event horizon

misanthrope’s been afraid all along
even tho’ he’s been feigning strong
has it not all been said before
look, a tower; look, a flower
something about the balance of power

no one listens that needs to repent
& no one’s yelling that needs to dissent
we’re all cooked as the world flames on
& now he’s wondering who left the gas on

he sees there’s no sea change coming
while others pledge to hate & kill
& just one more messianic stare
ought be enough to tip him off the edge
of a sanity pilling with unicorns

he suspects our god is flawless evil
that mercy’s become the devil’s trade
how long ’til the sun peeks over the yardarm
’til mankind swaps out the blood for gin

has this ship of fools sailed merry away
away off the edge of yesterday
where messiah’s blood was not asked for
nor its spiteful resurrection
misanthrope has his life by the noose

between an ocean & fire
here at the point of no return
look, a tower crushes the flower
sanity’s pilling with unicorns

by TONY SINGLE
© All rights reserved 2025

WORDS LIVE ON // Volodymyr Vakulenko

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.

Glory to Ukraine! To our heroes — glory!

SURVIVAL KIT

Pack yourself into survival kits –
It is what it is, someone doesn’t, and someone fits.
Those who won’t, always have gorging on their thoughts,
That’s why I suggest to stuff the kits with poets.
They speak to the point, aren’t great eaters
But every one of them is a mighty stage speaker
And it sounds like thunder, their rhymed word…
I didn’t fit. Don’t you need my sort?

ТРИВОЖНА ВАЛІЗА

Пакуйте себе у тривожні валізи –
Це ж діло таке, хтось ні, а хтось влізе.
Не влізуть хто вічно із думкою жерти,
Тому я б порадив напхати поетів.
Говорять по ділу, їдять не багато
З них кожен могутній на сцені оратор
І громом гримить їх римоване слово…
Не вліз у валізу. Не треба такого?

Original poem by VOLODYMYR VAKULENKO
Translation by TETIANA ALEKSINA

© All rights reserved 2022