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Tender A Night Dream, September 2013

2017, Poem

Poem International English Language Quarterly ISSN: 2051-9842 (Print) 2377-4673 (Online) Journal homepage: http://www.tandfonline.com/loi/rpom20 Tender A Night Dream, September 2013 Olena Stepanenko, Maria Galina & Tatiana Bonch-Osmolovskaya To cite this article: Olena Stepanenko, Maria Galina & Tatiana Bonch-Osmolovskaya (2017) Tender A Night Dream, September 2013, Poem, 5:4, 369-372, DOI: 10.1080/20519842.2017.1389162 To link to this article: https://doi.org/10.1080/20519842.2017.1389162 Published online: 28 Nov 2017. Submit your article to this journal Article views: 1 View related articles View Crossmark data Full Terms & Conditions of access and use can be found at http://www.tandfonline.com/action/journalInformation?journalCode=rpom20 Poem: International English Language Quarterly, 2017 Vol. 5, No. 4, 369–372 https://doi.org/10.1080/20519842.2017.1389162 Olena Stepanenko Tender Translated from Ukrainian by Maria Galina and Tatiana Bonch-Osmolovskaya You walk through Kreschatik through a minefield sometimes bloodstained poppies sprout from your footsteps find us at work on these scrolls – find our names – You do not care but we will be glad … Bare feet are cold, is that frost on the eyelids? – Our Lord, a thousand times devoured, is warm. Put me at least to the generous udder of the sky for I do not ask You to take me into Your bosom. Just a bit closer – may I? In spring souls become so sharp that even shadows rip as if all the names in the world recall their birthright and withdraw their rheumatic roots © Olena Stepanenko, Maria Galina and Tatiana Bonch-Osmolovskaya 2017. All Rights Reserved. 369 Vol. 5, No. 4 Poem and write on the text of a throat with an orthodox scalpel so that anyway Your trace will become verdure before summer and anyway I will find You and recognize You. A passing bird passed. Seeds falling from the roof germinating me anew for Your bestiary. 370 Making the Connection September–December 2017 A Night Dream, September 2013 When apostle andrei and olena built the Coliseum Their eyes were sad, movements sharp and light – Let us take, they said, these bricks and weapons, and these people – Let us go out of the city to the other bank of the river. For nothing burns as long as just-spilled blood For nothing lasts as long as hatred and war – Let us take these tanks and axes, viruses and bombs – whatever they brought with them – And journey further, to where the tigris runs, the euphrates. There they marched and never stopped – years outran them The rusty sun flaked and the linen moon faded Only the desert kept spawning sand As if it was a fish. As if the sky was metal. Oblivion moved towards them like a silent horde And they submitted to it and completely forgot – First the names of their loved ones. Then – the names of their enemies. The names of those who wounded them. Then – the names of those they killed … Names of thirst and hatred, famine and guilt, And − longest-lasting of all – the names of blood, Depending on age, gender, season, and body count … Last they forgot the great name of war − And there they stopped. An eagle rotted on its pole, Standards, cannons, and sabres – all this dust Naked, nameless, grey, necessary – what for? For whom? And the grass came and rose above their knees, 371 Vol. 5, No. 4 Poem Grass lay in the palm of their hands like an innocent weapon, Grass sprouted into their hearts – And left there a golden silent darkness … When apostle andrei and olena finished their journey – They did not turn back. They did not cry, did not part their hands, Behind them, a green sea overflowed its shores Running into every palm, Stopping every war. 372