A book of poems by Boris Stern in Belarusian translations has been published

Writer and translator Hanna Yankuta and translator Ihar Krebs translated and compiled the book, which will soon be available for purchase through the publisher's website, writes bellit.info.

"Hochroth Minsk publishing house has gained new experience when authors of the poetry series recommend new authors for publication. Moreover, they are involved in the preparation of new books in the series," poet and publisher Dzmitry Strotsau shares the news on social media. "The publisher only had to typeset and print it."

Olga Prankevich's illustration was used in the book's design.

"Boris Stern is well-known as one of the first Belarusian radio DJs, a musician, and an author or co-author of songs for various famous bands, yet until now, he had not published a single book of poetry. We had long dreamed of creating one together. When we decided to approach hochroth Minsk, I translated a number of Boris's new poems and slightly revised earlier translations," says Ihar Krebs, who began translating Boris Stern's poems into Belarusian from Russian for the online journal of translated literature "PradzіSvet" some time ago.

"The final concept of the book was proposed by the publisher, Dzmitry Strotsau — for the book to feature poems in two languages: Ihar Krebs's translations into Belarusian, but also several of Boris Stern's poems in the original — in Russian. It is also worth mentioning that the book includes a poem written by Boris in Belarusian. Such a combination of two languages and Jewish themes (the book is not just called 'The Boundary of Angelic Settlement' for nothing), it seems to me, is a vivid example of how different identities converge in Belarusian culture," explains Hanna Yankuta.

In my pockets, booklets linger
Van Gogh, Degas, Bosch, cigarettes
Keys, a lighter, and a wallet
A phone with numbers, and Manet to boot

Zybin, Rothko, Tselser, something maternal…
My PTSD — almost an inheritance
Everywhere forests burn, smoke rises
Okay, you convinced me, I'm staying alive

In headphones, Debussy and Scriabin
"We need peace," said the old Rabbi
Sith neighbors drew their lightsabers
In war, it's simple: shout — or don't shout

In my pockets, everything is right to left
Text drafts, the end of a chorus
A watch spring, fire, and smoke
Everything crumbles: Babylon and Rome

*

Trams sleep and weightlessly
In the tracks, dreams are tangled
And conductors in their caps
Fall asleep until spring

They won't dream of tickets
Nor of lights along the roads
They'll dream of woven mats
And on the mats, a rhinoceros

Let fire-winged birds weave
A magical pattern
With a melancholic lullaby
The sigh of springs will sound

Winter is almost gone till spring
And having lost the track
Rails, rails, sleepers, sleepers
I sing to the conductor

• 0
• 0
• 0
• 1
• 0
• 0
• 0
• 0