Я преподаю английский язык в вузе, пишу стихи на русском и на английском языках. Опубликованы две книги на английском языке в Великобритании (г. Манчестер), обе посвящены религиозным темам (Genesis in Verse, Once before the Flood).
Свою новую книгу я задумала написать о России, и тоже на английском языке, имея целью рассказать зарубежным читателям о славном духовном наследии нашей страны, о подвигах и деяниях святых, которые способствовали не только просвещению языческих народов и единению нации, но и духовному воспитанию своих современников.
религиозная эпопея «Men of God: Russia’s holy history»
отрывок
…The following true story tells
About a noble princess,
Eudocia. When she excels
In studies, kin convinces
The empress Catherine to accept
Her as a waiting lady.
So, in her early age she stepped
On porch the palace, aiding
The empress. And her special care
Was to dispel her boredom.
Some years’d passed since the girl was there,
When once her daily order
Felt to be wrong and pointless. So,
She, and two ladies, faked
Their getting drowned. No one could know
They’d fled then for the sake
Of serving God. So, poorly dressed,
Her riches sacrificed,
She worked in convents, and was blessed
To be a fool-for- Christ.
She dwelled at convent in a hut,
Wore chains under the frock,
Walked barefoot, short her hair was cut,
And dwelled she with a flock
Of poultry, also cats and dogs.
She used the stove in summers,
Whereas in winters frosty fogs
Were in her shack. Large numbers
Of herbs and mushrooms did she pick
In woods at day-time, while
At night Eudocia took her stick,
Sang psalms and walked a mile.
She cured the sick, deprived or rich,
With herbs she picked in wood.
For prayers she chose the chapel, which
Stood in the neighbourhood.
When a new abbess came, hostile
Towards the fool, and jealous,
There was oppression, then exile.
Supported by her zealous
Esteemer Natalie, she slipped
From convent, left that spot
For place Klupanovo. Equipped
And big a house she got.
The fool, however, drove a cow
Inside that big estate,
While she herself was settled now
In servants’ shack with eight
Domestic pets. Eudocia, who
Was known as Euphrosyne,
Then travelled, staying at her true
Esteemers. As a sign
Of awe, one man built up with care
A cell in his own yard.
And Euphrosyne dwelled sometimes there,
And slept in coffin hard.
She prayed secluded in ravine
Beside the river’s bank,
And dug a well with water clean,
And all the sick, who drank
And got her blessing, those turned well.
And many men came there
To see the saint where she would dwell,
And get advice and care.
When aged, stood Euphrosyne one day
On porch beside her shed,
When suddenly she turned to say
To nurse: “See there ahead?
Two angels dressed in white just came
Out of the church’s gate,
And they are calling me by name
And tell me, that they wait
For me to join them”. When the folk
Knew that the saint foresaw
Her nearest death, it soon provoked
Their visits. More and more
Arrived to see her and be blessed,
And get a bagatelle.
Three times was Ephrosyne addressed
By angels, who would tell,
Her time was up. And when they came
The fourth time, then she died,
Quite calmly, and since then her name
Has been a sacred guide
To many worshipers, who come
To see her well and grave.
And many sick, and deaf, and dumb
Get cure, for which they crave…
…Once driving in a horse-drawn cart,
An old man stopped at shoer’s.
His offbeat manners gave a start
To some suspicion. Poor
And odd he looked. The shoer warned
Officials of his guest.
He was announced a tramp and scorned,
And put under arrest.
He called himself Fyodor Kuzmich,
No papers to present.
The man was whipped then with a switch
And to Siberia sent.
He asked some man to sign for him
The order, for he swore
He was illiterate. Quite dim
Was his background. The more
The other convicts and the guard
Dealt with the man, the better
They thought of him, for he tried hard
To sooth the weak. The fetter
Was not on him for all his way
To place of his exile.
Arriving there, he had to stay
In one Tomsk village. While
Fyodor was there, in solitude
He roamed, taught local kids.
The only fee he took was food,
No money – “God forbids!”
For virtuous life the old man earned
His great respect, the folk
Came for advice, and often turned
To him. The way he spoke,
His looks, some phrases of that man
Soon prompted it was true,
That Fyodor was none other, than
Tsar Alexander, who
Had lately died a sudden death
Of some disease. This fame
Spread over quickly, with the breath
Of wind, and Fyodor came
To stay indoors. And then he moved.
It didn’t stop disputes.
A lot of people tried to prove
The old man’s noble roots.
With peasants in one village he
Dwelled many years. Each weekend
He roamed on village edge, to see
A draft of convicts weakened.
He gave them alms and care. One day
He moved to one more site,
Where in a shabby shed he’d stay
And work a lot, and write.
He did his correspondence with
Some noble men, and far
Around would spread again the myth
Of Fyodor’s being tsar.
Bishops came to his far-off zone.
He spoke in French to one.
Leo Tolstoy was also known
To visit him. No one
Still heard the man speak of his past.
He said: “I don’t deny it,
That I’m autonomous at last,
And feeling free and quiet.
Once I took pains not to provoke
Men’s envy, and was grieved,
When friends deceived me. Now this yoke
Is gone, for I’ve perceived
The word of God, and love for Christ,
And charity. You hear it,
But realize not, how high-priced
Is freedom of the spirit”.
One merchant once convinced the man
To move to Tomsk house, where
He lived, and Fyodor thus began
To dwell in outhouse there.
He went to church, and prayed a lot,
But was not seen commune.
And at confessions was he not.
But they discovered soon,
He had his own confessor, and
Entrusted all to him.
To spread confession truth was banned,
So still his past is dim.
He dearly marked the holy day
Of Nevsky Alexander.
To his good friends he used to say:
“There used to be no grander
Event in Petersburg, than this.
Lights on, and fireworks,
And joy in hearts, and godly bliss,
And townsmen getting perks…”
He also spoke of wars, and lords,
Whereas his self was plain.
He wore poor clothes, slept on hard boards,
And often would abstain
From nourishing or delish food,
Preferring toasts half dried.
He prayed a lot – corns could be seen
On knees, when he had died.
When he was dying, he was at
Confession, but said not
His patron saint’s name: “God knows that!”,
Nor parents’ names: “For what?”
When died he, people worshiped him,
A virtuous man, though odd,
Whose background ever will be dim,
And future is with God…
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