The movements my hands were making yesterday while I picked apart a bit of knitting work brought on the oddest sensation. For a moment, was transported back 300 years to someplace far away. Was working my lace while thinking on the one who best complemented me.
(The citation that opens the scene translates roughly to 'we are searching for ourselves in one another.')
The Color of Pomegranates is Sergei Paradzanov's lyrical survey of the life of the 18th century Armenian poet/troubadour Sayat Nova; has to be one of the most beautiful films I've ever seen.
(Am having a bit of a difficult time finding English translations of Sayat Nova's work; Armenian's a bit out of my reach, too. Here is one something, though:)
Esor Im Yarin Tesa
Esor im yarin tesa baghchi mechn man galov,
Today I saw my beloved walking in the garden,
Gedinen zartavetsav im yari voske nalov.
The ground was decorated by my love’s golden heel.
Blbooli pes ptut eka vardi vra dzen talov,
Like the nightingale going around the rose, calling.
Junun elav khiks glkhes, sirts tkhoor ackhes lalov.
Mad with love my mind left my head, my heart is sad, my eyes weep.
Hoys unim im Stightsoghemen mir dushmann eli es halov.
I have hope from my Creator, let our enemy be in this state.
Yar, ed koo naz oo ghamzov jans pel oo pand is ari,
Love with your grace and coquetry you have imprisoned and enchanted my body,
Khmil is eshkhov sharbatn proshnirt ghand is ari,
You drank the syrup with love, your lips became sugary.
Khatookhalov, kaghtsr lizvov shat indzpesin band is ari,
With beautiful features, your sweet tongue, you have imprisoned many like me.
Toor danakn, indzi spane, mi asi rishkhant is ari.
Stab me with the knife, kill me, don’t say that you have mocked me.
Chunki mahes yarimen e, toogh li mirnim lav gozalov.
Because my death is from my beloved, let me die with a beautiful one.
Tarin tasnerkoo amis maziret hoosats kooli.
Twelve months of the year your hair is braided.
Proshemet mighr e katoom, tooghnis yakhed tats kooli.
From your lips flows honey, if you allow your collar will be wet.
Goornan shnchi tsaghki nman karmir vardet bats kooli.
Like a spring breath your bred rose will be open.
Inch ogoot e koo baghmnchoon gharib blboolen lats kooli.
What is the use of your gardener, the wandering nightingale will be crying.
Moorvat chunis, ptut gooka baghchi vra chkchkalov.
You have no mercy, it is crying as it goes around the garden.
Yip koo sooratn kashin naghshumen shnook koo tas.
When they draw your face, you give the picture the gift.
Koo vrvras chragi pes saghcumen shnook koo tas.
You crackle like a torch, you give the gift to the torchstand.
Mshkov liken broli pes taghchumen shnook koo tas.
Full of fragrant oil like crystal, you give the gift to the shelf.
Bats koolis karmir vardi pes baghchumen shnook koo tas.
When you will open like a red rose, you give the gift to the garden.
Kamin dibchi mechn hootet gooka vrvralov.
When the wind touches your petal, your fragrance comes wafting.
Yis el oorish yar chunim, es glkhen vagh imatsi.
I have no other beloved, know this right from the start.
Angatch ara, matagh im kiz, es khoskes sagh imatsi.
Listen, I will die for you, know my entire speech.
Mtik ara koo Stightsoghin tooz-namag-agh imatsi.
Look at your Creator, know the salt.
Sayat Novin mi jegretsni eshkhemet toosagh imatsi.
Don’t make Sayat Nova angry, know I am a prisoner of your love.
Khilks glkhemen taril is koo, bemurvat, gardish talov.
You have taken away my mind, ruthless one, with your walk.
-translated by Daniel Larison