Anush Kocharyan
- Armenia -
Anush Kocharyan is a writer, cultural journalist and producer. She holds Master’s degree in Journalism from Yerevan State University. She is an alumni of US State department’s International Visitors’ Leadership Program (IVLP).
Anush is currently a producer of cultural-documentary programs, the general manager of Hover state chamber choir, Senior producer of Saghsara project and chief advisor at Loft self-development centers. Anush lectured at Yerevan State University and Yerevan state theater and cinema institute, as well as other private educational institutions.
She is a member of Pen Armenia Center. Anush Khocharyan is a winner of EURODRAM European network for drama in translation 2014, second prize winner of Nuremberg state theater literary awards in 2015 and winner in Poetry nomination at Yerevan Book Fest in 2018.
Her works have been translated into English, Georgian, German, Swedish and Norwegian. She has authored over 100 interviews and cultural articles, produced and authored Balcony interview series.
Anush has been the invited participant at Frankfurt Book Fair (Germany, 2024), Litteratur på Blå (Norway, 2024), Uppsala International Literary Festival (Sweden, 2024), Berlin Literature Festival (Germany, 2023), Black Sea Lit Project (Romania, 2023), Burning Poets (Armenia, 2022), Yerevan Book Fest (Armenia, 2018), LIT:Potsdam (Germany, 2017) and others. In August 2024, Anush was a resident at the Literature Colloquium Berlin (LCB, Berlin).
The first book by the author – Wild Grass poetry collection was published in 2022.
Currently, Anush is working on her novel which depicts the post-soviet life in Armenia, from early 90es to our days, and concentrates on the history of the independence, the country passing through war and the traumatic memory and current life of her generation.
I was born with Independence. My life and my country’s freedom are nearly the same age, though I arrived slightly earlier, making me a year older than Armenia's independence. This curious connection is why my birth certificate says Soviet Armenia, while my passport proudly declares me a citizen of the independent Republic of Armenia… I was born with Independence, but whether the independence was born with me or not, I don’t know.
I was born and grew up in a town marked by its Soviet past. A huge chemical plant, once its pride, became an empty ruin, a playground for me and a place to escape. With independence, the city fell apart. I saw the emptiness of my birthplace, a silence that echoed through the streets and lingered in the air. The once-busy train station stood frozen in time, the trains no longer arrived… Many people left and the city became empty. Many others died, but the city stayed alive. The place still stands, holding many stories from the past, especially the tough years of the 1990s, which we call the “cold and dark” years. These were the years of war, stories I often heard from my parents.
Later, when the question of "independence" began to trouble me more than anything else, and when freedom of speech existed but lacked the power I had hoped for, I noticed how people passed through life, disappearing without a trace or even stopping to speak. It was then that I began to write, telling stories of those willing to sacrifice everything to prove their independence, to declare that they were exist. In doing so, I started to explore the fragile, threatened borders of my country, borders as vulnerable as I felt. That’s when I decided to become a journalist.
Now, as I feel myself a part of the vast world, I want to talk about existence, not as someone from a country with a Soviet past, but as someone from a country that is not exotic. I am more than sure that the strong text that shapes our existence is more real than the world around us, forging meaning and connection even when reality feels distant or broken.
The place still stands as a small part of the vast world, holding countless untold stories within, waiting to be shared and heard.
Poetry
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a letter to the country man / նամակ երկրի մարդուն
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wild grass for my tongue / վայրի խոտեր՝ լեզվիս համար
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*** / ***
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i am sorry that you survived / կներես, որ ողջ մնացիր
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the end / ավարտ
