From bedtime poems for the very young to "Belarusian manga" for teenagers. What to read to children in their native language
"The main problem with Belarusian children's literature is that we ourselves don't fully know what we have," says poet Andrey Hadanovich. For Native Language Day, "Belsat" asked the poet, translator, and father to share recommendations on what to read to children in Belarusian.
Poet and translator Andrey Hadanovich at EHU. Vilnius, Lithuania. October 20, 2022. Photo: Belsat
The Youngest Listeners (up to 6 years old)
Poet Oleg Minkin conceived a three-volume series "Good Poems," collecting the best Belarusian works for children. Unfortunately, he has only managed to create a large volume about animals "Beside Us on Earth" to date, but this volume does exist. I found many interesting things in it while reading to my daughter before bed. It's already a classic, a meme in our family, when mom runs into the room and there, in her bed, the daughter is jumping up to the ceiling, and next to her, dad is also jumping, because this is being read:
The stork crosses
The ford.
Beak raised upwards —
A sandwich is riding
With frogs inside
For the little storks' dinner.
It's good to be
With a long-legged dad!
Little boys and girls can read any children's book by Ryhor Baradulin, for example, "Thunder's Rumble Fell from His Hands". Also an undisputed classic of children's literature is Artur Volski, the middle of the three cultural figures Volskis (son of Vital Volski and father of Liavon Volski) — among other things, a brilliant children's poet. I would advise parents to read his poems to their children.
A few years ago, a book of poems by Vera Burlak, "Fantazyurki," appeared. For it, the author received the Tsiotka Prize. Such poems — uninhibitedly ironic — were somewhat lacking in our overly serious children's literature. And here is a cascade of playful experiments, in the best traditions of Daniil Kharms. I will quote the poem "Without Light," and you can judge for yourselves:
Somewhere on the line there's an accident,
So we sit without light.
I can't see where my mom is:
She probably went somewhere.
Our neighbor — an old professor —
Is looking for his glasses.
Why does he need glasses?
He should rather look for flashlights!
Everyone bumps into everything.
Everyone trips over everything.
And then from the floor
Dialogues are heard:
— What is this?
— Legs.
— And this?
— Also legs.
— Yours?
— Not mine.
— Whose?
— Nobody's.
— Or maybe we're octopuses?
And I, since this happened,
Took some jam from Grandma,
But it tastes very strange.
And smells somehow not right.
What was in that jar?
Wish they'd turn the light on soon!
For very little boys and girls, the well-known Malyavanich — Aliaksandr Zhdanovich — has started writing short fairy tales. His "baby books" are being published one after another by "Slavyanka" publishing house.
Another example is Andrey Skurko, known to us as a publicist, who, when he was imprisoned, wrote for his little son Tamashyk. This is how his first mischievous poems and first translations were born. For example, the classic by Korney Chukovsky "Aibolit" — "Good Doctor Budzdarou" (a play on words: "Aibolit" sounds like "oh, it hurts" and "Budzdarou" means "be healthy"). Look how positive the approach itself is: the classic of Russian literature identifies the problem through the negative phenomenon "ay, bolits" (oh, it hurts), which one wants to get rid of. But here, "budz zdarou" (be healthy) is embedded in the title — very bold, daring for a translation, and very positive!
Andrey continues to write now, book after book is coming out: "Knocks and Thumps, What Are Those Sounds," or "Who Lives in the Garage," or "How to Start a Dinosaur" — I've mentioned a few of his latest books. Andrey is a vivid event in children's literature. By the way, regarding the translation of Russian literature, it seems to me that our centuries-old problem was that it was closer than any other foreign literature, and now — even closer than our own, Belarusian.
And here, translation, I would say, performs an absolutely paradoxical function: while in principle it should bring languages and cultures closer, the Belarusian translation from Russian should subtly distance our cultures.
To push it back, to place Russian literature at the same distance as our other closest neighbors.
Younger Schoolchildren (7–11 years old)
Among Belarusian classics, I recall a writer who wrote a lot for children — Alena Vasilevich and her autobiographical prose "Grow, Hannia." I grew up with this, and although I am neither a Hannia nor a village girl, but a city boy, I liked the warmth, the tenderness of the main character, I deeply sympathized with her. Once in childhood, the novellas "New Settlers" and "The Adventures of Bulbobs" by Paval Misko resonated very well.
From new literature, I will mention a children's book written in emigration that also shares kindness — "The Sea in the City" by Elga Papova. From the first to the last page, it's mischievous, playful, ironic, turning the world upside down. The sea, which did not want to say goodbye to the child, moves into his bucket, comes to his home, settles far from the big water, in the bathtub. And here, absurd, amusing problems and questions arise: is freedom always good, must the world have rules by which it exists?
The next two books are completely for rascals. The first is by Siarhei Prylutski, a Belarusian poet living in Ukraine, called "Down with Adults," the second is by Maryia Martysevich "How to Get Rid of Mamatut." Mamatut is a phenomenon where a child is always under control. Both are hooliganistic and closer to free-spirited children — it's boring to always be too proper, right?
I also want to mention a few books on which we all grew up, because they are world classics — and now there are brilliant translations both in émigré bookstores and directly in Belarus. This is L. Frank Baum's "The Wizard of Oz," wonderfully translated by Siarhei Miadzvedzeu. Also wonderfully illustrated, recently published in Uladz Liankevich's translation — J.M. Barrie's fairy tale "Peter Pan." By the way, parents could also enjoy reading them, because these are books with a double bottom for adults.
In general, our classic literature is too didactic: here's a story, here's a moral, here's how to do things, and how not to. But modern literature is, after all, about the freedom given to a child; it is without the fixed hierarchy of "wise adults and obedient children." These are attempts at almost equal relationships. In this regard, Swedish literature gives us a lot. We have "Karlsson," even in two different translations — by Liavon Barsheuski and Alesya Basharymava. "Pippi Longstocking" appeared in Dzmitry Plaks's translation; Jujja Wieslander's "Mamma Mu" series in Nadzya Kandrusevich's translations. And, of course, Sven Nordqvist's "Pettson and Findus," also beloved by Belarusian children, a series of books wonderfully illustrated by the author himself.
Even your humble servant, the author of these words, contributed to the translation of brilliant Swedish literature — one might say, Gunilla Bergström's pedagogical poem "The Superbook about Bill and Bola" (Bill is smart, and Bola is cheerful).
This is an attempt to write about the difficult, about what was previously forbidden — Scandinavian writers expand themes and are not afraid to talk to children about, for example, death.
The author, based on her family biography — her daughter with developmental features — created a story about an older brother and a special little sister, their parents, and situations where they together cope with big problems that seemingly should bring tears, despair, and desperation. But in some friendship, trust, partnership, they find mutual support and discover joy and optimism where, at first glance, there seemed to be only hopelessness, where everything was pessimistic and depressing. This is a book that can provide psychological support in our difficult, somewhat dark time. After all, we build our own celebration; no one will comfort us if we don't extract light from ourselves.
Children reading a book. The image is illustrative. Photo: Vitaly Gariev / pexels.com
What Can Interest Teenagers (12-16 years old)
Alhierd Bacharevich, as a creator, made a very good deed, and not just a literary text, by writing the young adult book "Captain Flying Fish." This is a story about a girl named Alesya who lives in a western coastal town. Here are themes of exile and imprisonment. It is revealed that Alesya's parents are behind bars, and she lives with relatives in emigration, helps them with work, talks to the sea, to ships. She eagerly explores the surrounding world and sees in this fate of hers not exile, but some great global adventure. The girl encounters unusual friends — living Fayka, Valizka, and Paliton — and together with them, she travels, performing a secret mission.
,,And we travel with them from country to country, observing the struggle between good and evil — and this evil has suspiciously familiar political contours, and good is the very thing we have all been dreaming of for years now. I highly recommend this book.
And there is an author — she writes under the pseudonym Eva Voitovskaya — who, using the model of Eastern manga, by analogy transferred it to Belarusian material. Eva created the image of schoolgirl Sonya Sinichka, writing about her friendships, problems at school, her first love, joys, and disappointments. There are 2 books: Sonya, who is finishing school, and Sonya, who is starting her student life. I think teenagers, and even adults, won't be able to tear themselves away from this story.
Well, and classic Yanka Maur has not been canceled by anyone, and it's very good that the "Popuri" publishing house has released a vibrant new edition of "Polissian Robinsons." Because classics need to be published, newly illustrated, bringing them closer to the modern reader.
Today, readers have something to orient themselves by, as an independent award for children's literature has appeared. If you don't know what good books have come out, you can Google the results of the Tsiotka Prize, which has been awarded for several years for the best children's book (and for the best illustrations). It can be poetry, prose, something essayistic, educational — for example, Uladzimir Arlou's children's book on Belarusian history once won. Or the books of Valer Hapieyeu, who, in my opinion, writes wonderfully for teenagers, have won. His very good recent work is the "Volnery" cycle. Books created with love for Belarus, for Belarusian mythology, which as if comes alive and penetrates modern life.
Comments