datevik hovanesian’s yarimo
One of the miracles of being human I find most satisfying is the simple realization that pain cannot last forever. I am not speaking for a particular person or a group or set of people — pain is an identity as much as love — I speak only for myself. However, […]
datevik hovanesian’s ervum em’
Year after year I forget more and more of the Armenian words I use to know. It is a pity, I love the language so but who can I speak it with in Grand Rapids, Michigan? I know no one. The most I can turn up are bizarre little […]
datevik hovanesian’s es gisher, lusniak gisher
I love the moon. No, let me take that back. I do not know the moon — I know the light in the sky; the feeling I get when I am all by myself, walking in a Michigan forest; the happiness moonlight brings me. One of my […]
datevik hovanesian, the breeze, hov arek
The idea that the wind and the breezes will blow us trouble, as Billie Holiday once put it in the song Ill Wind — Blow, ill wind, blow away/ Let me rest today/ You’re blowin’ me no good/ No good — fascinates me. My adopted hometown, Gyumri, sits on […]
datevik hovanesian, partridge, gakavik
To write is to let the world know what we have witnessed, we are told. Often I am cynical of poetry’s positive effect on the world, but that has entirely to do with my own short-comings as a writer, a feeling that everything I do I cast into a void that […]