help yourself

i am not your project
not in need of saving
to be restored from drafts
nor be redone from scratch

not a work in progress
nor a fixer-upper
not in your portfolio
nor part of your cv

so kindly fuck right off
you smug, self-righteous toff
look for another dunce
to suffer your ‘guidance’

by TETIANA ALEKSINA & TONY SINGLE
© All rights reserved 2024

lungpipe shanty

that one with the punched lungs
has taught me to breathe freely
to expand in every moment
my view beyond the horizon
has taught me to get drunk on air
raise a toast to the blissful life
uncork & exhale my dreams
& inhale all possibilities

that one with the punched lungs
has taught me not to hie away
from each rum quaff of oxygen
each gulp, each gasp, could be the last
has taught me to square my shoulders
wear my sailor’s crown on high
walk the plank with a shambler’s jaunt
use my voice with ne’er a grumble

that one with the punched lungs
has taught me to sing shanties
to marinate beneath the stars
away from landlocked bores
has taught me to stand before storms
to know my place within them all
when even acid rain stings my lungs
when even the mast punches my lungs

by TETIANA ALEKSINA & TONY SINGLE
© All rights reserved 2024

WORDS LIVE ON // Taras Matviiv

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!

Excrement

Oh Lord, why do you churn out
the sick, the orphans, the starving,
the homeless and drunkards, junkies,
the heathens and sodomites, plotters,
barricaders and the majority? –
create finally in Your likeness!

Екскремент

О Господи, нащо плодиш
хворих, сиріт, голодних,
бездомних і п’яниць, наркоманів,
безбожників й содомітів, інтриганів,
барикадників та більшість? –
сотвори врешті Свою подобу!

Original poem by TARAS MATVIIV
Translation by TETIANA ALEKSINA

© All rights reserved 2020

short shot

in the grand scheme of things
his tears meant nothing at all
that’s why he piled them up
& cast silver bullets
well, they weren’t really silver
but he at least could pretend
he just needed a pistol
so he lined up his crutches
(which weren’t really a firearm
at least he could pretend)
but then came the police
more trigger happy than he
in the grand scheme of things
his death meant nothing at all

by TETIANA ALEKSINA & TONY SINGLE
© All rights reserved 2024

rainy night hootenanny

ev’ry moon became a witness
to deeds enacted in darkness
ev’ry tree became a bare cross
o’er graves bloated with stolen breath

ev’ry victim rattled their bones
clawed through clod & stony pendence
ev’ry perpetrator did quake
at the purging wails of black lungs

tears & fears & feeling dread
moons & junes & severed heads
joni mitchell lightly treads
‘twixt chaos & justice fed

ev’ry wednesday became friday
ev’ry weekend one more party
ev’ry hangover a new drill
ev’ry riot a revelry

beers & cheers, tyranny shed
chooms & rooms with wine & bread
& joni mitchell lightly treads
‘twixt it all, her muse must be fed

by TETIANA ALEKSINA & TONY SINGLE
© All rights reserved 2024