On Poetry

On one of those bitter and dark winter nights, I stumbled upon Lola Koundakjian’s Armenian Poetry Project. During the past several months, The APP podcasts have kept me company on countless evenings and nourished my soul. Furthermore, I have been humbled by the small spoken word and poetic gems and have been reacquainted with long, lost favourites that still manage to pierce my soul at a moment’s notice to paraphrase Captain Wentworth’s ardent words.

In particular, I yearn for Vahan Tekeyan’s poetry who has had such a resounding influence in my life. Indeed, as a child growing up in the Middle East I attended Vahan Tekeyan Elementary School and it was not until recently that the poet’s political leanings were made known to me. Regardless, his compassionate and encompassing work has touched me so intimately since my childhood. One of my fondest childhood memories is my mother’s purchase of his Selected Works at our church’s annual book sale.

In retrospect, it is one of my most cherished possessions which reminds me of the precocious and geeky eight year old who treasured Tekeyan’s spellbinding prose. Two decades later, the collection of poetry is comfortably nestled in my small library. . . when I pick it up from time to time, the book tickles my nostrils with that oh so delicious old smell that my senses and memories attribute to this collection. Recently, I read a few of my old pieces out loud as I leaned back against my bed and I was dismayed to discover an almost lack of fluidity. Hence, I need to read Tekeyan again and again if only to reconnect with that eight year old who devoured impressions of his eclectic, heart wrenching, and desolate world. . . and her ecstatic outlook on life.