Tag Archives: Writing

WORDS LIVE ON // Mykhailo Marianych

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!

I will shit under a bush in the quiet woodland
In peace, in bliss, amid the scent of grasses
That is nirvana, my dear friends
And like this, in nirvana, no one has ever shitted

Don’t yell, no need to, you’re cynical people
That my poetry’s about the act of defecation
Keep calm, everything will be all right
At the proper time empty your digestive tract

I’m for everything good, may all be well
May only goodness prosper, may evil disappear
And may all kind people live in happiness
May only the Huylo in Moscow drop dead from the shits

Під кущем насеру в тихій лісосмузі
В тиші, у блаженстві, в ароматі трав
Отака нірвана, любі мої друзі
І отак в нірвані ще ніхто не срав

Не кричіть, не треба, ви, цинічні люди
Що в моїй поезії дефекацій акт
Зберігайте спокій, все нормально буде
І звільняйте вчасно ваш кишковий тракт

Я ж за все хороше, хай всім добре буде
Хай добро лиш квітне, і хай щезне зло
Й хай живуть у щасті усі добрі люди
А від срачки здохне у Москві Хуйло

Original poem by MYKHAILO MARIANYCH
Translation by TETIANA ALEKSINA
© All rights reserved 2022

TATI’s & TONY’s DEAD POET TOUR // Sweeping The Floor. by George MacDonald

Sweep and sweep and sweep the floor,
Sweep the dust, pick up the pin;
Make it clean from fire to door,
Clean for father to come in!

Mother said that God goes sweeping,
Looking, sweeping with a broom,
All the time that we are sleeping,
For a shilling in the room:

Did he drop it out of glory,
Walking far above the birds?
Or did parson make the story
For the thinking afterwards?

If I were the swept-for shilling
I would hearken through the gloom;
Roll out fast, and fall down willing
Right before the sweeping broom!

by GEORGE MACDONALD (1824-1905)
Public Domain Poetry

TATI’s & TONY’s DEAD POET TOUR // If by H.C. Dodge

If a man could live a thousand years,
When half his life had passed,
He might, by strict economy,
A fortune have amassed.

Then having gained some common-sense,
And knowledge, too, of life,
He could select the woman who
Would make him a true wife.

But as it is, man hasn’t time
To even pay his debts,
And weds to be acquainted with
The woman whom he gets.

by H.C. DODGE (1865-1915)
Public Domain Poetry

WORDS LIVE ON // Veronika Kozhushko

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. Nika was a bright talent, as her poetry and illustrations attest, and we hope you will honour her memory with us. She was only eighteen, and taken from the world far too soon.

Glory to Ukraine! To our heroes — glory!

The angriest poems that come out are about God.
There it smells of disappointment, frankincense and grief.
The Almighty is mentioned only in the context of absence.
Atheism wakens only in zealous Catholics.
Take up the cross with maimed paws.
Drop a line when you get to Hell.
And while you’re crossing out the signs,
You’re developing haemophilia.
God applies to wounds only empty Bible pages.

Найзліші вірші виходять про Бога.
Там пахне зневірою, ладаном і журбою.
Всевишній згадується лише в контексті відсутності.
Атеїзм прокидається лише в вірних католиків.
Бери хрест до знівечених лап.
Пиши, як ти потрапиш в ад.
І, допоки викреслюєш знаки,
У тебе розвивається гемофілія.
Бог докладає до ран лише порожні сторінки Біблії.

Original poem by VERONIKA KOZHUSHKO
Translation by TETIANA ALEKSINA
© All rights reserved 2024

TATI’s & TONY’s DEAD POET TOUR // A Hope by Charles Kingsley

Twin stars, aloft in ether clear,
Around each other roll alway,
Within one common atmosphere
Of their own mutual light and day.

And myriad happy eyes are bent
Upon their changeless love alway;
As, strengthened by their one intent,
They pour the flood of life and day.

So we through this world’s waning night
May, hand in hand, pursue our way;
Shed round us order, love, and light,
And shine unto the perfect day.

by CHARLES KINGSLEY (1819–1875)
Public Domain Poetry