Ghukas Sirunyan | My mother is asleep
MY MOTHER IS ASLEEP My mother is asleep beneath the rows of red pepper, Beside the gourds relishing the sun like grandmothers— In the windy warmth of the autumn leaving the meadow. My mother is asleep beside clemency, worth, and fruit-trees, On the edge of vigor, jealousy, and precarious undertakings, Beside the smoldering hearths, vivacious...
Diana Hambardzumyan | Poor Cow—Its Belly Is Swollen
I saw him for the first time when I was toothless in my mother’s belly. I was all scrunched up, moving around anxiously, and I thought it might be this man with a mustache. I wished that it was me in his place, munching on an apple. Right in my mother’s belly I dreamed that,...
An interview with Elfik Zohrabyan
While Armenia has been described in a centuries-old poem as ‘the paradise land, the cradle of humankind,’ the Eurasian country – situated just outside the Fertile Crescent and Levant – might appear far enough off the beaten path to suggest a dearth of significant literature or a lack of notable literary figures. However, Armenia stands...
Hrachya Saribekyan | Eternal engine
Perpetuum mobile-an imaginary machine that works without loss of energetic resources. Its existence contradicts the First Law of Thermodynamics. By the Law of Energy Conservation, all the attempts of making an eternal engine are condemned to failure. I was turning the pedals, but my bicycle was not moving. I was moving faster and faster, with...
Aram Mamikonyan | Two poems
pain was only a woodpecker perched on a temple ma, my hands are torn out daddy, you are far and we are not so much poets to lie at the bottom of the ocean and lit a cigarette till the moss flows and fills our mouths and again a monday drunk and hard-moving, i shall...
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…
Karen Babayan |Blood Oranges Dipped in Salt
Chapter 5 Hangestatsav – Found Peace Hripsimeh’s Story, Tehran, Iran, 5th January 1920 Hripsimeh rose before it was light and lit the portable paraffin stove, took it to warm the bedroom where the children were sleeping. They had been in Tehran for just five years but they had come a long way in more ways...
Ashot Avdalyan | And you wake the day
DEEPER IN SLEEP THAN A THOUSAND YEARS Deeper in sleep than a thousand years I am kinder than a thousand fairy tales, And more than any spring the mists here Can hear the purling of the warmest creeks. Emptied by my forefather’s hand And in his hand completed, ended, Live these days on the warmest...
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