Volha Hapeyeva

Volha Hapeyeva (Вольга Гапеева) is an award-winning Belarusian poet. Her works have been translated into more than ten languages, and she has a pamphlet due out with Arc Publications in February 2021, with translations by Annie Rutherford. She writes poetry, prose and drama, as well as occasional books for children. Volha Hapeyeva is the author of the books Unshaven Morning (2007), The Grammar of Snow (2017), Camel-Travel (2019) and others. She has participated in numerous literary festivals and conferences all over the world, and international residency scholarships. She collaborates with electronic musicians and visual artists to create audio-visual performances. A member of the Belarusian PEN Centre and the Independent Belarusian Writers’ Union, she holds a PhD in linguistics; her research is in the fields of comparative linguistics, philosophy of language, sociology of the body, and gender issues in culture and literature.


Volha Hapeyeva

Photo: Helmut Lunghammer


Poetry Centre Stage »

Reading: Raymond Antrobus, Volha Hapeyeva

Thu 11 March | 19:30 - 20:30 | FREE | StAnza Online


yellow poem

a dog in a yellow jumper
waits for the train
the second day of advent
yet no suggestion of snow
the road still lined with
St John’s wort – bewildering
like the yellow trousers of the lad
who just now gives the impression of a son, not a lover

I try on different styles of life throughout the day
hold back from choosing any one
my heart transported by a lorry
with HERTZ inscribed in a yellow box
and the splinter of that extra letter sticks out of my heart
yellow as the armchair
in the hotel room
where only shadows dare to sit

Volha Hapeyeva, tr. Annie Rutherford

жоўты верш

сабака чакае цягнік
у швэдарку жоўтым
другі дзень календарнай зімы
а пра снег і ні слова
паабапал дарогі ўсё яшчэ
святаяннік з панталыку збівае
як і жоўтыя нагавіцы хлапца
што цяпер уяўляецца сынам а не каханкам

за дзень я прымяраю розныя варыянты жыцця
але не рашаюся выбраць нешта адно
маё сэрца вязе грузавік
з надпісам HERTZ у прастакутніку жоўтым
і гэта лішняя літара застрамкай тырчыць з майго сэрца
жоўтага як і фатэль
у пакоі гатэлю
куды адважваюцца сядаць толькі цені

Вольга Гапеева