Konch Magazine - We are Aging by Paruir Sevak translated

WE ARE AGING
By Paruir Sevak
(January 26, 1924 — June 17, 1971)
Translated from Armenian by Jack AslanianÓ
 
We are aging, Paruir Sevak,
We are aging, my dear man:
Women our age we now regard as sisters,
Svelte lasses whom we notice
Fail to notice us, alas.
Every new encounter does not end up in love,
Nor songs artless, but volcanic and lustful.
 
We are aging, Paruir Sevak,
We are aging, my dear man:
Once unruly, our hair now have been punished by death,
Or to the comb princely have become feeble vassals.
Once so picky, our fingers are submissive and heedful,
Once conspirant, our feet now point homeward to family.
 
We are aging, Paruir Sevak,
We are aging, my dear man:
One day we drink
And hang over the next two;
We walk one hour,
Then we debate for two
Its benefits, or its harms.
We in fact talk so seriously on that theme
As if a huge discovery we have made,
Or do negate an ancient one.
In the meantime and evermore
“Healing,” “illness” we conjugate and we parse
With even with less discontent
Than with covert gloating.
 
We are aging, Paruir Sevak,
We are aging, my dear man:
We find no time to go ramble,
We can’t make time to get bored.
Seldom do we despair for cause,
Too much are we saddened for cause,
We read little, we write a lot,
We brood much, sleep little,
For insomnia is a word turned glue
Set on joining our frayed nerves together.
 
We are aging, Paruir Sevak,
We are aging, my dear man:
We’re aging, yet still are no wiser.
Even right now we do marvel,
We still can feel surprised.
Hands of clocks we move backwards in our thoughts —
Just to achieve what’s left undone in the world.
Somehow, gates we open of unlikely victories.
With “Quixote’s legs,” those dividers tip-worn,
This world again we do measure hopefully.
But if someone in deep sleep our dream tramples,
Just as before, just like before, with a shriek we jump up.
 
We are aging, Paruir Sevak,
But yet, alas … we still are no wiser.