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Nora Crook's poetry is not only a beautiful language of the eastern branch of emigration,
not only an interesting form of verse, marked by the influence of English poetry. It is,
above all, - a reflection of a significant body of our history, a stratum, unknown to
many: the life of Russian-Harbin-Australian immigrants.
I wrote my first poems when I was eight years old.
Chinese, Japanese, Koreans, wake up, unite in single working regiments
Let your red flag unfurl, a capitalists' enemy
This was published in a children's magazine. First they published it, and then they realized
that it generally appeals one to perform devil knows what actions. And when the magazine
was published, this poem was sealed. A wonderful creative beginning....
Her first poem was written in Russian. However, Nora Crook was born and spent her childhood
in the Chinese city of Harbin and not on the Russian soil. Her father, a Pole by birth,
married a Jewish girl, and hurried to take her away from all kinds of threats and disturbances.
At that time there was an opportunity to work on the Chinese Eastern Railway. The Crook
couple moved to Harbin, where in 1920 Nora was born.
There was a Russian theatre there and a university. Everything was in Russian, it was a Russian
colony. It was a Russian city on Chinese soil. The Chinese were very hospitable and treated
the Russians well, those who went to work on the railway, and as the white immigrants
would say "gone over to the other camp." It was a lot more difficult for those who believed
in "the white idea", however the city was very lively, they lived very comfortably..
And there were many intellectuals. Most of the people were Russian intellectuals.
Nora remembers that for days she would lie in the garden under a plum tree and read Balmont.
At the time she was a completely Russian child. Her first lines of poetry in English appeared
later. My friend's found a Portuguese boyfriend,
who could speak English. She came running up to me and said:"You know I told my boyfriend
that I write poetry."He said, "Can you write me a poem?" I said to him, "I do not write
poems in English". So I wrote my first poem for Luba. Why did I begin to write in English?
Because there was no Russian listeners. My husband was not a passionate lover of poetry.
In addition, he worked a lot. Her future husband, Yefim, the young writer
met when he was already in Shanghai. Nora's parents moved there when she was 19.
Poems. White, clean flakes on this panel Turn into dirt. White, clean, all turn into
dirt. They did not dare decorate the cruel city
which hates everything clean, openly.
Here it is - Shanghai. Over a monstrous mess of dirt
embellished light is pouring from the high windows
Human lives without meaning, without purpose, without connections
Hiding from life their elegant tulle and georgette.
The soul climate is heavy, the distances are bounded,
It is terrible that the life's vacuum is cozy and clean.
People themselves have become fatally cozy, The ruthless sadistic city pulls you into
its swamp.
In Shanghai, I worked in a newspaper. There was a newspaper called "Russian thought."
It was a weekly newspaper. The person who owned this newspaper dismissed everyone and
I did everything myself, it was not bad for experience. I was 19 years old. And later,
when the newspaper became a big and a good one, I worked there as a journalist and wrote
about people and their stories. Nora Crook continues her journalistic work
in Hong Kong. As a result of nearly 20 years of living here, Nora writes poetry in English.
When we moved to Hong Kong I began to write in English. In Hong Kong, I worked for an
English newspaper, I had my own column. I taught ikebana and was very passionate about
this work. We had a large organization "Ikebana International". 15.16 .... I was writing in
English for the newspaper and all my friends were English-speaking. There were several
Russian women who were married to Frenchmen or Englishmen. My childhood friend was also
there, but they were abandoning the Russian language.
Since 1976, Nora Crook lives in Australia. Her life's baggage includes different countries,
cultures and people. Behind her are the years of anxiety and excitement for friends and
relatives, long-term fear and exile, the tragic news from the Soviet Union. And many, many
poems. In Russian or in English, they are equally beautiful and sincere.
I cannot say that in Russian I wrote more heartfelt poem than I did in English because
it is not true. In English, I also wrote these poems that are too frank for the press. The
organization that Tanya Bonch-Smolovskaya created did a lot for me. Suddenly I met all
these people who were very interested in poetry; I had a whole file to translate. I translate
poems from Russian to English. I did not try to publish them, but I want to do it now.
I joined this group and even once won a prize for poetry that was given in Moscow and even
for those poems translated from English into Russian. They told me that they did not sound
like they had been translated. That was because they were my own. I returned to my Russian
roots. 3 published books of English poetry, the Australian
Literary Gene Stone Award, Russian poetry, translations. Looking at this active woman
with bright eyes, you know that this is not the limit for her, and the age of 92 is not
really an age. And, reading one of her most popular poems about mirrors, one wants to
argue with the cold ruthless judge - no, she is not an old woman, but an elegant and cheerful
one, full of strength and energy to live and to work.
Mirrors ... We wrote about them effusively, Their mysterious world was beautiful and young.
All our grudges were treated with a magic touch,
A smile cured our secret hunger... Everyone knows about the mirror's betrayal:
- Whose skin is whiter, whose cheeks are more rosy?- Hers and hers ...
Fearing that the mirror's view is not so flattering I do not ask for the glass judge's response
But sometimes ... Passing the immodest mirrors, picking a poem by sound in my head ,
I catch someone's image ... Is it mum's really? No, not mum's, but that of an old woman, alien
to me.