Women are From Venus, Men Are From Mars

By Aram Haigaz

Translated by Vahe H. Apelian

Here's the witty bouquet from ARAM HAYKAZ's oeuvre about men, women, and their relationship. ARAM HAYKAZ (née Aram Chekenian), was a popular Armenian-American writer for my generation. He was born in 1900 in Shabin-Karahesar (Western Armenia) and passed away on March 10, 1986 in New York. He wrote ten books, nine of which are in Armenian.  For  me he personifies the best of the survivors of the Armenian Genocide. He became a teenage captive pair of hands among the Kurds and yet nature would have his way and he and Kurdish girl would take fancy of each other. Not only he survived but he also overcame adversity and flourished with a zest for life and living, surely because he also found a safe haven in the United States of America where he thrived. He wrote fascinating tales about his experiences among the Kurds and his escape from the mountains of Kurdistan and about his neighbors in the U.S. I view this collection of his sayings I translated as a testament of self-depreciating humor. Only a person who is not, can humor in a such way. Here's the witty bouquet from his oeuvre about men, women, and their relationship

1.      A man should love his wife and strive not to understand her but a woman should love her husband less and strive to understand him more. Մարդ մը պէտք է սիրէ իր կինե ու չաշխատի հասկնալ զայն, իսկ կին մը պէտք է քիչ սիրէ ու շատ հասկնայ իր ամուսինը որ երջանկութիւն տիրապետէ տան մէջ։

2.    If you buy something not needed by your wife, it's extravagant spending. So beware. եթէ կնոջդ պէտք չեղած բան մը գնես, շռայլութիւն է, զգուշատցիր։

3.     A lot of women like to say “no’ much like children do; many men believe in the "no" much like children do. Շատ մը կիներ երախաներու պէս «Ոչ» ըսել կը սիրեն, ու շատ մը մարդեր երախաներու պէս կը հաւատան այդ «ոչ» ին։ Շ

4.         It’s only the good women who keep a diary; the bad women have no time for such things. Օրագրութին պահողը բարի աղջիկներն են, չարերը ժամանակ չեն ունենար այն բանին համար։

5.       A woman who would not have consented marrying you for who you are, marries you for what you have.  կին մը որ հետդ պիտի չամուսնանայ ինչ ըլլալուդ համար, կ՚ամուսնանյ ինչ ունենալուդ համար։

6.      A lot of time women’s eyes and tongues convey altogether different things; one needs to have wisdom to determine which to believe. Կիներուն աչքերն ու լեզուն շատ անգամ տարբեր բաներ կ՚ըսեն, իմաստութիւն պէտք է որոշելու հար թէ ո՜ր մէկուն պէտք է հաւատալ։

7.     Women’s width change depending where they are preparing to go.  կանանց լայնքը նայած թէ ո՞ւր երթալու կը պատրաստուի կը փոխուի։

8.       A girl’s greatest wealth is not with her but is the imagination found in men’s head. Աղջկայ մը մեծագոյն հարստութիւնը իր հետ չէ այլ այրերու գլխուն մէջ գտնուող երեւակայութիւնն է։

9.      The other day a woman was telling that she is getting old because those who pursue her are in her age group. Առջի որ կիմ մը կ՚ըսէր թէ ծեռացածէ որովհետեւ զինք հալածողը այլեւս իր տարիքն է միայն։ 

10.      God created Adam before Eve so that there will not be anyone over his head advising him what to do. Աստուած Եւային առաջ ստեղծեց Ադամը որպէսզի իր գլխուն վերն կենալով խրատ տուող չըլլայ։

11.      Right after women return home from their wedding, they embark on reshaping, correcting, improving their husbands…. and after five years they weep lamenting that “the man, is not the man they married; he is changed !” կիները ամուսնանալէ ու եկեղեցիէն տուն գալէն անմիջապէս վերջ կը սկսին իրենց ամուսիները բարեկարգել, վերաշինել, սրբագրել եւ հինգ տարի վերջն ալ կուլան ըսելով, «մարդը իր առած մարդը չէ, փոխուած է։» 

12.   A man marries due to lack of judgment; divorces due to lack of patience and remarries due to memory failure. Մարդ մը կ՚ամուսնանայ դատողութեան պակասի պատճառաւ, կը բաժնուի համբերութեան պակասի պատճառաւ, կը վերամուսնանայ յիշողութեան պակասի պատճառաւ։

13.    The bachelors know more about women than the married men do; otherwise they would have been married as well. Ամուրիներ կիներու մասին շատ աւելի բան գիտնալու են քան ամուսնացածները, այլապէս իրենք ալ ամուսնացած կըլլային։

14.      The other day an acquaintance was complaining about the change in their household saying that right after he got married their dog would bark when he returned home from work and his wife would bring his slippers; nowadays the roles have changed, it’s the dog that brings the slippers. Առջի օր ծանոթ մը գանտագելով իր տան մէջ տեղի ունեցած փոփոխութեան մասին կ՚ըսէր «երբ ամուսնացայ տաուն եկած պահուս շունս կը հաչէր ու կինրս մուճակներս կը բերէր, հիմայ դերերը փոխուած են շունս է որ մուհակներս կը բերէ։

15.  Before getting married, it is imperative that a man secures the unanimous consent of two people: that of his bachelor friend and the mother of a girl anxious to see her daughter get married. Ամուսնութիւն մը կնքելու համար երկու անձի համաձայնութիւնը անհրաժեշտ է։ ամուրիի մը եւ աղջկան անհամբեր մօրը։

16.      It was not the apple in the Garden of Eden that became the cause of our misery; it was the couple underneath. Դրախտին մէչ ծառին վրայ խնձորը չէր որ մեր դժբախտութեան պատճառը եղաւ այլ անոր տակ գտնուող զոյքը։

17.     It’s always easier to beautify a wise girl who is not beautiful than to impart wisdom to a beautiful but unwise woman. Աւելի դիւրին է խելացի բայգ տգեղ աղջիկ մը գեղեցկացնել քան գեղեցիկ բայց ապուշ մէկը խելացի դարձնել։

18.  The knowledge that she is loved is the cornerstone of a woman’s happiness. Սիրուած ըլլալուգիտակցութիւնը կնոջ մը երջանկութեան հիմնաքարն է:

19.    The difference between a dying man and a dying woman is the following: death comes upon them when it’s the heart that stops in the former and the tongue in the latter. Մեռնող մարդու մը ու մեռնող կնոջ մը մէջ գտնուող տարբերութիւնը այն է որ մինչ առաջինին սիրտն է որ կը դադար է առած, միւսին մէջ դադար առնողը լեզուն է։ե

20.       Mice are afraid from men; men are afraid from women; women are afraid from mice. Մուկերը կը վախնան մարդերէն, մարդերը՝ կիներէն, ու իրենց կարգին՝ կիները՝մուկերէն:

21.     The most difficult task for a woman is deciding the year and the date she reached adulthood. Կնոջ մը համար ամենէն դժուար բանը իր չափահասութեան տարիքին հասնելու տարին եւ թուականը որոշելն է։

22.      If a woman does not reveal the source of a secret entrusted to her, she regards having kept the secret. կին մը իրեն վստահուած գաղտնիքին որմէ լսած ըլլալը չըսէ, զայն պահած ըլլալ կը կարծէ։

23.     To enjoy chatting, women talk way too much to have time to think. կին մը խօսելու հաճոյքին համար այնքա՝ն շատ կը խօսի որ խորհելու ժամանակ չունենար։

24.      A woman is a source of flowing water where people snoop to quench their thirst. It's no wonder at that moment they only see their reflection. կին մը հոսուն ջուրի ակ մըն է որուն վրայ ամեն ոք կը հակի իր ծառաւը յագեցնելու համար եւ զարմանալի չէ որ այդ պահուն միայն իր նկարը տեսնէ անոր մէջ։

Source: Հայագիտարան Հայաստան (06.08.2014) an on-line site.

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Hamasdegh, the Quintessential Armenian Villager (No. 2/2)

Vahe H. Apelian

The following is pieced togethe from Hamasdegh’s autobiography and the introduction in a book published in Lebanon in 1966 comprising his books, “The Village” and “Rain”. The link for first part: http://vhapelian.blogspot.com/2020/03/hamasdegh-quintessential-armenian.html

Hamasdegh Among Kessabtis

After immigrating to the U.S. in 1913, Hamasdegh undertook a trip abroad from 1928-30  where he visited Diaspora communities (including Kessab, as attested by the embedded picture). During the trip he remained in touch with the people and the notables of the Diaspora communities. His trip left an indelible and a profound impression  on him.

From there on, he never left elsewhere and continued to live in the U.S. In fact, in a “corner” of the United States as he confided to Simon Vratsian and noted the following in a letter to him. “But I like that corner. It is warm and serene much like the nest of a bird.”  It is said that the U.S. became his residence but throughout his life, in his heart and in his soul, he remained the quintessential Armenian and the Armenian villager he masterfully depicted in his writings.

He was happy and content with his family. His lifelong partner, his wife Srpouhie, remained his staunch supporter. They raised two fine daughters. His wife’s death weighed very heavy on him. In  letter to Simon Vratsian on April 1, 1966, he wrote: “Our beloved Srpouhie’s loss was very heavy. We cannot believe that she is no more. We were happy. Srpouhie emptied both the home and me….”

In another letter to Simon Vratsian he wrote: “The days pass repetitiously; with no color and interest. It is said that sorrow seeks solitude. Our most graceful daughters attempt to fill in their mother’s void…Srpouhie raised fine daughters. Whatever we do, however, there cannot be a remedy for Srpouhie’s absence.”

Hamasdegh died not too long after, on June 4, 1966, during his jubilee celebration in Los Angeles where he passed away on the stage due to a fatal heart attack.

Hamasdegh started writing relatively early. In his autobarotropy he attributes his foray into writing partly to his proximity to “Hayerenik” where he had his first literary work published in 1917. He was 22 years old then. In his autobiography he wrote: “My proximity to “Hairenik” Daily and its staff became the impetus to resume writing.” Surely, he is alluding to his early writing while in school in Kharpert where he received his teacher’s appreciation and commendation to continue writing.

 In his autobiography he noted the following: “In 1920 I stayed in New York for one year where Shirvanzate (Շիրվանզադէ)  lived also. I had read almost all his literary works, but I did not know him personally. We met frequently. He became the reason that I ceased hovering in the sky above and came down to earth.” He was 25 years old then and had already established a reputation as an upcoming writer. What he meant to say is that his early literary endeavors were driven by an attempt to impress with his literary prowess but were not true to his calling. He made a similar remark in 1929, in Cairo where the community gave homage to the young writer. In his speech there he said: “Excuse me when I say that there is an element of sickness among some of our intellectuals. We had a generation who filled their heads with German or French imaginaries and hoovered well over the ground. They detached themselves from our reality. They could not anchor themselves on the ground. But, there were a few who stood firm on the ground like giant pillars because they had absorbed the nation’s instincts.” 

 Surely, among those who had absorbed the nation’s instincts, is Hamasdegh himself,  as one of the giant pillars of the Armenian literature. 

The following comprise his literary output and their first publication dates.

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1.    “The Village”, («Գիւղը»), published in Boston in 1924.

2.   “Rain”, («Անձրեւ»), published in Paris in 1929.

3.   “Holy Comedy”, («Սրբազան Կատակերգութիւն»), (not published)

4.    “The White Horseman”, («Սպիտակ Ձիաւորը»), published in Los Angeles in 1953.

5.   “Nazar the Brave and 13 Stories”, («Քաջ Նազար եւ 13 Պատմուածքներ»),(published in Cairo in 1955.

6.   “House of Prayer”, (“Աղօթարան»), published in Beirut in 1957.

7.    “Goat’s Almanac”, (“Այծետոմս»), published in Cairo in 1960.

8.   “The First Love”, (“Առաջին Սէրը»), published in Beirut, in 1966.

9.   In a letter of Simon Vratsian dated January 29, 1965 he noted that he has handwritten manuscripts totaling some 3000 pages and may literary works published in “Hairenik” Daily and “Punig” especially during 198-1919, his early writing years.

Note: The following comment was made by " Harry Kezelian Don't forget to mention Hamasdegh lived in Boston, which was and is the home of the Armenian-American press and the political parties (Hamasdegh of course was a staunch Tashnagtsagan) and most of his writing was published in Hayrenik. It is worth of note that Hamasdegh's first book was published in 1924. After the treaty of Lausanne was signed in July 1923 we notice that the Armenian-American community turned its thoughts toward reminiscing about the Yergir, especially Kharpert, the native land of most of them, as seen in Hamasdegh's first 2 books as well as an impressive amount of Kharpertsi folk songs in both Armenian and Turkish that were recorded on 78 rpm discs in the period 1923-1925 and also afterward. The deportation of the orphanage in Kharpert in early 1923 to Ghazir, Lebanon, the signing of the treaty of Lausanne which buried all Armenian political aspirations, as well as the fact that even under the treaty of Sevres Kharpert was not to be included in united Armenia, and the fall of French Cilicia (which maybe would have eventually included Kharpert), no doubt struck a deep affect among the thousands of Kharpertsis living in America who after 5 years of waiting and wondering after the war came to an end, finally realized there would be no return..."

Anna’s Dream

Translated by Vahe H. Apelian 

Mikle Babayan (Մայքլ Բաբայան) posted a copy of this article on his FB page. It is written by Anna Der Minassian, Roupen Der Minassian’s wife, twenty years after her husband's death in 1951.  It was published in “Varak” («Վարագ») monthly in 1971, No. 73. Anna was born and raised in a Jewish family. She espoused her husband’s cause and learned Armenian. Anna narrates anectodes and remembrances and thus paints a picture of some of those who valiantly colored our recent history. The original piece is title “An Apparition” or “A Vision”, (Տեսիլք Մը). The verb tenses are kept as in the original piece. The italics signify personal notations.

Courtesy Mikle Babayan Collection

“It is five o’clock early in the morning. Roupen and I are awake. It is cold and snowing. The snow covers the window much like a drapery. Roupen is sitting on the bed with a cigarette between his lips, a blanket on his shoulder. The typewriter is on his lap and is typing. I try to follow him, but my fingers are getting numb. I place them under the blanket, and I fall asleep and dream.

The door opens. Silhouettes fill the room. There he is, Doctor H. (Hamo) Ohanjanian. The only person who resumed his life over again, if that can be said. Next to him is N. (Nigol) Aghpalian, the flute in his hand. The same flute he used to play in Yerevan to forgo his hunger pains.

I remember doctor Der Tavtian (first name Hovsep per Mikle Babayan), who was reserved and not talkative. I remember when I was sick and with the children. One morning someone knocks the door. I am surprised to see that it is the doctor. What is he doing here in the wee hours of the morning? “I was on a promenade” he says. In order for him to do the “promenade” he had to catch two buses, pass through Paris and continue his journey with a cart.

M. (Mikayel) Varantian is telling a story and everyone is laughing heartily. “The rooster woke me up early every morning. So, I purchased it from the lady paying her a hefty price. The next morning a rooster woke me up again early in the morning. The landlady had purchased another rooster with the money I had paid her!”

Here he is Aram; the great Aram. I remember his amusing story about the two overcoats. Yervant, Roupen’s brother, had purchased two coats of the same kind, one for Aram, and the other for Roupen. Both of them were living with Yervant. On the first day, Aram tears his coat, which had been hanging on a nail. Distraught, he returns home and finds Roupen’s coat hanging. He switches his coat and wears Roupen’s coat and leaves. After a few days Aram meets Roupen expecting to be reprimanded by him. But Roupen is calm and composed and says nothing. Aram in vain searches for the tear on Roupen’s coat but does not see any. Puzzled, and having exhausted his patience, he confesses his mischief to Roupen and both look for a tear but find none. They remain puzzled.

Yervant’s wife, having noticed the tear, had mended it.

Rostom did not have a winter coat in Bulgaria. At the urging of his wife, he manages to get a coat. During that time Bedros Semerjian was in the prison and was likely to be condemned to death. Rostom sent his new winter coat to him and spent the winter without it. 

Armen Garo, you also passed away. I knew you before your death. We lived in the TROSHAG’s building. You often visited and played with Roupen’s younger son (they had two sons). You knew that you were condemned. There was no cure for your disease. You used to say, “if it were possible for you to go to Armenia and breath the air there, you will be cured.”

Vahan Minakhorian, is that you? Limping from the day you hurled yourself down the bridge not bearing to witness the depravity of the Turks to your students. I saw your room in Belgrade on the sixth floor. I placed flowers on your tombstone that Arshaluys Asdouazadourian had it built. Did you feel the presence of a friend?

Yervant Der Minassian (Roupen’s brother) entered and is looking around. I remember, whenever you visited us in Yerevan you opened the drawers and checked Roupen’s clothes and under wears. You are still looking for a drawer. There is no closet. Roupen’s clothing’s are in this bag. Each piece is clean and is mended.

Here is Levon Shant, always stoic, covering his sensibilities. He passes away much like Socrates, conveying his thoughts to his student.

Here comes Arshag Jamalian. Those who knew you cannot forget your liveliness, and your joyful disposition, always ready to recite poetry for hours on end.

K. (Kasbar) Ipegian, are you here seated with tears of joy and a book in your hand, your daughter’s first poetry?

Courtesy Mikle Babayan Collection

And you dear baba-jan (պապաճան-it is thought it is an endearing reference to her husband for his fatherly concern)– always fatherly. At the very last moment when everything was lost, even the hope, and each and every one of us scattered taking our last leave of each other, you said calmly “boys, wear well, it’s cold outside”.

Here is Sosse Mayrig. She entered and embraced me. She looked around, as if she is looking in the silhouettes for her three children she lost.

Moshegh, you were a handsome young man and devoted to Roupen. I heard that you had got sick hearing the death of Roupen. Was it the cause of your untimely death?

Who are you? You may be Alishan (Father Ghevenot Alishan) who sought out for Roupen in the last days of his life.

I woke up. I look around me. There are no apparitions anymore. Roupen is continuing to write. I read what he writes, and tears pour from my eyes. Roupen had written:

“That generation with its devotion, moral ethics and revolutionary zeal was born once in our lifetime and did not come about in this world anymore. Its zest (համ) and essence (հոտ) were different.”

The original piece, courtesy Mikle Babayan