vomit the sun

you walk over there
track breadcrumbs for your peace of mind
you walk over here
but that black dog follows behind

it’s fine, it’s fine
you have no need of tears
maybe skol more wine
let these last hours pine
away in another empty bind

you walk over here
are you out of your mind
you walk over there
the black dog follows you blind

also the dreams find you
unbidden, undoable
so you roll them up, dear boy
tuck them under your skin
follow your bottles back to bed

you stagger nowhere
in the corridors of the mind
& the black dog is there
you’re so goddam happy
you could vomit the sun

by TONY SINGLE
© All rights reserved 2024

once upon a rainbow

monsters don’t only live in the dark
they can inhabit the light as well
in crystal castles or silky meadows
or knee-deep in marshmallow rivers

no warning, all charge, the unicorn rises
threatening death with thunderous hooves
it seems the most innocent of creatures
can also run plum out of patience

beautiful and elegant, it gores you
your viscera entangled in its mane
horn arcs, glints like wine spilled in the sun
yes, this is no mere ruby’s sparkle

even gargoyles, devils, trolls and wolves
fear the unicorn’s territorial will
because not only can it disembowel
it will also shit rainbows over your corpse

so remember kids, monsters are real
they’re just not always what you would think
now close your eyes, listen to a lullaby
about crystal castles and silky meadows…

by TETIANA ALEKSINA & TONY SINGLE
© All rights reserved 2024

GUEST POST // When You Go by House of Heart

When you go I become
the sea gull begging salt from
from briny air,
My heart a deep blue sea.
I channel you in the nightingale’s
perpetual call that awakens my
unrelenting desire.
Come the buttery dawn your faded coat
hangs from my bed post and I
become so small I could slip
inside the lining of your chest,
sheltered by the warmth of your
skin where I belong.

by HOUSE OF HEART
© All rights reserved 2024

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