* * *
Где сестра твоя непутёвая, говорила мать.
Сегодня мы всей семьёй идём умирать.
В дверь, слышь, фрицы опять стучат.
Собирайся быстрей, зачем тебе столько книг.
Там, где мы будем, обойдёшься без них.
Всегда ты последний, сынок, говорила мать.
Ну вот, собрались, а теперь ему хочется спать!
Выспишься там, где будем вместе лежать.
Чем книги в мешок совать, сестру б отыскал.
Ну что за дурак, в самом деле, какой вокзал?
Вот и сестра нашлась, лежат всей семьёй.
А тот, что колонну их вёл на убой,
до пенсии дожил, до внуков и даже до пра-,
у внуков натуры тонкие, не надо их тра-
вмировать болтовней про какой-то лес,
что с того, да мало ль на свете мест,
что с того, что поляна, ведь никто не воскрес;
а про то, как дед их метился в мать,
да про то, как младшему хотелось спать,
а когда упал на мать и из рук выпал мешок,
посыпались на тела книги да какой-то мелок…
Молчите, зачем вы внуку-то про ваш лесок.
* * *
Where’s your good-for-nothing sister, said his mother.
Today we are going to die together, as a family.
Don’t you hear, the Krauts are knocking at the door again!
Collect yourself quickly, and why take so many books.
Where you’re going, you’ll manage without them.
You’re always the last one, son, said his mother.
Time to get ready, and now you want to sleep!
You’ll have a good sleep where we’re going to lie down together.
Rather than slip books in your bag, find your sister.
Well, what a fool you are, indeed, what station?
There’s your sister, found at last, the whole family lies here together.
And the one who led their column to slaughter
lived to collect his pension, to have grandchildren
and even great-grandchildren, all of whom are so sensitive,
they’d be hurt by talk about some sort of forest,
so what, aren’t there all kinds of forests in the world,
so what, no one is going to rise from there,
so don’t talk about how he aimed for the mother,
and about how her youngest boy wanted to sleep,
and how his body fell on the mother’s, and how the books
and some chalk dropped from his hand onto the bodies . . .
Keep silent, why tell the grandson about that forest.
Nina Kossman’s (Нина Косман) nine books include three books of poems, two books of short stories, an anthology she edited for Oxford University Press, and a novel. Her work has been translated from English into French, Spanish, Greek, Japanese, Hebrew, Persian, Chinese, Russian, Italian, Danish, and Dutch. Her Russian work was published in Russian periodicals in and outside of Russia. She is a recipient of an NEA fellowship, UNESCO/PEN Short Story award, grants from the Onassis Foundation, and the Foundation for Hellenic Culture.
A book of poems in Russian by Victor Enyutin (San Francisco, 1983). Victor Enyutin is a Russian writer, poet, and sociologist who emigrated to the US from the Soviet Union in 1975.
This collection of personal essays by a bi-national Russian/U.S. author offers glimpses into many things Soviet and post-Soviet: the sacred, the profane, the mundane, the little-discussed and the often-overlooked. What was a Soviet school dance like? Did communists go to church? Did communists listen to Donna Summer? If you want to find out, read on!
“Cold War Casual” is a collection of transcribed oral testimony and interviews translated from Russian into English and from English into Russian that delve into the effect of the events and the government propaganda of the Cold War era on regular citizens of countries on both sides of the Iron Curtain.
Julia Wiener was born in the USSR a few years before the Second World War; her youth was spent during the “Thaw” period, and her maturity coincided with the years of “Soviet stagnation”, which, in her case, ended with her emigration to Israel in the early 1970s. Her wartime childhood, her Komsomol-student youth, her subsequent disillusionment, her meetings with well-known writers (Andrei Platonov, Victor Nekrasov, etc.) are described in a humorous style and colorful detail. Julia brings to life colorful characters – from her Moscow communal apartment neighbors to a hippie London lord, or an Arab family, headed by a devotee of classical Russian literature. No less diverse are the landscapes against which the events unfold: the steppes of Kazakhstan, the Garden of Gethsemane, New York, Amsterdam, London.
Julia Wiener’s novels focus on those moments when illusory human existence collapses in the face of true life, be it spiritual purity, love, old age, or death.