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poetry: "I write poetry because I can't sing" |
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Diana Der-Hovanessian, born and raised in New England, often uses the imagery of her Armenian ancestry in her poetry. Herbert A. Kenny, former book editor of the Boston Globe, said of her, "A striking and original artist in her own right, Der-Hovanessian is also the foremost translator of Armenian poetry." Diana was Fulbright professor of American poetry at Yeravan State University in 1999 and 1994. She is author of 17 books of poetry and translations, and has won awards from the NEA, PSA, PEN-Columbia Translation Center, National Writers Union, American Scholar, Prairie Schooner, and Paterson Poetry Center, etc. Her work has appeared in the American Scholar, Agni, N.Y. Times, Christian Science Monitor, Paris Review, Nation, Partisan Review, etc. Diana has taught workshops in translation, poetry of human rights, and How to Sell What You Write at various universities and at the Boston Globe Book Festival. She is president of the New England Poetry Club. |
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| Artist Preview | images and text copyright 1978-2001 Diana Der-Hovanessian |
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Inside Green Eyes, Black Eyes
Inside my eye
is another eye
looking out
seeing inside
your eye
looking in.
Inside my voice
that speaks with
spongy soft verbs
is another voice
that shouts
Hayasdan! Hayasdan!
Inside my song
is another song
whose words
I never learned.
I sing. I sang.
The song inside
is never done.
The Recurring Dream
Caught inside
the dark red room,
a round room,
a watermelon red room,
until a wall fell,
and I fell,
waking, crying:
Mother! I had that dream
again. No way to tell
where I had been,
or why I was caught
inside the round room
and fell again
out of the red room
and woke crying again, again
until I recognized the seeds.
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My First Marriage
We were married in the Harvard Coop,
third floor, text book section
by the catalogue clerk.
You were bending over the European
publications. I scanned the American list,
arm to arm. On the other side
of the counter, the clerk demanded vows:
"Are you together?"
I answered: "If not in space, in time."
You answered: "If not in time, in mind."
I wondered if the Coop were authorized
to perform such rites.
The clerk looked heavenward and sighed:
"Only in Harvard Square."
Open Poem
death lies beside each sleeper
that day wakes up
stalks every step
puts down the heel
that pace picks up again
and exhales every breath
except where love breathes in
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These poems by Diana Der-Hovanessian were published in her first collection in 1978, "How to Choose Your Past", from Ararat Books.
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