print queue

i ordered a 3d printer today
the opportunities are endless
i can print some nice decorations
or print a brand new gutenberg press
or even print a new stapes for both ears
or at least two brand new hearing aids
or how about a robot interpreter
fluent in every sign language ever
but will communication be better
if i spend a big fat cheque on this
sure, i could print a stack of gold bullion
to buy me a god to answer my prayers
or print a brand new humbert humbert
to buy me a god to answer my prayers

by TETIANA ALEKSINA & TONY SINGLE
© All rights reserved 2024

TATI’S TRANSLATIONS // Young Ukrainian Poets: Artur Dron

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.

Izium’s eucharist

“…this is My Body, which is broken for you for the remission of sins”
From The Divine Liturgy

***
These are our bodies,
which are broken for us.
But not the remission of sins.

These are our bodies,
which, sometimes, break so easily,
when they are pulled out of the ground.

Here are our forests, and here – our crosses.
And these are the bodies,
which are broken only for us.

Now You see clearly:
we are like your Son.
But not the remission of sins.
Look:
the very same bones piercing through,
the very same blood and water.
But not the remission of sins.
Hear:
the very same scream, the very same silence.

This is how it looks like
Izium’s eucharist.
Here are our forests, and here – our crosses,
and the live unbury the dead and say:
these are our bodies, these are our very bodies.
We are so like your Son.
These are our bodies, look, these are our very bodies.
We have long been like your Son.
So many bodies, look, so many bodies.
We are – your younger Son,
who will grant no one
the remission.

Ізюмське причастя

«…це є Тіло Моє, що за вас ламається на відпущення гріхів»
З тексту Божественної літургії

***
Це є тіла наші,
що за нас ламаються.
Але жодного відпущення гріхів.

Це є тіла наші,
що, буває, так легко ламаються,
коли їх витягують з-під землі.

Тут наші ліси, а тут – наші хрести.
А це є тіла,
що тільки за нас ламаються.

Тепер добре бачиш:
ми як твій син.
Тільки жодного відпущення гріхів.
Дивись:
ті ж кістки виходять назовні,
та ж кров і вода.
Але жодного відпущення гріхів.
Слухай:
той самий крик, те саме мовчання.

Так виглядає
Ізюмське причастя.
Тут наші ліси, а тут – наші хрести,
а живі викопують мертвих і говорять:
це наші тіла, це ж наші тіла.
Ми такі схожі на твого сина.
Це наші тіла, подивися, це ж наші тіла.
Ми вже давно як твій син.
Стільки тіл, подивись, стільки тіл.
Ми – твій молодший син,
який нікому цього
не відпустить.

Original poem by ARTUR DRON
Translation by TETIANA ALEKSINA

© All rights reserved 2024

TATI’s & TONY’s DEAD POET TOUR // A Crazed Girl by William Butler Yeats

That crazed girl improvising her music.
Her poetry, dancing upon the shore,

Her soul in division from itself
Climbing, falling She knew not where,
Hiding amid the cargo of a steamship,
Her knee-cap broken, that girl I declare
A beautiful lofty thing, or a thing
Heroically lost, heroically found.

No matter what disaster occurred
She stood in desperate music wound,
Wound, wound, and she made in her triumph
Where the bales and the baskets lay
No common intelligible sound
But sang, “O sea-starved, hungry sea.’

by WILLIAM BUTLER YEATS (1865-1939)
Public Domain Poetry

eyes in the storm

my favourite gift is a closed one
that moment where nothing is known
that calm before an unwrapping storm
in anticipation of what’s to come

my favourite book is a closed one
that moment where nothing happens
that calm before a reading storm
in anticipation of what’s to come

my favourite lips are closed ones
that moment where nothing is said
that calm before a kissing storm
in anticipation of what’s to come

my favourite heart is an open one
so tell me true, are you ready for war
many shall ride the carousel with me
but few shall choose to stand with me

my favourite casket is a closed one
that moment where nothing remains
that calm after the final storm of
memories of all that’s come & gone

by TETIANA ALEKSINA & TONY SINGLE
© All rights reserved 2024

from silence we rose

they say there will be a golden age
when the lion lays down with the lamb
& i say there will be a golden age
when the lamb goes for the lion’s jugular

we cannot sup safely with the fascists
without them exacting their pound of flesh
there’s no more time for demure silence
when they’re raising goblets full of our own blood

when free thinkers are chained to dogma
& women are made the property of man
they’ll poke their noses into every bedroom
declare that our love violates god’s will

we cannot lay down & be fucked like this
we lambs must sharpen our teeth for the fight
stub their gaping throats with righteous ire
with the shepherd’s crook we took back from fools

by TETIANA ALEKSINA & TONY SINGLE
© All rights reserved 2024