Дизайнер обложки Maxim Zheltov
Переводчик Maxim Zheltov
© Anastasia Volnaya, 2021
© Maxim Zheltov, дизайн обложки, 2021
© Maxim Zheltov, перевод, 2021
ISBN 978-5-0053-0883-2
Создано в интеллектуальной издательской системе Ridero
Anastasia Volnaya is a contemporary author from Russia. She owes her creative perception to her parents: her father, musician Vladimir Danilchenko, and her mother, fashion designer Nadezhda Voronova.
She pays special attention to poetic forms and prose dimensions such essays, stories and fairy tales.
A selection of aphorisms stands out separately.
The title of the book is related to the title of one of the chapters of this book.
The book is divided into sections. One of the sections presents works in the original language, which is Russian.
Anastasia’s creativity is distinguished by a unique poetic technique of creating a verse. It is based on images that are born in the imagination of the reader after reading. The author uses free and accent methods of versification. Love, faith, a sense of beauty, kindness and tenderness laid down by Anastasia Volnaya in her works are transmitted to readers and encourages them to do good deeds, to find harmony with the world, to find faith and love.
Anastasia Volnaya has been published a lot in literary collections («The Shining of the Lyre», «Muse», «Third Breath»), music albums were recorded on her poems (the group «Noah’s Ark» and Terenty Travnik recorded the music album «The Fifth Season of the Year») and many music performers negotiated the use of verses in their songs. Together with Maxim Zheltov, she formed the creative association DanZhel – the union of a poet and an artist. A series of works were published under the general title – «Poems under Glass». Published in Orthodox editions and newspapers, such as «Lampada», «Silver Psalter». The first printed book was published in 2000. To date, 15 printed books have been published, as well as e-books in Russian and English, including through the Overdrive system and Smashwords, many of them are absolutely free.
These poems and essays are a reflection of Terenty Travnik’s creativity in my soul and are dedicated to Terenty Travnik, an artist I respect and dear brother.
Artistic project – poetic illustrations of Anastasia Volnaya for the paintings of Terenty Travnik under the general title – Another version (Inversion). The collection includes works born in 2004.
Anastasia Volnaya and Terenty Travnik
To look inside yourself – it is not for everybody.
To keep the look of your soul – it is not for all of us.
Autoportrait by T.Travnik (early years)
The bell of autumn is quiet.
Winged boy
Sleeps, smiling, in the foliage —
In that blue —
In that depth —
In that height,
What suddenly descended to the ground.
Quiet place.
Someone, on a distant, distant planet, created a picture where a star was depicted, enclosed, like a pearl, in an ornate shell. The star cautiously released rays – tendrils from under its shell and looked fascinated at the heavenly snails, freely shining in the heights.
Autumn fires. Everywhere there are yellow, red lightning flashes of flying leaves. The past burns up with the fire of gold and blood. The path is cleared. The old man – the wanderer – the silent one walks serenely and decorously. Step is a moment. Step is a day. Step is a year. Step – century…
Glad tidings
Nature’s late hour
Late time of afternoon
Picture.
Takeoff. Forgiveness.
The fords of the mountain pool.
Deep water swamp.
Universe and Earth.
The Most High Lord and I
Glad tidings.
Lost shores or a mirage in the ice
Churches made of ice and snow are fragile.
In vain is religion in fierce hearts.
Cowardice,
Lack of faith,
Little of love —
Stones of these devilish words
The way was paved in the lower hellish circles.
Churches made of ice and snow are fragile.
In vain is religion in fierce hearts.
By the beginning of the church year
The golden month colored with the light of the beauty of the night. How beautiful is the darkness that contains the light! The glass angel, standing on the windowsill, was surrounded by a halo of light reflected in it, as if alive, as if animated, he sounded a hymn to the light in his little horn. The heart of darkness is light. Who believed in darkness? This phantom, myth? Darkness doesn’t exist. There is no darkness. Just as there is no death. Darkness is a canvas under the colors of light. Death is a step to a new life. The glass angel will break someday, but the light that once filled it is eternal. And the anthem that is played on a small horn will always sound.
Phantasmagoria.
Night is like harmony
Of snow and fire.
Sun and moon
Merged together.
Eclecticism of wonderfully mixed symbols.
Catching imaginary dragonflies – the birth of new years, with the help of a net-cap kept by the gnome.
Daughter of September. The sun. Death. The sun.
Daughter of september. Bride of october. The message of omnipresent eternity. Maiden of blessing.
Aglaya.
The city of silver roofs.
In the soundless, in not reality, in colorlessness.
New essence.
As in good timeless fairy tales,
In the future, in the spring
Silence flows like a symphony…
Hear…
DanZhel (poetry and essay under glass)
Having no flesh, and therefore feeling pain. With abysses instead of eyes, and therefore all-seeing. Possessing immeasurable cruelty and therefore giving life. Extremely merciful and therefore killing. Silent and therefore omniscient. All-knowing and therefore silent. From great to the incomprehensible. From incomprehensible to the great. Have power over thought and subject only to thought. Eternally living and therefore knowing death. Knowing death and therefore living forever.
He was white and airy.
She was a hot brunette.
She built a fire for him.
He gave her rain.
She disappeared around the corner of the wonderful mansion.
He became day and looked for her everywhere.
She exuded stars from the sparks, knowing that he
never see them, knowing that they are only for him.
He was looking for her.
He was looking for her.
1998 year
Dedicated to my father – clarinetist Vladimir Danilchenko
The street musician played the evening. The jewels in the hat at his feet grew darker as the day melted into them. But the flowers waltzed in the ever-light snow. Passers-by hurried to the electric suns of their homes, leaving living blue sapphires at the musician’s feet. The musician played the evening.