ARMENIAN POETRY PROJECT

Love is not all. It is not food nor drink. Edna St. Vincent Millay     Nor is food love, but palate's sport alone. Even with c...

1. Walking with an Armenian  is different  from walking with anyone  else.  In the first place  he will try to catch  up with ...

A celebration of the life and work of noted poet, translator, mentor and and longtime New England Poetry Club President, Diana Der Hovaness...

Let us agree to meet here some winter when the park gates are locked, and the arches thinned of their vaulting green to climb the wall, thaw...

There was no need long ago to perspire. And salt had not been discovered. It took medieval pain and pressure, the worry over fate and free w...

Once Sona gave me an angel. Or I should say a drawing of one sprinkling stars like snow, inscribing it, "Diana scattering light.&quo...

Diana Der-Hovanessian, poet, translator, and long-time member of a vibrant Armenian community, President of the New England Poetry Club, pas...

Click here to read MARY BUCHINGER's review .

Click here to read the article entitled Commemorating the Armenian Genocide.

Voice: Careful, careful. Jealousy devours. Me: But I'm never jealous. That's one fault I don't have. Voice: Then who made all ...

You stand at the green slate to write color-of-orange color-of-violet color-of-smoke under a neon light, for 20 year old students who...

Sunday. The only day I did not rise before the sun to light my ovens. But I was wakened by the sound of feet moving over the street...

Start with the first century, with the pagan chants praising Vahakn, describing the coming of fire. Then go back to the time of psalms ...

What drew so many Armenians to California? It was the walnut trees, the poet said, on foreign soil, whose branches spread to feed fore...

TRANSLATING I              I was born bilingual but... the Armenian language  became  the music of my childhood the honeyed t...

Once during the war on a bus going to Portsmouth a navy yard worker told me the secret of life. The secret of life, he said, can never ...

a lute without strings strings without knots knots without pegs pegs without holes holes without ground ground without seed seed without rai...

All night long         the splintered rain needled the wincing       window pane with the thin voice      of old sea tales of day...

"Mirrors are doors to that other world. The dead walk through." James Merrill I looked into the mirror and saw my great aunt'...

Rain undoes the stone unfastens grass. Nothing is permanently attached to bone. Neither epoxy not promises last. But I keep those inf...