Tag Archives: Life and death

ripples in the soup bowl

when you’ve traced your secrets into the sand
with a spirit’s hand at the water’s edge
is when the tide washes in to wash it away
& now no one on earth will have ever known you

when your face can’t be a part of this world
at the ripple & quell of a wishing well
your reflection does question former times
where no one said you could be lovely

& you’re wondering why you had to obey
when you did not wish to hold a gun
& you’re wondering why she bothered to stay
when you could not put bread in her hand

those men lined up at the soup kitchen
were never allowed to be more than hunters
with dusty hearts & those lifeless eyes

when grace extends only so far as merit
don’t be so loyal to your suffering
they’ve laid claim to your life without consent
& indentured you to kill in the name of

when disgrace has felled you for the last time
when the muffled gunfire burns in your lungs
when you wake into your funeral wreath
beyond the subatomic algorithm

& you’re wondering why you had to obey
when you did not wish to hold a gun
& you’re wondering why she bothered to stay
when you could not put bread in her hand

those men lined up at the soup kitchen
were never allowed to be more than fodder
with dusty hearts & those lifeless eyes

you can love like no one owes you
you can give however you want
but no man can bend forever
the men lined up at the soup kitchen
were never allowed to be simply human
no man can bleed forever

by TONY SINGLE
© All rights reserved 2024

TATI’S TRANSLATIONS // Young Ukrainian Poets: Artem Serhiienko

Tati Translates Artem Serhiienko

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
© All rights reserved 2024

life, death & rollick

maybe we can all be pretty
& live our lives in sumptuous sin
the world’s troubles all so petty
ain’t worth a wrinkle on our smooth skin

futility is the language of
those who damn themselves
let’s make sprees & merry whoopees
over the slough of despond

& even when old age outruns us
ageless wonder inside shall bloom
we’ll indulge in all the fun and fuss
ignore that tired-from-waiting tomb

futility is the language of
those who damn themselves
let’s make sprees & merry whoopees
over the slough of despond

by TETIANA ALEKSINA & TONY SINGLE
© All rights reserved 2024

all day sucker

i won me a lollipop at the fair
a golden horsey with a wee eyesore
well, a grain of sugar what hadn’t melt
this blemishment gave me ma a scare
“lick it not, wee lassie!” she did implore
“’tis an evil eye what from hell-ter skelt!”

while me ma looked prayful at the sky
fumbled an’ mumbled, fair crossin’ herself
i stole me a wee tentative lick
well, ain’t nothin’ happened by the by
no lurgy, no hauntin’ nor broken shelf
no double whammy or triple kick

ma an’ me did ‘tinue ’round the grounds
buyed us eggs (three pennies a dozen)
hid our nyloned legs up on the ferris wheel
i licked an’ i sucked, slurpin’ wee rounds
sugar rushin’ gave me head a wee buzzin’
ma’s “let us hie home!” took on fresh appeal

by the time ma an’ me met pa at the stoop
naught but a stick were gummed to me palm
an’ me tummy were turgin’ somethin’ fierce
then there, the bridle, like an empty loop
fell from pa’s hand to mountin’ alarm
an’ news of ol’ clyde to sadden the ears

i cried at dinner and all through the night
at thought of our nag’s life all melt away
while i tongued in the sun, too much to bear
i were scold by me ma though real contrite
no lollipops for me the rest of me days
and animal crackers i’d ought beware

by TETIANA ALEKSINA & TONY SINGLE
© All rights reserved 2023

threshian harvest

it’s alright, it’s okay
you can lay me down now
in that circle poised for decay
or maybe tomorrow
or maybe back then
hell knows when

it’ll always be too soon
to attend such sadness but
it’s alright & it’s okay anyway

i need only as long as i get
& maybe moments more
for my life to matter
for to fill it with you
& the scenes we’ll ne’er keep
when our play is done

it’ll always be too soon
for such sadness to mend but
it’s alright to live & die anyway

you pay your debts with pain
then seek a new currency
& nurse that barb wire heart
but ask what joy would do
even when i’m gone
see, it’s alright, it’s okay

it’ll always be too soon
to pen such sadness but
it’s alright & got a poem anyway

by TONY SINGLE
© All rights reserved 2024