to my love, yarimo
One of the miracles of being human I find most satisfying is the simple realization that pain cannot last forever. I am not speaking for a particular person or a group or set of people — pain is an identity as much as love — I speak only for myself. However, evidentially, pain will pass away. The scream cools. Objects of horror return to being … just objects. John Coltrane's spiritual masterpiece, A Love Supreme, is a testament to all this. It is fabulously simple and yet gratifyingly complex. In every language the idea of a love redeemed translates as the same. That is amazing to me.
The Armenian phrase, "I love you," Ies kez sirum 'em, fits nicely with Datevik Hovanesian's song Yarimo (which translates roughly as "To my love"), which is from her CD, Listen to my Heart/ Lsir Sirts. I have had a lot of fun listening to her work. She is an amazing jazz singer. So, Datevik-jan, as I was taught to say when living in Gyumri, "thank you very much," shat shnorha'galuts'un!
Dawn comes. “A Love Supreme” scratching, swinging,
bluing, singing. One lone moonbeam – my scream
cools. Love redeemed when you taught me to sing.
To speak. Your words. Your words. My dream. My dream.
My scream still burns – desert cattle cars rang
through the moonlight and the breeze and partridge
sang and all the world's crusted burned skin sang
with this — Language of memory. Language
against forgetting. Against the mayhem
of this past. Cut out my scream, redeem my
vast love, lover. You who loves me. You who
taught me to love again. yes kez sirum
'em. I love you. yes kez sirum 'em. I
love you. yes kez sirum 'em. I love you.