You can find TROTTERSVILLE #1 here > Ba Dum Tish!
by TONY SINGLE & TETIANA ALEKSINA
© All rights reserved 2024
You can find TROTTERSVILLE #1 here > Ba Dum Tish!
by TONY SINGLE & TETIANA ALEKSINA
© All rights reserved 2024

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.
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A poem about November
Again, I’ve lived until the Fall
Though last November
the way felt insurmountable
The Father says
the Winter will be tough
so, we should do the
canning
The poems are the same
‘bout November
I start to write in July
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Вірш про листопад
Знову дожив до осені
Хоча минулого листопаду
нездоланним здавався шлях
Каже батько
що зима буде важка
тож треба робити
закрутки
Так само вірші
про листопад
починаю писати з липня
Original poem by BOHDAN BRATUS
Translation by TETIANA ALEKSINA
© All rights reserved 2024
in the beginning was false light
all hope with zero substance
in the beginning was a false start
all hopeful disqualification
where is your shining future
has zeal undershot the mark
the wooden veneer has rotted
on the springboard of your past
the guts of your journey is now
no space for before or hereafter
no time for you to distinguish
starting lines or finishing ribbons
in the end silence lays with you
deathbed’s unwanted dire love
in the end you lay with the four walls
and posters of promised yesterdays
by TETIANA ALEKSINA & TONY SINGLE
© All rights reserved 2024
the humanist and the quietist
walked along the beach
and had a respectful dispute
about freedom of speech
their plimsolls were leaving traces
on the golden sand
the evening sun embraced them
and everything felt grand
they had time to puff on their pipes
about once or twice
before their wives distracted them
with asking for advice
their children’s wedding was pretty soon
and all was mess and froth
on top of that, the wives couldn’t agree
on the colour of the tablecloth
an hour of scandal, some broken plates
torn shreds of hair and squeal
that moment the phrase ‘freedom of speech’
seemed absurd and unreal
the humanist and the quietist
miraculously survived
but their philosophical views
were now very much deprived
by TETIANA ALEKSINA
© All rights reserved 2024
i hid a frosted rosehip in my jacket pocket
and dreamt one day it would bloom on my chest
warmed through from its roots around my heart
and i dreamt i would walk for days
and i dreamt i would show them all
the expansive allure of my love
i would protect its fragile petals from the chill
of unkind eyes and the grasp of repressive hands
warmed instead from the light of open hearts
and i dreamt i would walk for gays
and i dreamt i would show het al
the expansive allure of love
by TETIANA ALEKSINA & TONY SINGLE
© All rights reserved 2024