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!

Soon I will be broken by cracked days
And torn in halves by the final nights,
If water erodes a stone to nothing –
I wake up in the sea, an abyss inside me.
And when distance ruins the last piece
Turns a confession into sinful fruits –
You go through the vastness of numb galaxies
And wash your face, touching the water.
Your breath will touch my pain,
There is water in the air and, sure, the ash,
You lock your palms over fate’s bosom
And the circle will close in your arms.
Then you will forgive the word “we”,
For such disbelief and unwillingness to fight,
I will leave, sweetheart, the poems with you,
As the depths of darkness do not need more.
And I will be waiting from weary till failure,
From trials till the final days,
I will be waiting ages later,
From ferries and till the dream gates.

Мене скоро зламають розтріскані дні
І навпіл розірвуть фінальні ночі,
Якщо камінь в ніщо вода розточить –
Я прокинуся в морі, безодня в мені.
Й коли відстань зруйнує останній клаптик,
Перетворить зізнання в гріховні плоди –
Ти пройди крізь простір німих галактик
І омий обличчя, торкнувшись води.
Твій подих торкнеться мойого болю,
В повітрі вода і, звичайно, прах,
Ти долоні зімкни на грудях долі
І замкнеться коло в твоїх руках.
Ти тоді пробачиш за слово «ми»,
За безвір’я таке й небажання бою,
Я вірші, кохана, залишу с тобою,
А решти не треба глибинам пітьми.
А я буду чекати від втоми до злому,
Від перешкод до фінальних днів,
Я буду чекати століття потому,
Від переправ і до брами снів.

Original poem by ARTEM DOVHOPOLYI
Translation by TETIANA ALEKSINA
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