Tag Archives: War

ripples in the soup bowl

when you’ve traced your secrets into the sand
with a spirit’s hand at the water’s edge
is when the tide washes in to wash it away
& now no one on earth will have ever known you

when your face can’t be a part of this world
at the ripple & quell of a wishing well
your reflection does question former times
where no one said you could be lovely

& you’re wondering why you had to obey
when you did not wish to hold a gun
& you’re wondering why she bothered to stay
when you could not put bread in her hand

those men lined up at the soup kitchen
were never allowed to be more than hunters
with dusty hearts & those lifeless eyes

when grace extends only so far as merit
don’t be so loyal to your suffering
they’ve laid claim to your life without consent
& indentured you to kill in the name of

when disgrace has felled you for the last time
when the muffled gunfire burns in your lungs
when you wake into your funeral wreath
beyond the subatomic algorithm

& you’re wondering why you had to obey
when you did not wish to hold a gun
& you’re wondering why she bothered to stay
when you could not put bread in her hand

those men lined up at the soup kitchen
were never allowed to be more than fodder
with dusty hearts & those lifeless eyes

you can love like no one owes you
you can give however you want
but no man can bend forever
the men lined up at the soup kitchen
were never allowed to be simply human
no man can bleed forever

by TONY SINGLE
© All rights reserved 2024

TATI’S TRANSLATIONS // Young Ukrainian Poets: Artem Serhiienko

Tati Translates Artem Serhiienko

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.

field

what to do when a field seeped into
a warrior’s pores so deep
that any cut can’t get through
any bullet or sword
maybe only the words
of a loving mother
but they are in vain
the field now worries for self
existence
and self
awareness
they start to dig into the warrior
defenses trenches canals
for tears and melted aluminum
they fly above the warrior
ravens shells hands grenades screams
they fall into the grass
of the warrior’s heart
until a cherry tree grows up through the back of the head
with iron berries

поле

що робити коли поле всоталося
в пори воїна настільки глибоко
що його не дістане жоден поріз
жодна куля чи меч
хіба що слова
люблячої матері
правда ті недоречні
поле хвилюється вже за своє
існування
і само
усвідомлення
у воїні починають копати
окопи траншеї канали
для сліз і розплавленого алюмінію
над воїном летять
круки снаряди руки гранати крики
падають у траву
воїнського серця
допоки з потилиці не виросте вишня
залізними ягодами

Original poem by ARTEM SERHIIENKO
Translation by TETIANA ALEKSINA
© All rights reserved 2024

TATI’S TRANSLATIONS // Young Ukrainian Poets: Yuliia Yaskova

Tati Translates Yuliia Yaskova

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 didn’t believe in god then and won’t ever believe for sure
the mines grow up between us, hellish vermilion dots
the air bites your chest and penetrates the dermis like a stone
you will be able to exhale when it’s over, probably

and you know, it’s better to not look up when it rains
hold closer the bulletproof vest, open your umbrella
and play tic-tac-toe, always start with the center
they have already invented this rule – step between alive and dead
keep your fire close, don’t let it fall down
because when it has gone out – they again will take it away
your parents and cultural memory, all the streets of your hometown
you know, the dragon is hungry and will devour mercilessly

everything they can’t take, moreover create on their own
you step closer to the dragon, submit our flowers
caress their coarse scales with your bare hands
there is no one in the sky, so just behead the dragon

Без назви

не вірила в бога і вже не повірю точно
між нас поростають міни, багряно-пекельні точки
повітря кусає груди і каменем входить в дерму
а видих зробити зможеш коли це скінчиться, певне

і знаєш, коли дощить не варто дивитись вгору
притисни бронежилет, розкрий свою парасолю
і грайся у хрестики-нулики, завжди починай ізсередини
це правило вже придумали – ходи між живими й мертвими
тримай свій вогонь при собі, не дай йому впасти долу
бо тільки-но він погасне – у тебе відіймуть знову
батьків і культурну пам’ять, всі вулиці твого міста
ти знаєш, дракон голодний і буде нещадно їсти

все те, що не в змозі взяти, а надто – самим створити
підходь же до нього ближче, подай йому наші квіти
погладь по загрублій лусці своїми руками голими
у небі нікого немає, тож просто зітни йому голову

Original poem by YULIIA YASKOVA
Translation by TETIANA ALEKSINA
© All rights reserved 2024

TATI’S TRANSLATIONS // Young Ukrainian Poets: Valeriia Serhieieva

Tati Translates Valeriia Serheieva

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

The violin case
black and tiny
reminds of a coffin
a blue amphibious baby
with a sob on its wee lips
the full moon in a shroud trizna
honey locust
poplar fluff through
a mirrored sword
cry with yours get drunk
into the danube – out of grief
like kittens in a pail
afraid of water
summer-ripening papirovka
doneshta kandil
the bottle of bromine
shackled with a ball and chain
the antenna from Donbass transmits
wounds and dust
at the radio-and tv-golgotha
you are grey spear grass

Без назви

Чорний футлярчик
для скрипки
схожий на гріб
синє маля іхтіандрів
у вустоньках схлип
повня у савані тризна
мед саранча
пух із тополі наскрізно
в свічадо меча
плач зі своїми напийся
в дунай – із журби
як кошенята в цеберці
бояться води
з літніх сортів паперівка
донешта кандиль
ядром до литки прикутий
брому бутиль
антена з Донбасу транслює
рани і пил
на радіо- й телеголгофі
ти – сивий ковил

Original poem by VALERIIA SERHIEIEVA
Translation by TETIANA ALEKSINA
© All rights reserved 2024

TATI’S TRANSLATIONS // Young Ukrainian Poets: Viktoriia Feshchuk

Tati Translates Viktoriia Feshchuk

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

in your cathedral
maries refuse to cry
have sent their sons and daughters to protect the city
and stand stern, concentrated.

their prayers kept close
abreast with the eyes
abreast with the things around,
with which you can cover, or handle
as a weapon.

meanwhile from above
the viscous silence.
there you can distinguish an angel from a bird
a native one from a migrant.

and if maries hear natives
then, before the wailing starts,
they give a severe reprimand.
waiting for obedience.

Без назви

у твоїм соборі
богородиці відмовляються плакати
відправили синів і доньок захищати місто
і стоять суворі, зібрані.

їхні молитви при собі
на рівні очей
на рівні предметів довкола,
якими можна прикритись чи взяти до рук
зброєю.

а згори тимчасом
тягуча тиша.
у такій відрізниш янгола від птаха
свого від перелітного.

і якщо почують своїх
то, поперед голосінню,
сильно висварять.
чекатимуть послуху.

Original poem by VIKTORIIA FESHCHUK
Translation by TETIANA ALEKSINA
© All rights reserved 2024