All for the Soul: Abraham Terian’s Phrasing the Arts

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“Mine is the realm of the beautiful,” avers the speaker boldly in “Touch of Greek Inspiration,” a poem in Abraham Terian’s recently published anthology, Phrasing the Arts (The Press at California State University, Fresno, 2025). Indeed, the whole spectrum of the arts — music, dance, painting, sculpting — populates the pages of Terian’s “little book.”

Sibelius, Mendelssohn and Dvorak are ever-present. “Dear Vincent is always in my mind.” Terian seduces with his elegant language and images that delight with their sudden twists: “I see the light of setting suns/Here’s the ashtray,” “I’m waiting like a catcher with a mitt/for the sinking sun,” “You have high moments, even when low/just like the waves.” What holds the reader captive, however, is the almost shocking relevance of his words to real life, their bearing on the “unknowable pain” buried in the heart. In “Sinai Lunaris,” “It’s a dead-end even here” whispers the moon, with tearful eyes, to the pilgrim ascending Mount Sinai “unmoved,/its granite heart untouched,/unaware of the thousands/on the upward move —”

Terian’s poems reach into something profound. The beautiful artifacts and the various arts the speaker experiences carry him far into the reality of the soul, their enduring beauty prompting him to ponder the truth about humankind “roaming aimlessly,” like Moses, “in pathless places.” The Picasso painting at The Art Institute of Chicago shifts his attention to “the puzzled crowd/moving through the hall.” The violin chords of the Mozart Requiem he hears in “On a Walk in the Neighborhood” sound like “Someone was baring her soul . . . sounds from without and within.” As he further contemplates the “shattered pieces [of the] broken hoofs still kicking” of the marble frieze at the British Museum, “the guard/won’t let [him] touch,” he discerns what the sculptor touched but “never saw — your mortal wounds.” The whole collection can, in fact, be seen as the poet’s attempt to reveal the soul. “Hold nothing holier than the human soul,” reads the notice in his “Nursing-Home Notice.”

“A Stroll in Katajanokka Park,” a favorite among favorites, captures many truths about human life. Its succession of images evokes the lack of connection and the weariness in the everyday lives of the woman “tired of her shopping bag,” or the grandmother strolling her “toddler around/near pigeons for whom he doesn’t care.” The poem brilliantly evokes a life where “Dry leaves whirl with the wind/here and there and here/there:”

 

An old man sleeps on a bench

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victim of a restless night

the wind reads the paper he holds

pages flip

he doesn’t seem to care for news anymore.

 

“No one cares,” not the pigeons, not “the weary pets” with “jaded looks.” The brief poem, “Piece of a Chinese Vase” encapsulates the disconnectedness:

Topics: Books, poetry

 

Just a shard in blue and white,

I hold it with certain regard

like a ceremonial object,

something from the Ming dynasty

with all the gravity of tradition

the sorrows of history.

 

like so much in life, this piece

in my mind is forever set

within a certain framework

of fragmentation and pattern,

with a myriad of pieces

where nothing is whole.

 

Nonetheless, the “sorrows” and the “fragments” the poems unearth coexist with the lover driving to his beloved joyfully, with “a sense of being almost home,/to be consumed in her embrace.” Terian takes the reader into the “Poet’s Room” where Rumi, the 13th-century Sufi mystic and poet welcomes, “You lovers of lovers,/this is your home./Welcome.” His is, in his own words, an “aesthetics of fragmentation and assemblage.”

Particularly appealing are the poems where the Finnish countryside, the country of “the love of my life,” his wife, comes to life. Stunningly concrete images of nature — “November trees weeping over the summer,” “summer breezes/rhyming with the lapping waves,/the rustle of the aspen leaves/and the laughter of the muses” — inject feeling into Helsinki, the city he adores. “One Summer Night by Yla-Kintaus” is a perfect blend of his feelings with a keenly-observed nature:

 

Once more I’m singing the joys of yesteryears

with added thoughts divined in my mind

with imperfect certainty — a long-drawn dance.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

 

Past and present are losing their tense…

The sun hardly set, light turned to colors,

the lake into canvas, the shore a long-run frame.

 

Now I’ll be singing till I can’t.

 

 

Terian also pays homage to his Armenian heritage. The fragments of a four-millennia-old cart at the History Museum of Armenia, in Yerevan, may tell a tale of “gaps” and “layers of destruction” but they also help the viewer reach “the sublime.” The “Armenian Dance” is likewise elevated to “a cosmic dance”:

 

The men emerged like mountains before the Lord

and the women parted like waves on creation day

when angels watched a cosmic dance.

 

Men and women locked hands and steps,

moved their bodies with the motion of the soul

in patterns that pulsed with the rhythm of the heart.

 

Abraham Terian, Professor Emeritus of Theology at Saint Nersess Armenian Seminary at Armonk, NY, is a widely published scholar in the fields of classical philosophy and early Christian and medieval Armenian literature. He is the author of the highly-acclaimed annotated translation into English of the Festal Works of the prominent tenth-century Armenian mystic, theologian and poet, St. Gregory of Narek. Indeed, part of the pleasure one derives from reading Phrasing the Arts comes from the numerous sacred images woven seamlessly into the poems. “Like a monk under the watchful eyes of Maria,” “They burned incense to delight the saints,” “my sacred music,/a supplication in the rhythm of jazz,” “it will be Carnival, not Lent,” and so many more,” add a spiritual, a more transcendent dimension to the poems, offering the reader new insights and further enhancing the beauty of Terian’s memorable lines.

 

As an academician, Terian’s immersion in the research of Hellenistic philosophy and Biblical theology, coupled with his proficiency in literature and the arts, must be evidence that the Renaissance man is not dead, after all.

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