In the House of Writers Anatoly Sidorevich, Zhibul Victor, Victor Slinko

LITPRATSES
Victor Zhibul "have to act before the reader on clandestine meetings"
Anthology of young Belarusian poetry came in Wroclaw. That consisted of works by 10 young poets arranged parallel in Belarusian and Polish. And the title of the book gave Victor Zhibulya poem "The Navel of the sky", which for the first time on our radio sounded in 2001 in the program "Verse freedom" and later entered the same name in two books published in the original and in translation into British English. Now Victor Zhibul — guest of "House of Writers." With him goes Valentine Aksak.
Valentine Aksak "Let quote:" I do not want to be the navel of the earth. / / In the land without me missing umbilical. / / I want to be the navel of the sky. / / Air pit and dark hole I want to be. / / There’s more freedom, / / more freedom / / there. "Emperor Victor, it seems that with a light hand our radio this verse acquired your happy way to the foreign reader. You have offered it in Polish analogy, or its elected translators and publishers? "
Victor Zhibul: "Faster second. On the Belarusian side the project engaged Khadanovich Andrew, and he said to me, about my poems could enter in this analogy, which the Poles, they say, zatsenyats."
Aksak: "Are you satisfied with the Polish one of your poems? Did translator save your typical product of the game sounds and find matching your neoplasms, such as" vsepupeyshaga pupstva "and" "arhipupovaga apupenstva"? "
Zhibul: "If you still associate the British transfer and look at what the language means there were used and that there is currently in Polish — is curious. I like these analogs that were found with the words" pupstva "," pupeystva "and" apupenstva . "
Aksak: "And which languages have translated your poems and where, in what countries were printed?"
Zhibul: "Translated into Ukrainian, Latvian, British, Russian, Bulgarian, German, Czech for now here translated".
Aksak "You recognized the Belarusian poetry not only for his innovative poetry, but also palindromic poems" Nasty cry "and" Horn Mountains, "which are equally read forward and reverse back to the front. Tried anyone translate these into other languages your works? And maybe if it, in your opinion, in principle? "
Zhibul: "There was some question in the Ukrainian literary circles, besides eksperymentatarskih, well, they threw up their hands … Palindrome — a form basically untranslatable. Though that, for example, made Ukrainian poet Ivan Luchuk of our poetry Simeon of Polotsk or Briton James Lindon, then stored there only unblemished thought, and all came out completely different vocabulary. Because of adequate translation here can be no question. "
Aksak: "In general, do you think, does not lose poetry when translated into another language proper initial smell and taste, if she does not get at all this a kind of artificial flowers?"
Zhibul: "I had read many different translations — and sturdy, and not much, and it is bad. In the worst cases — it is such a bad word for word, if the translator is to recreate verbatim, but some formalities poem there is not kept. Because verse lost in translation aesthetic value. "
Aksak "avant-garde poet and scholar, besides employee methodical magazine rolled into one. How to you manage it all cooperating What helps or hinders why?"
Zhibul "cooperating really quite hard. Poems somehow I now write less often than before, yet here I wish the latest cook book."
Aksak: "And what do you read verses own little offspring Constantine? Either add up something for him?"
Zhibul: "Faith, my wife, wrote a series of children’s poems, printed some of them even in" Nasha Niva. "Kostya listens to them. Particularly liked this poem:" Bu-bu-bu car rides, / / bu-bu- motorcycle on the white light / / boo-boo-boo, boo-boo-boo / / I’m rubbish Zagreb. "This poem Burlak Faith, and I do not write children’s poems."
Aksak: "Last question. How do you assess the current state and prospects of the young Belarusian poetry in connection with such is not very suitable situation in the country and with the Belarusian language and Belarusian literature?"
Zhibul: "Despite this situation, I’m sure the young Belarusian poetry and prose will develop. Indeed, if there is no ability to print duplicate publications or speak on the radio, at the moment there is a web, and many poets and writers post their work there. And there is even a greater ability for the feedback, because readers here can and to comment on these works. Regarding parties, they sometimes arranged. Another thing that you have to collect some small audience from time to time, even in secret, but Accordingly, he did collect their own readers and it is excellent. "
Creators and works
VICTOR SLINKO: "I DO NOT GET REFERENCES Not enough space"
Slinko Victor was born in 1972 in Ivatsevichy. He graduated from the Philology Minsk Pedagogical Institute named after Maxim Tank. Is the creator of 2-distinctive collections of poetry. Go to first under the title "Last Snow" wrote laudatory introduction Ales Ryazanov, the second — "tunnel of Spring" — was awarded the Prize of the Society of Writers free "Clay Veles". With manuscript prepared for publication of the third book, Victor looked at our "House of Writers," where the poet met Michas Scoble.
Michas Scoble: "Victor, you’re working at the Department of the Belarusian and Russian languages the Belarusian Institute of municipal honey. Or interested in the Belarusian language and literature future doctors? "
Victor Slinko: "Interest in the Belarusian literature great. I had to be established in our institute literary meetings: with the editors of the magazine" verb ", with Neil Gilevich, Leonid Dranko-Maisyuk with other poets. And always had a full house."
Scoble: "To one of your books written entry found our master Ales Ryazanov. This probably indicates that your poetry close to him. And whose work is close to you?"
Slinko: "I have many beloved poets. This is Joseph Brodsky, the same Ales Ryazanov, Federico Garcia Lorca. Notable all poets, in what way have your own that go and where something is. I not only fond of poetry. Always fond of rock music. I love creativity Levon Volsky group "Krama", many youth groups that are currently coming to the Belarusian music in Belarus creative world. Now the young general on the hope that they utter the word. And they go his method, and feels that they are true because their leads. Young now leads the thirst of independence and freedom to implement its own self. Young wish to make their standards close nationwide. And it causes reverence. "
Scoble: "You have lived in the village of Friendship near Minsk. Do you believe in friendship in literature? Either there — only rivalry and jealousy?"
Slinko: "Village Friendship already entered the Minsk, and at the moment it is a street Friendship. Regarding membership in the literature, I then close the words of Vladimir Vysotsky:" All we have enough water to last us all the earth. "It seems to me that literature is not much space. If a person has something to say, he was always a lot of space. "
Scoble: "To quote one of your poems," avoids people. Try curious views. Try echoing parties. "Clearly, in the vain capital is not always all that really avoid. And where would you want to live?"
Slinko: "I would wish to live where I live, in this country. Hunt to Belarus quickly become what it should be — a European power. And yet, it seems to me, is very indifferent to the Belarusians themselves for themselves. Most part indifferent — young, they are hot
and heart and soul, they’re alive. "
Scoble: "Your poetry book" tunnel of Spring "was awarded the prize of the Company free writers’ Clay Velez." And what is the merit in your life — the sudden and memorable? "
Slinko: "It was in 1996 on" Artpragnoze ", which was held under the patronage of Vitebsk artist Ales Pushkin. Remember, then spoke of the writers association" Boom-Bam-Lit ", and there was me. After the speech, a woman approached me and said a few nice words. Those words I remember, and they are more important to me than any award. As for the words — I will not say, let them remain our lurking. "
Scoble: "The gardens are planted word, no bread to the hungry and water zasmyaglamu" — this is also your words. So what is the raison d’être of such gardens? "
Slinko: "This is a quote from an essay called" On the November cold. "And there is continued:" But the one who will go there, the shadow becomes more expensive and the memory of the body more than life. "Man creates some peace, creates a path and puts ahead of yourself some folding, some bridge. Occasionally a bridge across the chasm, from time to time is different. Basically say the words, fundamental for himself. Whether they are important to others — you do not think about. If they intrigue others — excellent. "
Scoble: "Your poetry is difficult to read and awareness. You have become accustomed to a little bit of their own, namely the fact that you will never be a mass readership?"
Slinko: "To be honest, I do not aspire to that, so I had a general reader. Hunt to your poems were needed for anyone. And how many readers … In 1960 in Russia poets collected stadiums: those as Andrei Voznesensky, Bella Akhmadullina … And at the moment, nothing has changed completely to poetry itself. completely unimportant to me how many people came into the audience. Poems can be read not only weaves and tyscham, and one person. At one point, the composer Handel came to own concert and saw an empty room. "Well, in this hall, my music will sound better," — he said. "
Scoble: "In the empty hall of the best acoustics?"
Slinko: "Yes, certainly."
VICTOR SLINKO. Of new poems
KAMPUCHYYA
yellowed skull and bones in the coffin of battered beech poles bed rifle without Rusted example — there’s your fiance which destroyed the Khmer Kampuchyya narrow reddish eyes and mouth with precision discharged Pablo Picasso would have a country — whose impassable swamps and malaria hot rainy tropical undergrowth where path grows on you after a day on the trunk and serifs zazhyvlyae car
weeds in the minds of the leaders and who breathe for a bowl of maize
kids are looking at the earth and sky — sulozhzha asexual creatures red clay and blood as if sleep alligator astute and measured rubber boat rocking and the one who is hidden on a day or to keep in mind your name — Kampuchyya
and knows how to adore
MEMORY Anatolia Sys
Sister and brother, and the evening talking toddler who apple neighbor. Who’s there, behind a fence, in a reddish house, And who is preparing dinner.
And on an old pine floor Who pot smoke, the smell of buckwheat children who tickles the nostrils … Meadow, in the yellow-gray haystack, Where hunters asleep in housings — Son of a child that has lost a cross. Creak on snow skis father. Straw on fire, in the stubble. Melt the frost them sleepy breathing. Will find the animal — will return home. How to celebrate — to hunt again.
Yes they can not sleep. In linen shirts Nobody goes through the snow from Momma. But someone in a dream always brings barrel At close, his brother, on the falcon. Wake up — not a hand will rise … Because luggage further ax, sickle require forgiveness of fallen bread, forgive you all — not yet lost his sight.
Find your own cross — and put on a neck. Prytsisnisya to the mother’s breast! Vain to find substitutes them hope in this world! Being a child cleaner. Snow field we always washes his feet …
*** … Ghosts of the plyanidy fish from Antarctica, frozen in the ice fall on our windows shimmer blue, greenish northern lights, dark, silver scales, fiery fins fish days of youth, from the rubble of toys, candy of males, the first ice cream flavor — ghosts that plyanidy what had happened like.
Area *** his pavutu Arachne, and you stand on the bridge and into the water look, look … There star — right down to the bottom, and there looks to us pupils water. Flows between the pebbles in plyuskocha shore, And any of us — the only road Water deep, small lumps and not in the last couple of — maybe to us by … Yes only remember the music — and the poem What you are, what you in fact.
*** We will just realize the truth, when it opens — all transparent, so clear — in plain sight. Be in heaven with the saints will rise instantly Christ — then we can not not believe skhatsets, whether permanently renounce stone nail again — a prophet.
Do not have time to remember *** in a dream of his own secret, awake in a warm bed. Phone is silent on the shelf. Carotid flower hiding under her skirt, they hurry in the morning. Press down to his chest in a rinky-dink violin cases in black subway. Leka — would venzel frosted glass, brand Needless unnamed. Yes it is — on the glass in the tram. Here, under similar does not happen. Throw on escalators soon you — up. Someone unfamiliar simultaneously next run, Touching your hand leather hollow. As if their shared — just like that — warm.
…At the break you took out your own breakfast. Thermos of hot coffee pour. Delis with a guy with a girlfriend. Breakfast one uninteresting. Decomposed notebook; harmony — the subsequent couple. … Your obscure style, flea autumn, we adds. Stage — and seven and eight — and you will be numbered as maple — yellow srebnavalosay. World — it holds you to your chestnut He find a place where you will accepted, experience. He read all the notes in a notebook thy Snyazhana. But — you would have wished, as it is. Do not be someone chosen.
Criticism
Anatoly Sidorevich
ABM latest book Yankee Bryl
Yanka Bryl. Rostock. Essays and miniatures. Pro Christo, 2006. Yanka Bryl. Birds and nests. Novels and stories. Fiction, 2006.
Than clarify it: genes, blood, unknowable will? Writing miniatures and those driving diary own life, Yanka Bryl soon turned to the topic of your own Protz: great-grandparents, grandparents. And there is still a village neighbor, Academician Nikolai Laman, interested in the history of his native Zagora, people who have lived in it. And we read about Yasko Bryl, great-grandfather, who lived in a time when collapsed and Rzeczpospolita "cometh" in our side of the royal regime. It was comparable to a small article that began with the words: "There is and I their ancestry …" And later in the journal "The native word was" generously supported by photo "essay" My family tree. "In the past year and this notice, and this essay were placed under one cover in the last Brilevo book "Sprout".
Published by the Catholic publishing house "Pro Christo", tastefully decorated, this book was the last in his lifetime collection of Yankee Bryl. Slightly earlier publishing "Fiction" in the series "The prose of the twentieth century", was released book "Birds and nests" of the same novel. This work, Bolshevik censorship is torn and rearranged their scissors at the end of life Yankee Bryl written in the version that the writer thought was best. I have a copy of this book with the author’s inscription: "To my dear Anatolia — canonized text — for successful use." This, if I’m not mistaken, the last Yankee Bryl inscription on any book. It is made July 13, 2006. That evening, in the writer no longer had any guests or visitors, and July 14 in the morning he went to Rodnikovoye, so as it turned out later, the last t
ime to look at the native Neman on native land, in which lived, thought and wrote.
In the penultimate collection, along with "a book of youth" "Birds and Nest" written novel "Dawn, seen from afar" and "small saga" "mouthpiece and a folder." This selection is not random, because all three works are largely autobiographical. If the novel "Dawn, seen from afar" resumes images Zagorski life since the youth, then the "Birds and Nest" is about a young zapadnobelorusskogo guy who got into the maelstrom second global war in a foreign country, and "small saga" and absolutely devoted to their own, the family, which in fact is not so, family, and our general.
"Small saga" was, as I remember, the first openly "family" work Yankees Bryl. Recounting his own brother’s oldest, Vladimir, about his life, which ended in padkievskay Bykavni, our sister Kurapaty writer told us about his own family: parents, brothers and sisters. And this is a story about certain people in certain historical criteria resulted in the story of our bitter and bloodthirsty history. After all, if Vladimir Bril ("offspring of a Polish landowner") was killed after a brother — Ignat and more true priest, Father Ignacy Bryl — absolutely, as well as thousands of priests drank from the cup of moral suffering was mental torture.
And later it was an appeal to the history of the race, which has become possible thanks to the help of academician Nikolai broken … Essay "My family tree" pospolithe man fascinating that he can find out any details of the life of such celebrities as Bryl. And they are fascinating literary critic tips, where, in what product Bryl had a prototype of their own or other kin. But, apart from all this, the essay remains light prose prose and poetry of life.
In "sprout", not counting notes and the essay "My Family Tree", has a story about Boris Rzhevsky still 1st patriot Belarus four years thrown in Mordovia camp. And it’s not under Stalin — under Nikita Khrushchev. In most Khrushchev’s thaw, as it was called at the time.
Writing about the life of their own kith and kin, his own life story, Yanka Bryl still beheld the beauty and harmony of the world. In his own last book he wrote: "And I think that was not just so, and should also have some higher meaning. Very large, very lovely our world, so it only exist in order to exist without highly reasonable goal."
This recognition of a supreme sense is also not accidental, and, I think, and inherited from the ancestors, and nurtured world culture, world literature on the abundance that always drew Yanka Bryl. And in this connection it is necessary to pay attention to malehankih essay "Meetings with Sophia", also located in the last book of the writer.
This essay was written in response to a request by Ales Arkusha give what-nibudt Room magazine "Arche", dedicated to Polotsk. And somehow rapidly born vydyhnulasya essay about 4 meetings with Polotsk Sofia cathedral. The first time he saw the historic shrine as a composition book. And the roof of this blasphemous leaking. During the last meeting, "Sofia was a different, and outside and inside, updated unblemished in his own invincible holiness."
Yanka Bryl — and we knew about it, and he recorded it — I wanted to again see the Hagia Sophia.

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