In the news for November 17 this year, you can read in detail about the release of Alexander Korotko’s book “Moon Boy” in the prestigious London publishing house Europe Books, translated by Michael Pursglove and the response to this event of the Ukrainian magazine “Vsesvit”.The project, as it should be, has a logical conclusion: the author has received copies of the book he is entitled to.The appearance of a new edition always brings new emotions to the author, and as a rule, positive ones. Translated books are of particular importance, as they expand the readership, and the author’s name becomes more recognizable not only at home, but also in many English-speaking countries.Alexander Korotko never tires of thanking Michael Pursglove for the high level of translation. We have to hear from well-known authors of books or film directors, that they are reluctant to turn to the things they have created – they do not re-read and do not revise what has been published or released, but Korotko admits that he read Michael’s translation with pleasure more than once and noted every time, with what subtlety and accuracy the English text is conveyed with the slightest shades of this philosophical, mystical at the core of its literary work. The book “Moon Boy” can be ordered on the publisher’s website: http://www.europebooks.co.uk/moon-boy-alexander-korotko/What’s next? New texts, new translations, new editions – the work is ongoing. We will expect interesting projects, real proposals from publishers and, of course, the birth of poetic lines in the coming 2021. Let’s not forget that Alexander Korotko is primarily a poet, and his prose is the prose of a poet: I felt like a mechanical toy, like Thumbelina, around whom everything, for some reason, had been revolving for many years, and suddenly the hand which was making things spin, fell dead. The petals of a metallic water lily closed up and I found myself in total darkness. I was struggling for breath, trying to break free, to a place where everything is shining, where everything moves, where the animal instinct of this insane lustful life breathes on the back of your neck. But the darkness was implacable. It was like a huge colossus, blocking out the light. Gradually I got used to the darkness. It enveloped me, filled me with new sensations. I was soaring light-heartedly over boundless expanses of silence. In no time at all I felt that powerful currents of air were carrying me further and further from the present, and it was already beyond me to go back. My soul, like a cloud, dissolved in the celestial heights. I was only beginning to live. But all the same something was giving me no peace. And suddenly – is this a dream? A single, unrepeatable dream, which it is impossible to retell.