Night in Lebanon
The Youngest boy, With his ulcer,
sleeps. His lower lip pulsates, a small fish
breathing. A bed of torn pillows, cradles four
of them, two brothers, two sisters –
curved, quiet on the living room floor.
Buzzing, the open window has its mouth full
of street lights, mosquitoes, those who stay
awake. Peeled paint on the ceiling, the door
sheds the skin it wore through
a drawn-out, twenty-year civil war.
The parents sleep in a room full of faith
hammered to the walls. Posing, a copper
cross, its inscription in Armenian asks
for blessing of God upon this home.
Through the mother’s sleeping lips a prayer
slips, rises, drifts and hovers above the boy
who dreams : he’s a grown man
spinning yarn around their home
until it’s as thick as a bombshell.
Then, cane in hand, walking through a cedar
grove, he drops a string of worry
beads into a well. Cracking a pumpkin
seed open with his teeth, he tastes
childhood in each closed casing.
In the morning, a thin scroll
of bread filled with tomato paste, oil, mint
will start the hurried day. But now, he sleeps
as he did the day he was born. Stillnes
Enters His lip, mouth history finally rest
have breathing When He Will IS His older
Whose finger Than This war has carved a scar
in HIM, The Size Of An Eye That Will not closed.
Lory Bedikian
Night in Lebanon
The youngest, with his ulcer,
asleep. Her lower lip quivers, like a small fish
breathing. The bed pillows ripped rocks
four, two brothers, two sisters -
huddled, quiet on the living room floor.
buzzing with the window open and his mouth filled
of city lights, mosquitoes, those
awake. Peeling paint on the ceiling, the door
discarding the skin which was endorsed during
an interminable civil war, twenty years.
Parents sleeping in a room filled with a faith
nailed to the walls. Affixed a cross
copper inscription in Armenian called
God's blessing on this house.
lips of the sleeping mother a prayer
slides, rises, drift and flutters around the boy
that dream: he is the man adult
weaving a thread around their house
until it has the thickness a shell.
Then, stick in hand, through a grove
cedar, it takes a komboloï Pearl
in a well. Cracking a seed
pumpkin with his teeth, he feels
his childhood in each sealed envelope.
the morning, a thin slice
bread filled with tomato juice, oil, mint
open on day release. For now, he sleeps
as he did at birth. Immobility
wins his lips, his mouth finally rests,
breathing as he will when his breath is older
this war whose finger was cut a scar
in him, big as an eye that does not close.
Adaptation: George Festa - 02.2011
Night in Lebanon was published in the journal Crab Orchard (Vol. 8, No. 1, 2003) - site: http:// craborchardreview.siuc.edu / - and was again published in Blue Arc West: An Anthology of California Poets (ed. Tebot Bach, 2007). Reprinted in Poets Against War - site: www.poetsagainstthewar.org .
Lory Bedikian is the recipient of the 2011 Levine Prize in Poetry.
____________
Source: http://armenian-poetry.blogspot.com/2008/05/lory-bedikian-night-in-lebanon.html
The Youngest boy, With his ulcer,
sleeps. His lower lip pulsates, a small fish
breathing. A bed of torn pillows, cradles four
of them, two brothers, two sisters –
curved, quiet on the living room floor.
Buzzing, the open window has its mouth full
of street lights, mosquitoes, those who stay
awake. Peeled paint on the ceiling, the door
sheds the skin it wore through
a drawn-out, twenty-year civil war.
The parents sleep in a room full of faith
hammered to the walls. Posing, a copper
cross, its inscription in Armenian asks
for blessing of God upon this home.
Through the mother’s sleeping lips a prayer
slips, rises, drifts and hovers above the boy
who dreams : he’s a grown man
spinning yarn around their home
until it’s as thick as a bombshell.
Then, cane in hand, walking through a cedar
grove, he drops a string of worry
beads into a well. Cracking a pumpkin
seed open with his teeth, he tastes
childhood in each closed casing.
In the morning, a thin scroll
of bread filled with tomato paste, oil, mint
will start the hurried day. But now, he sleeps
as he did the day he was born. Stillnes
Enters His lip, mouth history finally rest
have breathing When He Will IS His older
Whose finger Than This war has carved a scar
in HIM, The Size Of An Eye That Will not closed.
Lory Bedikian
Night in Lebanon
The youngest, with his ulcer,
asleep. Her lower lip quivers, like a small fish
breathing. The bed pillows ripped rocks
four, two brothers, two sisters -
huddled, quiet on the living room floor.
buzzing with the window open and his mouth filled
of city lights, mosquitoes, those
awake. Peeling paint on the ceiling, the door
discarding the skin which was endorsed during
an interminable civil war, twenty years.
Parents sleeping in a room filled with a faith
nailed to the walls. Affixed a cross
copper inscription in Armenian called
God's blessing on this house.
lips of the sleeping mother a prayer
slides, rises, drift and flutters around the boy
that dream: he is the man adult
weaving a thread around their house
until it has the thickness a shell.
Then, stick in hand, through a grove
cedar, it takes a komboloï Pearl
in a well. Cracking a seed
pumpkin with his teeth, he feels
his childhood in each sealed envelope.
the morning, a thin slice
bread filled with tomato juice, oil, mint
open on day release. For now, he sleeps
as he did at birth. Immobility
wins his lips, his mouth finally rests,
breathing as he will when his breath is older
this war whose finger was cut a scar
in him, big as an eye that does not close.
Adaptation: George Festa - 02.2011
Night in Lebanon was published in the journal Crab Orchard (Vol. 8, No. 1, 2003) - site: http:// craborchardreview.siuc.edu / - and was again published in Blue Arc West: An Anthology of California Poets (ed. Tebot Bach, 2007). Reprinted in Poets Against War - site: www.poetsagainstthewar.org .
Lory Bedikian is the recipient of the 2011 Levine Prize in Poetry.
____________
Source: http://armenian-poetry.blogspot.com/2008/05/lory-bedikian-night-in-lebanon.html
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