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Nona Poghosyan
Nacionalidad:
Armenia
E-mail:
poghosyan.nona@mail.ru
Biografia

Nona Poghosyan

Nona Poghosyan was born in 1962. She started her first literary steps at the age of 10.Her poems for children and short stories werepublished in various children and youth newspapers and magazines.

In 1979 despite the persuasionsto continue her studies in literary sphere she entered Polytechnic Institute after K. Marx of Yerevan,Faculty of Technical Cybernetics and graduated with honors in 1984.

In 1987she finished State linguistic course ofGerman with honors in Moscow.

1989-1993 Nona Poghosyan worked as a reporter in the field of journalism, corresponded with "Business World" weekly newspaper and various newspapers and magazines.

From 1993 to present she has begun a military service in the Ministry of Defense and is a lieutenant-colonel of reserve.

In 1995 she completed the Course of Military German in Bundeswehr, Germany.

 

Publications:

1992 - the first collection of poems "Snowy prayer"

In 2006 -the second collection "Footsteps of midday"

In 2010- the third collection "Non-proofread presence" 

In 2014 - the fourth collection "Presumption of Living"

Since 2007 she has been a member of the Writers' Union of Armenia.

Nona Poghosyan’s series of poems are published in "GrakanTer", "Andin", "Narcissus", "Nork" and in various literary sites, have been included in various anthologies and translated into Persian, German, Polish, Serbian.

 

***

Here is the sadness...a pattering lyre,

That I bought for a few cents

To sell in autumn at a high price.

 

Here is the silence...I brought it home in darkness

From unadorned streets of the thunderous day,

Promising not to touch even with a finger.

 

Here is the memory... in the alleys of the past,

That never goes out to big avenues

Not to get trampled by wheels of the present.

 

Here is me ... on the saddle of neighing autumn,

Not knowing where my conscience will be sabred,

But still rushing towards the fate...

 

***

My hands are like shells,

That life threw to beach

At a chimerical moment of roughness

Unable to resist their tenderness...

My hands are like shells:

There lives the snail of tenderness

One hundred thousand years...

 

***

Where you used to be -

Noware fields of regret

Covered with shudderingrime of nights

I water them with mylongings

And the orphan present cracks.

 

Where you used to be -

The time wasn’t on the edge of precipice,

And the boundless space rejoiced

The heaven didn’tknow the earth…

 

Where you used to be -

I was untying the hands of truth,

That would cherish me one day,

Convincing methat I exist nomore…

 

***

I am a vein of yours,

That flows through your mornings

And fills the cup of your afternoons,                                                                       

That pours onto the breast of your sunsets

Anddyes the pomegranates of your nights.

I am a vein of yours,

Which makes you feel the pulse of life

And walkthrough the night

To the house of the Sun…

 

***

Every morning

I want to catch the peace...

It leaps like a slippery fish

And falls splashing

Into the arms of memory...

I cannot bring it back

To the aquarium of light...

... Andsuffocate sooner it does…

 

***

I am a cave - lockless, doorless

Where the bare winds are rustling

Scattering on the walls

The cold ashes of my mistakes.

 

I am a cave – secretless,doorless

Where from my chinks every morning

The sun kindles

The fight for living.

 

I am a cave - addressless, doorless

Whereon my wallsstill every night

My identity is engraved

Without an ornament.

 

...Yet thousands years ago

My soul wasscratchedon the stone walls ...

And even thousands years later

My secrets won’t be deciphered…

 

***

From opened book of the old city

The sheets of mornings are falling-

Worn out, faded…

No one reads them,

Everyone is wise:

They crammed thenights,

Swottedthe days

Gave and took

Without reading the light…

Without chewing the hope…

…From faded book of the city

The epilogue will fall one day

With glued sheets of torn mornings…

 

***

In my gardenI have stone flowers

And I water them together with others,

That they turn green one day…

I tell them my dreams

Тhat they recognize me from afar…

I love them tenderly,

That they soften one day…

You never know:it maybe

That they won’t understand me to the end…

 

***

With old, rusty hinges

I fastenedmyself to this door of happiness

It neither leads to heaven, it’s hopeless,

Nor is for closing inside with laurels of glory...

It’s only for passing through me,

Wipingfrom my eyesthe dust of happiness…

 


 

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