Levon Shant (1869-1951) was an Armenian poet, playwright, and novelist. This is my translation of “The Crescent Moon” from Armenian to English.
The Crescent Moon
From the dark sky at midnight,
it is the crescent’s odd eye
— thin, crooked, and unblinking —
that silently stares into my eyes.
And with a dry, mocking smile,
it’s as if it’s saying,
“Crumb of the universe! What are you doing there?
I know! A great deal! You are thinking!”
Cats chilling
in the shade of an avocado tree.
Birds chirping.
A hue of yellow everywhere the sun touches.
A breeze like the hot air that comes out of generators.
I’m in my study
trying to write on a Saturday that should have been
a Sunday.
Hungover.
Last night – what was I doing last night?
It was my friend’s birthday, and I was partying like
I was still in my twenties.
The beers.
The shots.
Heavy Metal songs.
My neck is sore from all the headbanging.
The smell of smoke and debauchery lingers on
last night’s pair of jeans.
I message my friend to make sure he reached home safely last night,
to make sure he’s still alive.
He’s good. “It was fun.”
I’m on painkillers now, having coffee,
thinking of my upcoming trip and the things I need to do
before heading to the airport tomorrow.
I still need to pack.
Tomorrow, I’ll be in Athens.
Can’t wait.
I need a break from Beirut.
Levon Shant (1869-1951) was an Armenian poet, playwright, and novelist. This is my translation of “Philosophers” from Armenian to English.
Philosophers
Under the bright full moon,
in the distance, in the bosom of the field,
white, hunchbacked mountains
lean on each other’s heads.
Mountains? Who said so? They’re
grey-haired, brooding ravens
that have come together
wrapped in sheets.
And their serious, ugly faces
are lost in deep thought.
Maybe they’ll find the meaning
of being and the world.
Bored Absurdist 