| Petros Dourian |
 Petros Durian (alternate spelling: Bedros Dourian, Petros Duryan, Petros Tourian, Bedros Tourian), great Armenian poet, playwright and actor native of Skutari near Constantinople. An extraordinary talent, he translated the Shakespeare and Hugo dramas and wrote his own at an early age. A romantic poet with keen sensitivity, he amassed a beloved following of admirers during his brief time on earth he died of tuberculosis when he was only 20.He wrote some 50 poems and historical dramas, such as Fall of Arshakids Dynasty, Artashes, Conqueror of the World, The Persian Invasion in Armenia and others. The Pond (Lejag or Lejak ) Written by: Petros Dourian (Tourian) Translated by: Daniel Janoyan Glendale, California, July 29, 2003 Why are you, o pond, gazing in surprise With waves not very full of delight? Is it because some fair lady Gazed into your mirror and passed by? Or is it because your waves Were charmed by the blue color of the sky, And by those shining clouds high Resembling your very foams passing by? O sorrowful pond, Let me be your intimate friend; Let me love, just like you do, Attracting others in silent meditation. I have as many thoughts within my mind, As you have waves within your pond; My heart has as many injuries with no count, As you have foams within your pond. But if it happens your breast falls apart From the heavenly skies high above, You will never resemble my heart Which happens to be an infinite flame. The stars there don’t fade away; The flowers there don’t wither away; The clouds there don’t become wet When peace prevails between you and the air. O pond, you are indeed my only queen, For even when ripples thrill, Deep inside you will still quiver, Holding me tight as you shiver. There were many that rejected me, “He has nothing but his lyre.” Others claimed, “He’s pale and also shivering.” While another added, “He will soon die.” No one ever asked, “O tender boy How is it in such torments he has to be?” He might indeed live up to be, Once he is loved, he will never die indeed. There you have ashes and a memory; Let your waves keep stirring, o pond, For a despairing man has gazed Into your waters that are deep. |