Tag Archives: Religion

WORDS LIVE ON // Veronika Kozhushko

Down through the ages, Russia has tried to kill the Ukrainian identity. They have done everything to present Ukraine as the rural outskirts of the ‘great, educated and advanced’ Russian empire. But the ones who proclaimed themselves enlighteners were merely butchers, murderers. They did everything they could to erase Ukrainian culture, traditions, and even the Ukrainian language itself.

And they are still doing this, even now, literally. During the last eleven years of war, Russia has killed hundreds of people of literature. Writers, poets, translators, editors, publishers and librarians. Ukrainian men and women. As you read these words, others are left to disappear in an unread draft forever.

There is a project called ‘Nedopysani‘ (‘Unfinished‘ in English). It’s a memorial site for people of literature who will never be able to put that final dot in their notebook, who will never be able to take into their hands their first published book. And so, this is our hard and painful mission. This is what we must do for them. It is inevitable.

Today, we present the next instalment of our translation series, ‘Words Live On’. We have done our best, and we hope that it will speak to our Dear Readers in a way that cold, clinical war statistics cannot. Nika was a bright talent, as her poetry and illustrations attest, and we hope you will honour her memory with us. She was only eighteen, and taken from the world far too soon.

Glory to Ukraine! To our heroes — glory!

The angriest poems that come out are about God.
There it smells of disappointment, frankincense and grief.
The Almighty is mentioned only in the context of absence.
Atheism wakens only in zealous Catholics.
Take up the cross with maimed paws.
Drop a line when you get to Hell.
And while you’re crossing out the signs,
You’re developing haemophilia.
God applies to wounds only empty Bible pages.

Найзліші вірші виходять про Бога.
Там пахне зневірою, ладаном і журбою.
Всевишній згадується лише в контексті відсутності.
Атеїзм прокидається лише в вірних католиків.
Бери хрест до знівечених лап.
Пиши, як ти потрапиш в ад.
І, допоки викреслюєш знаки,
У тебе розвивається гемофілія.
Бог докладає до ран лише порожні сторінки Біблії.

Original poem by VERONIKA KOZHUSHKO
Translation by TETIANA ALEKSINA
© All rights reserved 2024

your personal jesus

i am what i am
your very own spinning wheel
spin me until you get what you feel
or put me on a car, i will get you far
or put a hamster in me so
we get nowhere fast, i do not care

take me down off the tree
whenever you need a reason
i am your dedicated fruit machine
a revolving door of tide & whim
a cog in the christian fascist regime
a twist of the key in a nail scarred hand

i am what you say that i say i am
at which point i frankly don’t give a damn
whatever you need is all i can be
but there is one thing i would ask of you
to put me back when you are done

by TONY SINGLE
© All rights reserved 2026

déjà vudu

all the skeleta dansing
dansing in their skin shells again
in a world burning to the ground
stubbing their durry minds in
that ash bowl of hell they once called eden

would that you’d been a part of this
or would you have, given such souls
them resolute that turned their backs
on curiosity & knowing

three cheers to the danse
the pleasing aroma of reason charring
to the snuff of nothing above the clouds

all the skeleta dansing
a descent into backwards heights
the danse of flurried minds tonight
we’ll exist should they allow it
but don’t hold your breath

their masks full with empty fool heads
all hail the bliss of dullening
to themselves be the glory
to mine own the lost othered story

three cheers to the danse
the macabre aroma of reason charring
good that you’d not been part of this

in a garden of dimming lights & lost delights
how do they not concede the signs
all pointing away from their vaunted heaven
now, one more time

by TONY SINGLE
© All rights reserved 2025

sunday morning television

they spake from on high
& answered questions
you never even asked

they spat from on high
& they did not care
that you were bareheaded

they were three in one
a shining countenance
that burned away all souls
like an atomic bomb

to the right of them
a grinning glad lad
that entangled all minds
like a poison ivy

to the left of them
a scowling bag hag
that finagled all eyes
in a barbwire birdcage

they ruminated & belched
their stale truths & false faiths
rolled reality with cud

& so they clawed from low down
demanded their pound of flesh
to marinate in shame
& roast in atomic fire
seasoned with poison ivy

but when all was said & done
it proved a lot easier
to arise from your deep recliner
press a button, shut off the feed
you chose to kill television
& another life was saved today

by TETIANA ALEKSINA & TONY SINGLE
© All rights reserved 2024

the silver tongue choir

don’t consider every poet a messiah
but, rather, a pretty sounding liar
the snivelling, hysterical jeremiah
was one such example

don’t consider every poet a liar
but, rather, a pathetic pariah
who’ll burn in the almighty’s holy fire
fuelled by his urine sample

don’t consider every poet a pariah
but, rather, a copious arse licking choir
worshipping elites with sexual desire
thirty pieces of silver will be ample

by TETIANA ALEKSINA & TONY SINGLE
© All rights reserved 2024