Aaron Poochigian

Aaron Poochigian: Expanding the Reach of Poetry and Armenianism

198
0

YEREVAN/NEW YORK — Aaron Poochigian is an American poet, translator, and classicist born in 1973. He studied at Moorhead State University and later earned a PhD in Classics from the University of Minnesota in 2006. He also received an MFA in poetry from Columbia University, strengthening his dual career in scholarship and creative writing. Poochigian is especially known for his acclaimed translations of ancient Greek authors such as Sappho, Aeschylus, and Apollonius of Rhodes. His original poetry collections include The Cosmic Purr (2012) and Manhattanite (2017), the latter winning the Able Muse Book Award. In addition to poetry, he has written a verse novel titled Mr. Either/Or (2017) and its sequel, blending classical forms with modern themes. His book American Divine won the Richard Wilbur Award, and he continues to live and write in New York City.

Dear Aaron, more than 30 years ago, Diana Der Hovanessian remarked in a conversation that fewer and fewer people in the United States were interested in poetry. I assume that in contemporary American society poetry occupies an even smaller place today.

Yes, poetry is, infamously, the worst-selling section in the bookstore. I don’t blame the reading public; I blame poets themselves for forgetting that poetry, whatever else it might be doing, should always be entertainment as well. Poets should give readers what they need to be delighted. I have devoted my career to pushing poetry beyond academia and getting it in front of interested general readers. One recent event in that effort is the publication of my poem “Choop,” about making moonshine, in Zymurgy, the magazine of the American Home Brewers Association. I have also resolved to read poetry, my own and others, as a busker in Central Park this summer. That’s what I’ve been doing so far to expand the reach of poetry. I’m still trying to think of more I can do.

During my three visits to Iran (may peace come as soon as possible), I was delighted to see how young people honor their classical poets, Hafez and Rumi, reading their works beside their mausoleums. How is respect for the classics expressed in American society?

I wish America had the same reverence for its “classic” poets, say, Walt Whitman, Emily Dickinson and Robert Frost. Sure, their poetry is assigned in high school and college, but none of them has come to be a popularly accepted spokesperson for an entire people (say, all Americans). I am envious of the various “poets of the people” that appear in national literatures. We Armenians have Rafael Patkanian and Hovhannes Tumanyan. As far as I can tell, there are no contemporary American poets who have attained national recognition. Still, some students do come to my mythology class with a passion for Classical literature. By and large, though, I’d have to say respect for the classics of our national poetry isn’t expressed in American society.

You are also actively involved in translating and interpreting ancient Greek and Latin, French, and Chinese classical poets into English. I was very pleased to read highly acclaimed reviews of your translation of The Flowers of Evil by Charles Baudelaire, a book very dear to me, as my father is its Armenian translator, also highly appreciated. I am sure yours was not the first English translation of Baudelaire. What does your version bring that is new, and what challenges did you face in translating it?

Get the Mirror in your inbox:

It is exciting to learn that you father translated The Flowers of Evil into Armenian. Baudelaire writes poetry that rhymes. In English, there are a number of older translations that are rhymed badly. I felt they could be improved upon. More recent translations have gone with unrhymed free verse. I see the exclusion of rhyme as a fatal flaw in those translations. They get the meaning, more or less, but leave out the music. A translator is obligated, as I see it, to recreate not just the content but the form of the original as much as the host language (here English) will allow. When I sit down to read the French, The Flower of Evil is like a trance to me. I feel like I am caught up in one of his dream poems, and the primary cause for Baudelaire’s incantatory power is rhyme and recurring rhythms. When I sat to translate The Flowers of Evil, yes, I wanted to outdo the previous translators, but I also wanted to make sure I did everything I could to entrance the reader.

All my life, I have followed the works of writers of Armenian origin around the world, especially the themes of roots and identity in their writing. I have translated your poem “The Only Grandson” into Armenian. Beyond the obvious Armenian references, can critics and readers perceive other elements—moods or motifs—that reflect your Armenian background?

You asked about “Classics” in your second question. I have been reading the classic Armenian poets Sayat-Nova, Rafael Patkanian, and Hovhannes Tumanyan, both in translation and by working slowly with dictionaries. One of the things that distinguishes Armenian poetry, as I see it, is its propensity for the grand passions. It is emotionally extreme, one way or another. My work has the same operatic streak.

I also take inspiration from the earliest bit of Armenian poetry we have. It is preserved in Moses of Khorene’s History of the Armenians. The poetry in question is a description of the birth of the pre-Christian Armenian god Vahagn. He is the fire-giver, a benefactor to humankind. Here’s my attempt to capture it in English:

Contractions rattled sky and earth;

pangs drove the crimson ocean wild;

from it a crimson fennel stalk

had surfaced and was giving birth.

 

Smoke spurted out of it at first,

then gouts of flame began to rise.

Then, from that ache of blaze, a child

with wildfire for a beard, a shock

of hair like wanton wildfire, burst

with suns for eyes.

 

I work a lot with the raw, elemental powers of mythological figures. I have been reading up on Armenia’s pre-Christian past, and what I have found has been influential on me.

 

Your family name is associated with Chuck Poochigian, an eminent Associate Justice of the California Court of Appeal and a former California State Senator. Do you have any connection with him?

As far as I know, all Poochigians are related. We have a labyrinthine genealogical chart. Yes, Chuck is my relative. He is my father’s cousin. I swam in his pool when I was young. He tells fun stories about working with governor Arnold Schwarzenegger. I respect Chuck very much. He worked with fellow senators and Schwarzenegger to get a bill passed that recognizes the Armenian genocide.

“Poochig” means “balloon” in Armenian. Do you know the origin of this unusual surname? More generally, could you tell us about the history of your Armenian ancestors and if there were/are some “old country” traditions in your family?

Yes, I am fond of the “balloon” etymology for the name “Poochigian.” There is also a family legend that some Poochigian ancestor said “Bootch” or “Pootch” to summon the goats he was herding. I like the competing origin stories for the name; the more possibilities the better.

In the late 1890s, because of the genocide, my great-grandfather Bedros Poochigian left a village in historical Armenia, Perri, Kharpert, to seek his fortunes abroad. He intended to send for his wife and family once he had earned enough, but she and his younger son died before he could do so. In America, he worked in a coal mine in West Virginia at first and then a gold mine in California. Eventually reunited (after 14 years) with his elder son Kevork, he bought land for a grape farm in Fresno. He eventually married again and begot my grandfather, Vaughn Poochigian, born in 1909. Family legend holds that, once he made some money in America, Bedros worked for a time as a gunrunner, bringing weapons to Armenians to support the cause.

Last year, you won the 2025 Anahid Literary Prize, presented by Columbia University’s Armenian Center in celebration of Armenian culture and talent. Do you have any Armenia-related projects, and have you ever visited your historical homeland?

Thus far, I have translated two poems from Armenian, one from Moses of Khorene’s History of the Armenians, and the other, Rafael Patkanian’s “The New Generation.” It took a lot of slow dictionary work. I grew up in North Dakota, far, far from my fellow Armenians, and I didn’t absorb the language at home. I would go stay with my Armenian relatives in Fresno during the summer, and I was baptized there at St. Paul’s Armenian Apostolic Church. My relationship with my Armenian heritage has always been vexed and full of guilt.

I have resolved to take Armenian language classes at the cathedral here in Manhattan, St. Vartan’s.

I have a knack for picking up reading facility in foreign languages and am hoping to do the same with Armenian. I have decided not to do any more translations so that I can focus on my original work. Still, if I were to do translation again, it would be of the poetry of aforementioned poets: Sayat-Nova, Rafael Patkanian, and Hovhannes Tumanyan.

 

The New Generation

by Rafael Patkanian (1830-1892)

When Mama with a shove and holler
supplies a child, and it’s a boy,

let Papa give the little crawler
a knife as his first toy.

Instead of pick-up-sticks, a wee

wood horsey or some other trifle,
let his reward for standing be
a very accurate rifle.

When he is school-aged, teachers must
instill the longhand script of swords.
After he learns to slash and thrust,

the kid can squint at words.

It’s fine to read and be well-versed;
writing can be a useful skill,
but, when you test him, let the first

question be: “Can you kill?”

 

This is the only way to save

Armenia from dependency.

Playing the beggar grates on brave

grown-ups who would be free.

Translated by Aaron Poochigian

Get the Mirror-Spectator Weekly in your inbox: