Tag Archives: Tetiana Aleksina

simulacra (game over)

i looked on high at a dark sky
with some lonely clouds thin & wan
like strands of grey hair combed over
to hide a barber’s disappointment

the lunar crescent arched on itself
it bristled like a wild white ferret
as undecided as god’s weather
to snug with lume or pounce the hand

youth once held such gilded hope
but everything tends towards decay

the pleaides winked down on me
‘tween those wispy bars of thraldom
as i staggered o’er the aging earth
yearning there to feel more grounded

the head feels all that the heart cannot
guidance through the lack of direction
in high pastures and greener heavens
lies the mathematics of destiny

youth once held such gilded hope
but everything tends towards decay

by TETIANA ALEKSINA & TONY SINGLE
© All rights reserved 2024

hiraeth

her paintings are on display
in the gallery’s endmost room
where there are only dull bulbs
and long, timid shadows

away from the greedy eyes
away from the greasy hands
away from the eco idiots
armed with their cup-a-soups

her paintings are on display
in the endmost of memories
where there is only yearning
for the might-have-been past

where sweet melancholy slumbers
where there’s no desire for awakening
where a soft nightsong is
sung by cicada ensemble

by TETIANA ALEKSINA
© All rights reserved 2024

winter elegy

it’s winter but the wind is warm
like a giant’s hearth breathing
where is the forest’s ghost white shroud
where are the grand glaciers of old

when was the last time you heard the raven cry
when was the last time you saw the mirror smile
change is but a turning of tides

the lazy sky yawns and stretches
though swaddled in blankets of cloud
not even the rain shall fall
not even the earth shall swallow

when was the last time you heard the raven cry
when was the last time you saw the mirror smile
change is but a turning of tides

the trees slumber in dreams so fey
where the woodcutter loses his axe
dull all meaning with the seasons
dull the blade of understanding

when was the last time you heard the raven cry
when was the last time you saw the mirror smile
change is but a turning of tides

by TETIANA ALEKSINA & TONY SINGLE
© All rights reserved 2024

TROTTERSVILLE #1

Dear Readers, despite our decision to make 2024 the Year of Poetry on unbolt.me, it’s still essential to break the rules occasionally—especially when we’re feeling particularly naughty. Of course, we also hope to make 2024 the Year of the Graphic Novel—our fingers are firmly crossed on that one.

Anyway, how does this all relate to the silly little piggy strip you see below? It doesn’t! It’s all just stuff that we’re doing because we enjoy being creative. A poem here. A graphic novel there. A piggy strip or two. These things keep us on our toes, and will hopefully keep you engaged too, Dear Readers. We want to entertain you!

The strip below is another great opportunity for Tati to sharpen her translator claws—or, rather, dig her translator muzzle into some sweet word mud—whichever tortured metaphor works for you. We hope this little nothingness can entertain you and make you happy. And perhaps it can show you how differently language can work from one culture to another in the medium of comics. Should you find yourselves loving this effort then please consider supporting us on Patreon or Ko-fi—that would make us very happy too!

  • Today’s Outlook
  • Передбача на сьогодні

 

by TONY SINGLE & TETIANA ALEKSINA
© All rights reserved 2024

TATI’S TRANSLATIONS // Young Ukrainian Poets: Daryna Chupat

Tati Translates Daryna Chupat

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.

Untitled

i always walk this very road
where a scar blackens the asphalt
a braking path
i come back here again and again
though to the old pain
it is better to not come back

rain so often
raises between us
a wall of crying
all for nothing
august made all trees autumnal
i put the dry flesh of berries
into my mouth
like the words
that i can’t stick to

i have promised to love for two
but my love lacks for any one

Без назви

я постійно ходжу тією дорогою
де на асфальті чорніє шрам
гальмівного сліду
я знову й знову приходжу сюди
хоча до старого болю
краще не повертатися

дощ так часто
зводить між нами
стіну плачу
та дарма:
серпень зробив всі дерева осінніми
я кладу
сухі тіла ягід собі до рота
наче слова яких не можу
дотримати

я обіцяла любити за двох
та моєї любові не вистачить ні на кого

Original poem by DARYNA CHUPAT
Translation by TETIANA ALEKSINA
© All rights reserved 2023