A splinter from Armenia
The Christian Armenian story was the Polish Jewish story. The efforts of the Armenians to stay alive in Musa Dagh chimed with those struggling to survive the ghetto. Howard Jacobson
We sold everything, everything, or had it stolen
By the Turks who roamed into another killing season
Hungry for blood. The Turk kicked his stirrup,
As our mud baked walls crumbled.
I wanted to rub the horse into the dirt
See the Turk collapse.
But the horse was terrified of the Turk
Who kicked our wall as it collapsed.
David cried to himself: David he is not Jalali
He does not stand in glory
He wants something to remain.
He imagined Armenian princes would save him in the war
Only God commands, he thought,
"If so, I will serve only God."
The five Turks began their bloody work
The villagers lined up: some for death, for slavery, for the harem.
By the Turks who roamed into another killing season
Hungry for blood. The Turk kicked his stirrup,
As our mud baked walls crumbled.
I wanted to rub the horse into the dirt
See the Turk collapse.
But the horse was terrified of the Turk
Who kicked our wall as it collapsed.
David cried to himself: David he is not Jalali
He does not stand in glory
He wants something to remain.
He imagined Armenian princes would save him in the war
Only God commands, he thought,
"If so, I will serve only God."
The five Turks began their bloody work
The villagers lined up: some for death, for slavery, for the harem.
Ovan, who had kept me, as if in prison,
Since my father died, arrived with men
Who fought the Turks. They rode away
With only one young boy, and one young girl,
"Try to clean me well" Ovan said,
"Their blood stinks like hell."
Later, the Sultanate of Women came about
And we, Armenians, had peace for a while.
The Sultana came to David,
And took him to her bed
"The next Sultan will have an Armenian father"
She said: "this is how things change".
"No," I said, " It will be genocide, instead."
