Narrative poetry transposed to flash fiction: Smirnov's transposition of Pushkin

In the near future, we should have a website for the organized presentation of all this material, but like every step in a new project, it seems hard to even pay professionals for work these days.

Anyway, Yuri Smirnov prepared this transposition of Pushkin's narrative poem Братья разбойники // Bandit Brothers. We have been discussing and negotiating the final version, but irrespective of the fine points, we all immediately confront a couple of new provoking issues in such a transposition.

First of all, it sounds quiet strange (this is no nearly as much the case with transpositions from prose to prose). Neither he nor I see a way to avoid the abrupt transitions. Furthermore, there is the question of whether this is even desired. In fact, although it may not be your immediate reaction,  the stucatto nature of the text is actually liberating. I would argue that it would be impossible to produce such a diverse and chaotic prose text, though simultaneously coherent and understandable, without having a template. Our prose minds just simply don't work this way. Maybe a poet's mind writing prose does. I'm not sure, since I don't consider myself a poet. In any event, the result is interesting and, I think, quite different from anything you are reading nowadays.

The transposition of narrative poetry to narrative prose also raises a question: Is flash fiction our contemporary poetry? or: Is flash fiction our contemporary narrative poetry? The flash fiction I have read (not much) does not tend to exhibt the jumps we find in this transposition of Pushkin. What I have seen, tends to look more like a very short short story as opposed to a narrative poem in prose form, but that doesn't mean the genre will not evolve.

Then there are all the additional considerations related to transposition...

Here is an excerpt:



There were two of us:  My boyfriend and I. We grew up together, raised by foster parents for most of our childhood: As kids, life was not fun; we knew nothing but neediness, tortured by bitter hate, and afflicted early on by the torment of extreme jealousy.
It was miserable. There were constant problems, and we grew sick of such a fate. Then one day the two of us decided to go into business: For show, we leased a garage and hired a promoter. We forgot inferiority and sadness, and chased away our conscious.
Those were the days, long ago, when we were young! Back then, we lived, dismissed bad luck and took whatever we could get our hands on. Regularly, just after the workday had begun and forced everyone into offices, we went from home to high rise on a dangerous mission. With forged reports, we presented our cause and waited to see whether a wealthy businessman or nice idealist would sign on. - Since then, all was ours!  We convinced them completely, thoroughly, inside, outside, over and over again, with our perfectly designed presentation. And it rained pledges afterwards.



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