IALA x h-pem | Our Young Poets from Artsakh
November 21, 2023
Two young poets (and best friends), Alisa Tavadyan & Anjelika Atayan, from Taghavard, Artsakh, wrote poems and submitted them to the 2023 Young Armenian Poet Awards. Read them below.
The IALA x h-pem 2023 Young Armenian Poets Awards grappled with the notion of visibility as it relates to Armenian identity and experience. Two young poets and best friends, Alisa Tavadyan and Angelika Atayan, submitted their poems while living in Taghavard, Artsakh, under the Azerbaijani blockade. In their application, the poets wrote, “We turned to poetry as necessity… both a salve and a weapon for us.” We at IALA are inspired by their creativity in the midst of a crisis and are honored to share their poems. Their poems are translated by poet, 2023 IALA mentee, and former h-pem assistant project manager, Lilly Torosyan. Click here to visit their Instagram page (@nex.us.project) for more of their poetry and documentation of their everyday life.
Read their poems (in Eastern Armenian and their English translations), followed by their biographies, below.
Հիասթափություն
Հիասթափություն, որը չես կարող փոխել
Մեծ ցավ, արյուն
Փոքր ազգի դու մի մեծ պատմություն
Կարոտ, հուշեր, որոնք կապրեն դարեր
Սպասում ու վախ
Կյանքեր՝ կորսված ավաղ
Անկարողություն, մխիթարություն,
Սփոփանքի անհրաժեշտություն
Ոգի՝ ուժեղ,
Կաս, կմնաս հավետ ինձ հետ
Բարի ու չար՝ մարդիկ, խառնված իրար
Վստահություն, անպարտություն
Հայ ժողովրդի ազատություն․․․
Disappointment
unbending
Pain heavy
Bleeding
A big story for a small nation
Waiting
fear
Lives lost, alas
Longing, memories
To live on like ash
Disability
Solace
Comfort
Necessity
Spirit,
You are strong,
You exist, and will stay with me
Endlessly
Good and evil
Twisted together
Trust, invincibility
Armenian people in freedom untether
By Alisa Tavadyan and Anjelika Atayan.
Translation by Lilly Torosyan.
Խոսք պատերազմին
Մենք ունեցել ենք փախուստներ
Անկարող եղել որեւէ բան փոխել
Ունեցել ենք նաև նվաճումներ
Որոնց մեր միասնության շնորհիվ ենք հասել
Եղել ենք կոտրված, լքված, ջախջախված
Մտածել ենք, որ կարող ենք ամեն ինչ հաղթահարել
Մտածել ենք, որ մենք ուժեղ ենք ու անպարտ
Կոկորդներս խեղդող անորոշության զգացումով փորձել ենք ապրել
Կարծես ոչինչ էլ չէր պատահել
Կարծես չունեինք մտավախություն, որ կվերանանք աշխարհի երեսից
Կարծես մենք չէինք արյուն հեղել ու հայրենիք կորցրել
Ու թող չթվա, թե մոռացել ենք, թե ետ չենք գալու, չենք պահանջելու մենք մեր հողերը
Թող չթվա քեզ պատերազմ, որ մենք հանձնվել ենք, ու որ քեզ հաջողվեց մեզ ընկճել
Մենք չենք հանձնվի, ինչ էլ որ լինի, առաջ կգնանք ու չենք կործանվի
Որքան որ պարզ ենք ու իմաստուն, այնքան հզոր ենք ու մարտունակ
Դու չարիք ես, պատերա՛զմ, չարիք, որ ընկել ես ազգերի ետեւից ու հոշոտում է նրանց ծաղկուն ապագան
Դու ծարավ ես արյան, ու այդ ծարավը հագեցնում ես միայն ազգի ջահելների արյամբ
Կորչի՛ պատերազմը ընդմիշտ։
A word to war:
We've had evasions
Unable to change anything
We’ve also had conquest
Achieved thanks to our unity
We’ve been broken, abandoned, crushed
We thought we could handle anything.
We thought we were strong, invincible.
We’ve tried to live with uncertainty choking our throats
As though, nothing has happened.
As though, without fear of disappearing from the face of the earth.
As though, we did not shed blood and lose our homeland.
Let it not seem that we have forgotten
that we will not come back
that we will not demand back our lands
Let it not seem to you, War, that we have surrendered
and that you have succeeded in crushing us.
Despite the odds, we will not surrender.
We will not perish.
As simple and wise as we are, we are also powerful and combative.
You are evil, War, evil, that you destroy nations and their prosperous future.
You are bloodthirsty, and you quench that thirst only with the blood of nation's youth,
Get lost, War, forever.
By Alisa Tavadyan and Anjelika Atayan.
Translation by Lilly Torosyan.
Զոհված եղբորը սպասող քույրը
Ասացիր կգաս, անպայման կգաս,
Բայց միայն ասացիր, որ կգաս,
Ասացիր կսպասես, ես կգամ,
Բայց, ցավոք, չեկար․․․
Դու չեկար․․․
Սակայն մի օր երազիս մեջ դու եկար,
Ասացիր, ահա, այստեղ եմ, եկա,
Ու իմ մեջ հույս արթնացավ, որ միգուցե կգաս,
Սպասեցի երկար, շատ երկար,
Բայց, ցավոք, չեկար․․․
Դու չեկար․․․
The sister of a fallen brother
You said you’d come, you assured me you’d come
But you simply said it
You said, just wait, I’ll come
But, alas, you didn’t
You didn’t come...
One day, in my dream, you came
You said, here I am, I came
And hope arose in me that maybe you will return to me
I waited awhile, a long while
But, alas, you didn’t
You didn’t come…
By Anjelika Atayan.
Translation by Lilly Torosyan.
Who is Alisa Tavardyan?
My name is Alisa Tavadyan. I was born on August 16, 2007, in the village of Taghavard, in the Martuni region of Artsakh. I live with my mother and middle-born brother. I also have an older brother. Due to not having the means to support us, in 2012, my mother enrolled my middle brother and me at the Berdzor boarding school in Artsakh, where we stayed until 2018 until my mother was able to take us back to the village with her. From age six, I attended the Vahan Tekeyan secondary school of Berdzor, and after returning to the village, I continued my studies at the village’s primary school.
Following primary school, I attended the Karmir Shuka Secondary School in our neighboring village. During the 44-day war of 2020, my family and I went to Armenia, where we stayed throughout the war. After the war, our village was divided into two – half remained in Artsakh, and the other half was now in Azerbaijan. My family returned and continued to live there, despite our village turning into a border. After three years, on September 19, 2023, the war started again. This time, we had to leave Artsakh forever. Now, I live in Etchmiadzin, Armenia, and attend the Mkhitar Sebastatsi Educational Complex. I like to read and, at times, write; I’m also interested in music.
I’d like to become a programmer. After the 44-day war, when we returned to the village, my classmate Anjelika Atayan and I started to write and record poems together, along with other writers’ poetry. We posted them on our Instagram page and then started blogging on it too.
Who is Anjelika Atayan?
My name is Anjelika Atayan. I was born on June 19, 2007, in Artsakh. I lived in the village of Taghavard, Martuni region, which was divided between us and Azerbaijanis after the 44-day war. I studied at Taghavard-Kaler school and at Karmir Shuka secondary school until 11th grade. Since we had to leave our homeland after the 1-day war in 2023, I resumed my studies at the Artik N3 high school, Shirak region, Armenia. I wrote my first poem after the war when I met Anna Mikaelyan, the director of nex.us.project, with whom Alisa Tavadyan and I also wrote songs. I was inspired by working with Anna and started writing poetry with Alisa afterward.
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Related Collaborations
In a time of turbulence and uncertainty, the Young Armenian Poets Awards (YAPA) stands as a beacon of hope and expression. Founded and directed by Alan Semerdjian, YAPA of the International Armenian Literary Alliance (IALA) collaborates with h-pem, which, in turn, seeks to provide an authentic audience for the annual awards. As our nation grapples with turmoil, YAPA invites young talents to explore profound existential questions. How can poetry become a bridge connecting Armenia and its vast diaspora? What dialogues are essential within the Armenian community and with the world? These questions are met with insightful responses, as young awardees delve deep into their souls, weaving symbolism, fantasy, and elegy into their work.
In 2023, the theme of "Visibility" resonates deeply as the Armenian people face challenging times, particularly in Artsakh. The lack of media coverage and international support is disheartening, leading many to feel as though they are disappearing before their own eyes. However, YAPA continues to shine a spotlight on these issues through the power of poetry. This year's winning and honorable mention poems offer poignant reflections on identity, remembrance, and resistance.
Gregory Djanikian, Armine Iknadossian, Alan Semerdjian, and Raffi Wartanian, distinguished individuals in the literary world, provide insightful commentary on the winning works. These poems encapsulate the essence of the Armenian spirit, addressing the struggles and resilience of a people whose stories deserve to be told. YAPA's mission to illuminate the dark corners of our universe through poetry remains steadfast, and it is through the voices of these young poets that we find a glimmer of light and hope during these somber times.
Read on to understand more of YAPA's 2023 edition through Alan Semerdjian's lenses.
“We all need a destination in which we might envision our work living.” In these words, Alan Semerdjian, Founder and Director of Young Armenian Poets Awards once again turns to h-pem to find an “authentic audience” for IALA’s (International Armenian Literary Alliance) annual awards.
These are turbulent times! While the soul of our nation is in turmoil, IALA taps into young talent and invites them to self-reflect by posing existential questions that beg for answers:
How can poetry serve as a bridge between Armenia and the over five million persons of full or partial Armenian ancestry living outside it today? What kinds of conversations might be necessary between Armenians and the world or across the diaspora itself?
Straight insights are not easy to come by. Yet, it’s fascinating to see how the young awardees dig deep into the topic and bring their own unique perspectives laced with symbolism, fantasy, and elegy. Fraught with the conflicts we all mediate internally, they guide us with empathy, love, and the hope of renewal.
Check out Semerdjian's whirling introduction to the 2022 YAPA below.
Follow the links in the article for a hauntingly beautiful poetic conversation we would all desire, especially during this critical and somber time in our history.
“I Meet the Gravedigger Burying a Soldier from Artsakh" is a moving lament for a soldier who has died in the Artsakh conflict. Its power comes from the poet’s delicate handling of language, phrasing, an eschewal of hyperbole. One of the most striking images describes the speaker’s yearning to give the ability of speech back to the stricken warrior: "How is this the resolution of/an incomplete history? I have removed my voice box/and placed it/on your heart." It depicts a poignant communitarian gesture, a giving to the lifeless body a voice, a continued narrative. Also impressive are the opening lines of the poem which describe the speaker’s willingness to shield the fallen soldier by metaphorically staving off what will disturb him: “Please, let me swallow the rain/to save this soil. He needs a good home, a dry cavern/to sleep.” And finally, the tone of the poem, the understatement, the delicacy of utterance, indicts the ravages of war itself without diatribe or homily.
Commentary provided by YAPA contest judge Gregory Djanikian
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