Usucchi Masin: Hayeren Banastexcutyunner

“Gor,” he said. “You finally understand. Physics is just poetry with precise measurements. You have become a true student.”

Anahit smiled. She pulled a thin, worn book from her apron pocket. It smelled of thyme and centuries. “Then listen to Usucchi Masin Hayeren Banastexcutyunner —Armenian poems about a student. This one is by Hovhannes Tumanyan.” Usucchi Masin Hayeren Banastexcutyunner

“Nene,” he whispered. “The student in the poem… he is me.” “Gor,” he said

That night, Gor did not sleep. But he also did not solve his problem set. Instead, he took a blank page and wrote his own banastexcutyun . It was clumsy. The rhymes were crooked. But it was his: My textbook is a stone mountain, My pen is a tired spade. But deep inside the dark equations, A little light has stayed. I am not learning for the teacher, Or for the score I'll get. I am learning so tomorrow's sunrise Will not catch me in the net Of an unasked question. The next morning, he went to his astrophysics professor. He did not hand in the calculations. Instead, he recited his poem. You have become a true student

One cold autumn evening, his grandmother, Anahit, found him hunched over his desk. His eyes were red. His problem set was due tomorrow. But his heart was empty.

Gor groaned. “Nene, I have no time for poetry. I have to calculate the gravitational pull of black holes.”

“Gor, jan,” she said, placing a cup of tahn beside him. “You are trying to count the teeth of a gear while the whole clock is singing.”