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Poetry
TIGRAN PASKEVICHYAN | The seventh day

TIGRAN PASKEVICHYAN | The seventh day

HANGOVER Lend me a hand, my dears and nears, I have run out of my wine in the cup of my three and thirty years. I get sober from the morning bolls; lend me a hand. Does the wind blow late, or Won’t your hand find me anymore? I depart unhurriedly in a slow pace,...
Petros Durian | Little lake

Petros Durian | Little lake

  LITTLE LAKE WHY dost thou lie in hushed surprise, Thou little lonely mere ? Did some fair woman wistfully Gaze in thy mirror clear? Or are thy waters calm and still Admiring the blue sky, Where shining cloudlets, like thy foam, Are drifting softly by ? Sad little lake, let us be friends! I...
Slavik Chiloayn | Selected poems

Slavik Chiloayn | Selected poems

DOGS Dogs waifs, kicked out of doors and other animals we are your walking memories on a spinning parchment.   THE SONG OF NAMES In the 20th century or any century there are two types of names— proper and common. The proper names are those that turn into a promontory, a city, a street, a...
VAHÉ ARMEN | An elegy

VAHÉ ARMEN | An elegy

AN ELEGY By the pathway stretching out to the infinite I meet the crowd that passes me by Uncaringly, even through me– Smashing the bones of my soul under its feet. The crowd did not spot me; It didn’t notice the lofty Waiting of the lovers In the waning of the flowers: Could it be...
Hasmik Simonyan | 2 epistles to my daughter

Hasmik Simonyan | 2 epistles to my daughter

2 EPISTLES TO MY DAUGHTER 1. my bloodless daughter frolicking in my capillaries all along stop playing stop drying up so pompously either when i water you to grow close your face with the rain when i comb your hair when i make up your eyes and lips
Ashot Gabrielyan | The distance

Ashot Gabrielyan | The distance

The distance From the Reven’s Rock to my birth Is the navel string Connecting the half-embryo Where the birth and death don’t meet To make me live… My homeland is hold within the world’s mirror Like the hypocrite smile of the moon when she smiles at the sun; There is a ruin beyond the cross,...
Eduard Harents | Selected poems

Eduard Harents | Selected poems

Van Gogh was relieved of his ear, because he didn’t need it: he had already heard Genius. Al-Ma’arri actually saw as much, that no longer eyes were so important. Charents had no grave, because he is not dead yet.
Ashot Gabrielyan | Poems

Ashot Gabrielyan | Poems

The distance From the Reven’s Rock[1] to my birth Is the navel string Connecting the half-embryo Where the birth and death don’t meet To make me live… My homeland is hold within the world’s mirror Like the hypocrite smile of the moon when she smiles at the sun; There is a ruin beyond the cross,...
Tatev Chakhchakhyan | Stop! Let me sleep

Tatev Chakhchakhyan | Stop! Let me sleep

  WRITE A POEM If your country is rocky and droughty write a poem to live softly. Our president who, to my mind, is philologist writes poems of loneliness and sadness in the back of contracts and so he writes of dismissal in the minutes of despair… And the Opposition calls rhymed names, and we...