THE MOUNTAIN (ZAREH KHRAKHUNI)
UP THE MOUNTAIN
This is that mountain,
Which is riveted deep in the pupil of every one of us;
Which is under the skin of every one of us – flesh, bone,
Which lives, is a real existence
And is a dream, a boundless legend…
This is that mountain,
From which comes, like torrents of limpid water, the blood of our vein,
To which goes, like an air-swift kiss,
the last breath of our breast…
This is that mountain,
From which the farther we go — the more we feel that we are its own,
To which the closer we come — the more we feel what we are…
With his many-layered word and speech one of the original poets of Armenian lyric poetry — Zareh Khrakhuni (1926-2015), presents a whole worldview…
Culture is not a random collection of customs.
Every culture is a complete worldview.
«What is the Universe, the world, what is the role of man in that complete system»…
The interpretations of reality — the way of seeing, perceiving and explaining one’s surroundings are conditioned by the worldview.
Every epoch, every nation has its own particularities of comprehending the world — anchored in the traditions of the Ancestors, in the festive-ritual heritage they shaped.
The child from the very beginning enters the world of culture, later discovers the ideas, the perception of the world, by which his way of life and his attitude to the world are conditioned…
In brief, concise lines a great symbolic idea is enclosed also in Zareh Khrakhuni’s poem «The Mountain».
ZAREH KHRAKHUNI
Wisdom enclosed in silence, which is the expression of the Armenian national worldview…
THE MOUNTAIN
Be sure not,
When you climb up the mountain —
Be sure not
To speak, laugh, shout, call aloud —
It is an embittered primeval god,
Whose forge of thunderbolts has gone out;
It is a hero with snow-white hair
And a wrinkled face,
No longer able to bear arms and armour;
It is a prophet – who, although
Forgotten by heaven —
Still keeps his eyes fixed above — awaiting a new message…
Careful, son – be sure not,
When you go up the mountain —
To let reverence slip from your hand, to fall short in respect,
To speak, laugh, shout, call aloud
And disturb its age-old sleep;
Because
Though it has neither star-roaring thunder,
Nor the flaming blade of lightning, nor the curse of the forefather –
Yet, when you
With play and mirth wound its weary heart,
Its eyes bereft of light
Weep the anguish of the powerless,
The tears turn to stone, they freeze,
On the dense height of the past
They become a majestically rolling rock
Or a terrible heap of snow —
They crush you like an arrogant fly.
Zareh Khrakhuni
November 3, 1964
«I and Others»
