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Arpi Voskanian/ Alltag beim Schreiben

Unerreichbar

Ich faltete die Lippen, gab sie in die Tasche,
Den Glanz der Augen ebenso,
Ließ meine Brüste schrumpfen,
Nahm meine Augen raus und schnitt die Zunge ab,
Damit man mich nicht reizt, und ich nicht reize,
damit ich euch nicht sehe, ihr mich vergesst,
mich nicht berührt mit öligem Mund,
nicht knetet mit schweißigen Händen,
nicht halbtote Blumen schenkt …
Jetzt fürchte ich mich nicht vor den Falten,
in der Liste unbezahlbarer Schätze bin ich nicht,
hab mich herausgenommen aus der Schauvitrine,
wo ich schwirrte, hoch und bunt
wie ein giftiger Schmetterling.

The Lord’s Prayer

We were orphaned. We were wet, huddled, hungry, and barefoot. We were blind, scared and torn…

We squeezed each other’s hands with sweaty palms. With sweaty palms we covered our red eyes. The rain flew into our nostrils. Our hands and our feet fell off. We writhed and looked for them with red eyes.

Come, be our sister in the desolate night. Come, be our mother. Open your body cavities and take in our insatiable, inexhaustible, eternal yearning.

Come, see the horses trample us. Come, see the demons defecate on us. Come, see, the dog is sleeping… Give a breath…

Remember us, come and finish with this inferior world.

We looked for him everywhere, though we knew exactly where he is. We knocked at doors and windows, wandered through churches, studios, concert halls, cafes, public conveniences…

Then we allegedly occasionally entered a grocery store and saw him on the third, fourth shelves, somewhere in the high… Somewhere highest…

We didn’t notice him at once, though… Yet you were hidden from us behind some colorful crap and there was gewgaw label stuck on you. But we recognized you at once. With your pure, incorrupt transparence you were different, high… Existent and non-existent…

We looked at you for a long-long time, charmed, struck dumb. Then we turned our holed pockets inside out and bought you.

Like a sister you scraped off demons’ defecations from our bodies, you washed us like a mother, patched up our wounds, pasted our fell-off feet and hands, gave light to our pupils, blew breath into our nostrils and filled our trampled cavities with eternal oblivion.

Our Father, who ar in bottle…

When we woke up he had ascended to heaven, leaving on the table his shaky glass body. And we were orphaned and torn again. Cold, alien, slippery rain flew into our nostrils. We crept under heavy ground and spat blood. We were covering our red eyes with sweaty palms. Our hands and our feet fell off and we, fallen away, looked for them.

Then we picked up last words to please, persuade, pay a compliment, profess love to and flatter the hideous shop girl. We exhausted all the known ways of vows, invented new ones, promised to pay off your buy-out in a week, in two days, tomorrow, in an hour. Then we killed him and saved you.

We saved you from this gewgaw, motley, cornball world. We saved you to love, kiss, caress, and shack up, and to get pregnant. We saved you to put you on our heads, knee before you, worship you and beg for salvation…

Be like a sister and a mother. Scrape the demon’s defecations from our collapsing bodies. Patch up our tormented wounds. Blow some breath into our decaying bodies. Fill our cold, alien, slippery cavities with eternal transparence…

Our Father, who art in bottle… Create me again.

2000

Translated by Eva Martirosyan

A MONSTROUS STORY

First I lay with the monster, because my Dad picked up a flower from his garden. It would never occur to me then that I might love him, let alone that he might be a charmed man. And before I managed to get into love properly, he, with his spine curved, skull big, brain unfolded, covered his private parts and ran away.

Second time I laid with the monster, because my heart demanded a kind act. He was so outcast, lonely and unloved, and I thought what the big deal is, I already have the experience of monster love. How would I know that…? It was a charmed raven, once we got into bed, it flapped wings and flew away.