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VOICES
HOPE
Eduard Harents, Armenia Eva Petropoulou Lianoy, Greece Ashraf Aboul-Yazid, Egypt
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Eduard Harents graduated from Yerevan State University, the faculty of Oriental Studies, and Cairo University’s Centre of Arabic Language and Culture. He is an author of 10 poetry collections, and has been published in a large number of both Armenian and foreign periodicals and anthologies. Eduard is the most translated Armenian writer of all time, with his work being translated into more than 50 languages. In 2007, 2009, 2011 and 2013, he was awarded in the Best Poetical Series and Best Translation nominations, and 2013, the young poets first prize for the book “Lethargic Vigilance”. Awards also include: the International literary prize for poetry 2015 and 2019, and the Panorama International Literature Award 2020 (India-Italy). In 2016, his book “The life lives me” was published in Belgium, and in 2017, his book “Lethargic Vigilance” was published in Spain. In 2014 he participated in the Festivalul de Internaţionale “Nopţile de Poezie de la Curtea de Argeş” (Romania) and in the Festival Internazionale di Poesia di Genova (Italy).
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Eduard Harents’s Poems
I know, I will wake up someday from the mystical dinner, will wear my father’s damaged footsteps as little pockets filled with immeasurable love… Can my days − I wonder − scale that much unbearable lightness?
Translated from Armenian by Harout Vartanian
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I am plucking now the eyelashes of silence one by one to mend my prayer, which has been torn by nuances of word… Now the nuance is more than the voice… And now I enter the church of Hope barefooted, so that my steps will not paint voices on my fortune. How many footprints have been split apart by whispers… While my footprint is my prayer of love, which never ends, as it never colors itself in words… And now the main color is the truth, that love is the poem of the feeling… That muses don’t turn into women…
Translated from Armenian by Herminée Arshakyan 7
The day's like orange bites as the hips of a lady… Little slum dogs parched out will die leaking their own veins. Angel’s pillow will get sweated under the skin of their own dream. Out of a calyx of a broken word Light bubbles will toll…
Translated from Armenian by Maneh Kocharyan 8
Ochre in C major Up the unhurried roots of the night, in circular movements approaches the engagement of the dawn, which divides throughout the flower's triangular pistil, where salt eats up the skeleton of fish in the fisherman's liver‌ From among the sorrow of dark waters dies the subconscious of Good Fridays. In front of the doors I strip myself naked of myself and from my voice remains a signature in Jesus' style on the dew of the dawn‌
Translated from Armenian by Anna Talalyan 9
The eleventh commandment
When you let Love go from your hand, give a clap to your soul’s «weakness». And to forgiveness of the light that flew from your eaves give a clap with palm to your cheek from which you tore the flute of aroma. Give a clap to the flute… One hand gives a clap too…
Translated from Armenian by Ani Hakobyan 10
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©®Eva Petropoulou Lianoy Eva was born in Xylokastro where she completed her basics studies. She loved journalism by small and attended journalism lesson at the ANT1 School. In 1994 she worked as a journalist in French newspaper "Le LIBRE JOURNAL," but her love for Greece won and returned to her sunny home. Since 2002, she lives and works in Athens. She works as a web radio producer reading fairy tales at radio logotexniko vima every Sunday. Recently she become responsible for the children literary section in Vivlio anazitiseis publications in Cyprus. She published books and ebooks: " I and my other avenger, my Skia publications Saita." "Zeraldin and The elf of the lake" in Italian and in French as well as “The daughter of the Moon” in 2 languages English and Greek. The Moon Daughter published by Ocelotos 4 times, received best reviews for author's writing and writing style. She is a member of the Unesco Logos and Art Group, of the writers of Corinth, of Panhellenic Writers Association. Also her work is mentioned in the Known Greek awarded encyclopedia for Poets and authors, Harry Patsi, page 300. Her books have been cleared by the Ministry of Education of Cyprus. Eva’s recent work includes: "The water Amazon fairy called Myrtia" ,illustrated by Vivi Markatos, dedicated to a girl that become handicap after a sexual assault and the translation of stories of Lafcadio Hearn, "Fairytravel with stories from Far East", an idea that she worked more than 6 months illustrated by MsNtinaAnastasiadoy, very known sculptor and sumi e painter in Greece. Blog: http://evalianou.blogspot.gr E-mail: eviepara@yahoo.fr
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Eva Petropoulou Lianoy’s Poems 1. Contact
I forgot what a kiss is, The taste of an afternoon coffee! So as the waves pulled from the land, I feel like a desert ship. “Contact”, I forgot what that word means, Shipwreck for months In books I look for a meaning to embrace me, To tell me everything will be fine … To go and leave those roses in my father's memory, To light a candle to the Virgin Mary “Contact”, to be in your dream hug Let me see your eyes, To smell your perfume, I'm looking for that word in that old dictionary. ©®Eva Petropoulou Lianou
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2. Dreams
Dreams are God's plans Dreams are the wishes of the Virgin Mary Long live the heroes The goodness of people Dreams are the smiles of the Angels Dreams are the colors of the rainbow Dreams are your words when they speak to me Dreams are the love that makes everything strong and full of light…
©®Eva Petropoulou Lianou
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3. Angels
One day an angel came to earth He saw the faces of humans He became one of them He saw the body of humans He created one body He even walked like them But the big problem was the wings Where the humans hide their wings??
ŠŽEva Petropoulou Lianoy
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4. Fear of western winds
Fear of the unexpected appearance of the heavenly part Over the years there have been sketches Paintings in the museum The youth passed away quickly. We were imprisoned brother, In both hands, In two eyes, In the words of the ancestors The stuff is overtaking us As a concierge of an entire building The memory of a beauty It woke us up for a while In this enigma we were a little lacking in finding a solution. Let's see a miracle.
ŠŽEva Petropoulou Lianoy
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5. Wishes become prayers
Prayers become words in the God’s ears Whispers were coming from Angels My poetry is a bridge between earth and heaven One request I have One word I cry out ... Peace... ... Peace... ... Peace....
©®Eva Petropoulou Lianoy
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Ashraf Aboul-Yazid is an Egyptian poet, novelist and journalist born in 1963. He is the Editor-in-Chief, THE SILK ROAD LITERATURE SERIES. He has been working in Cultural Journalism for more than 30 years. He authored and translated 35 books. Some of his novels and poetry volumes have been translated into English, Spanish, Turkish, Persian, Korean, Malayalam, Sindhi and German books and anthologies. He was chosen the Man of Culture for the Year, 2012, Tatarstan, Russia. He won Manhae Prize in Literature, 2014, the Republic of Korea. He won the Arab Journalism Award in Culture, 2015, UAE. Currently he is the president of Asia Journalist Association (since April 2016). Poetry | Arabic
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Washwashat Al Bahr, (the Whisper of the Sea), Cairo, 1989. Al Asdaf, (the Shells), Cairo, 1996. Zakirat Al Samt, (the Memory of Silence), Beirut, 2000. FawqaSirat Al Mawt , (On the Passage of Death), Cairo, 2001. Zakirat Al Farashat, (the Memory of Butterflies), Cairo, 2005.
Poetry | Non-Arabic
6. Una calleen el Cairo, (A street in Cairo), (Spanish), Casa de Poesa – Editorial UCR, Costa Rica, 2010. 7. YaraliGÜvercinlerIrmaği, (Turkish), Artshop, Istanbul, Turkey, 2012. 8. The memory of Butterflies , (Persian), Afraz, Tehran, 2013 9. The Memory of Silence, English, Poetrywala, Mumbai, 2016 10. (The Whisper of the Sea), (Spanish), Casa de Poesa – Editorial UCR, Costa Rica, 2018. 11. A Street in Cairo (Sindhi), Dareen, Germany, 2020 12. A Street in Cairo (German), Dareen, Germany, 2020
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Our thick blood will dry on wounds and be thrown by the angry wind, to find places for the new ones. Our scattered drops of blood on the sandy roads are drunk by the desert plants to grow thorns ready to attack a wild plant.
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For a life or more, I am getting on the same stage To play the same role: Weeping! While all other heroes are Slaughtering me, Among the whistling audience No one to put the curtains down, No one to do so!
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When my voice penetrated The virginity of the night, The sun flew through my fingers, to draw a shadow after me. It was getting taller or shorter, and taller‌ Then, the darkness killed me.
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I know a homeland that is like a visa. Its flag looks like the night of your hair, with its thousand tails. It is like a priest who Gives no forgiveness, While he is full of sins!
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I give the birds their wings, I give the sea its thundering waves, I wave pieces of cotton to the sky, I spin its thread into rain, to decorate the dress of the earth with its motives, When my season of harvest is coming, farmers offer me sacrifice prayers and utensils. They wrap me in a scarf with iris flowers dotted with dew, as I extend the sails of innocence, Virginity, Surprise, Courage, For feasts and celebrations! Then, I could decipher The engraved texts on the talisman: “In the womb of truth, There were twins, And that battle was the first�. 26
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