Untitled

AT SHEVCHENKO’S GRAVE...

I

Having paid homage to the remains

we descended from the hill.

– Another tyrant, another captivity.

A steamship rasping far-off

smoked a cigar...

A dreamwave.

And suddenly across the Dnipro someone struck up a fire.

Someone leaned against pillars of rain,

Shuddering:

drink, earth, drink!

become drunk with rebellions!

...Stringed anger began to strum.

Trees and the landing began to move.

And the boats, like horses, grew frightened...

The red-blue-green rainbowingly said “hello”

to all –

and it began to take in water.

And within me –

(stringed anger strummed) –

Oh, there’ll still be a flood,

and laughter

and wine.

1918


II

We stayed overnight on the floating Seagull Hotel.

Vasylchenko with his book Karmeliuk,

and I – with my Skovoroda.

I remember: on the river

the moon lost in meditation...

And on a veranda above the water

there were songs and cards at a table:

they came, just imagine, to Taras

from Pavlo Skoropadsky,

from a swineherd!

They lamented: good doesn’t exist,

but we want good for everyone.

It’s time to “gather” our Russia!

We can serve Pavlo “by the by,”

and there...

The moon grew bloody along its edges.

The fellow from my village fell asleep.


...we won’t let them out of our hands there!

Suddenly the water began to weep...

And there was no one to ask:

who should we expect to save Ukraine?

– Karmeliuk.

– Skovoroda.

1918


III

Beyond Trypillia on a mountain

Zeleny was already thundering.

The turmoil had begun in Tarashchanka...

– rain, rain –

we went to Kaniv.

Cherry-tree streets, a bazaar.

The theater was like a cattle pen.

And below, toward the river, down from the Cathedral –

ravine after ravine...

Whom are they beating up? “This is freedom?”

– “Shut up! can’t the retaliation brigade

take a bribe?”

When will the vicious reptile die

and stop strangling the people!

We’re going... “It’s time!

It’s time!” They’re meeting us at the Seagull Hotel.

Time to go where? to escape? from whom?

We’ll join the rebels, too – we laugh...


And someone said:

wait,

Vynnychenko lives here somewhere.

...O Prince Mountain!

is so very high.

1918