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Poetry is freedom of spirit, flight, imagination. There are always sparks of the Divine in good poetry. When you read real poetry, you not only feel it, but also see it – in fact, you are in the cinema, where there is only one spectator, and this spectator is you, the reader!
Alexander Korotko
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“Creator…”
* * *
Creator,
take me through
the war
to the shore of childhood,
where so beautiful and naive
Life began,
where the toy days
not knowing tiredness
in the toy war,
had the upper hand
and won, won.
Creator,
transfer me, my Fatherland,
my Country through Hell
of war,
through the fate of my sins
to that land
where are heavenly dreams,
and no war,
where is the illusory Paradise,
ghostly
but still Paradise.
Translated by Natalia Ogienko.
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Very occasionally a unique new voice in poetry rises above the clamouring crowd to command attention. Informed by a very different culture, language and environment from his Anglophone audience, Korotko’s short, sharp observations of life around him are far from the easiest to translate...
Hillary Shears, translator and poet. December 2019, London