TATI’S TRANSLATIONS // Young Ukrainian Poets: Valeriia Serhieieva

Tati Translates Valeriia Serheieva

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.

Untitled

The violin case
black and tiny
reminds of a coffin
a blue amphibious baby
with a sob on its wee lips
the full moon in a shroud trizna
honey locust
poplar fluff through
a mirrored sword
cry with yours get drunk
into the danube – out of grief
like kittens in a pail
afraid of water
summer-ripening papirovka
doneshta kandil
the bottle of bromine
shackled with a ball and chain
the antenna from Donbass transmits
wounds and dust
at the radio-and tv-golgotha
you are grey spear grass

Без назви

Чорний футлярчик
для скрипки
схожий на гріб
синє маля іхтіандрів
у вустоньках схлип
повня у савані тризна
мед саранча
пух із тополі наскрізно
в свічадо меча
плач зі своїми напийся
в дунай – із журби
як кошенята в цеберці
бояться води
з літніх сортів паперівка
донешта кандиль
ядром до литки прикутий
брому бутиль
антена з Донбасу транслює
рани і пил
на радіо- й телеголгофі
ти – сивий ковил

Original poem by VALERIIA SERHIEIEVA
Translation by TETIANA ALEKSINA

© All rights reserved 2024

the mute observer problem

if a deaf guy falls in the forest
& no one’s around to hear it
does he make a sound

probably

he just can’t hear himself
or maybe can’t use his words
like ouch or christ

by TONY SINGLE
© All rights reserved 2024

social contract

have you ever felt
that your life is mortgaged
from the very first cry?

they squeeze your persona dry
they gain interest from everything
starting with your imperfect reflection
and its teenaged acne
ending with a type of upholstery
on your second-rate coffin

and nothing really belongs to you
except a nightingale’s song
that reverberates outside your window
every single night

by TETIANA ALEKSINA
© All rights reserved 2024

GUEST POST // Leap Over by Aboli Mane

We leap over mountains
as the rabbit leaps over the moon
years wane in the blink of an eye
the marbles clink and scatter

as the rabbit leaps over the moon
childhood leapfrogs over our back
the marbles clink and scatter
the playground becomes a stranger

childhood leapfrogs over our back
vanishing with many steps
the playground becomes a stranger
the mango tree ripens; waiting

vanishing with many steps
innocence giggles over hide and seek
the mango tree ripens; waiting
for familiar hands to pluck the fruit

innocence giggles over hide and seek
years wane in the blink of an eye
for familiar hands to pluck the fruit
we leap over mountains.

by ABOLI MANE
© All rights reserved 2024

threshian harvest

it’s alright, it’s okay
you can lay me down now
in that circle poised for decay
or maybe tomorrow
or maybe back then
hell knows when

it’ll always be too soon
to attend such sadness but
it’s alright & it’s okay anyway

i need only as long as i get
& maybe moments more
for my life to matter
for to fill it with you
& the scenes we’ll ne’er keep
when our play is done

it’ll always be too soon
for such sadness to mend but
it’s alright to live & die anyway

you pay your debts with pain
then seek a new currency
& nurse that barb wire heart
but ask what joy would do
even when i’m gone
see, it’s alright, it’s okay

it’ll always be too soon
to pen such sadness but
it’s alright & got a poem anyway

by TONY SINGLE
© All rights reserved 2024