"There Will Come Soft Rains" – «Մեղմ անձրեւներ պիտի տեղան»

Ara Mekhsian had posted on his Facebook page today a poem and his Armenian translation of the poem. Both, the poem and its translation were superb, indeed. I guess we think highly of ourselves as mankind, when neither birds nor trees, would even say good riddance to us for they would "scarcely know that we were gone."

I will admit that I had not known of the poetess Sara Teasdale (1884-1933), to have read that poem before.

Quoting Wikipedia: “Sara Trevor Teasdale was an American lyric poet. She was born in St. Louis, Missouri, and used the name Filsinger after her 1914 marriage. In 1918, she won a Pulitzer Prize for her 1917 poetry collection Love Songs. In 1933, in frail health after a recent bout of pneumonia, she took her own life with an overdose of barbiturates. Her last and perhaps finest collection of verse, Strange Victory, was published later that year. Her Collected Poems appeared in 1937. Teasdale wrote seven books of poetry in her lifetime and received public admiration for her well-crafted lyrical poetry which centered on a woman's changing perspectives on beauty, love, and death.”

As to the poem, I quote: “There Will Come Soft Rains" is a lyric poem by Sara Teasdale published just after the start of the 1918 German Spring Offensive during World War I, and during the 1918 flu pandemic about nature's establishment of a new peaceful order that will be indifferent to the outcome of the war or mankind's extinction.”

Attached is the poem and Ara Mekhsian’s superb Armenian translation.

There Will Come Soft Rains

Sara Teasdale, 1884 - 1933

There will come soft rains and the smell of the ground, 

And swallows circling with their shimmering sound; 

And frogs in the pools singing at night, 

And wild plum trees in tremulous white, 

Robins will wear their feathery fire 

Whistling their whims on a low fence-wire; 

And not one will know of the war, not one 

Will care at last when it is done. 

Not one would mind, neither bird nor tree 

If mankind perished utterly; 

And Spring herself, when she woke at dawn, 

Would scarcely know that we were gone.

 

Մեղմ անձրեւներ պիտի տեղան

Սառա Թիզտէյլ, Ամերիկացի բանաստեղծ

(թարգմանութիւն)

Մեղմ անձրեւներ պիտի տեղան եւ յարուցեն բոյրը հողին,

Կռինչներով մեղկ, մարմրուն՝ ծիծեռներ պիտի սաւառնին, 

Գորտեր պիտի գիշերերգեն ջուրերուն մէջ ջրշեղջերուն,

Սալորենիներ անմշակ՝ ճերմակազգեստ ու սրսփուն,

Շիկահաւեր՝ հրափետուր պատմուճան հագած՝

Պիտի սուլեն քմայքն իրենց՝ ցանկորմին թառած:

Ոչ մէկը պիտի իմանայ, որ մարդիկ ելեր են մարտի,

Մէկն իսկ պիտի չնշմարէ, երբ պատերազմը աւարտի,

Ոչինչ պիտի մտահոգէ թռչնազգի եւ ծառ՝ 

Եթէ ջնջուի անմնացորդ՝ մարդկութիւնն ի սպառ.

Եւ գարունն իսկ, երբ արթննայ վաղ այգաբացին,

Հազիւ թէ միտքէն անցընէ, թէ մենք ո´ւր գացինք:

Sara Teasdale, 1884 - 1933