1
Iโm taking a Peneloping test,
One-two-three and bingo, you are impressed:
I’m almost there.
Iโm faithful and thoroughly patient, nothing upsets
My even temper.
My Odysseus had two missuses and a bunch of kids,
My Odysseus kept making dangerous bids,
He would die if he couldn’t scale peak after peak:
The wind and the sea, triumph and Troy โ
He’s not unique.
My Odysseus was wounded in a random fray,
He was heading down the Styx to the realm of the dead,
But no one went looking for him, no one:
Not his wives, nor his daughter, his beauty and pride,
Nor the worthiest of all men,
His son.
My Odysseus was left without a dime,
In fact, he had nothing left,
Nothing remained of his youthful time,
Just belief in himself.
And when he came to, alive and broke,
He breathed out, breathed in and set out to find:
His bow and arrows, Penelope, hearth smoke,
Clean sheets, watermelons, the home heโd left behind.
He would miss none of the roadside inns and taverns,
Heโd left all heโd had to the Jews:
His rings, his sword and belt.
Thus he picked wisdom from Jews in his travels,
But he never learned to hold on to what he was dealt.
Iโm taking a Peneloping test,
Weaving plain cloth, baking bread โ
Almost there, it seems.
I can wait here for the second flood to crest
And my land to become the Ithaca of his dreams.
I know: Penelope had jewelry of the Hellenes,
Bracelets, necklaces, bedsheets with a fancy weave,
She had an expansive field
Growing watermelons.
But what do I haveโฆ
Translated from Russian by Dmitri Manin
2
They filled my ears with slanderous venom,
I accepted all their gifts.
Thus, in a myth the proud Arachne
Weaved her stupendous tapestries
To no avail: her woven wonders
Did not save the worlds of golden dreams.
Thick cobwebs filled the air between us,
So you and I could hardly breathe.
Wasn’t it just like when divine Medea,
Poisoned with jealousy and rage,
To spite her cheating husband Jason,
Murdered her children in revenge?
I empathize with epic heroes,
Yet nowโโwhere is that ancient Greece?
Nor had I ever found Jesus,
Who could have brought me back my peace.
I won’t disturb your quiet slumber;
My torn-to-pieces bleeding soul
Was carried low by an angel,
Above the ground, very low.
Translated from Russian by Simon Patlis
The Originals
1
ะฏ ัะดะฐั ัะบะทะฐะผะตะฝ ะฝะฐ ะะตะฝะตะปะพะฟั,
ะฏ ะฒ ะดะฒะฐ ะฟะพะดัะบะพะบะฐ ะธ ะฒ ััะธ ะฟัะธั ะปะพะฟะฐ –
ะะพััะธ ะพะฝะฐ.
ะฏ ัะตัะฟะตะปะธะฒะฐ, ะฝะตััะพะผะธะผะฐ ะฒ ัะฒะพัะผ ัะตัะฟะตะฝะธะธ
ะ ะฒะตัะฝะฐ.
ะะพะน ะะดะธััะตะน ะฝะฐัะพะถะฐะป ะดะตัะตะน ะธ ัะผะตะฝะธะป ะดะฒัั ะถะตะฝ,
ะะพะน ะะดะธััะตะน ะฟะพััะพัะฝะฝะพ ะปะตะท ะฝะฐ ัะพะถะพะฝ,
ะะฝ ะฝะต ะผะพะถะตั ะถะธัั ะฑะตะท ัะฒะพะธั ะฒะตััะธะฝ:
ะะตะท ะฒะตััะฐ ะธ ะผะพัั, ะฑะตะท ัะปะฐะฒั ะธ ะขัะพะธ, –
ะะต ะพะฝ ะพะดะธะฝ.
ะะพะน ะะดะธััะตะน ะฑัะป ัะฐะฝะตะฝ ะฒ ะพะดะฝะพะน ะธะท ะฒะพะนะฝ
ะ ััััะตะผะธะปัั ะฟะพ ะกัะธะบัั ะฒ ัะฐัััะฒะพ ัะตะฝะตะน,
ะะพ ะฝะต ะธัะบะฐะปะฐ ะตะณะพ ะฝะธ ะพะดะฝะฐ ะธะท ะถะตะฝ,
ะะธ ะบัะฐัะฐะฒะธัะฐ ะดะพัั,
ะะธ ะดะพััะพะนะฝะตะนัะธะน ะธะท ะผัะถะตะน –
ะะณะพ ััะฝ.
ะฃ ะผะพะตะณะพ ะะดะธััะตั ะฝะต ะฑัะปะพ ะดะฒัั ะผะพะฝะตั,
ะะพัะพะผั ััะพ ะฝะต ะฑัะปะพ ะฝะธัะตะณะพ,
ะะต ะฑัะปะพ ะธ ะดะฒะฐะดัะฐัะธ ะผะพะปะพะดะตัะบะธั ะปะตั,
ะััะฐะฒะฐะปะฐัั ัะพะปัะบะพ ะฒะตัะฐ ะฒ ัะตะฑั ัะฐะผะพะณะพ.
ะขะฐะบ ะะดะธััะตะน ะพะฑะฝะฐััะถะธะป ัะตะฑั ะถะธะฒัะผ,
ะัะดะพั ะฝัะป ะฒะพะทะดัั , ะฒะดะพั ะฝัะป ะธ ะฟะพัะตะป ะธัะบะฐัั:
ะะพะผ, ะะตะฝะตะปะพะฟั, ะฐัะฑัะทั, ะธะท ะฟะตัะบะธ ะดัะผ,
ะัะบ ะฑะพะตะฒะพะน ะธ ะทะฐััะตะปะตะฝะฝัั ะบัะพะฒะฐัั.
ะะต ะผะธะฝะพะฒะฐะป ะะดะธััะตะน ะฝะต ะพะดะฝั ะบะพััะผั,
ะัั ะพััะฐะฒะปัะป ะตะฒัะตัะผ:
ะะตัััะฝะธ, ะฟะพัั ะธ ะผะตั.
ะขะฐะบ ะฝะฐััะธะปะธ ะตะฒัะตะธ ะตะณะพ ัะผั,
ะะพ ะะดะธััะตะน ะฝะต ัะผะตะป ะฝะธัะตะณะพ ะฑะตัะตัั.
ะฏ ัะดะฐั ัะบะทะฐะผะตะฝ ะฝะฐ ะะตะฝะตะปะพะฟั,
ะขะบั ะฟะพะปะพัะฝะพ, ะฒัะฟะตะบะฐั ั ะปะตะฑ, –
ะะพััะธ ะพะฝะฐ.
ะฏ ะพะถะธะดะฐั ะทะดะตัั ะฒัะพัะพะณะพ ะฟะพัะพะฟะฐ,
ะงัะพะฑั ะตะณะพ ะัะฐะบะพะน ััะฐะปะฐ ะผะพั ัััะฐะฝะฐ.
ะฏ ะทะฝะฐั: ั ะะตะฝะตะปะพะฟั ะฑัะปะธ ัะตััะณะธ ะธ ะฑััั,
ะะพะปะพััะต ะฑัะฐัะปะตัั, ะฑะตะปัะฝะฐั ะฟัะพัััะฝั,
ะัะปะพ ะฑะพะปััะพะต ะฟะพะปะต,
ะะฐ ะบะพัะพัะพะผ ัะพัะปะธ ะฐัะฑัะทั.
ะ ััะพ ะถะต ะตััั ั ะผะตะฝัโฆ
2
ะะฝะต ะปะธะปะธ ะฒ ัั
ะพ ัะด ะทะปะพัะปะพะฒะฝัะน,
ะฏ ะฟัะธะฝะธะผะฐะปะฐ ะฒัะต ะดะฐัั,
ะขะฐะบ ะณะพัะดะตะปะธะฒะฐั ะัะฐั ะฝะฐ
ะกะฟะปะตัะฐะปะฐ ััะดะฝัะต ะบะพะฒัั,
ะะพ ะฝะต ัะฟะฐัะปะธ ะตั ะบะฐััะธะฝั
ะะธัั ะธะปะปัะทะธะน ะทะพะปะพััั
ะะพะบััะปัั ะฒะพะทะดัั ะฟะฐััะธะฝะพะน,
ะะตัะฐะดะฝะพ ะดััะฐัะตะน ะดะฒะพะธั .
ะะต ัะฐะบ ะปะธ ะดะธะฒะฝะฐั ะะตะดะตั
ะ ะพััะฐะฒะต ัะตะฒะฝะพััะธ ัะฒะพะตะน,
ะ ะธะทะผะตะฝะฐั ะผัะถะฐ ัะฐัะฐะฝะตั,
ะัะฑะธะปะฐ ัะพะฑััะฒะตะฝะฝัั ะดะตัะตะน.
ะฏ ะพ ะณะตัะพัั
ัะพะถะฐะปะตั,
ะะพ ะัะตัะธั ัะถะต ะฝะต ัะฐ,
ะะฐะนัะธ ัะฟะฐัะตะฝัะต ะฝะต ัะผะตั
ะ ัะตะปะต ัะฐัะฟััะพะณะพ ะฅัะธััะฐ.
ะฏ ะผะธัะฝัะน ัะพะฝ ัะฒะพะน ะฝะต ะฝะฐัััั,
ะขะฐะบ ะฝะธะทะบะพ, ะฝะธะทะบะพ ะพั ะทะตะผะปะธ
ะะพั ัะฐััะตัะทะฐะฝะฝัั ะดััั
ะะฐ ะบััะปััั
ะฐะฝะณะตะปั ะฝะตัะปะธ.
Elena Laptinskaya was born in Orsha, Vitebsk region, Belarus. Her family moved from Orsha to Mogilev, and Elena graduated from secondary school and the Institute of Finance and Economics in Mogilev. Since 2009, she has lived and worked in Minsk. Elena began writing poetry in secondary school. She sees imagery and musicality as the most important qualities of poetry. Her poems were published in local publications in Belarus as well as in St. Petersburg anthologies such as “Limb”/”Helikon Plus”. Her first poetry collection “Razbeg” was published in Minsk in 2010 by Artia Group.
This collection includes poems written in 2020-2023.ย (Russian edition)
“The Lingering Twilight” (“ะกัะผะตัะบะธ”) is Marina Eskin’s fifth book of poems. (Russian edition)
Launched in 2012, “Four Centuries” is an international electronic magazine of Russian poetry in translation.
A collection of moving, often funny vignettes about a childhood spent in the Soviet Union.
“Vivid picture of life behind the Iron Curtain.” โBooklist
“This unique book will serve to promote discussions of freedom.” โSchool Library Journal
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A new collection of poems by Ian Probstein. (In Russian)