From Mandelstam’s ‘Journey to
I was lucky enough to observe the clouds performing their devotions to Ararat.
It was the ascending and descending motion of cream poured into a glass of ruddy tea, dispersing in various directions like curly-headed tubers.
The sky over the
Coachman’s mountain glittering in the snow, a small field sown with stone teeth, as if its intended purpose were mockery, the numbered barracks of construction sites, and a tin can brimming over with passengers – there you have the environs of Erevan.