Alis Hovhannisyan | Globalization
It is not hard to guess that in every corner of the world created by our Lord God, even in the desert or the bottom of the ocean, the creatures that He created are immeasurably similar in the way they act. In one moment, an ant, upon discovering the body of a fellow ant, circles...
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
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
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
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
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
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,...
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: “It’s me that’s changed and...
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...
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