TATI’s & TONY’s DEAD POET TOUR // Song. by Thomas Runciman

Life with the sun in it –
Shaded by gloom!
Life with the fun in it –
Shadowed by Doom!

Life with its Love ever haunted by Hate!
Life’s laughing morrows frowned over by Fate!
Young Life’s wild gladness still waylaid by Age!
All its sweet badness still mocking the sage!
What can e’er measure the joy of its strife?

What boundless leisure
Count the heaped treasure
Of woe, that’s the pleasure
And beauty of Life?

by THOMAS RUNCIMAN (1841 – 1909)
Public Domain Poetry

WORDS LIVE ON // Serhii Naumenko

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!

if a lion or a cougar
start hunting you
don’t worry, don’t fight
don’t be afraid of
it makes sense to keep to one side
stray dogs and rats.
the predators with appetite
for you
are hardly
carnivorous.

якщо лев чи пума
почнуть полювання на тебе
не страшно, не бийся
не бійся
варто обабіч триматись
бродячих собак і щурів.
хижаки з апетитом
на тебе
навряд чи
м’ясоїди.

Original poem by SERHII NAUMENKO
Translation by TETIANA ALEKSINA

© All rights reserved 2020

bridelope

i lay on the grass & feel how
the flowers push up through my spine
threading me to the divine
the will of modor earth

the smell of honey & i hear how
bees whir above my navel
spreading nature’s table
the pollen will of modor earth

a summer of rain & i smell how
petrichor infuses soil & eaves
wedding with fall’s orange leaves
the solemn will of modor earth

the first snow & i see how
my bridal outfit turns to white
shedding trees stand so quiet
in the mollen will of modor earth

by TETIANA ALEKSINA & TONY SINGLE
© All rights reserved 2024

melancholia

if his head touched the pillow he would have died
so he wrote instead but there was no tune
no tune to croon for the words he made
“looks make the fellow,” some looker cried
so he hid instead but there was no room
no room to prune for the life he made

years rolled into the tomb
& he smiled a bloodless smile
“better shut me that window,” he said
then wrote some more
but what for

if he skipped on the bellows he would have flied
but he sunk instead & there was no room
no room to swoon for the lull he made
“taste life’s harsh marrow,” some taster cried
so he starved instead & there was no tune
no room to croon for the lack he made

laughter rolled into the tomb
& he smiled a bloodless smile
“joy’s an abstraction,” he said
then cried some more
but what for

if he plunked on a cello he would have sighed
but he frowned instead & there was no room
for croons to tune with the face he made
“hang on these gallows,” some hanger cried
so he did just that & there was no noon
just gloom in the room & the life he paid

death rolled into the tomb
& he smiled a bloodless smile
“where’ve you been all my life,” he said
then hung some more
but what for

by TONY SINGLE
© All rights reserved 2008

stillbirth

when stars tore themselves from the sky
impregnated earth unto ruin
a city groaned in labour of blooms
orcs then stormed her depleted womb

& the bodies they left behind
of these there were far too many
yes, i remember bucha
but you still call it zachistka

by TONY SINGLE
© All rights reserved 2026