More than a decade ago, while heading home from work in Washington, DC on the metro, I heard the unmistakable sound of Armenian being spoken. Since this does not happen every day and as it had never happened before, I could not resist, as I got up to exit, to gently ask the two beautiful ladies sitting in the row behind me, “Pardon my asking, but isn’t it Armenian that you are speaking?” Their wide eyed gasp of surprise was reward enough: “You speak Armenian?” I assured them I didn’t (but wished I could) and explained that I had been to Armenia and loved the country and its people immensely. Soon (too soon!) the train ground to a halt at the next station and I got off.
About two or three years later, I made a personal trip to Yerevan, and decided to rent an apartment for two weeks instead of staying at a hotel. The flight having arrived in the wee hours, I slept through the morning. In the afternoon I decided to go out for lunch. As I stood in the hallway locking the apartment door, two women came out of the next apartment. In response to my smile, I was asked, “Weren’t you on the metro in Washington, DC?” I was puzzled by the question and it took a few moments before it clicked. This incredibly beautiful and elegant woman standing in front me was none other than one of the two women who had spoken Armenian on the metro years ago!
My mind boggled at the probability of this chance second meeting years later in another country, another city. This time there was no stopping of the train to interrupt our making each other’s acquaintance. Gayane M- told me she was a journalist and the visit to the US was as the member of a team of journalists from former Soviet republics invited to visit newspaper offices in different cities in the US.
On my next visit a year later, over a cup of coffee at Moscow Cinema on Abovyan Street in Yerevan, Gayane presented me with a green cloth bound book which I opened to find short poems, with the original Armenian on the verso (left) and its English translation on the recto (right) and distinctly Armenian artistic images on every page. I read the poems only after I returned to the United States, which was just as well.
The book, A Hundred and One Hayrens by Nahapet Kuchak was an eye opener. First of all, the format, hayren, was new to me. Somewhat like a haiku, but completely different, a hayren is a short poem, without a title, of fifteen syllables in four lines, usually broken up into eight, with set number of syllables and stresses for each line. The contents of Kuchak’s hayrens were even more of a surprise. They contained the most tender expressions of love entwined with sensual passion compressed into fifteen syllables (in the original Armenian, of course) that I have come across. Here are two random samples.
One hour I have been away
and you have forgotten me already.
You thought: Now he has gone his way,
his feelings for me are not steady.
But I have not gone, you should know,
to that far place beyond return:
A thousand beauties would I spurn
for you. I shall not let you go.
My love, do you know,
I came to you at night?
I found you asleep
and kissed you a thousand times.
I don’t know if you slept
or just pretended,
taking pity on a young man,
letting him kiss you till the night was ended.
The enigma goes deeper. There are differing opinions about the identity of the poet, much like that surrounding the authorship of William Shakespeare. For a long time, it was thought that the poet was a person with the same name who lived in the 16th century in the village of Kharakonis near Van (now in Turkey). In the 20th century, multiple scholars came up with theories that these hayrens were most likely written two or three centuries prior. The true identity of the poet will probably never be known but it is improbable the poems are folk-songs because the bear the distinct imprint of a single author.
The book has added value on account of the typically Armenian illustration found on every page. At the end of the book, there is also the entire set of hayrens translated into Russian. But the most valuable aspect of the book, other than Kuchak’s hayrens themselves, of course, is the foreword by no less a person than William Saroyan.
I shall never tire of reading Kuchak’s hayrens as long as there are beautiful women in this world. Gayane M- was already happily married when we met. So, we never put Kuchak to the test.
What a lovely story. The poem sound delightful. Pleased to learn about hayren.
Thank you for reading. I had this book for several years but realized hayren was a poetic form only recently. The confusion is due to the fact that the Armenian language is called something similar sounding – Hayeren. Thank you!