"God Is a Rusyn": Anthology of Contemporary Carpatho-Rusyn Literature

Ahneta Buchko Papharhai

Ahneta Buchko Papharhaï


AHNETA BUCHKO PAPHARHAÏ was born in 1951 in present-day Croatia and went to school in Vukovar. She has worked as an editor for Rusyn radio in Novi Sad. The author of several books of lyrical poetry (The Window Ajar / Oblak odkhileni, 1971; Bird in Darkness / Ptitsa u tsmoti, 1977; Late Rivers / Pozni riki, 1984; Temptations of Zlopolie / Spokusi Zlopolia, 2006), she has also written poetry and prose for children. Temptations of Zlopolie is dominated by the tragedy of the war in Croatia and its effects on the Rusyns of that area. Bearing in mind this unhappy history, she has also created artistic, philosophical , and entertaining literature for children. Her tales in The Silver Butterfly and Other Stories (Striberni motyl´ i druhi skazki, 2004) assure children that wonders still exist in the world, while they point to deeper realities and transcendent truths. She received the Aleksander Dukhnovych Prize for Rusyn Literature in 2005. 228 SERBIA [From Antologiia ruskei poezii] In Father’s Boots on the Marsh They taught me to be thankful for small things. They taught me to dream about trifles, and to rejoice at blossoms. And I was thankful for every greeting, I dreamed about blossoming fruit trees, and found joy in the bee on the flower. When I grew up they said: with small things only small people are satisfied. How small I am in my father’s boots on the marsh.
 The Moment of the Poppy Lavish, wonderful fields. The green-yellow world pecks at the red poppies. Pecks! A brief beauty! The passions of life! Passion is but a moment. Another thorn. AHNETA BUCHKO PAPHARHAÏ 229 Like a beast that pulls out the thorn and licks its wound, each morning we face the sun. How many new thorns lie ahead? But we believe in the red poppy. We are its fruit and its moment. Relative to whom? Relative to what? 230 SERBIA [From Striberni motyl´ i druhi skazki] The Silver Butterfly It was late autumn. The last flowers had faded and the world was preparing for winter. A butterfly with beautifully colored wings gaily flew around an autumn flower. “You´re still merry, and winter is almost here! Aren´t you afraid of the frost?” the flower asked him. “No! The sun is still so lovely!” “But nature has decided otherwise.” “I don´t care about nature! I don´t want to live only as larva, caterpillar, and butterfly. I want to live forever!” “But that is your destiny! That´s what it is!”said the flower and folded its petals before the approaching twilight gloom. Night fell. The wind blew louder and louder. The butterfly could not fly and its wings shuddered. It saw an illuminated window. When it landed on the window pane it saw a girl in a warm house playing with her toys. “How lovely!” thought the butterfly, attaching itself even more tightly to the glass. The girl looked at the window and saw something tiny and beautiful. She opened the window and into the room flew the butterfly. “How lovely! Surely it has experienced more interesting things than I have in this house with these toys,” thought the girl. “How warm and pleasant! What wonderful toys!” thought the butterfly when it had warmed its wings inside. “Will you stay with me?” “Yes! I want to live like you, and all through the winter I want to live in this beauty,” said the butterfly, settling on an artificial flower. And sleep overtook him. When the girl looked at the beautiful butterfly again from her bed with half-closed eyes, there was only silence and sleep in the room. And the girl dreamed that she was a butterfly, flying through a broad meadow from flower to flower with other butterflies. She joyfully greeted various insects, birds, animals, and plants. They played and talked about incredible sunny adventures. Oh, how beautiful and enchanting it was! The butterfly dreamed that it was a girl living in a warm house, dressed nicely, playing with her toys. The marvelous colors of these toys—dolls, both large and small, various animals that you didn’t have to fear, and blocks from which you could build anything imaginable. And no frost! Oh, truly, this was beautiful and enchanting! AHNETA BUCHKO PAPHARHAÏ 231 In the morning when the first rays of the...