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

TATI’s & TONY’s DEAD POET TOUR // Eternity by William Blake

He who binds to himself a joy
Does the winged life destroy;
But he who kisses the joy as it flies
Lives in eternity’s sun rise.

by WILLIAM BLAKE (1757-1827)
Public Domain Poetry

social contract

have you ever felt
that your life is mortgaged
from the very first cry?

they squeeze your persona dry
they gain interest from everything
starting with your imperfect reflection
and its teenaged acne
ending with a type of upholstery
on your second-rate coffin

and nothing really belongs to you
except a nightingale’s song
that reverberates outside your window
every single night

by TETIANA ALEKSINA
© All rights reserved 2024

GUEST POST // Leap Over by Aboli Mane

We leap over mountains
as the rabbit leaps over the moon
years wane in the blink of an eye
the marbles clink and scatter

as the rabbit leaps over the moon
childhood leapfrogs over our back
the marbles clink and scatter
the playground becomes a stranger

childhood leapfrogs over our back
vanishing with many steps
the playground becomes a stranger
the mango tree ripens; waiting

vanishing with many steps
innocence giggles over hide and seek
the mango tree ripens; waiting
for familiar hands to pluck the fruit

innocence giggles over hide and seek
years wane in the blink of an eye
for familiar hands to pluck the fruit
we leap over mountains.

by ABOLI MANE
© All rights reserved 2024