Holokaftoma
Ter Vogormia (reprise)
The Eagle of Tkuma
Orders From The Dead

Disc B:

SONGS OF EXILE:

Hastayim Yasiyorum
San Pethano sto Karabi
Je Rame
Epístola A Los Transeúntes
Birds Of Death
Anoixe
Todesfugue
Artémis
See That My Grave Is Kept Clean

Blaise Dupuy: recording producer

Rex Ray: cover design

Austin Young: cover photo

Libretto

“The Dance”

Ter Vogormia, The Desert I, The Desert II, Sevda Zinçiri, Holokaftoma, Ter Vogormia (reprise)Words by Siamanto (Atom Yarjanian), 1909Music by Diamanda GalásTaped recitation by Shakeh KadehijanLiturgical melody “TER VOGORMIA” by Marar YekmalianWith excerpts from ‘THE DESERT’ by Adonis (Ali Ahmad Said), 1982;”‘Priere-Litanie” (Psalm 34); “Sevda Zinciri”, anonymous;”A Desperate Vitality” by Pier Paolo Pasolini (1922-1975);”Those Who Stopped Halfway” by José Maria Cuellar;”Symposium” by Nikos Kazantzakis (1883-1957);

“Kin (Hatred)”

The text of HATRED was published by the large circulation Turkishnewspapaer Hurriyet on 18 July 1974, just 48 hours before theTurkish invasion of Cyprus by order of the Bulent Ecevitgovernment.

“The Eagle of Thkuma”

Words by Dr. Freidoun Bet-OrahamAs read by Nicholas Bet-Gulawi

“Orders From The Dead”

Words and Music by Diamanda Galás

“If I Die On The Boat”

Anonymous, ZembekikoFirst recorded in 1920, and made famous by the great Sotiria Bellou.

“Epistle To The Transients”

Words by César VallejoMusic by Diamanda GalásFrom “SERMON ON BARBARISM” 1923 – 1926with excerpts from “THE WINDOWS SHUDDERED” fromPAYROLL OF BONES 1923 – 1926.

“Hastayim Yasiyorum”

Words and Music by Udi Hrant

“Anoixe”

Words and Music by PapaioanouFirst recorded in 1948, and made famous by the great Sotiria Bellou.

“Je Rame”

Words by Henri MichauxMusic by Diamanda Galás

“Todesfugue”

Words by Paul CelanMusic by Diamanda Galás

All of Diamanda’s song cycles constantly evolve and therefore are subject to change at any time.

Research

Articles

From the Assyrian International News Agency

Christian Genocide in the Middle East and Public Apathy in America (AINA, January 7, 2015)
AINA Guest Editorial: A Cry of Help By the Assyrians (AINA, September 27, 2005)
Assyrian Woman Brutally Murdered By Muslim Extremists in North Iraq (AINA, September 13, 2005)
Iraqis Squeezed Out By Kurdish Expansion, Muslim-Centric Constitution (AINA, August 20, 2005)
Guest Editorial: World Maronites Condemn Iraq Church Attacks, Call for Emergency Action (AINA, October 19, 2004)
Amid Escalating Fear of Massacres, Assyrians Commemorate Martyr’s Day (AINA, August 8, 2004)
Terrorist Attacks on Assyrians Intensify (AINA, June 20, 2004)
Looting of Iraq’s Treasures a Profound Loss for Assyrians (AINA, April 19, 2003)

Articles from other periodicals

Outcry over Isis destruction of ancient Assyrian site of Nimrud (The Guardian, March 6, 2015)
ISIS Attacks Nimrud, a Major Archaeological Site in Iraq (The New York Times, March 5, 2015)
Ugandan outing of homosexuals ‘chilling’: activists (CBS, September 8, 2006)
Writers on Trial, by Elif Shafak (Washington Post, September 24, 2006)
Author’s trial set to test Turkey, by Sarah Rainsford (BBC, December 14, 2005)
Turkey: Pamuk Trial Tests Commitment to Free Speech (December 8, 2005)
Armenian forum ban splits Turks (BBC, September 23, 2005)
One down, Two to Go for Govmt’s Truth Twisters (Hellenic News, July 26, 2004)
George Pataki: Press Release for the Holocaust Memorial Observance Committee of Asia Minor (October 6, 2002)
Opium of the masses? by Gamal Nkrumah (Al-Ahram Weekly 25 Nov. – 1 Dec. 1999)
Days of Tragedy in Armenia: Personal Experiences in Harpoot (Gomidas Institute, 1997)
Article by author, professor and columnist, Christos Yiannaras (August 24, 1997)
Mandates or War? (The New York Times, November 9, 1919)
Black September: Hellenic Genocide (greece.org)

Bibliographies

Siamanto (1878-1915), one of the most important Armenian poets of the twentieth century was among the Armenian intellectuals executed by the Turkish government at the onset of the genocide during the first decade of the century. Available for the first time in English translation, his BLOODY NEWS FROM MY FRIEND depicts the atrocities committed by the Ottoman Turkish government against its Armenian population. The cycle of twelve poems bears the imprint of genocide in a language that is raw and blunt; it often eschews metaphor and symbol for more stark representation. Siamanto confronts pain, destruction, sadism, and torture as few modern poets have.

Adonis (the pen-name of Ali Ahmad Said) was born in Syria in 1930. Syrian poet and literary critic. Born in Qassabin, Adonis studied philosophy at Damascus University and St Joseph’s University in Beirut, where he obtained his Doctorat d’Etat in 1973. After his arbitrary imprisonment for six months in 1955 for political activities and membership in the Syrian National Socialist Party, he settled in Lebanon in l956, later becoming a Lebanese national. His poetry often appears to be polarized between the mystical and the revolutionary, dissolving into a single harmonized vision. (paraphrase bio from Kamal Abu-Deeb) He was exiled to Beirut in 1956 and later became a Lebanese citizen. The founder of the influential journal MAWAQIF, a critic as well as a poet, he has exercised enormous influence on Arabic literature.

Michaux, Henri (Namen 1899 – Paris 1984) French speaking Belgian writer and painter, influenced by surrealism, traveled greatly throughout South America and Asia. These travels inspired him to write imaginary travel stories, such as VOYAGE EN GRANDE GARABAGNE (1936). His cruel, often mystical fantasies informed the greater part of his writing, which reads like an autobiography of his inner life. In his search for “artificial paradise” he turned to drugs; MISERABLE MIRACLE (1955). Because of the explosive nature of his poems, reminiscent of de Lautreamont, his works are often inaccessible. He also tried to express his inner world through painting, especially gouache.

“He who hides his madman dies voiceless” –Henri Michaux

Vallejo, César (1895-1938), Peruvian poet. Vallejo was one of the most influential yet least imitated figures of modern Spanish-American letters. He identified himself with the sufferings of the underprivileged and dedicated himself to the cause of social progress. Himself a mestizo — of Indian and white origin — he was deeply distressed by the exploitation of the Indian. His poems in HERALDOS NEGROS (1918) blend symbolism and caustic observation in terse classical form. He was imprisoned on false charges in 1920; in jail he wrote a part of TRILCE (1922). The book is somber and tragic in tone and dramatically experimental in form. In 1923 he went to Europe in self-imposed exile, espoused the Marxist cause, and aligned himself with the Republicans in the Spanish civil war. He also wrote TUNGSTEND (1931), a moving novel about the Indians. Vallejo made a meager living from journalism and died in poverty.

Celan, Paul(Czernowitz 1920 – Paris 1970). Originally given the name Paul Antschel, Celan changed the spelling after World War II. He grew up in a multilingual and multicultural society. This exposure set the precedent for his later literary career. Celan lost his parents overnight to a Nazi deportation at a young age. Witnessing the execution of his mother haunted him throughout his life, and would eventually drive him to suicide. He suffered the rigors of a German forced labor camp and subsequent Soviet occupation. After the War, Celan spent much of his life in voluntary exile in Paris, France. He suffered from recurring delusional bouts of paranoia, and took his own life by leaping into the Seine shortly after Passover in April of 1970.

Dr. Freidoun Bet-Oraham (Aturaya) (Charbakhsh 1891 – Tbilisi 1925), one of the most important Assyrian poets of the twentieth century. A military doctor, much loved by the Tsar and educated in the universities of Kharkov, Saratov and the military academy at the University of Petrograd, he graduated in 1915 and was appointed head of the military hospital in Georgia during WWI. He was later made the Chief Medical Officer for the Northern and Southern Caucasian Railways and in 1917 he was promoted to the rank of Director General of Finance to the U.S.S.R.

Dr. Freidoun was later transferred to the Russian Forces in Iran, where he served at the 492nd Army Hospital in Khoi as well as a political officer. During this time, he worked zealously for an Assyrian national home. He established an Assyrian Association in Tbilisi as well an Assyrian United Front. He also established the Assyrian National Committee in Urmia and he collaborated with the Russian vice-consul Kirsanov to organize and run a special refugee committee. Thousands of Assyrians fleeing genocide and hunger to the Transcaucasus were helped through this Red Cross assisted committee.

Dr. Freidoun established an Assyrian Library in Moscow and in Tbilisi and he also published an Assyrian magazine called “Naqusha” (Bell) as a means to awaken the nationalistic fervour in Assyrians and to advance his aim of an Assyrian national home. He was one of the many Assyrian intellectuals who supported the Russian Revolution of February 1917, and was one of the founders of the first Assyrian political party, “The Assyrian Socialist Party”. Due to his patriotism, he was called “Freidoun Aturaya” (Freidoun the Assyrian).

Dr. Freidoun was accused by some church-oriented Assyrian leaders of being pro-English or pro-French and he was arrested by the Georgian regime a few times before communists took over the country. After Soviet power began to influence Iran, Dr. Freidoun hoped for repatriation of Assyrians in the Urmia and Salamas regions. He set out on a trip to see Russian foreign minister G. Chicherin in 1921, however, this meeting was not fruitful.

Dr. Freidoun was arrested by the KGB in 1924 on charges of being a fanatic Assyrian Nationalist who inspired the Assyrians toward the hope of returning to Mesopotamia and establishing a free Assyria. It is said that he was poisoned while in prison although the Georgian government officials denied involvement in his death and instead, they asserted that he had committed suicide by hanging himself. Others have also stated that he was executed by the KGB. Witnesses who had seen him in prison before his death, noted that he had a habit of singing a poem he had written during WWI, THE EAGLE OF TKHUMA, to pass the time and give himself courage. Available for the first time in English translation, his EAGLE OF TKHUMA depicts the hopeless situation of the Assyrians who had banded together to defend themselves against the Ottoman onslaught, as it advanced its campaign of annihilation across the Persian border to the Christians of the Urmia and Salamas regions.

Links

The Turkish Crime of Our Century
http://imia.cc.duth.gr/turkey/index.e.html
Hellenic Genocide Quotes from historical documents and related Photos
http://www.greece.org/genocide/quotes/
Smyrna 1922 The Destruction of a City (Marjorie Housepian Dobkin)
http://www.greecetravel.com/smyrna/
Theodore G. Karakostas: “US should press Turkey on terrorism”
http://www.flash-bulletin.de/2002/eMart26.htm#1
Armenian National Institute
http://www.armenian-genocide.org/
No One Is Forgotten, Nothing Is Forgotten
http://www.armenians.com/Genocide/
Cilicia
http://www.cilicia.com/armo10.html
GendercideWatch: The gendercide against Armenian women
http://www.gendercide.org/case_armenia.html
Armenian Genocide 1915-2002 Poster Campaign
http://www.armeniangenocideposters.org/
Genocide.Ru (In Russian)
http://genocide.ru/
The Genocide Project
http://www.genocide-project.org/
Armenian Research Center (University of Michigan øDearborn)
http://www.umd.umich.edu/dept/armenian/
The Forgotten
http://www.theforgotten.org/intro.html
Two Bibliographies on the Armenian Genocide
http://www.umd.umich.edu/dept/armenian/facts/gen_bib.html
Useful Answers to Frequent Questions on the Armenian Genocide
http://www.umd.umich.edu/dept/armenian/facts/answers.html
Gomidas Institute
www.gomidas.org
Dead Reckoning; Holocausts vs holocausts
http://groong.usc.edu/fisk2.html
Kurdistan Recognizes the Armenian Genocide
http://www.cilicia.com/armo10i_kurdistan.html
American Kurdish Information Network
http://www.kurdistan.org/
Macedonian Press Agency
http://www.mpa.gr/
Groong Armenian News Network
http://groong.usc.edu
Ellinikes Grammes-the electronic patriotic newspaper
http://www.e-grammes.gr/index_en.html
Asbarez Armenian Daily Newspaper
http://www.asbarez.com/
Stohos (In Greek)
http://www.stoxos.gr/
Cyprus News Agency
http://www.cna.org.cy/
Assyrian International News Agency:
http://aina.org/martyr.htm
Armenian National Institute:
http://www.armenian-genocide.org/photo-wegner/doorstep.htm
About the invasion of Cyprus
http://kypros.org/Cyprus_Problem
The Missing Cypriots
http://www.missing-cy.org
Loizidou v. Turkey
http://www.cyprus.com.cy
Occupied Cyprus Project
http://kypros.org/Occupied_Cyprus
Lobby for Cyprus
http://www.lobbyforcyprus.org
Sources on Cyprus
http://www.hri.org/nodes/cyprus.html
Before the Slience
http://www.umd.umich.edu/dept/armenian/bts

Cyprus links courtesy of Sofia Kontogeorge Kostos.

Defixiones, Will and Testament

El Baile

Kin (Hatred)

The Eagle of Tkhuma

The Orders from the Dead

If I Die on the Boat

Epistola a los Transeuntes

Hastayim Yasiyorum

Anoixe, Anoixe (Open Up, Open Up)

I Am Rowing / Je Rame

Todesfugue

Todesfugue

Description

Created and performed by Diamanda Galás

Concept:

Dedication:

The Album

Tracks:

Disc A:

THE DANCE:

Disc B:

SONGS OF EXILE:

Libretto

Research

Articles

From the Assyrian International News Agency

Articles from other periodicals

Bibliographies

Links