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Marineh Khachadour | Children of War

Marineh Khachadour | Children of War

My husband has purchased an old Zhiguli from a Yezidi young man for $400. It is white with golden velvet interior. “Fit for a lamb,” Charlie jokes as he straps Arpa, our almost two-year-old son, on the back seat. I sit next to him, so I may quickly reach for...
David Poghosyan | Delusion

David Poghosyan | Delusion

The best and the most beautiful things in the world cannot be seen or even touched – they must be felt with heart.                                 Helen Keller Part 1 Revelation My father is a pilot. I’m...
Souren Sarumyan | The Burner of Memories

Souren Sarumyan | The Burner of Memories

The boy was carefully hiding Grandpa’s photo under the mattress with his head on the pillow, pretending asleep. On the weather-stained photo Grandpa was still young – he was standing by a big round table and sadly smiling. Grandpa’s fists were big, almost in size with the table. Even in...
Mher Israelyan | Unimaginable Cheesies for Jeff Bronson

Mher Israelyan | Unimaginable Cheesies for Jeff Bronson

Dedicated to Brussels American School “The Earth is round and rotates not just around the sun, but also around its own axis,” I explain to five-year old Davit. “Round, like the khachapuri Mother bakes?” Davit’s eyes grow round. “Round like the sun, except that the sun does not move, it...
The Shepherd of the Mounts

The Shepherd of the Mounts

Mounts… high, emerald mounts… You, that are the land and throne of the gentle  breeze, sweet-scented flowers, sacred verdure and dews, of lively, cold springs, gloomy clouds, igneous lightnings, gush of waters… You, that are so close to the Almighty, the stars, the moon, to the celestial grants and mysteries,...
Silva Zanoyan Merjanian | Under my skin

Silva Zanoyan Merjanian | Under my skin

 Silva Zanoyan Merjanian is a widely published poet who grew up in Beirut, Lebanon. She moved to Geneva during the Lebanese civil war after personally experiencing the devastation of her beloved country. She later settled in California to raise her two sons with her husband. Her poetry reflects a little...
Nune Levonyan | I love fairy-tales

Nune Levonyan | I love fairy-tales

The tree and I get evenly old, but the tree does not make a tragedy of it and each Indian summer does not write poems of defoliation. The tree and I have similarities: we love to dress up and be beautiful to death: but I do not allow common passengers...
Aram Pachyan | Toronto

Aram Pachyan | Toronto

Whenever my father would upset my mother, I would always go to Toronto, where there was an old worn bed with a metal frame placed on top of bee hives, and by its headboard, a bookshelf that practically reached the sky, filled with countless books. In Toronto, I would sit...
Hamo Sahyan| Day Turned Dark

Hamo Sahyan| Day Turned Dark

Day Turned Dark To Sero Khanzadyan It is dark. It is time for The evening meal. My melancholy gradually Evolves into crying. They descended contemplating, bowing On the corner of the haystack, One heaven made of milk dough and One half-moon…
Aram Saroyan | NOTES AT SEVENTY

Aram Saroyan | NOTES AT SEVENTY

At the beginning of Desolation Angels, Jack Kerouac is all alone, a fire lookout on a mountain peak in the Pacific Northwest surrounded by mountain stillness on all sides. A practicing if erratic Buddhist—“I’m the Buddhknown as the quitter,” he quipped once to his friend Gary Snyder—he has an epiphany:...
Vrezh Israelyan | For Granny Aghavni

Vrezh Israelyan | For Granny Aghavni

Many years ago the Armenian author, Avetiq Isahakian, seized the saying, ‘Why don’t you get pulled down to the complete ruin, o you world?’ from the folk’s mouth and delivered it to Granny Aghavni. She was teaching the Armenian language to the village elementary schoolchildren at the time. And her...
Hovhannes Grigoryan | Never die

Hovhannes Grigoryan | Never die

“Never die”, appealed my father to me in the deathbed.
Hasmik Hakobyan | Linguistic realization of modern armenian poetry

Hasmik Hakobyan | Linguistic realization of modern armenian poetry

The diversity of world orders, the thematic-structural elements,the variety of solution of primary problems make the modern poetry significant. Each type of poetry puts its world order and the language of thinking. The words become conventional signs of reality. So what is the poetic reality? What is the function of...
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The new literary project of Granish

The new literary project of Granish

Dear English speaking readers, we are glad to represent you the newly launched online project of Granish Club: Granish.com. English translations of modern and classical Armenian literature and works of Armenian writers in foreign languages as well as literary research analysis, reviews on newly published books and other news in the field of literature will...
Chris Bohjalian | In a Turkish town that had 10,000 Armenians, now there is only one

Chris Bohjalian | In a Turkish town that had 10,000 Armenians, now there is only one

A woman I met last month in southeastern Turkey is going to die, probably sometime soon. Asiya’s death will not be covered by any news service, and for all but a few people in her small village of Chunkush, she will not be missed. Even the relatives who love her will probably think to themselves,...
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.
An Interview with Sailor and Writer Christine Bukruian

An Interview with Sailor and Writer Christine Bukruian

Over the past two-and-a-half decades, Christine Bukruian has tried her hand at a fair deal of occupations, including dance instructor, natural soap business owner, and spring water company co-owner, until embracing her lifelong dream of writing and sailing. Her first novel, Gypsy Spirit: What My Boat Taught Me about Love and Life, chronicles the two years...
The Writer as Benefactor

The Writer as Benefactor

Dr. Diana Hambardzumyan is best known in Armenian circles for her translations of Kurt Vonnegut and William Faulkner. The author of a number of short stories and novels, Hambardzumyan is a member of the Writer’s Union of Armenia. She currently works as a professor of English at the Yerevan State Linguistics University named after Valeri...