Dec. 26, 2024, 8:14 p.m.
(Presentation of the second issue. Photo: Kamerton/Facebook)
The main goal of the Kamerton magazine is to popularize Ukrainian culture in the South, to explore the history and art of the Black Sea region beyond imperial myths, to show the Ukrainian face of Odesa, a city of high culture, exquisite art and endless aesthetics, sharp mind and intelligence, a subtle sense of humor, and most importantly, an irresistible love of life, Astroprint writes.
Based on the booksCrimean Tatar Families by Yevhenia Henova,Nonfictional Stories of the Odesa Tram by Dmytro Zhdanov, and10 Conversations about the Ancient History of Ukraine by Andriy Krasnozhon and Oleksandr Krasovytskyi, andSomething by Andriy Hayetskyi. Intent adds to its library the magazine "Kamerton.
What do we know about Odesa literature? How many names are we ready to mention when talking about Odesa literature? Which poets do we love? Whose poems do we know? Whom do we remember? Whom do our children study at school in the literature classes of their native land? What kind of prose is written here, "at the turn of the steppe and the sea," in a land where the muse could not help but come? What does the Black Sea writer speak to us about? In what language? What can he teach us? And then we discover the other side - what kind of literature does the Odesa reader need today? What does he want to know about it? Does he want to know at all?
"Kamerton" becomes an answer to almost all of these questions.
"Kamerton" not only adjusts souls to the light through the language of poetry and prose, which is alive and modern (and is also an opportunity for the reader to get acquainted with the texts of writers' manuscripts for the first time), but also reminds us of important issues that society must study, especially today, in the context of the latest Moscow-Ukraine war. These are questions of history, culture, and art of a beautiful Ukrainian southern city-a city with a beautiful Ukrainian face that was forced to wear the mask of"Ruskava Gorada" by the Moscow tsarist regime-a kind of very inept plastic surgeon, because, created artificially, that face remained alien for a long time and thus distorted. But under the pressure of time, even this alien face began to be perceived by society as its own, and in a few generations it was accepted by the majority. Today, interest in the study of truth has revived. Therefore, there is an urgent need to cover the history, culture, and art of the southern region.
In March 2024, a new publication appeared in Odesa's literary life, the Kamerton almanac. The classic format, classic composition, well-known and new names. Among the authors of the almanac are writers from the South: Oleksa Riznykiv, Taras Fedyuk, Anatoliy Kychynsky, Dmytro Shupta, Roman Krakalia, Serhiy Dmytriev, Arseniya Velyka, Sashko Obriy, Valeriy Puzik, Ella Leus, Natalia Kondratenko, Andriy Hayetsky, Iryna Toma, Oksana Lukash, and Maryna Zaburanna. In addition to the artists' own works, we have memories of their native authors, Oleksa Sherengovyi and Halyna Mohylnytska. The almanac is also rich in other materials: literary, local history, and art. The almanac, and later the magazine, is decorated with a gallery. The almanac (spring, 2024) features the work of Larysa Demianyshyna. Oleksandr Muzychko presents his views on the history of the city.
The "Kamerton" magazine. Photo: astroprint.ua
The publication was created by an editorial board of well-known writers, journalists, and literary critics: Yevhen Baran, Oleksandr Kosenko, Roman Krakaliya, Yaroslava Riznykova, Valentyna Sayenko, Mykola Slavynskyi, and Iryna Toma.
In May 2024, the publication was registered as a magazine, which means that it received official registration as a periodical. In the summer, issue #1 of the Southern Ukrainian literary and artistic magazine Kamerton was published. The format, composition, and ideological and thematic content were changed. Among the authors of the issue: Oleksa Riznykiv, Ihor Herashchenko, Vira Marushchak, Halyna Zaporozhchenko, Daryna Berezina, Yevheniia Krasnoyarova, Maryna Martiusheva, Anna Malitska, Valeriia Romanko, and guests - authors invited from different parts of Ukraine so that Odesa readers could be involved in the world of not only Odesa literature, but also national literature. In the same issue, we remember the prominent literary critic Hryhorii Vyazovskyi and the poet Ivan Kudlach, and discuss the existence of kobzarism in the Odesa region as a unique artistic phenomenon of the Ukrainian people, the history of Odesa trams, and the motivation for renaming Odesa parks. The issue is decorated with the Kravchenko family gallery.
The autumn issue, published in November 2024, is traditionally opened by Oleksa Riznykiv with her section "About the Word". The reader can get acquainted with the creative work of the authors of the South: Stanislav Stryzheniuk, Oles Tchaikovsky, Serhiy Mefodovsky, Valeriy Kulyk, Larysa Matveeva, Oleksandr Vysotsky, Alyona Movchan, Hlib Kuchma, Yuriy Yurchenko, Kateryna Hlushko, Yurko Ostrovershenko, Roman Krakalia, Liudmyla Hnatiuk, Inna Ischuk, and others. Among the invited authors are Serhiy Zliuchyi, Svitlana Meyta, Halyna Kruk, Serhiy Martyniuk, Serhiy Pantiuk, Viktor Teren, Vitaliy Zapeka, Valentyna Storozhuk, Yulia Polisianka, Viktor Vasylchuk, Stakh Luchkiv, Yuriy Kovaliv, Yevhen Baran, Oleh Solovey, Oleksandr Gordon, Natalia Demova , and others.
The magazine "Kamerton". Photo: astroprint.ua
This issue contains memoirs of the talented children's writer Volodymyr Rutkivsky, as well as a local history research by Oleh Rovner about the Chumak travels in Odesa region, entitled "Chumak Paths." The issue is decorated with the gallery of Odesa artist Anastasia Hruska, who, despite her young age (17), impresses with her talent and has already had numerous collective and personal exhibitions. In issue #2, 2024, Hanna Cherkaska shares her thoughts on Dovzhenko, a filmmaker whose life was also connected to Odesa. In this issue, the sections "Debut" and "Letters from Canada" appear for the first time. The latter is devoted to a creative dialog with members of the Ukrainian Literary Studio of Montreal. The Ukrainian Literary Studio is a city in Canada where the majority of speakers of English and French live... But it successfully publishes translations of works by Ukrainian authors and holds events to popularize Ukrainian literature and culture. How many such studios are there in Odesa today? This is a rhetorical question. Because in Ukraine as a whole, unfortunately, there are few such studios today.
In addition to the publication itself, "Kamerton" has become the occasion for quarterly literary and artistic meetings or, as I call it, a celebration of literature, which means that Odesa readers can be not just readers but also participants in events, they have a unique opportunity to hear the author live, to talk to him, to feel him-in his voice, in his emotions... Isn't it a miracle?
We have a lot of plans for the future! "Kamerton" is loved by Ukrainian readers. The readers of Odesa, Mykolaiv, Kherson, and Zaporizhzhia have come to need "Kamerton". It is only a year old, and it has become such a large-scale project, uniting so many different voices of our country, once again emphasizing our indestructibility, or, I like this word, anti-fragility as our national trait.
"Kamerton" can be found in the city's libraries or ordered through social networks or theAstroprint publishing house's website.
Roman Krakaliya. Photo: Kamerton/Facebook
Roman Krakalia, short story
A little girl with uncombed blond hair and a coat on thin shoulders stood in front of the piano and pressed the same key with one finger.
Behind her, a broken five-story building stood as if praying to the sky with all its points. Maybe there was a music school there, and these stern maestros looked down on their young descendants. Now they looked sternly at the sky from the same walls that had already been torn and defeated.
No, she had not forgotten the lesson, but who would listen to her now, here, near this ruin, near the faithful piano that was waiting for her, although it was no longer so respectable and so lonely under the alienated sky?
The car seemed to stand in front of the pile of shattered wreckage. I came closer:
- "Where is your mom? What is your name?
She didn't turn around, just concentrated on sending the same desperate note of C into space.
I called out louder. The girl looked at me with a faraway look - or did she see me? - and after a moment turned and nodded somewhere.
"In the morning we were distributing humanitarian aid in that basement. I jumped in; those who were closer looked at me, sometimes with surprise, sometimes with hope: maybe I'll be handing out something again?
- Where is her mom?" I shouted loudly, probably hysterically.
Everyone was silent, only children's sobs and mothers' sayings could be heard somewhere in the corner. An old woman nearby crossed herself mournfully. There was also a quiet voice nearby:
- "She's from the boarding school...
...We were in a hurry. We still had to deliver the rest of the supplies and get to the outskirts of the town on a road that was not under fire by evening. In the side mirror, I could still see the shattered five-story building, the cluttered space around it, the little girl at the piano, which seemed so unnatural here...
...He fell silent, my comrade, a volunteer, a musician lost in this war, whom I had not seen for almost a year. War stirs up not only people, it stirs up times, slipping them like sand between your fingers, and what can we say about people: the longer the separation, the fewer words a meeting requires.
Through the coffee steam and cigarette smoke here, at the intersection of two of the most famous streets of our wonderful city, I see a tall stage, a slender blonde woman in a black dress with a big red rose where her heart is, near a shiny black piano; I see hundreds of radiant eyes in the great hall, like unattainable stars, to which this desperate, this - like infinite hope - one and only, without end-completion, this disturbing open note Si is flying in an endless flight.
Taras Fedyuk. Photo: Cameron
dawn like a shack
comes out as a sleepy old man
the alarm clock will wake me up
the bus will take me away
the engine is boring mantras
and a book by Murakami
oh how I dislike traveling
and this fuss with tickets!
and this tosser with money
and these dawn claws
and the confined space with strangers
who must be mine
and the goal that slips
from the fingers of night fatigue...
...the word "home" curled up behind the horizon
that despite life's frenzy
and geographical maps
is always waiting for me
with its face on its paws
Anatolii Kychynskyi. Photo: Camerton
My golden woman, my golden torment,
I flew to the sky, I wandered around like a mana,
I kissed your golden hands in my mind,
and laughed and cried like a little child.
You passed by with a golden gait,
touched me with a golden wing, and then
you made the gray earth golden for me.
The sky above it is already turning golden.
You have come and gone, but for a long time your golden shadow trembled
on my life.
In the sky of my heart you flew like a star
and left golden marks on my heart.
My golden bird, my golden autumn,
no one has ever made me golden.
All this time has passed, and I am still
like a leaf on your golden fire.
Andriy Khayetskyi. Photo: Camerton/Facebook
lonely ships swaying
one or two on the horizon
so are we evil and irreversible
swaying in a whirlwind of events
indefinite in space sad
lost for someone unrealizable
forever timeless captives
and by the time of the spring downed
yet we were reckless
no matter how much freedom everyone wants
that blue sea has seen all kinds
lost much cannot be found
from which sea the ships came
and in which they will go to anchor
Marina Zaburanna. Photo: Maryna Zaburanna/facebook
satin and twilight. a hundred minutes for two.
evening clouds are sown quietly by God
through the sieve of fortune, and around the corner
thistles are raising their baskets to the rain.
everything will pass, for everything in the world is transient.
the rain will pass, and we will pass one day.
so that we do not lose our souls
at the crossroads of God's mise-en-scene.
Dmytro Shupta. Photo: Camerton
I lost my way, waiting for the waiting.
The gold of the flower is fading to patch.
Into the gracious oasis of silence
Birds of words fly one-winged.
I couldn't wait for the boats
To reach the shore,
To drink the sounds of melodies
From the bottomless din of heaven.
The need of the spoken word,
The utterance of desire is blind.
On the way back to heaven
I have to look for myself.
Stanislav Stryzheniuk/Photo: Camerton/Facebook
The steppe is like the steppe.
The roads are not smoking,
Because the clouds have rained,
Bare feet feel the ground,
As if in childhood, long ago.
Where have they never walked?
But the life they have lived is not a parade.
Many a sole has been knocked off on the way
Along paths, along highways...
Asia and Europe are under my feet
They have paved the way for me more than once.
All the paths are engraved on my feet:
The Elbe River, Sakhalin, the Caucasus...
All the paths around the world have gone,
And from which I will not return to the crossroads -
I am drawn to walk through the steppes
As a little barefoot shepherd.
Oksana Lukash. Photo: Kamerton
Everything is as usual: it's raining a little,
The fog covers the city with white smoke.
And day after day life runs somewhere,
And sometimes I want a little miracle.
So that among the gray everyday life and haze
A butterfly suddenly sits on my shoulder.
Or in the midst of a white winter
A lilac blossomed under the window in the evening.
Or for my own eyes to shine with stars in an instant
To you,
To make me want to live and create,
And not care about winter and fog.
Oles Tchaikovsky. Photo: Kamerton/Facebook
Unknown hero
Don't mourn, mother, your son,
Don't wait, don't look at the road,
A gold and blue ribbon was found on his body,
Sewn to his lapel.
They buried him in a clean field,
They made thunderbolts of angry crosses,
They inscribed on a maple cross:
"Here lies an unknown hero."
And the mothers came to the grave
(Each with a photograph),
They watered the tombstone with tears,
They squawked like seagulls: "My son"
Now the battalions are marching in the ranks.
The mother sincerely wishes her son,
To return healthy, in glory
He is from the East. He is praying for...
Iryna Toma. Photo: Kamerton
Ukraine-Freedom
You were born for the second time - in a bomb shelter
To the sound of sirens and bloody spectacles.
To shots, explosions, terrible howls
You were born in February, early in the morning.
You looked up with worried eyes
And drank from her breast sore milk.
And for the first time tasted the flavor of burning and fire,
You wore your first clothes of armor.
You were defended with songs and prayers,
You were saved by bloody battles.
You took the voice of your people into your heart
From the south and north, from the west and east.
With each blow you grow stronger, more united,
With pain and blood you grow hardened.
Unconquered by the enemy, of an indestructible kind!
Your middle name, Ukraine, is FREEDOM!
Hlib Kuchma. Photo: Camerton/Facebook
Bermuda Triangle
is located between the collarbone
and a woman's shoulder
in this triangle of skin
the souls of sailors
travelers and tourists
as well as artists and students
anyone who sometimes needs to
who sometimes needs to
go out into the sea of temptation and freedom
in this triangle all the ships sank
how good it is that I fly by
on an airplane
but they say that even airplanes
crash here
.
Kateryna Glushko. Photo: Kamerton/Facebook
the milky way scattered the Crimean salt to god
communicating with gestures through a damp attic window
an ancient book commanded to remain naked
so that the spirit merges with the beams of the scorching sun
speaking with the tongue pressed to the palate
until the skies are covered with snow
until new lives are born in the clouds new lives are born
the old ones ripen like bloodless Eden's rot
leaving you hanging from the universal tree
poisonous crusaders wrap you in words
give them a name and under the watchful eye of Orion
write it down in your own blood
because your artillery feeds on
clods of Kherson black soil.
Марина Забуранна
Dec. 21, 2024
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