Tag Archives: Stand with Ukraine

cracked stasis (1,183 days)

i didn’t get rid
of that cracked cup
because i know
one day from the tap
will drip a quantum of poison
& said cup will be handy

let me not drift in convenience
let me not fall asleep
while concrete is melting
& the stylus is charging

i didn’t get rid
of that cracked hope
because i know
one day from the news
will beam a quantum of light
& said hope will be handy

let me not sink in clamour
let me not fall asleep
while trust is hardening
& a stylus is charging

by TETIANA ALEKSINA
© All rights reserved 2025

TATI’S TRANSLATIONS // Young Ukrainian Poets: Mykola Humeniuk

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.

heart-throat

remember
my rabid hand
fiddled in your dog’s jaws
ragged fingers fondled ticklishly
wickered with dry sinews
the worn nail’s gums

no matter which hand
then filling with saliva
no matter which foam
a pet cytherea crawling out
if now one is left
with four fingers

varenyky or pierogi
the stomach can’t see
a pinky or a thumb
the dog’s stomach won’t remember
maybe should give the other hand
or take away a stubborn heart

let’s count on fingers
won’t give this, and won’t give this
won’t give this, and won’t give that
and this the dog
nom

on your street
kids shaped a song
there lived a four-fingered boy
the fifth one was cut from the leg
the toe was screwed on to the hand
what a weirdo ahahaha

i don’t care
i have a heart in my stomach
and two pinkies
on each hand

серце-гїд

пам’ятаєш
моя скажена рука
борсалась у пащі собаки твоєї
кудлаті пальці лоскітливо гладили
обплітали сухо жилами
стерті ясна нігтів

байдуже яка рука
тоді наливалася слиною
байдуже з якої піни
видибала ручна кіприда
коли тепер зоставсь
чотирипалий

вареники чи pierogi
шлунок не бачить
мізинець чи великий
собачий шлунок не запам’ятає
чи може дати другу руку
аби забрати вперте серце

давай лічить на пальцях
цього не дам й цього не дам
цього не дам і цей не дам
а цей собако
гам

у твоєму дворі
діти пісню склали
був хлопчак чотирипалий
п’ятий зрізали з ноги
прикрутили п’ятий палець
ну й дивак ги-ги ги-ги

мені байдуже
маю в шлунку серце
і по два мізинці
на кожній руці

Original poem by MYKOLA HUMENIUK
Translation by TETIANA ALEKSINA
© All rights reserved 2025

TATI’S TRANSLATIONS // Young Ukrainian Poets: Oleksii Dolhulov

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.

MUST NOT SLEEP

must not sleep
not yet for every loner
was created a pair
that could fit them in name
and length of stride

must not sleep
what’s up
not yet for every child
was created a future
so dry and grotesque
that at that moment every star
will think thrice before
lighting up

НЕ МОЖНА СПАТИ

не можна спати
ще не кожному самотньому
була вигадана пара
яка пасувала б йому за іменем
та довжиною кроку

не можна спати
ти чого
ще не кожній дитині
вигадане майбутнє
таке сухе та гротескне
що в той час кожна зірка
спочатку тричі подумає
поки засвітиться

Original poem by OLEKSII DOLHULOV
Translation by TETIANA ALEKSINA
© All rights reserved 2024

nezlamnist

yellow grain waving no surrender
in the onslaught of another storm
we will bend again, again & again
but never level to the ground

why should we rest in pieces
we demand to live in peace
we are not asking
the bear must turn & leave

we are not afraid
you try to raze us down
still we dare to stand
it’s you who are afraid now

by TONY SINGLE
© All rights reserved 2025

TATI’S TRANSLATIONS // Young Ukrainian Poets: Viktor Kropyvnyi

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.

Everything hid in the wee knots
that we were weaving
from the thin grapevines
and bines of green hop.
When still with small steps
we measured the world’s moving metrics.
When still we carried
about the wounds and pains
of plucked herbs
and angry bees.
Everything hid
[from our present sharp eye
from our present alert ear
from our present wrathful shout]
in the ossified
but still alive
those wee knots:
the sun’s zigzags in the head
(after a fizgig dance)
hedgehogs’ trails
(still not forgotten)
and the first bee sting
that introduces pain
(and death).

Усе заховалось у вузлики
що ми їх в’язали
з тонкої лози винограду
та вусів зелених хмелю.
Коли ще малими кроками
міряли метрику рухів світу.
Коли ще тривожились
ранам і болям
зірваних трав
і розгніваних бджіл.
Усе заховалось
[від нашого гострого нині ока
від нашого пильного нині вуха
від нашого злісного нині крику]
у скостенілих
та досі живих
вузликах тих:
зиґзаґи сонця у голові
(після танцю дзиґою)
стежки їжаків
(досі не забуті)
і перше жало бджоли
що знайомить із болем
(і смертю).

Original poems by VIKTOR KROPYVNYI
Translation by TETIANA ALEKSINA
© All rights reserved 2025