Have a Cigar: Condega Serie ‘F’ Magnum

Name: Condega Serie ‘F’ Magnum

Country: Nicaragua

Shape: Parejo

Size: Toro (6 1/2 inches x 52)

Strength: Medium to Full

In a folding picnic armchair
our man sat like a king on a hill
after a decisive battle.

The orange moon smiled before it was shrouded by the smoke
that crept upward
like a dead man’s soul.

A cheap cigar danced to the rhythm of classic rock songs
like a magician’s wand (burning)
like a conductor’s baton (on fire)
communicating musical ideas
celebrating life
despite the turmoil, tumult, and turbulence.

The cigar was a paint brush
and the night sky was an empty canvas.
Gray on black: an alluring belly dance.
Gray on black: the last breath of a soldier.

Our man felt a poem being written
somewhere in the near future,
a poem written phenomenologically
now.

“Yes, yes,” our man said right now.
“So the muses came like they often do
when they smell a cigar burn.”

And then he jotted down whatever came to him.



I Despise the Civil War Generation

“How can we free ourselves from being dominated by people from the past who still retain a shadow of power in the world of space, without soiling ourselves by coming into contact with their lives (we can use the soap of word-creation), and leave them to drown in the destiny they have earned for themselves, that of malicious termites?” —from “Subjects for Discussion” by Velimir Khlebnikov
——
Why do we have old men running the country?
You know, I despise the civil war generation.

When they were young
and the world was theirs,
they chose to slaughter each other.

Our parents and grandparents:
murderers, rapists, thieves,
propagandists, cowards,
idiots.

And the warlords they used to worship
still sit on thrones made of blood and feces.

I don’t care what they stood for.
I don’t care what they fought for.
Obviously, they failed
as I see no victors.

I would rather have
a coder or a gamer run the country.
A bartender or a young Uber driver would do, too.
Not food for worms.

The present — today — is the “future” that the civil war generation built.
This is their future.
Our future is tomorrow.
And tomorrow is a party which they wont — and cannot — attend.
(They’ll be bribing the ferryman
and drinking from Lethe.)

Their time is up, brothers and sisters.
Don’t let them guide you, advise you, teach you.
Because if they do, history will repeat itself.
Their wisdom is as valuable as our Lira.

So I say to you,
Respect your parents and grandparents, yeah,
but make sure you destroy the walls of hate that they have built.
You have to teach them because they cannot see.
The lenses they wear are old and dusty.

They must be reminded that the consequences of today
come from the mistakes of the past.
They are guilty.

The rewards of tomorrow will sprout
from the solutions of today.
And it’s up to you.
You.

Old men!
“We have broken the locks and see what your freight cars contain: tombstones for the young.”
——
Քեզ պէտք է հոգեփոխուել, իսկ դա նշանակում է, թէ դու պիտի դառնաս հակապատկերը հայրերիդ:
— Գարեգին Նժդեհ

“She” by Bedros Tourian

‘She’ (1871) is a poem by Bedros Tourian. Below is my translation from Armenian to English. (If you want to read the original Armenian version, click here.)

***

She

The rose of spring,
If it did not resemble
The maiden’s cheeks,
Who would have esteemed it?

If the blue of the ether
Did not take after
The maiden’s eyes,
Who would have gazed at the sky?

If the maiden were not
Lovely and pure,
Where would man peruse
God of heaven?

A poem by Bedros Tourian, written in 1871. A poem called ‘She’

Նե
—Պետրոս Դուրյան (1871)

Վարդը գարնայնի
Թե կույսին տիպար
Այտերուն չ՚ըլլար՝
Ո՞վ կ՚հարգեր զ՚անի։

Թե չը նմաներ
Կապույտն եթերաց
Կույսին աչերաց՝
Երկինք ո՞վ կ՚նայեր։

Թե կույսը չ՚ըլլար
Սիրուն ու անբիծ,
Աստվածն այն երկնից
Մարդ ու՞ր կը կարդար: