Just over a century ago, the Armenian Genocide saw the
expulsion and death of at least 1.5 million people in what was then the Ottoman
Empire. Among those affected was Pulitzer-winning poet Peter Balakian’s family,
which did its best to repress memories of the tragedy. Balakian used poetry to
help him cope as he discovered the trauma of his history, and he joins Jeffrey
Brown to explain how.
A video frame grab shows Shigeaki Mori, 77, smiling at
his home in a suburb in Hiroshima November 30, 2014. Mori was eight on August
6, 1945 when the United States dropped an atomic bomb on Hiroshima,
incinerating the city. He survived but says he continues to suffer health
problems caused by exposure to radiation to this day. In the 1980s, he got hold
of the names of a dozen American prisoners of war (POWs) who were in Hiroshima
on that fateful day. He spent over 20 years tracking down their bereaved
families to inform them of what happened to their kin and register the POWs in
the city's memorial hall. Video taken November 30, 2014. To match Feature
PEACE-HIROSHIMA/ REUTERS/Thin Lei Win
(JAPAN - Tags: SOCIETY) - RTR4HJKARemembering the 12 U.S. POWs killed in
Hiroshima bombing
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JOHN YANG: Now: how a writer is coming to terms with his
family’s own traumatic past, and how his use of poetry’s distinct style helps
him grapple with history.
Jeffrey Brown has our profile.
And we should warn you, viewers may find some of the
images disturbing.
JEFFREY BROWN: Peter Balakian grew up amid the security
and postwar economic boom of New Jersey’s suburban American life. He played
football and worked as a stock boy in Manhattan. He also early on became a
reader and writer of poetry.
PETER BALAKIAN, Winner, 2016 Pulitzer Prize for Poetry:
“The day comes in strips of yellow glass over trees. When I tell you the day is
a poem, I’m only talking to you and only the sky is listening.”
JEFFREY BROWN: It would lead to encounters with the likes
of Allen Ginsberg and over the years seven collections. The latest, “Ozone
Journal,” just won the Pulitzer Prize.
But from his grandmother beginning at an early age,
Balakian heard occasional hints of a darker family history set in Armenia. And
he began to explore a past that remains fought over to this day, the expulsion
and killing of 1.5 million Armenians by the Ottoman Turks. Many members of
Balakian’s family died. Others, like his grandmother and aunts, survived after
a horrific flight on foot.
Balakian would write about these events in history titled
“The Burning Tigris” and in a family memoir, “Black Dog of Fate.”
PETER BALAKIAN: One of the reasons for my writing “Black
Dog of Fate” was to try to make sense of growing up in a family in which a
traumatic history was really repressed. It wasn’t spoken about. It was
silenced.
And yet the leakages that I experienced as a kid growing
up in affluent suburbia were beguiling and weird and strange, and they stayed
with me.
JEFFREY BROWN: Leakages as in like little hints or
stories, things you would over hear?
PETER BALAKIAN: Sure, things I would overhear, even my
grandmother’s kind of weird dreams and folk tales which would drift on to me.
You pick up things and you didn’t know where to put them.
They were almost deracinated. So, in adult life I came to look back at those —
at those fragments and encoded messages of a traumatic history. And it really
drove me, in part at least, to work on what became a memoir, a coming of age
story.
JEFFREY BROWN: And how did it work with poetry? Were you
discovering poetry at the same time you were sort of discovering this history?
PETER BALAKIAN: Poetry came first.
It was an immersion for me as a college student in the
early 1970s. I began writing poems with a kind of passion, and I never stopped.
I was working my way as a young guy in his 20s writing lyric poems. And around
the mid to late 1970s, for various reasons, the news of history started
percolating in me.
And I started understanding more of the big picture of my
own family’s historical experience as genocide survivors. The poem in its
unique form, its form of compressed language and particular kinds of probe
images, I like to call them, or incisive, compressed image language, is capable
of going to history and its aftermath in ways that no other literary form can.
“Who drowned waiting in the reeds of the Ararat plain?
There, the sky is cochineal. There, the chapel windows open to raw umber and
twisted goats. There, the obsidian glistens and the hawks eat out your eyes.”
JEFFREY BROWN: Many Armenians, including Balakian’s
grandmother, fled into what is today Syria. Most were killed or starved to
death along the way.
PETER BALAKIAN: As many as 450,000 Armenians died here.
JEFFREY BROWN: In 2009, just before the civil war began,
Balakian joined a “60 Minutes” crew in Syria for a report on their fate.
PETER BALAKIAN: Evidence comes in many forms. It comes in
photographs, it comes in texts and telegrams. And it also comes in bone.
It was extraordinary then to be there. Looking back at it
now, I feel like it’s a dream. But for me, it was also exciting to be there,
because there’s a very rich Armenian culture and community in Aleppo and a
gorgeous church. And so all that was a kind of connecting with a diasporan
culture.
And then when the war started, when the war began to just
destroy all of this, I would look on, on the screens and on the TV images and
the computer images with pain and disbelief that, just in the little case of
Armenian cultural life there, churches that were hundreds of years old were
gone. Whole communities were disbanded.
And if that was true just for the smaller Armenian
population of Syria, we all knew what was happening to the broad Syrian
population.
JEFFREY BROWN: All right, Peter Balakian,
congratulations. Thank you.
PETER BALAKIAN: Thank you.
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