sometimes a lone leaf on a tree
has more poesy than a whole book
sometimes a lone page in a book
has more mosey than the hole in me
sometimes a lone me in a tree
has no more pith than a hole for a heart
sometimes a lone hole for a heart
has no more kith than cliff and scree
is this how it’s gotta be
an empath tipping from reality
into the inscrutable
by TETIANA ALEKSINA & TONY SINGLE
© All rights reserved 2023
your hot tears drop onto my knees
like the ash of a careless smoker
they burn tiny holes into my pants
i’m thinking, “it’s nice these pyjamas are old”
and hugging you close
by TETIANA ALEKSINA
© All rights reserved 2023
it’s time for a showdown
bananas peeled and cocked
protein death at fifteen paces!
the plugs are in the sockets
the cables are pulled through
i’m ready to cross swords!
we salute with both fish drawn
with bearskin pants and hats
pomp and ceremonial slap!
and poor shakespeare is goggling
from a portrait on the wall
at this school play of ‘hamlet’
by TETIANA ALEKSINA & TONY SINGLE
© All rights reserved 2023
Once upon a time, Vladimir Putin shot himself in the head and billions around the globe rejoiced. Steven Seagal, however, did not rejoice. He mourned the death of his boyfriend and never made another shitty martial arts movie ever again. And this too caused the billions around the globe to rejoice. The end.
P.S. Though one other person did cry… but who cares?
by TETIANA ALEKSINA & TONY SINGLE
© All rights reserved 2023
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
When everything ends
The sirens grown numb
Loved ones will be hugged
Properly, as they should be
Following the north wind
I will reach an areal of tears
Mighty and ancient
I will bow to the ocean
And begin to cry bitterly
I will give my soul
To heal children’s wounds
I will give my blood
For the lives of veterans
I will give my heart
For the devouring of the fucking war
Ripping it out again, and again
For the memory of the deceased
For the memory of scars
I will give my body
To dissolve in a wineglass
I will give my life
For this free, unsubdued land
Lay here forever
With my happy
Bones
Без назви
Коли все закінчиться
Зніміють сирени
Близькі будуть обійняті
Як слід, як треба
За вітром північним
Дістанусь сліз ареалу
Могутньому і древньому
Вклонюсь океану
І гірко заплачу
Душу віддам
Щоб дитячі загоїти рани
Кров я віддам
Щоб жили ветерани
Серце віддам
Сучій війні на поталу
Вириватиму знову і знову
Щоб пам’ятати полеглих
Щоб не забути про шрами
Тіло віддам
Щоб розчинитись в бокали
Життя віддам
Щоб на вільній, нескореній землі
Залишитись
Щасливими
Кістками
Original poem by POSEIDON
Translation by TETIANA ALEKSINA
© All rights reserved 2023
unbolt me 