[untitled]
The tiny scarab rolls away the sun once more and the sea
Cleaves in two, but the slave impresses no one with this miracle.
This is the king’s last campaign,
his tracks are already flooded
And, anyway, when we are together, something’s wrong with the world.
Swarming elements deliver entanglements to our door,
And the wind pours morning coffee, on the house, just as it would for a Khan.
I flow into you,
Immigrate—like a Jew
Who, despite everything, still thirsts for Canaan.
You touch me like a morning zephyr, gently upon the shoulder.
You cast a spell upon the scarab—that keeps rolling away—in vain,
And we are driven to despair: by day the sunshine scorches us,
And the brief night no longer rescues anything at all.
[Без назви]
маленький скарабей відкотить сонце вкотре і
моря розійдуться та чудом раб не вразить…
похід царя останній
сліди затоплені
і все-таки з цим світом щось не так якщо ми разом
стікаються стихії а може перешкоди до дверей
і вітер ставить каву ранкові як хану
перетікаю в тебе
іммігрую – іудей
якому незважаючи і попри все так треба ханаану
якому вранці ти зефіром лагідно торкаєш за плече
і заклинаєш скарабея – що все котить – всує
в безвихідь загнані: нам сонце вдень пече
а ніч коротка і більш нічого не рятує
[untitled]
Captain! Land ho! Let me disembark.
I see a walled city that has no keep,
Peacocks marching past at high noon;
Archangels—meditating from skyscrapers—
Blissful faces drowning in a carbon monoxide haze
Comparing human deeds to their tablets’ commandments.
Captain, this capitol stings me to the quick.
Did my hat blow off? Am I losing my mind?
The jaded scene unfolds in my spyglass.
Dejection strangles me, claws at my throat.
Captain, I must disembark. Give the command!
Captain,
I would leave this ship; here is the land I’ve sought.
[Без назви]
капітане я бачу землю на якір наш
бачу град не без мурів але без вежі}
павичі де місцеві в обід вистукують марш
із хмарочосів тихцем архангели стежать
все звіряючи з нормами на скрижалях
потопаючи блаженним лицем у СО 2
капітане ця столиця так глибоко жалить
що зриває мені капелюшка. себто дах.
обезсилівши від побаченого в підзорну трубу
задихаючись від печалі що за горло руками душить
капітане дайте команду я зійду
капітане
дозвольте зійти. я хочу цієї суші
Both poems originally appeared in Magnetic Storms (No Reply Press, 2023).
Lyudmyla Diadchenko earned her M.A. in Ukrainian Language, Literature and Literary Creation in 2012, and her Ph.D. in Literary Theory in 2016, both from Taras Shevchenko University in Kyiv. Her three Ukrainian poetry collections—Fee for Access (2011), A Hen for the Turkish Man (2017) and Kedem (2021)—were all honored in her native land. She has also had books appear in translation—in English, Greek, Italian and Romanian. Her poems have been anthologized in Belarus, Chile, China, Georgia and Romania. In 2023, Diadchenko was awarded Italy’s International Ceppo Award for Peace and Poetry. She has been published globally and has appeared by invitation at poetry and literary festivals in Europe, Asia and South America.
About the translator: American poet Padma Thornlyre has published 11 books of poetry, including the four books of his Anxiety Quartet (2020-21) and Mavka: a poem in 50 parts (2011), inspired by the Ukrainian writer Lesya Ukraïnka’s play, Forest Song. He began translating Lyudmyla Diadchenko’s poetry in 2021 and looks forward to their continued collaboration. Padma is also the editor of the occasionally published literary/arts/cultural journal Mad Blood and a founding member of the Turkey Buzzard Press poetry co-op. In addition to translating Diadchenko, he is working on a new book of poetry, WagJaw; his first novel, Baubo’s Beach: an autobiography of the unconscious; Lunalia, a poetry and art collaboration with Ksenia Tsvetkova; and is slowly assembling Mossbeard, his collected poems.
The Collidescope 