ARMENIAN POETRY PROJECT

a phone call in the middle of the night, the son of a best friend – words choked by the heave of sobs erupting from his belly – his fathe...

Old Granary, graveyard of loyalists and revolutionaries, merchants and mercenaries, poets and philistines. Their gravestones, frost-h...

O grand ancient game, upholder of family honor, Judas to reputations. Your board a replica of Byzantine splendor, in-laid mother-of-pearl, J...

Hrant Dink, in memoriam They snuffed him – Turkish style, a teeming street in Istanbul three bullets, back of the brain, point-blank, draped...

Away with these dreams! Manichean midnight intrusions whipsawing the psyche in epic battles of good against evil, light over dark. I have pl...

Some things are indelible, like India ink, not just on paper but on the parchment of the soul. If you are one of the fortunate the imprint i...

Aintab, Cilicia Forgotten corner of the caliphate, mother’s birthplace, she uprooted at two, a tramp steamer to Salonika - otherwise another...

Ժամանակին կար ու չկար (a long time ago there was and there wasn’t) Always in whispers among the elders, the unspeakable, the weight of Arara...

Krikor N. Der Hohannesian has been writing poetry for almost 40 years but until a few years ago never mustered the courage to submit his wor...

There is always one the anointed one the bearer of the sadness and you can’t remember how it came to be or why you, not yet of age, were ch...