Queen Shabbat walks through the town, her gait is light, her trace is unseen.
Old Moishe walks in front of her; he knocks on the shutters shouting all over town:
he shouts – Shabbat is coming, Jews, no work to be done, I mean,
you’ve been gone so long, it’s time for you to calm down!
No milking the slaughtered goats, no patching the rotten shoes,
no sweeping the ruined houses, no cleaning the void, oy vey!
It’s time to pacify this gevalt, this kolkhoz of Jews!
Don’t scream in pain, your scream is heard miles away!
Calm down, Moishe, no one hears our scream,
calm down, Moishe, no one hears your knock,
if anyone’s fussy, it’s you, in the extreme;
you knock on the void, dead man, turn back the clock.
What do you want, you annoying nitwit?
Wine poured into glasses, two challahs under a cloth,
women whisper, Shabbat candles are lit;
the whisper’s unheard, the candles burned out, and so forth.
But Shabbat reigns, preceding eternal week,
for the One, eternity is shorter than Shabbat day.
Old Moishe knocks on the shutters, his hand is weak,
he’s dead, he’s proud, he thinks: eternity follows me on my way.
Шаббат шалом!
Царица Суббота идет по местечку, легка походка, незримы следы.
Старенький Мойша идет перед ней, в ставни стучит,
и местечко внимает его словам:
он кричит – Суббота идет, евреи, бросайте труды,
вас давно уже нет на свете, пора успокоиться вам,
довольно истлевшую обувь латать, доить зарезанных коз,
подметать разрушенные дома, наводить в пустоте чистоту,
пора усмирить этот гвалт, этот еврейский колхоз,
не кричите от боли, ваш крик слыхать за версту!
Успокойся, Мойша, никто не слышит наш крик,
успокойся, Мойша, никто не слышит твой стук,
уж если кто суетлив – это ты, несносный старик,
стучишь в пустоту, мертвый старик, не покладая рук,
Чего тебе надо, въедливый книгочей?
Две халы на белой скатерти, в бокалы налито вино,
женщины что-то шепчут, зажигая огни субботних свечей,
но шепот тоже не слышен, и свечи сгорели давно,
Но Суббота царствует, предваряя вечный покой,
для Единого вечность короче субботнего дня,
старенький Мойша стучит в ставни слабой рукой,
он мертв, он горд, он думает: вечность идет позади меня.
Boris Khersonsky was born in Chernivtsi in 1950. Khersonsky has published over nineteen collections of poetry and essays in Russian, and most recently, in Ukrainian. A book of his poems in English translations, The Country Where Everyone’s Name Is Fear: Selected Poems, was published by Lost Horse Press in 2022. He is widely regarded as one of Ukraine’s most prominent Russian-language poets.
Lyudmyla Khersonska was born in Odessa in 1964. She is the author of four award-winning books of poetry. Her poems were published in many literary magazines in Ukraine and other countries. Her work was translated into German, English, Polish, and Lithuanian. A book of her poems in English translations, Today Is a Different War, was published by Arrowsmith in 2023.
A hybrid scholarly and literary volume of popular Russian-language Soviet children’s texts alongside essays that outline the significance and meanings behind these popular texts.
A collection of nonsense poetry for readers who love Edward Lear, Hilaire Belloc, and all things delightfully peculiar.
A haunting dystopia some readers have called “the new 1984.” In a society where memory is rewritten and resistance is pre-approved, freedom isn’t restricted; it’s redefined. As systems evolve beyond human control and choice becomes a simulation, true defiance means refusing the script, even when the system already knows you will.
A new book of poems by Nina Kossman. “When the mythological and personal meet, something transforms for this reader…” -Ilya Kaminsky
