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Tatev Chakhian | One Bed, Two Wars

Tatev Chakhian | One Bed, Two Wars

 ONE BED, TWO WARS Here, our bodies crumble in a foreign land, beneath a rumbling sky of a New Year’s Eve that belongs to others. We share a single bed and two wars. He fears that dying might last longer than living. I reassure him: once you get used to...
Anna Davtyan | Language through Lessons

Anna Davtyan | Language through Lessons

The teacher is always the person who needs to be forgiven for temporariness. I thought of this when I was already a teacher. When I was teaching my young students not a specific profession but was explaining the state of things. In a word there is the state of things,...
Vahan Teryan | She smiled at me

Vahan Teryan | She smiled at me

She smiled at me, the Nairian girl with slim waist, The Nairian girl –gloomy-eyed and modest, So bright was the face of the mountain-born, The glance so blazing and artless. And my Nairian sun as if glared also In the northern faraways and colds, As if in my field bloomed...
Tatevik Kolarski | Alice Munro’s Short Story “Amundsen”

Tatevik Kolarski | Alice Munro’s Short Story “Amundsen”

Alice Munro’s Short Story “Amundsen” and its Translation into Armenian by Anna Davtyan Alice Munro is a Canadian short story writer, winner of numerous literary awards including the 2013 Nobel Prize in Literature for her work as “master of the contemporary short story.” Her short story “Amundsen” appeared in The...
Naira Hambardzumyan | Poetry for the chosen ones

Naira Hambardzumyan | Poetry for the chosen ones

  POETRY FOR THE CHOSEN ONES In the beginning was the Time, Then the Word, then the Sin, then the Fig Leaf, And the again – the Time; and what has not been said still Is roaming in the cave. When God created the world, Created the man, created the...
Hrant Matevosyan | The Trees

Hrant Matevosyan | The Trees

You’re no good, you’re pitiful my child, my son, my firstborn, my hope, my precious, you’re no good, you hold no vengeance. Your grandpa, my papa Ishkhan had a small blood-red horse: it was so small, he says, that wasn’t taken to army and burned with fury whenever any other...
Hovhannes Tumanyan |  The Reading of the Universe

Hovhannes Tumanyan | The Reading of the Universe

You who gave me a gaze toward the skies To reach the higher ends, dive in the Sun, You who gave me a mind heavenly and vast To measure the measureless, its awesome gaps afar. You who tied us, took hold of my soul, Instilling in there the endless, its...
Artyom Grigoryan | Ups and downs

Artyom Grigoryan | Ups and downs

It makes me wonder: while the 6th floor of our building completely had been renovated with beautiful doors and highlighted painted walls, on the 7th there is only one lightbulb, which is probably not working since the collapse of the USSR, and I’m pretty sure that the guy who screwed...
Kostandin Yerznkatsi | Others malign me of envy

Kostandin Yerznkatsi | Others malign me of envy

Others chock-full of envy mean evil down with me For I compose a poetry that is a treasure sweet. They say, ‘How does his tonque have such delicacy, That among us non can compete or withstand that rivalry?’ Deceived by the dark, doomed to be blind In slumber they’ll never...
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.
Latest entries
Vahe Arsen | By the path of the lost sun

Vahe Arsen | By the path of the lost sun

TOWARDS YOUR INSOMNIA Midnight stands like a soldier waiting for the war’s end, a dream within a dream in thick night air that catches fire and blazes suddenly, not seeing its twin. I was there hurrying toward your insomnia under the crackling clay of the roofs, with the city a whitening star in my palm....
Nshan Abasyan | I am Telling You

Nshan Abasyan | I am Telling You

I am Telling You Today you are more disgusting than ever. You are ignorant and braggart. You are naked and wretched. You hate obedience and lick your vassal’s feet. You’ve been deceived, fool! There’s litter in your plate. You’re not pure-blooded. You sneer your God. You envy your savior. You sell your wife,coward! Do not...
An interview with a famous Armenian writer Ara Baliozian

An interview with a famous Armenian writer Ara Baliozian

Ara Hakopian: Ara, your works have been translated into French, German, Greek, Spanish, Dutch, and Armenian. Several months ago your book “The Horrible Silence” was published in a Russian translation. This is the first time you have been translated and published in Russian. What are your expectations from the Russian edition and from the Russian-speaking...
Hrant Alexsanian | Selected poems

Hrant Alexsanian | Selected poems

Don’t get angry Winds can come into your veins, into your bedroom, the secret dwelling of your agitations,- they have private reckonings with you and your last will and testament, God knows only what kind of wind gave birth to you.- The winds beat you down when you’re half asleep. A hand can implicate you...
Lilit Karapetyan | Composition 33

Lilit Karapetyan | Composition 33

I love that man, the one sitting sadly at the crucifix, with his legs crossed. He carried the high-quality oak cross up to the mountain where Adam’s head was buried, the emblem of sin. “He is a miracle man,” said his twelve friends after the subsequent successful deal. They were with us everywhere. Hardly had...
Henrik Edoyan | Three days without  the Lord

Henrik Edoyan | Three days without the Lord

THE RUINS OF ACROPOLIS Time passes over me now like a blind bird leaving a feather with which I write on the gaping call of my memory the names of men things cities’ This is the image of a fina; assurance, these are the ruins of Acropolis among which entangles the stare of a casual...
David Muradyan | The cold city,warm seas

David Muradyan | The cold city,warm seas

The short-size girl was standing on a small chair and she was taking the toys off the Christmas tree, trying not to drop them. The tree needles were falling down. The old woman was picking the faded cotton pieces up and putting them into a bucket. “Is your Christmas tree standing yet?” asked Parandzem. “Yes,...
Vardan Hakobyan | On the other side of horizon

Vardan Hakobyan | On the other side of horizon

  ON THE OTHER SIDE OF HORIZON The words told by silence are deeper than when you try to speak: the sadness, the flower and the sky always whisper in my ear. No one speaks while kissing: no matter how far are the stars, they’re mine. No one speaks while creating: the mind is freedom....
Arqmenik Nikoghosyan | The main tendencies of the development of modern Armenian poetry

Arqmenik Nikoghosyan | The main tendencies of the development of modern Armenian poetry

1. Nowadays it seems to be possible to divide the Armenian poetry of the independence period into different parts. The poetry of 1990s is a complete entity in all respects and can be analysed as a separate phase. Literary nonstop process seems to form the next phase and some skids and circulation are determined by...