Tag Archives: Writings

ripples in the soup bowl

when you’ve traced your secrets into the sand
with a spirit’s hand at the water’s edge
is when the tide washes in to wash it away
& now no one on earth will have ever known you

when your face can’t be a part of this world
at the ripple & quell of a wishing well
your reflection does question former times
where no one said you could be lovely

& you’re wondering why you had to obey
when you did not wish to hold a gun
& you’re wondering why she bothered to stay
when you could not put bread in her hand

those men lined up at the soup kitchen
were never allowed to be more than hunters
with dusty hearts & those lifeless eyes

when grace extends only so far as merit
don’t be so loyal to your suffering
they’ve laid claim to your life without consent
& indentured you to kill in the name of

when disgrace has felled you for the last time
when the muffled gunfire burns in your lungs
when you wake into your funeral wreath
beyond the subatomic algorithm

& you’re wondering why you had to obey
when you did not wish to hold a gun
& you’re wondering why she bothered to stay
when you could not put bread in her hand

those men lined up at the soup kitchen
were never allowed to be more than fodder
with dusty hearts & those lifeless eyes

you can love like no one owes you
you can give however you want
but no man can bend forever
the men lined up at the soup kitchen
were never allowed to be simply human
no man can bleed forever

by TONY SINGLE
© All rights reserved 2024

udderly stellar

once upon a time
one professional dairymaid
lost her temper
and abandoned her job
(if you’ve ever had a repulsive boss
you would understand)

she walked down the road
and saw a lightning flash
this was her awakening
and a new job offer

now she is a lead
in the milky way dairy
looks after the galaxy’s cows
expresses star milk
and never raises her voice
to juniors and colleagues

by TETIANA ALEKSINA
© All rights reserved 2024

acanthus and graffiti

that city was tricky and loved the dead end sign
but for those who knew, it was e’er a passageway
‘tween sticks of tired buildings pretending at trees
to mountain vistas yonder tired men’s dreams
for those that dared creaky boards o’er abysses
dared to leap along ridges of breathy abandon
the arms of poseidon awaited to enfold them
to convey them to rest in the mariana trench
and there, o’er the dilapidated city wall
with a huge azure unblinking graffiti eye
a briny crown of plumes with duplicitous sparkles
received the tired orisons of artless denizens

by TETIANA ALEKSINA & TONY SINGLE
© All rights reserved 2024

GUEST POST // Back at the start by Whitecatgrove

We return to the beginning, stripped
of our knowledge and rank, bound in white:
a shroud, a swaddling blanket, a bride’s veil,
a drawer stuffed full of rags and bandages.
Trussed up in white and left naked by fear.

The brutal say I don’t learn anything —
that’s why I no longer seek the brutal
as teachers, their blood my blood, their hiss
and spit so familial. Let gentleness
teach me these most difficult lessons

that I must begin again, without rank
or honor to learn a gentle way.
Or perhaps it is the easiest
of tasks: drop your knowledge, begin again
a blank page awaiting a love song —

by WHITECATGROVE
© All rights reserved 2024

TATI’S TRANSLATIONS // Young Ukrainian Poets: Artem Serhiienko

Tati Translates Artem Serhiienko

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.

field

what to do when a field seeped into
a warrior’s pores so deep
that any cut can’t get through
any bullet or sword
maybe only the words
of a loving mother
but they are in vain
the field now worries for self
existence
and self
awareness
they start to dig into the warrior
defenses trenches canals
for tears and melted aluminum
they fly above the warrior
ravens shells hands grenades screams
they fall into the grass
of the warrior’s heart
until a cherry tree grows up through the back of the head
with iron berries

поле

що робити коли поле всоталося
в пори воїна настільки глибоко
що його не дістане жоден поріз
жодна куля чи меч
хіба що слова
люблячої матері
правда ті недоречні
поле хвилюється вже за своє
існування
і само
усвідомлення
у воїні починають копати
окопи траншеї канали
для сліз і розплавленого алюмінію
над воїном летять
круки снаряди руки гранати крики
падають у траву
воїнського серця
допоки з потилиці не виросте вишня
залізними ягодами

Original poem by ARTEM SERHIIENKO
Translation by TETIANA ALEKSINA
© All rights reserved 2024