Tag Archives: Tetiana Aleksina

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

weltschmerz

your voice echoes back from yesteryear
as i perch on the edge of hope & fear
once more there’s this pang of you not here
the sun leers through cloud’s shame above
upon grounded white crow & black dove
whose answer for the wrong question needs love

tar soap scent atween the birches
your shadow no longer afore me
just othering eyes from briar to fens

your hand reaches through the fullness of time
untold happenstance of future clime
dusts sensate shoulder with earthly rhyme
it signals to turn that withered page
to uncloy myself from ferocity’s cage
release sweet sadness & fathomless rage

tar soap scent atween the birches
your shadow no longer afore me
just othering eyes from briar to fens

now & again when i turn to look back
i still see you not here & your hand’s slack
still you’re part of me on this doomen track
in these memories of you i abide
what remains of you the urn at my side
with no hope of turning time’s avian tide

tar soap scent atween the birches
your shadow no longer afore me
just othering eyes from briar to fens

by TETIANA ALEKSINA & TONY SINGLE
© All rights reserved 2024

Tati’s Father

In 2019, I visited with my creative partner, Tetiana, in Ukraine. I wanted to experience what everyday life was like for her there, and was lucky enough to stay for a period of about three months. I had known Tetiana for years by that point but not her family, who still welcomed me—a complete stranger—into their lives with open arms. They really were so very generous and accepting, treating me like I’d always belonged there. I’ll always be grateful for that.

I loved spending time with Tetiana’s family so much that I vowed to myself that I’d return one day. However, there will be one less person to greet me when that day finally comes. Sadly, her Father has just passed away. As you can imagine, Tetiana, and her Mother and Brother, are gutted—so am I, to be honest. Her Father and I often bonded over our shared love of heavy metal. We’d do devil horns as a greeting, and he’d comb through YouTube clips to introduce me to many of his favourite, classic bands.

While I was there, Tetiana and I cobbled together some personalised mugs as a gift to her family—a thank you for allowing me to stay with them. Along with loving all things metal, her Father was also a huge Beatles fan, so I’m sure you can tell what famous photo our own image was aping. The man on the far right there is Tetiana’s Father. He was so fucking cool, and I hope my drawing captures something of his indomitable, adventurous spirit.

Truly, he was a beautiful man, and the world is poorer without him. I miss him greatly.

by TONY SINGLE
© All rights reserved 2025

communion seed

he gave me a shabby old pouch
filled up with pomegranate seeds
& i wondered what this could mean
how fertile he wished me to be

he showed how many seeds i got
as much as happy days are left
& i swore we’d marry right there
no priest nor church ‘neath nude sun’s haze

he squeezed a seed ‘tween two fingers
& the juice sprinkled his palm red
like virginity on crisp sheets
i did not even hesitate

by TETIANA ALEKSINA & TONY SINGLE
© All rights reserved 2024

WORDS LIVE ON // Viktoriia Amelina

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!

Do you see the woman with her arm stretched back?
Like she is pulling a suitcase or leading someone behind her
The invisible suitcase is heavy because the woman walks slowly
Such women are called insane by society

She had nothing left to take from her burned down house
And who’d lived with her there, now nobody knows
But they follow her and the youngest one cannot keep up
And then the woman stops, she is always waiting for him

Бачиш жінку з простягнутою назад рукою?
Вона ніби тягне валізу або веде когось за собою
Невидима валіза важка, бо жінка іде повільно
Такі жінки загалом називаються божевільні

Їй нічого було брати з її згорілого дому
І хто там із нею жив, невідомо тепер нікому
Але вони йдуть за нею і молодший все не встигає
І жінка тоді зупиняється: вона завжди на нього чекає

Original poem by VIKTORIIA AMELINA
Translation by TETIANA ALEKSINA
© All rights reserved 2023