Nine Ukrainian-Language Poets: Kateryna Babkina, Roman Babowal, Artur Dron, Zoya Kazanzhy, Marianna Kiyanovska, Dmytro Lazutkin, Vasyl Makhno, Kateryna Mikhalitsyna, and Yuliya Musakovska
Translated by: Bohdan Boychuk, Olena Ebel, Olena Jennings, Hanna Leliv, Oksana Lutsyhyna, Yuliya Musakovska, Teresa Pearce, Wanda Phipps, Myrosia Stefaniuk, and Virlana Tkacz
INTRODUCTION
Ukrainian poetry took on new forms with the war in Donbas, which began in 2014, and with the annexation of Crimea. It became imbued with sadness and at the same time, strength and courage. It has continued to change with the 2022 full-scale Russian invasion. In our selection of poems, we have highlighted the resilience that has long been part of the Ukrainian character. The Ukrainian people have been dealing with a long struggle that has lasted centuries when our ancestors were already fighting the Russian empire.
We begin with Roman Babowal, who passed away in 2005, before the current events unfolded, but still responded to the fight for freedom with the same sentiments ending with “an uncertain fate – on our palms.” He was part of the New York Group that gathered in exile in New York City in the 1950s along with one of the translators of his poem Bohdan Boychuk. The New York Group injected Ukrainian poetry with the avant garde, creating a new sense of freedom.
Artur Dron is a young poet who debuted his first collection in 2020. He is currently serving on the frontlines and his poetry reflects this. In his poems, he mixes the details of life on the frontlines, but his landscapes shift into the mythological. Dmytro Lazutkin used to write rhymed poetry about love and romance. Now his poems are more philosophical. This year he was awarded the prestigious Shevchenko prize. He wrote the poem included here when he was on the frontlines.
Many of the other poets in our selection serve as activists, like Yuliya Musakovska, volunteers, like Kateryna Mykhalitsyna, and spokespeople for Ukraine, like Kateryna Babkina. Musakovska often writes about relationships and the way they are affected by the war, which she has addressed before the full-scale Russian invasion. Mykhalitsyna touches on themes of family and highlights the interconnectedness of people. Babkina’s poetry touches upon existential themes, and at times delves into describing the difficult experience of the refugees.
The poets deal with the emotional strife caused by war in different ways. For example, Vasyl Makhno is tuned to the process of world poetry and connects with poets around the world such as Cavafy, Walcott, and Larkin, by writing poems about them and referencing them. The poem presented here addresses the war.
Zoya Kazanzhy switched from writing in Russian to writing in Ukrainian after 2014. Many intellectuals who went to school in Russified cities like Odesa never learned Ukrainian. Now they are reclaiming something that was taken from them. Her writing is simple and pained, each word carrying weight. Marianna Kijanowska projects strife in her poetry through the repetition of phrases. The repetition creates a rhythm that imparts the reader with a feeling of sadness and danger. She dives into the archaic, listening to the powerful, universal sound of the inside of the earth.
This selection of poems reflects a diversity of styles to express the resilience present in the poetry that aims to be a memorial of the struggles of the Ukrainian people to fight against the aggressor, Russia. Translations are a way to further memorialize these struggles.
Olena Jennings and Oksana Lutsyshyna, Guest Co-Editors
Previous Ukrainian-language Loch Raven Review Poetry Translation section appeared in 2018.
.
Kateryna Babkina
Translated by Virlana Tkacz and Wanda Phipps
Don’t ask me how I am – ask me something simple.
Look how quickly my hair grows now,
it seems to have its own special goal:
when all this is over, I’ll braid it around you.
Don’t tell me how you are – tell me something easier.
Even the smallest stone has turned into a weapon
to defend its own in this war.
Don’t say how this can be true, because that is all you have.
When the bell rings in warning and the shock wave takes your breath away,
here even the dead rise up from the ground to defend the living.
Oh, how they wail with longing like sirens in the night.
Don’t try to tell me, because there is no word to describe it.
There is no time, no place, no dimension, no sphere —
it all simply happens here and now
in quiet markets, school yards, suburban buildings.
After all this, what can cure us – maybe its love.
Love can bind together the ripped edges of the wounds
It can feed the powerful rivers and streams
It can wash away the abuse, properly mourn all the spilt blood.
But until all this is over – don’t talk to me of love.
Till the pale light of early dawn replaces the flashes of dark night
better don’t say anything to me at all, just rest.
.
Не питай мене як я – спитай мене щось просте.
Подивися, моє волосся тепер так швидко росте,
ніби має окрему, ціком конкретну мету:
коли все це скінчиться, я ним тебе оплету.
Не кажи мені, як ти – щось легше скажи мені.
Адже кожен навіть найменший камінь у цій війні
обернувся на зброю, щоб боронити своє.
Не кажи мені, як це, бо це все, що у тебе є.
Коли дзвін б’є на сполох, ударна хвиля – під дих,
навіть мертві з землі цієї встають за своїх живих,
і як вони виють тоскно голосами нічних сирен
не кажи мені, бо для такого навіть нема імен.
Бо для такого немає ні часу, ні місця, ані вимірів, ані сфер –
але все це все одно відбувається просто тут і тепер,
серед затишних ринків, шкільних дворів, приміських забудов.
І все, що після такого може зцілити – то хіба любов.
Любов зможе стулити докупи розчахнуті ран краї,
зможе живити собою потужні ріки та ручаї,
зможе змити наругу, оплакати щедро кожну пролиту кров.
Але поки це все не скінчиться – не кажи мені про любов.
Краще, допоки зблиски нічні змінює передранкова синь
взагалі нічого не кажи мені, відпочинь.
.
Roman Babowal
Translated by Bohdan Boychuk and Myrosia Stefaniuk
Birds
we fraternized with birds for a long time
and finally realized
that there would be no spring
perhaps never
we threw off nests woven
of roots and rustling
from our shoulders
into mud.
the birds flew away
in flocks
beyond the dream
left each of us:
a drop of sky – in our eyes
a handful of fluff – in our hearts
an uncertain fate – on our palms.
From Night Tales (Belgium 1987)
.
Птахи
З птахами довго ми браталися
та врешті зрозуміли
що весни не буде
вже мабуть ніколи
Із плечей в калюжу
поскидали гнізда звиті
з коренів і шумів.
відлетіли птиці поза сон
гуртом
лишивши кожному
в очах – краплику неба
в серці –жмутинку пуху й на
долонях невиразну долю.
Із збірки Нічні перекази
.
Artur Dron
Translated by Hanna Leliv
The Mother
You shall now become a man of rock.
A solid and sturdy man,
slightly chipped.
As I always told you:
not a stone of stumbling,
not a cornerstone.
But a rock that river won’t cut through.
Now both of us know:
there are no vacations from war.
Only farewells.
May each of us
who added to your tears
also add firmness
to your body of rock.
It’s not a farewell
but let me tell you this:
I’m always on your shoulder.
The world’s softest child—
from now on, you are a rock.
Amen
.
Мама
Станеш тепер
чоловіком із каменю.
Твердим і міцним, і трохи
надщербленим чоловіком.
Як я завжди казала:
не каменем спотикання
і не наріжним
каменем.
Але таким, щоб вода
не точила.
Тепер обидвоє знаємо:
не буває відпусток з війни,
тільки проводи.
Але кожен із нас,
хто добавив тобі сльози,
хай добавить і твердості
у твоє кам’яне тіло.
Це не прощання, але
я кажу, що завжди на плечі.
Найм‘якша Дитино У Світі,
віднині ти камінь.
Амінь.
.
Zoya Kazanzhy
Translated by Oksana Lutsyshyna and Olena Jennings
xхххххх
Martha put her friends in a circle
although what kind of circle was it, more of a rectangle
Martha and her three friends
in a strange city strange country strange home
a bottle of wine from a neighborhood store
and a little bit of cheese
They went to Paris once
they rented an apartment on airbnb
a small apartment where they had to sleep
on two foldout sofas
every night they bought wine and cheese
chatted until 4 in the morning
just like they chat now
but it’s not Paris outside of their window, it’s not Paris
Martha put her friends in a circle
which was a rectangle and said
this rain will last a long time
she always said this
if things were dragging on
this rain will last a long time so need to decide
what we’ll do next
One friend joined the army
the second kept going further
the third one returned home
and Martha gathered the full car of sleeping bags
along with binoculars from the hunting supply store
and thermal imaging goggles from the same store
and packed it neatly
and didn’t brake in time on the snow-covered highway
When they operated on Martha piece by piece in a strange hospital
in a strange city a strange country
she dreamed of Paris and her three friends
one that will never ever return
the second will return at some point
the third will wait at home
and at home it will pour rain
the rain which will last for a long time
but not forever not forever
.
ххххххх
Марта посадила подруг у коло
хоча яке то коло так чотирикутник
Марта і три її подруги
в чужому місті в чужій країні в чужому домі
пляшка вина із сусіднього магазину
і трохи сиру
Колись вони їздили в Париж
знімали квартиру на аіербіенбі
маленька квартира де треба було спати по двоє
на двох розкладних диванах
Вони щовечора купували вино і сир
І розмовляли до четвертої ранку
от так як розмовляють зараз
але за вікном не Париж, не Париж
Марта посадила подруг у коло
яке було чотирикутником і сказала
цей дощ надовго
вона завжди так казала
якщо щось затягувалось
цей дощ надовго тому ми маємо вирішити
що робимо далі
Одна подруга пішла воювати
друга подруга поїхала далі
третя подруга повернулась додому
а Марта зібрала повну автівку спальних мішків
вперемішку з біноклями з мисливського магазину
і тепловізорів з того ж магазину
все акуратно запакувала
і не встигла загальмувати на присипаній снігом трасі
Коли Марту складали по частинкам в чужій лікарні
в чужому місті чужої країни
їй снився Париж і три подруги
одна не повернеться більше ніколи
друга приїде колись
третя чекатиме вдома
і вдома литиме дощ
той дощ який надовго
але не назавжди не назавжди
.
Marianna Kiyanovska
Translated by Oksana Lutsyshyna and Olena Jennings
***
my aquaintances perished at azovstal
a granddaughter of my friend died during a shelling of a railway station
a friend was shot during an interrogation
the whole family of my other friend was in mariupol that is at home
and now we don’t know where they are
where or nowhere
a friend’s son died near bakhmut
a friend died near bakhmut
a friend went missing near bakhmut
a friend’s son died near bakhmut
a friend’s son died near bakhmut
a friend’s son died near avdiivka
a friend’s son died near kyiv
a friend’s brother died near avdiivka
a friend was shot while interrogated
an acquaintance died from torture during an interrogation
a classmate died
my daughter’s classmate died
a friend’s daughter died
an acquaintance’s husband was killed
a friend’s husband was killed
an acquaintance’s father perished
an acquaintance’s daughter’s boyfriend died
a friend’s son went missing
a friend’s son went missing
a friend’s son went missing
a friend’s son died of his wounds in the hospital
a friend’s son died of his wounds at ground zero
the artery exploded
there are no words
these are not words
it’s been almost ten years since vengeance grows like grass from the earth
since recently grass is growing on the ruins of eighteen cities
a maternity ward an apartment building a school
the skies today prick the enemy’s eyes with vengeance
with wind with light with rain and simply with water from the skies
by truth and by itself love calls us to battle
the ruins of fields the cripples of orchards the killed bridges the broken crosses
fractured spines of roads call us to the battle
call us to war through pain through love through snow
hail and tempest fell the enemy down
love and that thing bigger than pain call us to go and defend
the candle of our letter ї
everything that is Ukrainian defiant embroidered eternal
every one of my dead are like a flower of the letter ї
all the killed are mine
all the tortured to death are mine
all the raped are mine
all the buried alive are mine
all the burned are mine
the artery exploded under the heart
these are not words
I am grass wherever I can I live and grow and last
here and there I am grass
these non-words from the pain of my language are like orphans
but the grass lasts
the untarnished army of light
the rows of trenches
the unsaid gushes in the trenches
there are no words the islands of the unutterable grow
but the grass is in the cycle of joy in the cycle of photosynthesis
working with light continues in the leaves of grass
I am grass working with light continues and my every atom lasts
we you he she I they
embroidered and eternal I we you they
from now on the light and the work with light
is learning to defend us
for almost ten years of war
.
***
знайомі загинули в азовсталі
внучка товаришки під час обстрілу на вокзалі
друга розстріляли під час допиту
вся сім’я знайомої була в маріуполі тобто вдома
а тепер невідомо
де чи ніде
син подруги загинув під бахмутом
друг загинув під бахмутом
друг пропав під бахмутом безвісти
син подруги загинув під бахмутом
син подруги загинув під бахмутом
син подруги загинув коло авдіївки
син подруги загинув під києвом
брат подруги загинув коло авдіївки
друга розстріляли під час допиту
знайомий помер від тортур під час допиту
однокурсник загинув
однокурсник моєї доньки загинув
донька подруги загинула
чоловік знайомої вбитий
чоловік подруги вбитий
батько знайомої загинув
загинув хлопець доньки знайомої
син подруги пропав безвісти
син подруги пропав безвісти
син подруги пропав безвісти
син знайомої в госпіталі помер від ран
син знайомої помер від ран на позиціях
розівало артерію
слів нема
це не слова
вже майже десять років пімста росте з землі як трава
віднедавна трава росте на руїнах вісімнадцяти міст
десь пологового десь висотного будинку десь школи
днесь небо ворогу пімстою очі коле
вітром світлом дощем і просто з неба водою
правдою і собою любов кличе до бою
руїни полів каліки садів убиті мости розбиті хрести
перебиті хребти доріг кличуть до бою
до болю кличуть любов’ю кличе до бою собою сніг
град і шквал збивають ворога з ніг
любов і більше ніж біль звуть іти захищати
свічечку букви “ї”
українське розсміяне вишиване і хрещате
кожен загиблий мій — наче квіточка букви “ї”
вбиті — усі мої
закатовані — всі мої
згвалтовані — всі мої
живцем закопані — всі мої
спалені — всі мої
слів нема під серцем розірвало аорту
це не слова
я трава всюди де тільки можу живу росту і триваю
тут і там я трава
ці не слова із болю моєї мови немов останці
але триває трава
пречиста армія світла
рядами шанці
несказане цебенить в окопах
слів нема невимовного ростуть острови
але трава радіється діється фотосинтез
робота зі світлом триває в листі трави
я трава робота зі світлом триває і кожен мій атом
ми ви ти він вона я вон
ивишиване і хрещате я ми ти ви вони
відтепер робота зі світлом і світло
вчиться нас захищати
вже майже десять років війни
.
Dmytro Lazutkin
Translated by Olena Ebel and Teresa Pearce
Rolling Stones
what are we fighting for?
well that’s obvious
for our homes with children’s drawings on the walls
for those we love and for what we believe in
for peace in our suburbs and quiet nights for our loved ones
one evening
they were talking on the phone
and she said:
you know
i’d like to stay here
there are state benefits and a social safety net
certainty about tomorrow
and also i’ve had time to think
and i’ve decided i shouldn’t limit my personal freedom
with this endless waiting
i want to be open to the world i want to transform transcend be seen
so you’re not coming back?
i haven’t decided yet
what about the kids?
they’ll go to german school they’ll learn the language
the next day he asked his commanding officer
to send him to Avdiivka – closer to hell
but his request was denied
then he decided to quit and go back to his hometown
but that turned out to be even more complicated
if you’re not even given the chance to die honorably –
how can you go on living?
damp autumn was peeling the skin off the slag heaps
he made himself some coffee
put on the rolling stones
just the right music for such a moment
he thought, and painted everything black
he remembered the guy from Zhytomyr who was desperate to join our brigade
and lost his arm on day one of an assault
he remembered the mechanic who’d evacuate the wounded in daylight
three contusions dozens of lives saved the look of a hungry wolf
what are we fighting for?
for lines at the polish border? the stability of european democracy?
for the wrath of generals? the faith of the dead? the wheezing in our lungs?
for ourselves
for him
for them
the morning shuffles around in dirty boots
the bandaged landscape burns his eyes…
and he begins to whisper through the mist,
how i long to dive into the warm depths
to swim naked in this limitless ocean
how i long to finally reach myself!
how i long to finally discover my true purpose!
how i long how i long –
to transform transcend to shine from within!..
caught in a dead end, what will you hear?
at night at this altitude, who will be near?
black is the earth that clings to my boots
round somebody’s life, black is the noose
black is the stork that flies the night through
i will stay silent
and so should you
.
Rolling Stones
за що ми воюємо?
ясна річ за що
за свої будинки з дитячими малюнками на стінах
за тих кого любимо і за те у що віримо
за спокій спальних районів і за тихий сон найрідніших людей
якось ввечері
під час телефонної розмови
вона сказала:
знаєш
я б хотіла тут залишитися
тут соціальні гарантії і виплати
впевненість у завтрашньому дні
до того ж у мене був час подумати
і я вирішила що не маю обмежувати свою особисту свободу
безкінечним очікуванням
я прагну бути відкритою світу хочу перетворюватися проявлятися розкриватися
тобто ти не повернешся?
я ще не вирішила
а діти?
вони підуть у німецьку школу вчитимуть мову
наступного дня він попросив командира
відправити його на промку – щоб поближче до пекла
але отримав відмову
тоді вирішив кинути все й повернутися у своє рідне місто
втім із цим було ще складніше
якщо тобі навіть не дають шансу красиво померти –
як жити далі?
сира осінь зривала шкіру з териконів
він заварив собі кави
увімкнув ролінг стоунз
хороша музика для такого моменту
подумав він і пофарбував усе в чорне
згадав пацана з житомира який так хотів потрапити в нашу бригаду
і втратив руку в перший день штурму
згадав мехвода який вивозив поранених посеред білого дня
три контузії десятки врятованих життів погляд голодного вовка
за що ми воюємо?
за черги на польському кордоні? за стійкість європейської демократії?
за лють генералів? за віру загиблих? за хрипіння у наших легенях?
за себе
за нього
за них
ранок човгає у брудних черевиках
перебинтований ландшафт випалює очі…
і крізь імлу він починає шепотіти:
як же я хочу пірнати у теплу глибину
купатися голим у цьому безмежному океані
як же я хочу нарешті дійти до себе!
як же я хочу нарешті пізнати своє справжнє призначення!
як же я хочу як же я хочу –
проявитися розкритися засяяти зсередини!..
що ти почуєш в глухому куті?
з ким ти ночуєш на цій висоті?
чорна земля на моєму взутті
чорна петля на чиємусь житті
чорний лелека літає вночі
буду мовчати
ти також мовчи
.
Vasyl Makhno
Translated by Oksana Lutsyshyna and Olena Jennings
The Score for the Musical Finale
the world turns to rubble
as if it never existed
the score for the musical finale
and angels are at the table
they simply need to take up trumpets
and others must break the seal
from the music of our sadness
and the sorrows of our times
elders sit at the altar
with the seven books with seals
glance at the seven lamps
at the trumpets beside them
in those agonizing symphonies
of destruction – St. John declares
signs and horses appear to you
snakes and bloody harvests
everything unread will be revealed
everything missed, and before that:
lambs with eyes half-shut
elders white as smoke
every war is like a revelation
like the music of reassurance
which we hopelessly await
to hear from a trumpet
.
Партитура фінальної музики
розпадається світ на друзки
наче його й не було
партитура фінальної музики
й ангели за столом
їм тільки б прикластись до сурем
а іншим – зірвати печать
з музики нашого суму
і з наших часів печаль
сидять при престолі старці
при сімох з печатями книг
позирають на семеро агнців
на їхні сурми при них
у тих затяжних симфоніях
розпаду – каже Іван
покажуться знаки і коні вам
змії – й криваві жнива
об’явиться все непрочитане
пропущене – а перед тим:
агнці з очима прикритими
старці – білі як дим
кожна війна як об’явлення
як музика яку ми
з перестрахом нашим яловим
чекаємо від сурми
.
Kateryna Mikhalitsyna
Translated by Hanna Leliv
(a dog. a fragment wound)
I ran out of kind words,
she says, hugging the dog’s head.
The head is hanging loose
from the exam table.
I ran out of kind words.
She exhaled them. They trickled out with her blood,
seeped through the floor tiles of the pet clinic
and reached the roots of the Earth or perhaps the dog heaven
—the rainbow bridge they’re said to cross,
where they feel good, they say.
But I no longer trust them,
neither words, nor blood. They are finite, both this and that,
even if equally warm, equally important, equally pampered…
I remember her so tiny and helpless.
Only she could wheedle us into giving her food—
us, smoked with despair, blackened with soot and dark humor.
And she…she could easily mooch the last piece of sausage from us
—along with kind words and affection extending beyond walls,
beyond folly, beyond hassle—and beyond all measure.
The affection only people in war and animals seem to be capable of…
She heaves a sigh, hangs her head low,
and says straight into a shaggy abyss of an ear turned forever deaf:
“Don’t come into my dreams.
I don’t believe in these things, Romashko.
Eye for eye, friend for friend—
that’s what I believe in.”
.
(собака. осколкова рана)
мої добрі слова закінчилися,
каже і обіймає собачу голову.
голова звисає безвольно
з медичного столу.
мої добрі слова закінчилися.
вона їх видихнула, вони витекли з її кров’ю
просякли під кахлі підлоги веткабінету,
досягли коріння землі, а може –
собачого раю,
веселки, по якій, вони, кажуть, бігають.
на якій їм, кажуть добре.
та я вже не довіряю,
ні словам, ні крові – те і інше скінченне,
хоч однаково тепле, потрібне, виняньчене..
я її пам’ятаю такою дрібною, нікчемною –
тільки вона уміла так їжу виклянчити,
в нас, продимлених відчаєм,
закіптюжених гаром і чорним гумором,
і вона, вона могла заввиграшки нас розкручувати
на шматок ковбаси останній
і – на добрі слова,
на ніжність, таку – без мурів,
без мудацтв, без мороки,
але й без міри.
таку ніжність, на яку, здається,
бувають здатними
тільки люди війні
і звірі..
видихає важко. схиляє голову
і говорить просто в кудлату прірву
глухого від нині вуха:
не приходь до мене у снах, я в таке не вірю,
Ромашко.
вірю в око за око, і друг за друга.
.
Yuliya Musakovska
Translated by Olena Jennings and the author
Sister Guilt
I will take you with me, my gold-hearted guilt.
I will dress you in a silk gown,
wrap you in a lullaby.
I will place a thorny flower between your lips —
I know you will love me.
You, my guilt, will become my other half.
Our faces are blank as if erased with a wet rag.
You and I are like sisters
with metal rods supporting our backs.
We will leave our bright clothes by the house,
the river will rock us.
We will emerge covered with pearly drops.
Not living but not dead.
We will lie down by the edge
and your wolfish hunger will haunt you.
You will feed on bruised apples and my wrists,
so much for this happiness.
Growing quickly as dough rising in a bowl,
you will eat while there’s something to feed on.
Pull out my heart from under my ribs, do not be ashamed.
Soon there won’t be any food, you will suck out the last drops.
Your mouth is a watermelon cut open with wasps above it.
Oh sister guilt, that is how you are.
Silk ribbon and a gown, sewn in the darkness.
I will coax you out into the rye at dawn.
A gilded sickle. A throaty sound.
Let her be no more.
I will take you with me, my gold-hearted guilt.
I will dress you in a silk gown,
wrap you in a lullaby.
I will place a thorny flower between your lips —
I know you will love me.
You, my guilt, will become my other half.
Our faces are blank as if erased with a wet rag.
You and I are like sisters
with metal rods supporting our backs.
We will leave our bright clothes by the house,
the river will rock us.
We will emerge covered with pearly drops.
Not living but not dead.
We will lie down by the edge
and your wolfish hunger will haunt you.
You will feed on bruised apples and my wrists,
so much for this happiness.
Growing quickly as dough rising in a bowl,
you will eat while there’s something to feed on.
Pull out my heart from under my ribs, do not be ashamed.
Soon there won’t be any food, you will suck out the last drops.
Your mouth is a watermelon cut open with wasps above it.
Oh sister guilt, that is how you are.
Silk ribbon and a gown, sewn in the darkness.
I will coax you out into the rye at dawn.
A gilded sickle. A throaty sound.
Let her be no more.
.
***
Я заберу тебе зі собою, моя золотосерда провино,
одягну тебе у сорочку шовкову,
загорну в колискову.
Дам тобі квітку шпичасту в губи —
знаю, ти мене полюбиш.
Будеш зі мною, моя провино, як моя половина.
Наші обличчя порожні, немов їх шматиною мокрою стерли.
Ми з тобою, як дві сестриці,
у спинах — залізні спиці.
Одяг строкатий покинемо коло хати,
річка буде нас колихати.
Вийдемо: краплі — як перли. Не живі і не вмерлі.
Ляжемо попід край — і нападе вовчий голод на тебе.
Їстимеш яблука биті й мої зап’ястя,
стільки там того щастя.
Швидко ростимеш, немов у діжі тісто.
Їстимеш, доки буде що їсти.
Серце видобувай з-під ребер, нічим не гребуй.
Скоро не стане поживи, будеш сотати краплі останні.
Рота кавун розтятий, а над ним — оси:
сестро-провино, ось ти яка, ось ти.
Стрічка шовкова, сорочка потемки шита.
Вдосвіта виманю тебе в жито.
Серпик золочений, звук гортанний. Хай вона перестане.
.
© Kateryna Babkina, Roman Babowal, Artur Dron, Marianna Kiyanovska, Dmytro Lazutkin, Vasyl Makhno, and Yuliya Musakovska, Bohdan Boychuk, Olena Ebel, Olena Jennings, Hanna Leliv, Oksana Lutsyhyna, Yuliya Musakovskam, Teresa Pearce, Wanda Phipps, Myrosia Stefaniuk, and Virlana Tkacz
BIOS
POETS
Kateryna Babkina is a Ukrainian poet, prose writer, columnist, screenwriter, and playwright. She’s the author of five poetry collections, two novels, a novel in short stories, and two collections of stories. She has also written books for kids which are extremely popular in Ukraine. In 2021 Kateryna Babkina won the Angelus Central European Literature Award for the My grandfather danced better than anyone else published in the Polish language. In 2022, Kateryna’s novella for children “Cappy and the Whale” was published in translation by Penguin Random House, UK.
Roman Babowal (1950-2005), Ukrainian poet and translator, author of many books of poetry in Ukrainian and French, lived in Belgium. In 1969 his works appeared in the journals Suchasnist’ and Novi poeziï, and he became associated with the New York Group of poets. He published six Ukrainian-language collections of modernist poetry: Why Do I Remember That? 1969; Journey Beyond Forms, 1972; The Deceit of Milk and Letters to Lovers, 1985; Night Tales, 1987; Journeys of the Probable, 1993; and Fragmented Memory, 1994, as well as three collections in French.
Artur Dron is an up-and-coming Ukrainian poet from the Ivano-Frankivsk region. He holds a master’s degree in Journalism from Ivan Franko National University of Lviv. His debut poetry collection, Dormitory № 6, came out in 2020 and has since been translated into a number of world languages, including Lithuanian, English, Polish, and Italian. Soon after Russia’s full-scale invasion of Ukraine in February 2022, Artur joined the Ukrainian armed forces and has since been defending Ukraine at the frontlines. His second poetry collection, We Were Here, came out in 2023.
Zoya Kazanzhy is a Ukrainian journalist, writer, and communication professional. She has worked in various Odesa media as a reporter, rising through the ranks to become editor-in-chief. She worked for the local governments in Odesa and Kyiv, and taught journalism in Central Asia and in the Caucasian region. Zoya is the author of textbooks on teaching communication studies, government communications, and handling highly sensitive topics in media. Zoya authored two books of fiction and is currently working on compiling her fist poetry collection.
Marianna Kiyanovska is a Ukrainian poet, writer, and literary translator. For her poetry book The Voices of Babyn Yar, she was awarded the Zbigniew Herbert Poetry Award (Poland). She is the recipient of numerous grants and honors Most recently, she was awarded a residency at the Scientific College of Berlin (Wissenschaftskolleg zu Berlin) on a scholarship from the Prussian Maritime Trade Foundation. She translates poetry and prose from several languages.
Dmytro Lazutkin is a poet and journalist currently serving in the Ukrainian army. He has just won the 2024 Taras Shevchenko National Prize – Ukraine’s highest state award for culture and the arts – in the Literature category. Prior to joining the army in 2023, Lazutkin was a war correspondent, reporting from the front line. Before Russia’s full-scale invasion, he worked as a sports reporter and TV presenter, covering multiple Olympic Games. Lazutkin has published several award-winning poetry collections in Ukraine and is a member of the country’s PEN Center.
Vasyl Makhno is the author of fourteen collections of poetry and most recently the book of poems One Sail House (2021). He has also published a book of short stories, The House in Baiting Hollow (2015), a novel, The Eternal Calendar (2019), and five books of essays. Three poetry collections, Thread and Other New York Poems (2009), Winter Letters (2011), and Paper Bridge (2022) were published in English translation. He is the recipient of Kovaliv Fund Prize (2008), Serbia’s International Povele Morave Prize in Poetry (2013), the BBC Book of the Year Award (2015), and International Ukrainian-Jewish Literary Prize “Encounter” (2020).
Kateryna Mikhalitsyna, a Ukrainian writer, translator, PEN Ukraine member, and volunteer, is celebrated for her 20+ children’s books and poetry collections, with poems translated into Polish, Armenian, Swedish, German, English, and Lithuanian. She translated J.R.R. Tolkien, Oscar Wilde, and Judith Kerr among others. Her picture book, Who Grows in the Park, part of a series spanning ten countries, was featured in the 2016 White Ravens Catalogue. Since Russia invaded Ukraine, she engages with displaced children in Lviv and de-occupied territories, supporting them through play and storytelling. Kateryna lives in Lviv with her partner, their three children, and two rescued dogs.
Yuliya Musakovska is an award-winning poet and translator. She was born in 1982 in Lviv, Ukraine, where she lives and works. She has published five poetry collections in Ukrainian. The most recent one, The God of Freedom (2021) was shortlisted for the Lviv UNESCO City of Literature Prize and shortlisted among the top eight nominees for the Shevchenko National Prize. This book is forthcoming in English translation by Olena Jennings and the author in 2024 with Arrowsmith Press. Yuliya’s work has been translated into over thirty languages and published in The Southern Review, AGNI, Tupelo Quarterly, NELLE, The Common, etc.
TRANSLATORS
Bohdan Boychuk (1927- 2017). Poet, writer, literary critic, and translator was co-founder of the New York Poets Group and the leading voice of Ukrainian literature in the diaspora. Author of 10 books of poetry, 9 novels, eight plays, and translations from English, Polish, Spanish, and Russian. Editor of literary magazines Novi poeziï, Suchasnist, and Svito-vyd and co-editor, with Bohdan Rubchak, of Coordinates, a major anthology of modern Ukrainian poetry. After relocating to Kyiv in the nineties, he divided his life between Kyiv and New York and remained a prominent presence in the literary scene.
Olena Ebel is an emerging literary translator working from Ukrainian and Russian into English. She is returning to her first love, literature and languages, after a career in marketing. Olena attended Bristol Translates in 2022 and the BCLT summer school in 2022 and 2023. She lives in Germany and works as an interpreter between Ukrainian or Russian and English or German.
Olena Jennings is the author of the poetry collection The Age of Secrets (Lost Horse Press, 2022), the chapbook Memory Project, and the novel Temporary Shelter (Cervena Barva Press, 2021). She is a translator of collections by Ukrainian poets, Kateryna Kalytko, together with Oksana Lutsyshyna, and Vasyl Makhno. She was shortlisted for the Ukrainian Literature in Translation Prize 2023 for her translations of Yuliya Musakovska’s poetry. She founded and curates Poets of Queens reading series and press.
Hanna Leliv is a literary translator working between Ukrainian and English. She was a Fulbright fellow at the University of Iowa’s Literary Translation MFA program and mentee at the Emerging Translators Mentorship Program run by the UK National Center for Writing. Her translations of contemporary Ukrainian literature into English have appeared in Asymptote, BOMB, Washington Square Review, Circumference, and elsewhere. In 2022, Cappy and the Whale, a children’s book by Kateryna Babkina, was published in her translation by Penguin Random House UK. Currently, Hanna is a translator-in-residence at Princeton University.
Oksana Lutsyshyna is a Ukrainian writer, translator, and poet. For her latest novel, Ivan and Phoebe, she was awarded Lviv City of Literature UNESCO Prize (2020) and the Taras Shevchenko National Award in fiction (2021). She teaches the Ukrainian language and Eastern European literature at the University of Texas at Austin.
Teresa Pearce is an editor at Ukrainian news website Ukrainska Pravda and a freelance Russian-English translator and subtitler. Based in London, she has lived and worked in Almaty and Moscow. She studied Russian at the University of Cambridge and in the Soviet Union and has been studying Ukrainian since March 2022.
Wanda Phipps is the author of the books Mind Honey, Field of Wanting: Poems of Desire, and Wake-Up Calls: 66 Morning Poems. She received a New York Foundation for the Arts Poetry Fellowship. Her poems have appeared in over one hundred literary magazines and numerous anthologies.
Myrosia Stefaniuk, educator, writer, and translator was born in Ukraine, came to the States via post-WWII refugee camps, and resettled in Detroit. Her published translations include poetry by Vasyl Holoborodko, Icarus with Butterfly Wings, and Mykola Vorobyov’s Wild Dog Rose Moon, as well as contemporary prose and poetry in numerous anthologies and literary journals. She has penned non-fiction books on Ukrainians in the diaspora – Dibrova Diary: Memoir of a Place; Ukrainians of Detroit; and her own poetry in At the Edge of Mirror Lake.
Virlana Tkacz heads the Yara Arts Group and has directed almost forty original shows at La MaMa Theatre in New York, as well as in Kyiv, Lviv, Kharkiv, Bishkek, Ulaanbaatar, and Ulan Ude. She received an NEA Poetry Translation Fellowship for her translations with Wanda Phipps.
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