Moushegh Ishkhan

Moushegh Ishkhan Poems

Moushegh Ishkhan Biography

Moushegh Ishkhan (Armenian: Մուշեղ Իշխան) (born as Jenterejian, 1914 Sivrihisar - 1990 Beirut) was an Armenian Diasporan poet, writer and educator. Orphaned during the Armenian Genocide at the age of two, Ishkhan was raised in Beirut, Lebanon. He graduated from the local Armenian seminary. He studied at the University of Brussels since 1938, but World War II interrupted his studies and in 1940 he returned to Beirut. His first book of poems was published in 1936. He also published plays, novels, and a series of textbooks on Armenian literature in addition to his well-known poetry. An Ishkhan Museum is opened at Yerevan school No. 5 named after Moushegh Ishkhan. According to Ishkhan, in the absence of territory for Armenian diaspora it is language that functions as the 'space' for imagining the nation: "The Armenian language is the home and haven where the wanderer can own roof and wall and nourishment...".)

The Best Poem Of Moushegh Ishkhan

The Alienated Child

With a troubled heart, poor and very miserable,
And with my walking stick in hand and very confused,
I returned to my homeland once again
After being alienated for many years.
Because of life's heavy burden I had my back bent,
And my mind lost and very confused.
I returned to my homeland once again
After crossing seven mountains and seven seas.

At the village entrance, I saw my childhood friend,
My very close friend and with a longing heart
I ran towards him and said, 'Hello friend, my dear friend,
Don't you remember me?'
But I had changed so much! He couldn't recognize me.
With my walking stick in hand I walked into the village.
I passed by my lover's house and saw my love with a rose in her hand
Standing alone next to the door. I said,
'Hey sister, for the sake of your beautiful face
Am I worthy of your greetings?'
She also did not recognize me. I was very poor and all very dusty.

With a troubled heart I arrived at our house,
Where I saw my poor elderly mother. I said,
'Mommy, I am a passer by, will you give me shelter for tonight?'
My precious mother threw herself on to me.
She kept hugging me and all the way crying,
'O, my dear one, my dear strange son, is that really YOU?'

Translated from Armenian by Daniel Janoyan

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