De Oekraïense dichteres en vertaalster Natalka Bilotserkivets werd geboren op 8 november 1954 in het dorp Kuyanivka in de buurt van Soemy en studeerde af aan de Taras Shevchenko National University in Kiev. Ze is getrouwd met de criticus Mykola Riabchuk en werkt als redacteur voor het tijdschrift “Ukrainian” Culture in Kiev. Haar eerste dichtbundel, “Ballad about the Invincibles” (Balada pro neskorenykh), verscheen in 1976, terwijl ze nog studeerde. Ze publiceerde ook de bundels “The Underground Fire” (Підземний вогонь, 1984) en “November” (Листопад, 1989).[1] Voor haar dichtbundels “Allergy”(Алергія, 1999) en “Central Hotel” (Готель Централь, 2004) ontving zij respectievelijk in 2000 en 2004 deBoek van de maand prijs.
Hotel Central
for anyone
in one of the cities where at an uncertain time
capricious fate acknowledges us
where in the evening you can hear jazz in the restaurants
in the morning — bells from the gothic arches
water-lilies bloom in the canals there
people drink coffee there and later on beer
and the bicycles of radiant schoolgirls fly
in their sweet way in flocks
their backpacks bright and light
their legs long their hips slim
my God we once were like them too
ten twenty thirty years ago
but cast aside your itinerant pity
there\’s a Hotel Central in every city —
for those just like you who are no one for no one
here you\’ll unpack your ordinary things
remove the contacts from your eyes
wash your flesh get your drink
push the button of the pay TV —
there\’s everything you\’d want; and how you\’d want it too;
shut your eyes enter and take
nocturnal music knows no bounds
in the chambers of your Hotel Central
at three AM God like Bosch will come
to Hotel Central from the heavenly halls
with insects playing clarinets
with mosquitoes drinking submissive blood
with frogs and snails;
with fish, too;
and all your love —
is just caviar in the repositories of hell
just the struggle of a puny and a miserable slave
spread all over the walls,
of a human being — with a smiting Spirit
he sculpts and bends your body
then throws it into a tub of dung
removing it with his two fingers
shaking it looking and listening
like the first look of tender compassion
like the first touch of a somber “I love you”
like the burst of sun in the folds of a curtain —
Hotel Central meets the new dawn
and every day is like your last chance
and every night as though for the last time
and over the lily-flowered canals
the bicycles
of anxious schoolgirls fly
Grand Hotel Central
Rotterdam, June 22, 2002
BOYS CHOIR
In memory of Ernst Juenger
There are boys who befriend snakes.
They are fearless and they sing.
Their white shirts, like snow
fly above a fresh grave.
Beneath the black velvet of their pants
their knees burn, torn in marches
on the marble cliffs. Their voices
are thin, but even thinner is their pure breath.
Their perfect pitch resounds like thunder
from lop-eared ears to tender ribs.
…There is no falsity in my feelings
for You, my Lord, for You.
O this love, cold and clear,
this steel honor:
like crystal, salty and icy
and crystal.
There are lips that close the seam
on the sleepy wound;
and blood that drips from the sole
becomes dew.
This is the love that befriends snakes
and beats without pity;
and will kill if Your image
winks from the crystal
and points towards the bloodied path
between reapings
where snow lies on dead ships
and sailors sleep.
Vertaald door Dzvinia Orlowsky
