Saturday, 19 April 2014

Violet Grigorian



Violet Grigorian (1962); Arm. Վիոլետ Գրիգորյան

Born in Tehran, repatriated to Armenia in 1975. She is one of the founders of the Inqnagir literary community and author of four poetry collections. In March 2013, she spoke in support of Raffi Hovannisian within the protests caused by the 2013 presidential election results.
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Her poems have been published in their French and English translations, the most recent are anthologies named 
From Ararat to Angeltown (2005), The Other Voice: Armenian Women's Poetry Through the Ages (2005) and Deviation: an Anthology of Contemporary Armenian Literature (2008). Her poems have been translated to Georgian, Macedonian, Ukrainian and Slovak.

15 comments:

Andrea Jackuliaková said...

Na tomto webe si môžete vypočuť báseň arménskej poetky Violet Grigoryan. Báseň má názov "Love" a na stránke nájdete aj text s anglickým prekladom. Okrem tejto autorky je na webe mnoho ďaľších arménskych spisovateľov. http://armenian-poetry.blogspot.sk/2006/11/violet-grigoryan.html

Vanesa Csengodyová said...

Violet GRIGORYAN was born in Tehran before her family repatriated in Armenia in 1975. One of the founders of the literary journal Inqnagir, she currently serves as its editor. The author of four books of poems, Grigoryan has won the Writers' Union of Armenia poetry award for [‘True, I’m Telling the Truth’] (1991), and the Golden Cane prize in literature for [‘The City’] (1998). Her poems have been anthologized in France, and in the English-language collections The Other Voice: Armenian Women’s Poetry Through the Ages (2006) and Deviation: Anthology of Contemporary Armenian Literature (2008). She participates courtesy of the US Embassy in Yerevan and the William B. Quarton Foundation. - See more at: http://iwp.uiowa.edu/writers/violet-grigoryan#sthash.Tki43LrN.dpuf

Kristína Hrnková said...

Dňa 15.10.2013 sa v Londýnskej knižnici Books and Kitchen konalo stretnutie s názvom Poetry from Armenia in London. Tohto stretnutia sa zúčastnili dve talentované arménske spisovateľky Violet Grigoryan a Hasmik Simonian. Síce tieto ženy patria do rôznych generácií zdieľajú jednotnú filozofiu. Na stretnutí čítali z knihy Six Armenian Poets na ktorej tvorbe sa obe podieľali.

Veronika Kuruczová said...

Homeland by Violet Grigorian :

http://www.lit-across-frontiers.org/transcript/francais-poesie-violet-griogoryan/

zuzana said...

A very interesting and little provocative poem by Violet Grigoryan called Unfinished Ode: Upon the Clitoris:

http://granish.com/unfinished-ode-upon-the-clitoris/

Zuzana Zlochova

Zuzana Zlochova said...

Poem that I find really interesting and I liked the most is "The City". In 1998, VIolet Grigoryan won the Golden Cane prize in literature for it.

Here is a little piece from the poem:
It will beat you ten times over, in mourning‐black, with foe and woe, with ice and fear, with a 
bewitching, blinding, cuffing tongue‐twister, will lure you in with wondrous sparks, and should you 
quiver to break free, it strikes you back, it clasps you with its magic death‐ring, it coils around you like 
a snake, and should you even grow some wings, it’s an embrace you won’t escape. Hush, it’s 
watching you, it will find you even with its eyes closed, laugh at you with its lips shut, grumble with 
its spinal cord.
The fair is foul and foul is fair, fair is foul and foul is fair, the fair’s not fair, the foul’s not foul….

You can find the whole poem here: http://iwp.uiowa.edu/sites/iwp/files/IWP2009_Grigoryan_Violet_sample.pdf
And here is Violet Grigoryan herself reading The City (in Armenian): https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Y2RmQnFlF4o

Veronika Chlapíková said...

Four poets whose work is featured in the recent anthologies from the New Voices from Europe and Beyond series will be touring the UK this October. http://www.lit-across-frontiers.org/events/armenian-catalan/

Andrea Jackuliaková said...

Violet Grigorian was born in Teheran. In 1975 her family repatriated to Armenia and now she lives in Abovian, Armenia. She studied Philology at the Yerevan Pedagogical Institute.

Grigorian's first book came out in 1991 in Yerevan: "Verily, verily I say". The book took the annual award of the Writers' Union of Armenia. Later, it was republished in Los Angeles, U.S., in 1998. The same year, her long poem "The City" was published in Los Angeles as a book to take the "Golden Reed" state award in Armenia for 1999. In 2000, within the framework of the Festival East-West in France, Editions A Die published a book of her poems translated into French: "Que cet hiver est rude". She participated in 2002 at the Struga Poetry Night.

One poem by Violet Grigorian in english HERE

Andrea Jackuliaková said...

Short interview with Violet Grigorian

Johan Filo said...

Violet Grigorian reading her poem "The City" in armenian https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Y2RmQnFlF4o

Nikola Lanczova said...

LOVE
by Violet Grigoryan

translation by Shushan Avagyan


A.

This is the flesh, surrendered to love.
This is the blood, fervent in the veins.
Oh joy! I’m celebrating—
celebrating tonight this Sun-day of my body
and womanhood, saved for a noble guest,
that I’ve spread before my lover.
Be my guest, take it, savor everything,
I’ll be your hostess,
no one else but Khachik’s daughter,
kiss me and you won’t ever age,
kiss me and you won’t get sick,
kiss me and you will never die.
Surely, one can be cured in love’s bed,
the blind espies the throbbing of passion,
the dumb speaks in rhythms of the heart,
the limp gets up to walk the trails of flesh,
and the beauty awakens from her slumber
of death with a kiss.

Kiss me and I, too, won’t cease!

Look, the moth and rust have already consumed the hoards
of my treasures, my beautiful dresses, my sparkling gems, my smart books,
and the thief has broken in, gone with all my money,
but your kiss will never rust,
your kiss will break this wall of Chinese sadness.
With my mouth I will approach you
and wrap around you with my lips,
with my inspecting tongue I will hunt your body alone
and sweep away the contents of your honeycomb.

How delicious, how sensuous they are, the lips of my lover,
the tongue playing fervently on my teeth,
skillful, as if gliding over piano keys . . .


Should I, mother?
Should I submit to love’s secret promise,
should I touch with my burning fingertips,
should I tickle with my bristly tongue,
should I caress the sprouting stem
and be a guest in the camp of love?
This flesh was given to me for free,
and as a gift, I’ll give it away,
this flesh that I won with ease
in God’s game of chance.

Come, knock on the locked door
of my riches with your middle finger,
undress the tight layers of words,
enter my life with your naked heart
and throw your anchor in my bay.

I will splash you with my innate waters
and anoint you with my vulva’s myrrh,
for you are consecrated and I─your faith.


See the foxes, they all have their holes,
the birds of heaven have their own nests,
I am your hole and I am your nest,
come, dwell inside me, my love,
sweet is your burden, your weight is so light.
Rise to my bed as if to a lectern
and speak with the eloquent syllables of flesh,
in inflections of the body, words of flesh,
recite verses of love and conquests of passion.
Ask, and you will be given,
knock, and it will open,
and though the door is narrow, the path─not easy,
listen to the voice calling from the bed,
your path is already paved
and all your trails lead to me.
Go on, ride your mighty chariot, cum-
mand me with your delicate, leather-bound,
delicate, smooth, delicate whip,
tame the wild galloping of passion,
scorch my thighs with your mark
and wave your flag above me.

I am a wild river,
I am opulent vines,
I am fertile air,

enter my riverbed—hide inside,
inhale me, and exhale,
inhale me, and exhale,
inhale me, and exhale,
inhale me deeply, and oh exhale, exhale!
What pleasure it is to take you in, my trainer of love, my fervent mate,
none is equal to you of those born of women . . .

Blessed be my abdomen, that quivered from your tongue’s touch,
blessed be my breast, that curved from your tongue’s stroke,
blessed I am, my master’s servant, for being chosen of all women . . .

Don’t be cross, mother, look, how healthy I am,
look how robust I am from training in love,
how happy my heart is, my tongue so joyous,
and my flesh, living in hope,
for this Self is in the house of love . . .
Let them look at me, those who have eyes─
what a charming sight─
the conjoined bodies, spread on the sheets,
a woven bouquet, an agile lily, a knot
that tightens and loosens, a rocking swing . . .
Sway this raft, my buoyant wind, my joyful partner,
sway my raft, handsome captain, mad pirate,
sway me, until I cease,
until there is left nothing of me,
until I am no more,
sway me until I reach that place─NOTAPLACE,
the shores of bliss . . .

Nikola Lanczova said...

Something else from her production:


http://marinepetrossian.com/en/violet-in-english

Lars Savan said...

Violet Grigorian was born in 1962 in Tehran, Iran and repatriated to Armenia in 1975. She graduated from the Abovian State Pedagogical Institute’s Department of Philology. Grigoryan is one of the founders of the literary journal Inqnagir and she currently serves as its editor.

Peter Kiss

Lars Savan said...

The author of four books of poems, she has won the Writers’ Union of Armenia poetry award for “True, I’m Telling the Truth” (1991), and the Golden Cane prize in literature for “The City” (1998). Her poems have been anthologized in France, and in the English-language collections The Other Voice: Armenian Women’s Poetry through the Ages (2006) and Deviation: Anthology of Contemporary Armenian Literature (2008). She is a member of the Writers’ International PEN fellowship.

Lars Savan said...

Information about the author. And poem My Homeland.

http://voiceseducation.org/content/violet-grigorian


My Homeland

My homeland, your rotten fang
goes into my throat

Enough! Push it through or take it out,
I flounder like a butterfly pinned.

My homeland, in this shooting race,

for which you are the circus ring,

I am the siding duck staring into your gun,

waiting for my forefinger to release the spring.

And fan-like, as the phoenix do,
I die, next I rise from the dead -

now I'm cannon fodder under your flag,
now I'm a bloodsucker stuck on your vein.

Like a mule I carry on my back
the dear waste of your fossil yore,

this my life is a losing game

and I will have a chance no more.

I stop this haggling I've got nothing to do a deal,
my only life weighs zero on your scales,
surely it is a losing game.

Yet I pardon you, my homeland dear.