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One of the holiest sites to Armenians is Akhtamar, a splendid island on Lake Van, which is now in Eastern Turkey.  It is home to the Cathedral of the Holy Cross, built in the 10th century.  It was also the Holy See of the Armenian Church, where its Catholicos lived and worked for almost 800 years, until 1895.
Armenians have alleged that the church has been repeatedly desecrated since the 1915 Genocide.  It is an easy assertion to believe: visit any museum in Turkey and prior inhabitants or others who lived under the Ottoman yoke are barely mentioned.  Armenians and Kurds are not mentioned in texts; Greeks are often referred to as “Byzantines,” since someone has to explain how the Aya Sofia and other monuments made it to the country before its current rulers’ ancestors conquered from the Far East.  Turkey has never been able to reconcile its past, leaving its people wondering how a great empire has now become to Europe was Mexico is to North America—and resentful to boot.
The church underwent a restoration.  Armenians sniffed at the gesture, noting that the renovations turned the structure into a secular history museum, no cross on its dome, and in the process completely whitewashed the history of the region.  Some Turks thought that the government went too far, hinting at a genocide they claimed never occurred.
After countless accusations and insults, a Mass was held at the church on Sunday . . . and few bothered to show up.  Armenians were upset that a cross was never installed, and no high-level Turkish leaders came to at least show a token appreciation for its nation’s past.
Holy Cross Church is an outstanding example of Armenian architecture, and of an institution that for generations was the sole identity for the Armenian Diaspora until Armenia became independent again, 19 years ago yesterday.  And Akhtamar is a precious legend: its name comes from a tale of a princess who lived on the island and fell in love with a lowly commoner.  The boy would swim across the lake to visit his paramour—until his father found out one night, smashed the light that guided his swim, which caused him to lose his way, and hence his desperate cries of “Akh, Tamar” left a timeless story still recited today.
With that story, let me share with you this precious poem by the Armenian poet Hovhannes Tumanyan, named simply, Akhtamar:
Beside the laughing lake of Van
A little hamlet lies;
Each night into the waves a man
Leaps under darkened skies.
He cleaves the waves with mightly arm,
  Needing no raft or boat,
And swims, disdaining risk and harm,
Towards the isle remote.
On the dark island burns so bright
  A piercing, luring ray:
There's lit a beacon every night
  To guide him on his way.
Upon the island is that fire
Lit by Tamar the fair;
Who waits, all burning with desire,
  Beneath the shelter there.
The lover's heart-how doth it beat!
How beat the roaring waves!
But, bold and scorning to retreat,
  The elements he braves.
And now Tamar the fair doth hear,
With trembling heart aflame,
The water splashing-oh, so near,
  And fire consumes her frame.
All quiet is on the shore around,
And, black,there looms a shade:
The darkness utters not a sound,
The swimmer finds the maid.
 
The tide-waves ripple, lisp and splash
  And murmur, soft and low;
  They urge each other, mingle, clash,
  As, ebbing out, they go.
 
Flutter and rustle the dark waves.
  And with them every star
  Whispers how sinfully behaves
  The shameless maid Tamar;
 
Their whisper shakes her throbbing her
  This time, as was before!
  The youth into the waves doth dart,
  The maiden prays on shore.
 
But certain villains, full of spite,
  Against them did conspire,
  And on a hellish, mirky night
  Put out the guiding fire.
 
The luckless lover lost his way,
  And only from afar
  The wind is carrying in his sway
  The moans of:"Ah, Tamar!"
 
And through the night his voice is heard
  Upon the craggy shores,
  And, though it's muffled and blurred
  By the waves' rapid roars,
 
The words fly forward-faint they are- 
  "Ah, Tamar!"
  And in the morn the splashing tide
  The hapless yough cast out,
 
Who,battling with the waters, died
  In an unequal bout;
  Cold lips are clenched, two words they bar:
  "Ah, Tamar!"
  And ever since, both near and far,
  They call the island Akhtamar
    
 
 

About The Author

Leon Kaye

Leon Kaye is the founder and editor of GreenGoPost.com. Based in California, he is a business writer and consultant. His work is has also appeared on Triple Pundit , The Guardian's Sustainable Business site and has appeared on Inhabitat and Earth911. His focus is making the business case for sustainability and corporate social responsibility. He's pictured here in Qatar, one of the Middle East countries in which he takes a keen interest because of its transformation into a post-oil economy. Other areas of interest include sustainable development in The Balkans, Brazil and Korea. He was a new media journalism fellow at the International Reporting Project, for which he covered child survival in India during February 2013. Contact him at leon@greengopost.com. You can also reach out via Twitter (@LeonKaye) and Instagram (GreenGoPost). As of October 2013, he now lives and works in Abu Dhabi, United Arab Emirates.