Dispatches from Ukraine - Mariupol on the Front Lines
A sovereignty under attack—a series on Ukrainian emerging and established voices for our community of readers.
Edited by: Stella Hayes
Translator’s Introduction
The three poems by Oksana Stomina you are about to read are part of the Mariupol on the Front Lines cycle of poems. She wrote it in 2015 in response to the 2014 Russian invasion—a hybrid war Russia initiated that has continued for eight years into the present—of her home city, Mariupol, in southeastern Ukraine. Oksana stayed in Mariupol then, as an aid worker helping Mariupol territorial fighters and writing about the perils of war in her poems. It is very tragic that eight years later Oksana had decided to stay once again, helping to defend Mariupol against Russian attack—one of the most brutal sieges in modern history against civilians—as the city finds itself in the center of a humanitarian crisis in Ukraine’s fight for independence.
When translating Oksana’s poems, I tried to honor her wish to preserve rhymes in her work as best I could. I am sure Oksana had her own valid reasons for this wish. Since Oksana is in Mariupol under shelling and bombs—and nearly all lines of communication have been severed —it is difficult to get those insights from her, so I’ll have to offer my own instead.
It is very common for Russian and Ukrainian traditional poetry to be rhymed. Rhyme sends us back to archaic times when it would help to find the way out of a labyrinth, like Ariadne’s thread, giving hope—hope is very important in wartime poetry based on extremely dark and hopeless events. Rhyme taps into the inner Russian-Ukrainian child, the child who knows right from wrong outside the sophisticated complexity of adult knowledge & perception. War highlights the difference and the gap between right and wrong, so it is important to let this inner child speak. Rhyme gives space to more symbolic and metaphorical expression allowing for emotional logic to overtake rational logic; poetry of war is focused on emotions, at times impossible to render into logical and rational narrative.
Rhymed poetry taps into the subconscious mind, bringing forth layers of explosive and unpredictable power—this very dangerous power brings the poem back where it belonged in the past into and out of a spell, a curse, a prayer —a miracle. Is it really so? Can a single poem change the world even a little? Can it affect even one person's fate? One of Oksana’s poems, Maybe, for Sure offers an answer. Is there room for miracles in the modern world and could a rhymed poem be such a miracle? Maybe. For sure.
Oksana Stomina is a Ukrainian poet, activist, aid worker and community leader from Mariupol. She is the author of poetry, fiction and non-fiction books in Russian and Ukrainian: The Ties that Bind: Wartime Diaries, About Living, Walking with Marik, The Incredible Journey with Marik and Marichka and Unintended poems. She was a finalist and won in the following competitions: Luzharsk Midnight, Pushkin Fall in Odessa, Pushkin in Great Britain, Immigrant Lyre and Parnas. She was named winner of the poetry festivals: Slavic Traditions, New Age, New Fairy Tales. Winner of the poetry competitions: Writers for Young Adults (Ukrainian writers Guild) and “such things never repeat” (International Writers Guild). She won a poetry award in honor of Yuri Kaplan and a Slavic Traditions Literary award. Her poetry has been translated into German, English and Lithuanian. She is the founder and co-founder of numerous literary, community and charity projects. She lives in Mariupol.
Liya Chernyakova, a Ukrainian-American poet and songwriter, was born in Kharkiv, Ukraine. Several of her Russian-language poetry collections have been published in the U.S. and Ukraine. She is a winner of the poetry festivals: The Road to Temple, Parnas Games, God Saves Everything Especially Words, World Cup in Russian Poetry, among others. She took part in the Parnas Games festival as an independent juror and was a featured poet in The Horseshoe of Pegasus festival in Vinnica, Ukraine. She has translated Russian-language war poems of Ukrainian poets into English. Her English poems have been featured in several anthologies. Liya holds master’s degrees in physics, math, and computer science.
Mariupol on the Front Lines
Oksana Stomina
translated from Russian by Liya Chernyakova
ROUTINE CASE
Dedicated to all the boys who went to defend their homeland
Body crafted like a vase,
Inside a soul took hold.
It embraced new life with human grace,
In love and sin conspired for ill and good.
Reading books with pure joy,
Diving into summer nights.
Boys, all this happened just yesterday –
But yesterday is out of sight…
Honest, joyful and courageous,
Like his future’s best friend,
God spoke to him words of light,
Of dreams and of homeland
Becoming so tightly linked with honor,
Fastening firmly in his grip.
God’s recklessness bestowed on him,
A giving hand slipping.
Measured with precision, and thoughtfulness
From head to toe,
And God concluded: “The boy is faultless,
Too bad his fate is war.”
And warned him, in passing on the go:
“Live, walk and breathe – that’s it!
Be sure to never lose your soul,
But sacrifice the body if need be.”
At last he went on his way,
And for good luck spat over his shoulder:
“God damn.” Make no mistake,
the boy will never let God down.
ОБЫЧНОЕ ДЕЛО
Мальчикам, честно защищающим Родину, посвящается…
Обычное дело: случилось тело,
в тело вросла душа.
Все это вместе жило, хотело,
Каясь, любя, греша,
Радуясь лету, читая книжки,
Падая в вечера.
Все это было вчера мальчишкой.
Было еще вчера…
Честным, веселым, бесстрашным, словно
С будущностью на «ты».
Дал ему Бог в этой жизни слово,
Родину и мечты.
Честь закрепил, как умеет, прочно,
Крепко, как только смог,
И перебрал с безрассудством, точно,
Как настоящий Бог.
Вымерял метко, как по лекалу,
Все с головы до пят,
И посчитал: безупречный малый,
Значит, увы, солдат.
Предупредил его между делом,
Вот, мол, живи, дыши,
Если придется, пожертвуй телом,
Но не теряй души!
И отпустил, наконец, в дорогу,
Плюнув через плечо,
Зная, что этот чудак, ей богу,
Не подведет ни в чем.
STONE
One fellow human being follows the stream of life,
Falls in love, plants seeds, finds cures, builds
Bridges, and sings songs –
But out of nowhere, another fellow human being
Comes along asserting: “I planned and decided it all for you!
No need to be angry with me, you’ve had a good run.
Don’t you see it brother, your time is up!
So, be through with your bridges as we’re through with you.
Just go!”
“What do you mean Just Go? I’m not sure I can!
I’ve yet to do so much! So much is yet to come!
To begin with, I’ve never slept in a haystack!
And was headed out to the countryside for the first
Time this summer! I have not raised my son, have
Not watched my father grow old. How could you
decide it’s all over? You must be delusional!
"That’s enough, you’re just a sheep in a flock!”
The enemy frowned with annoyance.
“So, shut up! Know your place in the herd!
Accept my final conclusion.”
From under his coat, he took out a stone –
A knife, and his childhood grudge, a tank,
An AKS, an RPG, mortar, ammunition… (1)
What else could he be hiding under his coat?
He climbed on the throne, commanding:
“Charge! To the trenches! We are starting a war.
Right here and now.” He observed the scene,
Smiling scornfully. Yes, when you climb that high
It’s easy to shatter someone’s hopes and dreams,
Homes and towns –
Putting someone’s faith to the test.
Aiming merciless shots at their hearts and souls,
Turning justice into travesty.
Like targets at a shooting range…
Watching kids lose their fathers, without the slightest regret!
Geopolitics, baby! After all, never forget,
In our aging world, it is not a novelty!
Geopolitics! Know your proper place! Stay put!
Don’t you agree? Turn to God with your grievances,
Ask him to teach you how losing friends doesn’t hurt,
How to let in despair little by little,
How to die from bullets. Give birth to men.
Knowing they won’t be safe in your closed hands.
How to remember that one deceptive mask
That covers vileness. A stone ready to be cast.
КАМЕНЬ
Вот как бывает: живет человек, живет,
Любит, сажает деревья, мосты возводит
Или, к примеру, врачует людей, но вот
Вдруг к человеку другой человек приходит
И говорит, что, мол, я за тебя решил,
Ты уже тут некстати, весьма некстати.
Будет тебе сердиться, брат! Все, пожил,
Побаловался, построил мосты и хватит.
- Что значит «хватит»?? Позвольте! Я не могу!
Я недоделал то, недосоздал это!
Я вот, к примеру, ни разу не спал в стогу!
Я собирался в деревню рвануть на лето!
Сына не вырастил. Не досмотрел отца.
Что значит «хватит»?? Позвольте! – кричит в досаде.
- Хватит! – второй поморщился. – Ты – овца!
Так что помалкивай! Знай свое место в стаде!
Ну, и достал из-за пазухи камень/нож/
Танк/РПГ/миномет/АКС/патроны...
Что там еще достают из-за пазух?
- Что ж,
Мы начинаем войну! – и залез на трон. И
Стал наблюдать, улыбаясь ехидно. Да,
С тронов, оно, безусловно, сподручней - рушить
Чьи-то надежды и судьбы, и города,
Бесцеремонно стреляя в сердца и души,
Видеть, как дети теряют своих отцов,
Страстно дырявить людей, как мишени в тире...
Геополитика, детка! В конце концов,
Это уже не ново в подлунном мире.
Геополитика. Знай свое место в ней!
А не согласен, что ж, обращайся к Богу,
Чтоб научил, как не больно терять друзей,
Как привыкать к отчаянью понемногу,
Как умирать от пуль. Как рожать мужчин,
Зная, что их не сберечь, обхватив руками...
Знать, что всегда за одной из своих личин
Прячется подлость, держа наготове камень.
MAYBE, FOR SURE
For many days and hours in a row
At railway ticket booths they form a crowd,
Forsaking the urge to not lose their minds
With no idea of where and for how long,|
They’re rushing to vacate their hometowns,
Still yearning for the lives they left behind.
It is no time for disputes or debates.
They cradle to comfort their whining kids
Lamenting, blaming God and the ones in power,
Pulling out a multitude of large bills,
To Kharkiv or Rostov they get a special deal, (2)
While sharing news and rumors on the road.
Reproaches, tears, belongings and addresses…
Unmet promises – “just a few more hours” –
Yet it dragged on for a second day…
“There are no seats available on the train,” they say.
They’re shelling the crossing again,
There are extra fees for carry-ons to pay.
Feel homesick! But where is home?
Already bombed – they still hang on to hope
Immediate reality is blurred and unclear.
They’re occupied by short and simple thoughts:
Of how to get around those checkpoints.
They’ll make sense of it from here. Maybe. For sure.
НАВЕРНО
Они, который день, который час
Толпятся и толкаются у касс,
Стараясь ненароком не свихнуться.
Не зная ни насколько, ни куда,
Они свои бросают города,
Надеясь, что когда-нибудь вернутся.
Им нынче не до споров и идей.
Они качают хнычущих детей
И нарекают Богу и властям. И
Отлистывая несколько по сто,
Пытаются кто в Харьков, кто в Ростов,
И делятся друг с другом новостями.
Упреки, слезы, вещи, адреса…
Им обещали через два часа,
Да вот пошли уже вторые сутки.
Все говорят, что нет свободных мест,
Что снова обстреляли переезд,
Что надо бы добавить и за сумки.
Так хочется домой! Да где он, дом?
Уже бомбят, но верится с трудом.
Все неопределенно и химерно.
Их мысли лаконичны и просты:
Им бы сейчас объехать блок-посты,
А дальше как-то сложится. Наверно.
Endnotes
Translator’s Note: An RPG is a rocket propelled grenade. An AKC is a type of Kalashnikov.
Translator’s Note: Kharkiv and Rostov are two big cities close to the war zone in Ukraine and Russia respectively; both are major asylums for Ukrainian refugees.