Tag Archives: Life

blue suede blues

yeah, i really should’ve checked on the weather
because the sky goblins are just not a thing
but it’s said that to go back can be bad luck
if even to grab a forgotten umbrella
once left, one’s house should be stayed away from
so, splish of puddle, meet my blue suede shoes

today, me and my shoes have things to do
firstly, to visit that old bench in the park
it’s been looking drab and lonely recently
and the pigeons poo on it for merry sport
a stimulating rub with keen hands and suds
will bring the hardwood back to its former glory

secondly, to treat old man river to coffee
with a shot of brandy made piping hot
it’s been looking sluggish and tired recently
so, me and my shoes with a flask, bottoms up
shall give a golden shower for the ages
over the truculent swans, honking, aggrieved

and finally, to hug that weeping willow
grimly wilting in silence out there on the bank
me and my shoes with clumsy handmade scarf
with playful breath control will swaddle her nape
until the chlorophyll leaves the leaves on high
to fill the night sky with a new constellation

and postscript will find me in that same evening
placing upon porch my hopelessly damaged shoes
could they be an offering to the sky goblins
we all know they’re blue suede footwear fetishists
so, anything’s possible, is it rather not
and, hopefully, tomorrow there will be no rain

by TETIANA ALEKSINA & TONY SINGLE
© All rights reserved 2024

the reassembled life

so glad my world is crumbling
‘cos i really want to start again
i won’t try to hold the pieces
and rebuild the walls in vain

things can never be right again
but i can weave a flaxen path
i won’t pack my travelling bag
with either despair or wrath

i’ll thaw my hands o’er new hearth
’til i emanate a renewed hope
i won’t let them claw me into
their inhuman brutal death lope

by TETIANA ALEKSINA & TONY SINGLE
© All rights reserved 2024

TATI’S TRANSLATIONS // Young Ukrainian Poets: Bohdan Bratus

Tati Translates Bohdan Bratus

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.

A poem about November

Again, I’ve lived until the Fall
Though last November
the way felt insurmountable
The Father says
the Winter will be tough
so, we should do the
canning
The poems are the same
‘bout November
I start to write in July

Вірш про листопад

Знову дожив до осені
Хоча минулого листопаду
нездоланним здавався шлях
Каже батько
що зима буде важка
тож треба робити
закрутки
Так само вірші
про листопад
починаю писати з липня

Original poem by BOHDAN BRATUS
Translation by TETIANA ALEKSINA
© All rights reserved 2024

TATI’s & TONY’s DEAD POET TOUR // Lessons by Sara Teasdale

Unless I learn to ask no help
From any other soul but mine,
To seek no strength in waving reeds
Nor shade beneath a straggling pine;
Unless I learn to look at Grief
Unshrinking from her tear-blind eyes,
And take from Pleasure fearlessly
Whatever gifts will make me wise
Unless I learn these things on earth,
Why was I ever given birth?

by SARA TEASDALE (1884-1933)
Public Domain Poetry

TATI’S TRANSLATIONS // Young Ukrainian Poets: Mariia Lyshen

Tati Translates Mariia Lyshen

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.

Untitled

When you have no idea what to do –
Burn your notes.
Burn your notes.
And tear apart the drawings where you’re
A girl cosmonaut.
Toss out the windows those foreign books
Your daddy brought from Cuba.
Look for yourself, you look for self
At a landfill.
Though it’s hot!
Though it’s wet!
Though your knees are shaking!
Though you feel like a painful ruin!
Though you’re mere sea foam!
Though a ghost, though half human –
Life isn’t enough to comprehend
That you’re alive.
Adjust your tie,
Get up and go and pay existence’s taxes.
When you come back –
Burn your notes, again.

Без назви

Коли що робити не матимеш гадки –
Пали нотатки.
Пали нотатки.
І рви малюнки, на яких ти
В ролі космонавтки.
Жбурляй із вікон іноземні книжки,
Що з Куби привіз татко.
Шукай себе, себе шукай
На сміттєзвалищі.
Хоч жарко!
Хоч вогко!
Хоч тремтять коліна!
Хоч ти болючая руїна!
Хоч ти всього лиш моря піна!
Хоч привид, хоч напівлюдина –
Життя замало, щоб пізнати,
Що ти жива.
Розправ краватку,
Вставай і йди платити за буття податки.
Потім повернешся –
І знов пали нотатки.

Original poem by MARIIA LYSHEN
Translation by TETIANA ALEKSINA
© All rights reserved 2024