We Stand With Ukraine

We Stand With Ukraine: “Mother Says” by Andrii Krasnyashchikh

Every morning in the faculty chatroom they do a headcount: ‘Alive’, ‘Alive’, ‘Alive’.

This piece, a war diary by Kharkiv native Andrii Krasnyashchikh translated from the Russian by Matthew Hyde, marks the conclusion of Asymptote‘s We Stand With Ukraine Series. Over the course of the series’s run, we have brought together translations and original English-language compositions from around the world. Collectively, these pieces report on the war from the ground and examine the voyeuristic feeling of following it from afar; they comment on the latest developments and put them in dialogue with other conflicts from history. Above all else, they are an expression of solidarity with the victims of this war and a call for an end to the violence.

Mother Says

Translator’s note: Andrii Krasnyashchikh writes from his hometown of Kharkiv, a town of literary renown, as Russian bombs fall. The added tragedy of the situation is that history is repeating itself, in a distorted form. Much of Kharkiv was reduced to rubble in World War II; now Andrii’s mother says: ‘they’re worse than the fascists.’ The other bitter irony is that Andrii is a Russian-speaking Ukrainian, a representative of the ‘Russian World’, whom Russia has supposedly come to liberate. In his sparse, tense style, Andrii documents the reality of life in a town under bombardment, everyday mundanities offset against the ever-present, terrifying backdrop of war. But hope is not yet lost, and humour is one of the coping mechanisms; Andrii’s daughter finds an anecdote on the internet in which Putin returns to earth from hell, only to find that wherever he goes he is charged in the Ukrainian currency, the hryvnia; the whole world is Ukrainian now.  

Matthew Hyde

Kharkiv, March 2022.

Mother says: they’re worse than the fascists.

She was born in 1946, she doesn’t remember the war. My father remembers, he was born in 1940. He talks about the missile which hit their house, how he and his brother fled through a field, how a bomb fell right next to them. He remembers plenty from the war.

Mother talks about her granddaughter, about when she was little, how she’d say ‘tyup’ instead of ‘soup’. Her granddaughter’s not so little nowten years old already, she’s sure to remember this war.

READ MORE…

We Stand With Ukraine: “Charred Snow” by Deborah Kelly

and all words swallowed hard / on themselves.

In this edition of our column that spotlights literature expressing support for the citizens of Ukraine, we present Deborah Kelly’s poem, “Charred Snow.” Through tightly coiled lines, the poem evokes both the ongoing devastation and the inarticulable grief of victims of war. 

Charred Snow

Who sings a folksong on the steps of ruin
knows, there are words one swallows
under bombardment,
but I, in another town, could cry devastation,
as many times as it fell.
In the charred snow, burnt bread.
The least of it. To say devastation,
I cried sons, daughters.
But then, Bucha,
and all words swallowed hard
on themselves.

READ MORE…

We Stand With Ukraine: “The Ghost of Kyiv” by B. R. Dionysius

Through his phone’s / cracked canopy he plays you a black streak / over Kyiv

In this week’s edition of literary works written in support and solidarity with the citizens of Ukraine, we are proud to present a poem by B. R. Dionysius. “The Ghost of Kyiv” movingly comments on the distancing voyeurism of watching tragedy unfold from afar, and of wide-ranging human affairs condensed into byte-sized consumption. As we continue to navigate the ever-shifting boundaries between the virtual and the real, Dionysius’ poem works between man and machine, its precise lines edging out the bodies caught within them.

The Ghost of Kyiv

Your son shows you a Tik Tok clip;
You both play Russian computer games.
Simulators that glorify World War Two/
mid-century armour & the cold war era
where each new development increased
penetration; rounds that defeated steel’s
stubborn thickness. You watch your son
take to the skies over maps of Ukraine.
1941. Get shot down a lot. The next best
thing to flying solo. Through his phone’s
cracked canopy he plays you a black streak
over Kyiv; a medieval, barbed arrowhead
punching through the sky’s grey cuirass. For
fifty years the fulcrum has been idle; three up
-grades, engines, radar, missiles, but never seen
combat. Seventies bones good enough to mix
it over the capital with its modern successors,
flankers & frogfeet; a retro jet where the ghost
got good purchase from his re-engineered multi-
role fighter. The first ace in a day in fifty years.
Not since Alam’s F-86 sabre rattled in the Indo-
Pakistani war has the aerial world revelled in six
kills in one day. Your son doesn’t bother to fact
check the video, sold on social media’s bravado;
a pilot’s last stand. He tells you the ghost was shot
down, but ejected. His short clip trimmed to fit.
READ MORE…

We Stand With Ukraine: “Life’s More Enduring Than War” by Irina Ivanchenko

As the war in Ukraine continues, our new column shows that the world stands with Ukraine.

In our fourth installment of this new weekly column, we collect the works of writers around the world in response to the ongoing war in Ukrainetexts of compassion, of endurance, of commemoration, and of reaching outward. This poem expresses the resilience of both the art of poetry and the Ukrainian people in the face of violence.

Life’s More Enduring Than War

When the water runs out,
light fades, frost falls, and the
firmament freezes over,
we won’t stoop to prose.

Тhe grasses, dry and stiff,
have not yet grown above us.
Until the words run out,
we’ll speak in verses

of those who are far and near,
and say that we’re one and loved,
above the Bug, the Vorskla, the Dnieper,
in Warsaw, Rome, and Prague.

When all the words run out,
in bird language, we’ll proclaim,
in one universal roll call
our homeland is alive.

Life’s more enduring than war,
long-lasting, sacrosanct.
We’re all her children, and while
she lives, we won’t be orphaned. READ MORE…

We Stand With Ukraine: “invasion” by Jonathan Chan

rough-worn faith / that this will make them listen. . .

In our third installment of this weekly column, we continue to highlight works from writers around the globe responding to the war in Ukraine. In this poem, Jonathan Chan, in a series of haunting stanzas, expresses the desperate but unflagging faith of a people resisting invasion of their homes.  

invasion

“The town watches.”

—Ilya Kaminsky

i speak not of civility

ambassadors in their pretty suits in
pretty chairs, faces walled by panels
of glass, spittle for war criminals who
will bypass purgatory, chilled before a
passive, bloodless face.

i speak not of civility

another tranche, another round of
sanctions announced on virtual
squares, rough-worn faith that
this will make them listen, this must
make them listen,

i speak not of civility

the instincts of past clicks, strategic
shares, swipe, image, swipe, clip,
swipe, image, swipe, prayer, swipe,
share, sudden rush of yellow and
blue, billowing, billowing,

i speak not of civility

all these groups suddenly dropped
on their knees, candlelight vigil
at 8 pm on zoom, learning again
the violence of intercession, a
century’s ghost moaning please,
Lord, please

READ MORE…

We Stand With Ukraine: “To Memorise a Crocus” by Sam Garvan

a half-opened door / like a wing-bone.

In this second installment of our new weekly column, we collect the works of writers around the world in response to the ongoing war in Ukrainetexts of compassion, of endurance, of commemoration, and of reaching outward. When there is the time of violence, there is the time of poetry, reminding us of the immense actions of language. This poem, an elegy in both images and the inverse of what can be seen, is written by Sam Garvan for Captain Sidorov, killed on February 19, 2022 by Russian artillery. 

To Memorise a Crocus

 Mariupol 10.3.22

And so the winter storm blew in, casting its cold eye
over the house I love.

Already on a clear night you can see a half-opened door
like a wing-bone.

To memorise a crocus, my father said, do so as hail
is falling round it.

Sam Garvan won the Troubadour Prize 2021, and joint runner-up Keats-Shelley Prize. His recent work is published / forthcoming in Ink, Sweat & Tears, The Alchemy Spoon, and the Keats-Shelley Review. He has a PhD from London University and works for a London beekeeper.

*****

Read more on the Asymptote blog:

 

We Stand With Ukraine: “Let Me Cry with Your Eyes My Love Affair with Budapest” by Thanh Tâm Tuyền

As the war in Ukraine enters its third week, a new column to show that the world stands with Ukraine.

At Asymptote the very notions of equality and social justice are embedded within our advocacy for a more inclusive world literature. Past projects like 2014’s ”Say Ayotzinapa,” responding to the kidnapping of 43 Mexican students, and an entire Special Feature, in our Spring 2017 edition, spotlighting authors from countries targeted by Trump’s #MuslimBan, speak fully to this. The current devastating moment surely calls for collective action again, and so, in this new column at the blog, published henceforth every Saturday, we will be gathering new work—poetry, fiction, essays, and translations thereof—responding to the war, now in its third week. May these pieces offer hope and strength in turbulent times even as they express outrage on behalf of and support for Ukrainians. 

For our inaugural column, editor-at-large Thuy Dinh translates into English for the first time an iconic Vietnamese poem, originally written in December of 1956. Through this work, South Vietnamese poet Thanh Tâm Tuyền expresses solidarity with Hungarian revolutionaries who struggled against Soviet forces. Though published decades prior, the visceral imagery of these lines still evoke empathy for those ardently resisting the invasion of their homeland.

Let Me Cry with Your Eyes My Love Affair with Budapest

Let me cry with your eyes
My love affair with Budapest
My heart and yours each of us a heart
They fill the streets with artillery tanks.

Let me harness the anger in your breasts
As they fire steel into lipstick-shaped muzzles
At each crossroad my face becomes a barricade.

Let me howl from your throat
As the bright morning takes wing
They knock us down like bricks
Drunk in their kill-lust
The way we thirst for the future.

Let me seethe with your cheeks
While they seal off border routes
Our joined fingers flutter like breath
My body waits.

Let me trade my sleep for your
Stress-riven, bullet-grazed forehead
It’s never night for night never comes
They attack in the morning it lasts forever.

Let me die in your skin
Threaded into the tanks’ endless tracks
I will live by your breath
O the ones in your stead

Let me cry with your eyes
My love affair with Budapest.

Thanh Tâm Tuyền
December 1956

Translated from the Vietnamese by Thuy Dinh

Interested in submitting your own work to this column? Send it to the “We Stand with Ukraine” section of our Submittable portal here—fees will be waived for this particular category. We look forward to reading your responses. READ MORE…