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Marineh Khachadour | Home

Marineh Khachadour | Home

(An excerpt from a memoir titled Lenin And Me told in a voice of a young girl growing up in Soviet Armenia in the ‘70s.) Act VIII So many of us, kids in the neighborhood, like to play in the dumpster behind the back doors and the fences of our...
Lilit Margaryan | Why is Zabel Yessayan an important author who should be taught in Armenian Schools

Lilit Margaryan | Why is Zabel Yessayan an important author who should be taught in Armenian Schools

Zabel Yessayan is one of the most prominent and important writers of Armenian literature of the 20th century, our greatest female writer, who is totally abandoned in Armenia and is widely unknown to the public. Her works are not included in school books, nor have they been subjected to serious...
Violeta Balian | The Concubine

Violeta Balian | The Concubine

VIOLETA BALIÁN is an Argentine author and translator born in Buenos Aires of an Armenian father and a German mother. She studied History, Archaeology/Anthropology as well as Humanities at San Francisco State University (California) and spent many years in the United States. In 2012 she published her first novel, the...
Mher Arshakyan | Woe to us…

Mher Arshakyan | Woe to us…

Our life changes every day. And woe to us, if we have no role in those changes. And again woe to us, if we have a role and the result is this. Woe to actors, who return home through a backdoor of life, where even the creak of the door...
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...
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...
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:...
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...
Latest entries
Hrach Saribekyan | The Sun of Twins

Hrach Saribekyan | The Sun of Twins

Everything was so mute and motionless that it seemed as if daytime was nighttime when the sun shines in the sky. The day would reach the trees and hesitate as under the trees there was untimely night. The sun had cast the shadows of the leaves on the walls of houses. The monotonous creak of...
LEVON KHECHOYAN | The Third Son

LEVON KHECHOYAN | The Third Son

It rained two days ago; the morning sun erupted with a blinding flash of light. The intolerable light quickly dried the damp soil. Our neighbor Nersik was passed out drunk. No matter how much they called him, he didn’t get up. So we took his tractor out of his yard and left without him to...
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...
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