Kismet- Բախտը

I chose to title my translation of Ara Mekhsian’s poem “Kismet”. He had titled it Pakht (western Armenian pronounciatin) or Baxt (eastern Armenian translation), which means fate or luck.

The word kismet comes from an Arabic or Turkish word, which means your lot in life, or your fate or maybe your decisive luck. At times, instead of “fate”, “luck”, the word “kismet” is used because the other two do not fully  embody the happening, although they mean it. I chose to use them interchangeably. There are  also others who use the term "providence".

My translation of Ara Mekhsian’s poem is more an explanatory note than a translation to do justice to the original. Ara writes poems and stories for a hobby. He has an unusual mastery of the Western Armenian language.

Ara is of my generation. I met him on line when I came across a picture of my brother-in-law, he had posted looking for information about his one-time classmate. Krirkor regrettably had passed away. We stuck a friendship. 

Still in his teen, Ara left his parental family and the city he loved, Haleb, the Armenian Aleppo, behind to chart his course in life in the New World. He too crossed oceans and continents and settled in Racine, WI where his paternal uncle was the priest in the Cilician See affiliated Armenian Apostolic Church. In Racine, Ara married Debra and the two raised their two children.

 Life has its twists and turns in store for us we cannot envision in our wildest dreams, nor did Ara and Debra. As of March 17, 2024, they have been married, quoting Ara, 52 years and 4 months and continue to live in Racine, WI.

 

Բախտը	The Luck
Արա Մխսեան	Ara Mekhsian Translated Vahe H Apelian
Կը հաւատար երկար ատեն, Որ ինք էր տէրը իր կեանքին,  Թէ բախտը սոսկ ատեն-ատեն, Հլու՝ կʼանսար աղերսանքին...   Կեանքի ծովէն նաւով անցաւ Վստահ՝ իբրեւ վարժ նաւավար. Օր մը անգամ միտքէն չանցաւ, Թէ բախտը մեծ դեր կը խաղար... Օր մըն ալ բախտը զինք լքեց, Նաւը խարակներուն խփեց, Շշմեցուց զինք զարկով լախտի.   Ուշ հասկցաւ դերը բախտի... Թէ՝ բախտն անցուց ձեռքէն բռնած Զինք ապահով՝ կեանքի ծովէն, Միշտ աչալուրջ, որ յեղակարծ՝ Սիրենները զինք չթովեն...   Բախտի շունչն էր մղիչ հովը, Բախտն էր նաւուն թին ու ղեկը, Բախտն էր կոհակներ հարթողը, Թէ՝ բախտն էր իրմէ աղէկը...   Հիմա նստած ծովեզերքին‵         Կը խոկայ ելքը իր կեանքին. Թէ, ե՞րբ վերջապէ՜ս կը հասնի   Բալասանն անամոք վէրքին...	He believed for a long time. That he was the master of his life, That luck just now and then, Obediently supplicated begging him…   He crossed the seas by boat As confident as a skilled sailor. Not a day crossed his mind That luck played a big role... One day luck deserted him, The ship hit the rocks, Stunned him with a knocked-down blow.    He realized too late, the role of luck. That it was luck holding his hand paved the way Crossing safely the stormy seas of life, Always watchful that suddenly Temptations did not charm him away ...    The breath of luck was the driving wind all along, Luck was the sail and the rudder, Luck smoothed the paths. That luck was the better of him...   Now sitting by the sea shore Contemplates his life’s exit,  When will it finally arrive? The ultimate comfort of his unmitigated wound...