Literary classics aren’t always created by the greying elder statesmen and women of the writing world. You know the ones. They’re all wise and wrinkly and impassive, and woe betide the scholar who dares mount an honest critique of their bodies of work.

You see, literary classics are also written by upstart youngsters. These youngsters are full of vitality and creativity. They live fully awake and fully aware during these very difficult times. Nothing escapes their notice and they’re unafraid to share what they really think. They walk among us right now, breathing, smiling and crying, loving and hating, experiencing the full range of their humanity without apology.

This series presents names that you won’t find in textbooks or on Wikipedia, but these are the very youngsters who are creating modern Ukrainian literature right now. Trust us, you will want to check them out because it’s only a matter of time before they become household names. When we go back to these writers in two hundred years, we have no doubt that they’ll be mentioned in the same breath as luminaries such as Taras Shevchenko and Lesya Ukrainka.

field

what to do when a field seeped into
a warrior’s pores so deep
that any cut can’t get through
any bullet or sword
maybe only the words
of a loving mother
but they are in vain
the field now worries for self
existence
and self
awareness
they start to dig into the warrior
defenses trenches canals
for tears and melted aluminum
they fly above the warrior
ravens shells hands grenades screams
they fall into the grass
of the warrior’s heart
until a cherry tree grows up through the back of the head
with iron berries

поле

що робити коли поле всоталося
в пори воїна настільки глибоко
що його не дістане жоден поріз
жодна куля чи меч
хіба що слова
люблячої матері
правда ті недоречні
поле хвилюється вже за своє
існування
і само
усвідомлення
у воїні починають копати
окопи траншеї канали
для сліз і розплавленого алюмінію
над воїном летять
круки снаряди руки гранати крики
падають у траву
воїнського серця
допоки з потилиці не виросте вишня
залізними ягодами

Original poem by ARTEM SERHIIENKO
Translation by TETIANA ALEKSINA
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