“Buzz”, by Violet Grigoryan

To the Immortal Memory of Alfred¹

He fixed the little fold of the white table cloth, the last glass—yes,
  yes, to the right, no, it hasn’t started—done, he wiped and set it down
  next to the tall shiny towers—will there be any—
  leftovers?—buzz!2
  shoo!—help yourselves—just what I needed, what fine taste you have,
  straight on to the caviar, like Lusok, bread-fellow,3
  “The woman and the buzzer: during the last supper,” how dramatic—
  no, you are not late, please enter from the right—but the “last,”—bro, c’mon,
  I had just wiped it—no, I don’t believe: the great one4 would say, even for coursework—
  will I still make it?—you have to be convincing . . .
  Finger foods, for small, cutsie mouthsies, white
  immaculate toothsies,
  the size of one bite,
  Roman—ha-ha, there is no drunken elephant, but there will be soon —
  arranged with a ruler, squarelets, color by color and one by one,
  Lusok cried: if you go, I’ll die,
  yeah they’re shooting, but this is it, are these any lesser frontlines?
  stand and arrange row after row,
  row after row, row after row, they come and they
  g(rigi)o? 5
  softly smeared mushroom medley under clumps of cilantro,
  little hams slivered to cheese,
  pinchlets of asetrina6—what was it in Armenian? the blessings of distance learning7—
  shiny sparkly barbequed chicken on skewers . . .— yes?
  excuse me, help yourselves, please, yes from the right—
  piece-lings of dipshit—will there be any leftovers? . . .
  
  The other is whirrlling filled glasses in a big tray
  with expert acrobatics;
  breaking waves8 (saunterers’ trajectory) of Nina Ricci
  Christian Dior, Yves Saint Laurent
  Chanel no 5, Calvin Klein . . .
  
  —The cream, ha-ha, of society, how newspeak!—
  will he come? how long has it been?
  five or six months? acting as if I was hurt—hello, thanks a lot, yes, Thursday—
  so he would know my worth, miss me, call after me,
  instead I hear— buzz!—the good news, the little round bomb
  ba ba boom! on me . . .
  Thrift, thrift,
  thrifty management of feelings,
  the funeral baked-meats did coldly furnish
  forth the marriage tables—no, I haven’t presented
  a project, well I wasn’t here, you are in, right? – argh, it’s pestering me,
  shoo! Sol Partre!9—yes, the topic is good, — to the syrup of my lipstick—
  good luck to you, savior of women—force a smile—yes, yes,
  Thursday—will he come? . . .
  
  I should have been a pair of ragged claws . . . 10
  
  Here’s the ambassador, with a white smile, for the sake of those devoted to
  Toh lera unce, freehd om, and puh pah peace . . .
  Puh pah pee peace,11 yes, of course, yes, for the woman, too,
  And for the child, Hector’s scraps,12
  but you stop becoming narrator in the process,
  the only thing that’s coming on to you, shoo! and only on your lipstick: is this,
  what are you to do, brains nicht, you didn’t have a husband or a proper home,
  stubborn señora—
  
  Oh, eternal feminine wail . . . 13
  
  Writerjournalistartistsingerpainterdesigner,
  the cream…whoa, what’s this ruckus, oh, ohh! of course,
  it’s he himself, his foregone majesty—who can stand it, can you say shoo to this one? —
  —the state is also pleased with this program
  and participates, like so hand-in-hand—to the encircling
  microphone clutter, a Hugo Boss pistil, for the Gucci, Prada, Polo,
  leaf cluster—
  for our nation, defense
  is our defenselessness14—to the tray, through tight cracks—
  how newspeak!—there is no more white?—submissive, compliant, and with a golden smile:
  I’ll bring it right now—and the waves—for me too!—and more, more and more…
  
  I’ll fuck your mother eh for our nation . . .
  
  At night Luso—this one’s Luso too—will slowly take her shirt off
  her tired shoulders and before washing it: to the camera,—
  it’s the type of job where one always need to be clean, taken care of, you know? —
  she’ll bring it up to her nose, ah, what scents from remote worlds, a green
  cape, a sailing-vessel, a star-studded hotel, chalices
  full of black caviar, coralalalal, sand . . . struggle,
  struggle klepto…15
  —Hey, hey, look, it was this one today, there is no more wh—
  ite?—he’ll take his nose out, so that he can turn and look
  at the television, to the small, cutsie, mouthpiece,
  white, immaculate tooth demonstration—for our nation
  like so, hand in hand—it was the voice of the scent of the parallel world . . .
  
  —Here you are with red—white-lacquered delicate nails, mmhm: “Close up,” 16
  diamond-condensed middle finger and thumb, pinky sticking out—thanks,
  oops,17 oh no—idiot, it hasn’t even started; a stain on the table cloth—excuse me,
  it spilled, huh, turned into a Japanese
  flag. . . No worries—turn it . . . stur . . . sturgeon!18
  I remembered—turn this way—Zara, one sec, from the shoulder, and one more
  excuse me-thank you—turn that way—
  you know, Gaudi was wonderful, I fell in love, but it was really hot,
  Paris in July, not a single museum, I’ve seen them all,
  just sheer relaxation, oh, how I’ve tired from this project —
  of course, you’ll grow tired, ten months of the year
  you’re loitering about in Europe, shameless grant-eater,
  constantly dilly-dallying with the consul—the middle of July?
  it looks like I may have an invitation to an exhibition, perhaps we’ll see each other,
  umm, I don’t know the location of the hotel yet—screw you! sticky gossiper—yes,
  I’ll tell him of course, kiss and bye bye—to Hector bye-bye,
  bye-bye to Hector, bye-bye until death—how did he say it? until death
  I am on your side . . . ‘till death do us part, joice and rejoice,
  crashing cymbals, the baked meat at the funeral repast,
  with the accompanying celebrations of the welcome-baby . . .
  
  You’re good at creating melodramas,
  the whole hoopla is for you; yup, there is nothing else,
  what’s Hector to you? or you to Hector
  that you may shed a tear for him,
  like some slut, measure the bile of your heart with words, wo
  r r ds, yuck,
  curse like a prostitute, like a house-maid,
  tsk-tsk! shame on you shame on you shame on you shame on you sh
  aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaame—
  you are hell! you are it for yourself,19
  red-hot needles, on the lining of your dress,
  red polka dots on white
  yippie! and again, even sharper and sharper, even deeper . . .
  Alimony for the heart—how legitimate! pah pah pah
  puh pee, and no bomb or the like, eece of the granny panties
  a hefty badaboom
  hit your unrivaled society, alas, your unspoken tongue,
  how I loved your Parthian, wimp, wuss…
  If there were a way to become Sherlock from sissy Watson’s blah-blah
  all of us wouldn’t know spy Onik’s address . . .20
  
  I’m fine, thank you, not yet, hope you will join us21—
  force a smile, clink your glass, pht, shoo! damned thing!
  good thing I saw it early on, otherwise it would have been
  an appetizer with the wine—this July? no, please22 . . . —how did you
  say contra . . .— it’s been ages—good thing he approached me, it was the last notch of
  the childish babbling of English, — how are you, dear Gago? — see you,23 — oh yeah,
  contract24—well, I’ve lost weight, I am on a diet,
  yes, I’ll eat something, uh huh, Thursday, tell Gayan—
  let me smile open mouthed a bit more to this group— probably a peach25—will he
  come . . .?
  
  The devil asks the Turk, the Georgian,26
  did you see Mara’s suntan? Gaudi, he-he, it was sooo hot, ho-ho,
  listen, did you see Khcho’s piercing? I liked it a lot,
  no way, not him, he has a lover, she’s a new chick, yup, come close so I can tell you,
  but she’s not a girl, you’re not deaf, are you? hey girl, don’t tell anyone,
  he-he, ha-ha-ha, she’s a virgin, but a boy—whisper and rustle,
  whisper and rustle, whisper and rustle, I am shivering slowly
  cold, monotonous,
  the raindom27 washed my formless shadow, I am not you anymore,28
  I am an owl, squeak-squeak!
  did you eat my coconut?29 how was the taste of my . . .30 Oh, thanks, thanks,
  where did I leave my lighter? – a rhetorical question
  for the supposedly fiery Prometheus…
  
  —We’ve gathered nicely, we can start the revolutio…
  —Hey man, for once, allow us—when did his majesty
  approach? — to breathe
  calmly, your revo, I’ll be damned! That
  lution will not run away to the forest,
  leave it for tomorrow—amicable laughter, Turk and Georgian,
  Zara and Mara, Gago and Khcho, devil and Gaudi, revolt and bolt, whisper and rustle,
  ow, my stomach, yes, need to eat,
  perhaps a peach, Alfie? perhaps, per
  haps, the wine numbed me and the elitescented
  waves, ah, I wonder, who pops your
  pimples? my revolutionized—well, the microphone,
  will I still make it? they are just prepping it—
  and that one with the big yellow head,
  that would always sprout under your right shoulder blade—hey, did you notice
  the blonde midget? the yellow head,
  barely under the arm—oops, am I already speaking out loud
  to myself?—but how she’s landed
  the sugar daddy—velvet and fur, violin, piano—
  now do you know why they’re fucking?31—
  don’t exaggerate—did I say it out loud again?—ten fingers and a tongue,
  she does a good job of paying him back with grateful
  fake orgasms, aah aah aah—
  I’ll buy it, I’ll buy it32—on his favorite piece of beautiful furniture—
  my bed, do you remember how it snap! and I still haven’t fixed it,
  the Bible, a dictionary, of the old East, the new West,
  poetry, and so on, well
  according to its thickness . . .Will the velvet lady
  pop pimples?
  
  A woman’s bed, full of sorrow . . .33
  
  Perhaps a peach, perhaps, perhaps, per
  haps, will you eat a peach for life? or co
  still conut? still swell, still fart
  in front of the velvet lady? drums with your behind . . .
  
  Ah, the mournful sobbing of my violin . . .34
  
  Oh, who now massages your feet?
  who wipes your forehead with lotion?
  holds your face with two palms
  pressing your lids with both thumbs—
  take off your glasses, do you see
  up close? tell me,
  and what do you see?—
  important things? with your eye?35 no way,
  oh, if you would play
  kitty-kitty—
  in the Luxembourg gardens . . .
  But are there Luxembourg gardens in the world?
  where does the red flag hit the thorny scarlet rose
  beyond words?
  where is the bee—that is not seen, but heard—speaking buzz-ish
  in his ear?
  and does the wind retain the whizzing of the z during translation?
  or does it tatter one by one and each and every z
  takes a letter to the fields far from the dandelions . . .
  But are there dandelions? are the fields
  on the other side of the hill there? is the sun there? is there a star
  and moon? does the water plummet from the river to the ravine?
  but is the ravine there
  beyond words?
  If there is sun, then why do the mornings rise in black darkness?
  if there is water, why am I thirsty?
  if the bee exists, why did the scarlet-red rose wither in my hand?
  if there is the ravine, who is that jumping off
  that is not the self? but . . . heartless girl . . . 36
  
  No, don’t lie to me, there is no one, they are not here,
  I’ve seen them in a parallel place, in another world,
  here there are words that confirm them,
  but now they are already bearing false witness,
  but now they are already their graves,
  but now they already smell like death,
  but now already . . .
  
  How far away is the parallel world from the heart of your heart? . . .
  
  One, two,37parallel, yes, it sounds good, three prizes:
  1. best
  2. best
  annnd, the bes . . .
  annnd, the bes . . .
  my very first, my Turk, my Georgian, my devil, my Gaudi—
  waves of emotion and the stink of sweat
  from the corners and cracks of ChanelGucciBoss . . .
  —I wasn’t doing my work for the medal or the prize—
  the champagne was mine, that’s for Nvard, she was just here, that green-turquoise over there—
  yeah, what did I want to say, may the worthy be appreciated.
  —Well, of course, ok, I am going to go eat something, probably
  a peach, I am on a diet, say hello to Nvush
  if I don’t see her, and breaking the waves,
  lacerating, la-cerrrrr-attt-ing . . .
  
  I broke the waves so you, so I, so
  that you could rise up
  here today, shit on me—what a causeandeffect
  conclusion—
  kick me in my stupid ass, throw me on the ground and wipe your feet on me,
  just like this line, row after row, like an army of long-legged glasses
  men were lined up in front of me, oh, frailty, thy name . . . what?—
  ah these women, love over and over love over and over love . . .
  
  But of course, I wasn’t doing my project for a medal or a prize,
  the important part is to participate, we are all for the same important goal—listen, did you see?
  this harlot’s ex-fucker has already come with his wife,
  she probably still hasn’t seen them, when I said: it wasn’t for the prize, she smirked,
  now go and laugh over there, did you see how she had lost weight? Laurel-Hardy,
  probably from active masturbation, he-he, a cigarette
  in her expert fingers, always a cigarette, yuck, fake,
  cuckoo loony old woman, she’s completely lost it,
  she’s already talking to her self, uh huh, enough already, one-two,
  one-two, we said it sounds good already, like a fly she meddles in everything, nutty
  fucker, say hel-loo to Nuh-vush, someone should ask, does Nvush
  even give a shit about you, can I tell you something for real: would you believe it
  if I said I don’t even care, whoever it’ll be, as long as it’s not Nvard, with her father’s position
  everywhere . . .
  
  I trampled on my father’s crown, the golden fleece your prize,
  I tore my brother to pieces, threw him in the sea,
  I abandoned my home, my own shore, I abandoned my homeland in the water,
  My pair of children, I . . . 38
  —You don’t have a child to pop the pimple?—
  you are hell, you for yourself, when there is someone else sitting
  inside of you—
  o virgin kiss-ass daughter of Babylon, blessed is the one,
  who will repay you your recompense,
  who will treat you the way,
  that you have treated others,
  blessed is the one, who will take your child from you,
  and smash him on the rocks,
  Oh, dear Kikos, oh, dear Kikos . . . 39
  
  Through the waves through the waves through the waves,
  hey, careful, little one, where are you running? where did you come from? what’s your name?
  where is your brother?
  my mom has your, she has your smell too,
  what about this, does she have some of this?—
  a prize for the protection of oppressed women—
  oh my prize, my red medal,
  on someone else’s chest,
  a prize for finding women,
  for putting a tongue in their mouth,
  and with that same tongue, for mouthing off—mhm, you were one of the judges, right?
  you know, in the villages it’s only darkness,40
  just like the middle ages,
  they beat women, can you believe it? those same wretched ones,
  who toil in the fields all day, in dung and, you know?41 this bullshit,42
  and in the kitchen, I mean everywhere43—
  sorry,44 hey Nvard? they were looking for you—the men get drunk, go
  home and beat those miserable ones, to whom they have not given even
  one drop of love, no warmth and no care, what language is that in? with what do they
  eat with?—sexual object—that’s it, nothing else,45
  excuse me, tell me, why are you in a flutter, girl? they still haven’t announced the prize . . . whaaat,
  yes, I saw, I saw,
  and that’s the object, he-he, sexual, she’ll see right now, you’ll see how her head
  has remained bowed, she can’t take care of her own issues, she is solving other
  women’s problems…
  
  Hey, idiot women, hey, Dridorian46
  ten girlies, down there,47 for whom have you
  painted yourself scarlet red? or should I send you the good news in the mail? for the lot of you
  snoring in the donkey’s ear,48 ill—
  informed sluts, are you still waiting for that majestic facade, on which
  you’ve inflated your egos so? . . . Now watch how I am
  shredding you into pieces,
  shredding and discarding,
  and needle by needle, under the nailzz, sprrrraying rrrred
  on rrrred, on the blood, sprrrrinkling a good dosse of salt, garrrrlic, and pepperrr,
  how I am brrringing you to yourrr
  kneezzz, on a sharrrp shingle, so faccce to faccce
  arrrm in arrrm, waillll like that, I am going to wrrrring poizzon
  from your grrrroanz and whisperzz—
  —Mr. President, here is the white—
  and a pearl, for thy heal(th) . . . oh my,
  hey girl, oh my, it/he/she49 fell . . .
  Perhaps the rope was too thin, girl, perhaps, per
  haps—
  well it’s ok, nothing was left in it/him/her,50
  but for the new little one, that is going to be born, perhaps it would be enough—
  yes, it’s a good little one, minus the footnotes, over 300…
  No! don’t hit it with the trophy, girl, yuck, how you smashed it…
  Oh, eternal feminine buzzing (3 threes)…
  
  cut51

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Notes

1. Translator’s Note: The reference to Alfred is to T.S. Eliot’s The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock. ⮭
2. Author’s Footnote: Noise, gossip, quirks. Emotion, excitation, anything that stirs up passions, stimulation. Incomprehensible talk, curses flung through the cracks of teeth. The first single of the rock band Nirvana – Love Buzz. When Polonius comes to inform Hamlet that the actors have arrived, Hamlet responds, buzz, buzz, since this was no longer news. Today much news and high society gossip webpages present themselves with the word “buzz.” ⮭
3. TN: In the original Armenian, there is a play on the etymology of the word ənker (friend), which originated from əndker (eating companion). ⮭
4. TN: The reference to the “great one” here is Stanislavski and his famous verdict, "I don't believe" to his actors’/students’ performances, exhorting them to “be convincing.” ⮭
5. TN: In the original, there is a play on the Western Armenian kowgan ow ker/ t῾an (they come and they go), with the last component t῾an separated on a new line and with a question mark, standing for both the ending of the phrase “they go” and an offering of a traditional Armenian yogurt drink, t῾an. This is also a reference to the repeating lines “In the room the women come and go / Talking of Michelangelo” from Eliot’s The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock. ⮭
6. TN: Commonly used Russian word for “sturgeon.” ⮭
7. TN: Distance learning is a common option in the Armenian higher education system for students who live outside of the capital or the country to gain access to university education. The quality of the education however is often considered weaker than the full-time equivalent. ⮭
8. AF: depth, wave, internal side, womb, a mythical female evil spirit with a hideous appearance, that is an enemy of women in labor, newborns, and youth, glutton, man, and child-kidnapper. ⮭
9. TN: The character Jean-Sol Partre, a spoonerism of Jean-Paul Sartre, in Boris Vian’s novel Froth on the Daydream. ⮭
10. TN: Direct translation of line 73 from T.S. Eliot’s The Love Song of J. Alfred Purfrock. ⮭
11. TN: The intentionally deviant syllabification of these words is supposed to represent the accented and non-standard pronunciation of Armenian by some state officials to indicate their parochial and sub-standard knowledge of the language. ⮭
12. TN: A reference to Hector, the Trojan prince in Greek mythology and his farewell to his wife Andromache. There is also a play on the rhyming words hražešt (farewell) and žešt (a Russian borrowing, meaning an old, discarded, piece of metal). ⮭
13. TN: Marina Tsvetaeva’s ironic reference to the Eternal Feminine, which is the archetypal or philosophical principle that idealizes a woman as immutable. ⮭
14. TN: A commonly used and recognized phrase from the first president of the independent Republic of Armenia, Levon Ter-Petrossian. ⮭
15. TN: A play on the correspondence of the words avaz (sand) and avazak (thief), which also forms the first root of the noun avazakapetowt῾yown (kleptocracy). ⮭
16. TN: Reference to Abbas Kiarostami’s film Close-up. ⮭
17. TN: English word written in Armenian transliteration. ⮭
18. TN: The Armenian word for sturgeon. ⮭
19. TN: A play on Jean-Paul Sartre’s famous line “Hell is other people.” ⮭
20. TN: Reference to a popular joke about a spy named Onik, who is sent from Armenia to the US on a top-secret undercover mission. In order to establish contact with Onik they send another agent with precise instructions on how to find him. They explain that the only way to find Onik’s home is by locating the pharmacy next to it. This second agent goes to the US and starts looking for Onik. He asks a random person: “Excuse me, would you tell me where to find the pharmacy?” The person responds: “No problem, go straight, turn left, ask where spy Onik’s house is, everyone will show you, and right next to it is the pharmacy.” ⮭
21. TN: The entire line is in English written in Armenian transliteration. ⮭
22. TN: “this July? no, please” is in English written in Armenian transliteration. ⮭
23. TN: English phrase written in Armenian transliteration. ⮭
24. TN: English word written in Armenian transliteration. ⮭
25. TN: Reference to line 122, “Do I dare to eat a peach?” from T.S. Eliot’s The Love Song of J. Alfred Purfrock. ⮭
26. TN: The first line of a popular series of jokes in the Caucasus about extraordinary circumstances that Armenians, Turks, Azerbaijanis, Russians, and Georgians are put into and their respective solutions and reactions. Typically these involve an encounter with the devil, God, a dinosaur or some powerful force, which sets up certain conditions, often reflecting the geopolitical environment of the time. In the Armenian context, the Armenian typically comes up with the most witty, clever, and/or humorous solution. ⮭
27. TN: A play on the similar sounds in the words anjrew (rain) and janjrowyt῾(boredom) from poet Vahan Teryan. ⮭
28. TN: The preceding three lines contain references to some well-recognized lines and themes (whisper and rustle, shivering slowly, cold, monotonous, formless shadow, I am not you anymore) by Armenian poet Vahan Teryan. ⮭
29. TN: Reference to the popular children’s poem and cartoon, “Powy powy mknik” (Squeak, squeak, little mouse) by Derenik Demirchyan about a little mouse who lives under a coconut tree. One day a coconut falls down and the mouse struggles to get inside through a crack. After much difficulty, the mouse gets in and gluttonously drinks all of the coconut liquid, after which he struggles to come out. ⮭
30. TN: Reference to the following 1916 quatrain by Hovhannes Toumanyan: In my dream an ewe/Came up to me with a question,/“May God protect your son,/ How was the taste of my child?” ⮭
31. TN: Russian word in Armenian transliteration. ⮭
32. TN: Reference to a line from the movie Pepo by one of the main characters, the aging nouveau riche Zimzimov, who constantly buys new things to impress his new, young wife. ⮭
33. TN: Reference to the play Medea by Euripides. ⮭
34. TN: Reference to Armenian poet Vahan Teryan. ⮭
35. TN: Reference to The Little Prince by Antoine de Saint-Exupéry. ⮭
36. TN: Reference to the homonymous poem and opera Anush, in which the heroine commits suicide by throwing herself off a cliff. ⮭
37. TN: Both words are in English in Armenian transliteration. ⮭
38. TN: These four lines are reference to Euripidies’ Medea. ⮭
39. TN: Reference to a tale by Armenian writer Hovhannes Toumanyan, entitled “The Death of Kikos,” about a young woman who envisions getting married, having a child, and that child climbing a tree and falling to his death. The entire family then mourns the death of the child. ⮭
40. TN: Russian word in Armenian transliteration. ⮭
41. TN: English phrase in Armenian transliteration. ⮭
42. TN: English phrase in Armenian transliteration. ⮭
43. TN: English phrase in Armenian transliteration. ⮭
44. TN: English word in Armenian transliteration. ⮭
45. TN: English phrase in Armenian transliteration. ⮭
46. TN: Reference to Violet Grigoryan’s last name being printed incorrectly as Dridoryan. ⮭
47. TN: Reference to Alice looking down at her feet in Alice in Wonderland. ⮭
48. TN: Play on the Armenian proverb/saying êši akanǰowm k῾nac (asleep in the donkey’s ear) indicating someone who remains unaware of something important. ⮭
49. TN: The grammatical flexibility of Armenian allows the reference here to be intentionally ambiguous. Since Armenian is a null-subject language, an explicit subject is not required in the original. Moreover, Armenian has one genderless third person singular personal pronoun, which can stand for he/she/it. ⮭
50. TN: Same as note 49. ⮭
51. TN: Originally in English. ⮭