ARMENIAN POETRY PROJECT

Oh, black-haired nine that did brave my most grave moments to send me a song: Each day, you bask in the sunshine of my praise, and like seas...

I It is 1910, and I hear the voices of young women as they weave. One says, “Let us read Sayat Nova at midday.” “I, too, am a poet,” a...

Why Saroyan are you not of this earth anymore? Where will your typewriter blink out the lights tonight? And when will your ashes shower over...

Flowers aqua and yellow pressed between your Russian and our English. Flowers tidy and dry colored portraits pastel shades a flattened bud ...

A tardy goose honks its way back to its watershed; night is a hand’s length and breadth away. Love escapes somewhere in the distance; a bull...

Brenda Najimian Magarity is a second generation born in America Armenian writer whose work includes poetry, fiction, non-fiction and memoir....

Sweet Mother, you carry with you the smell of mint leaves in summer. You are the mediator between the grief of darkness and the utter calm o...