Poems By Olga Brazhnyk
Autumn so late, oh what do you need again?
Damned be lass, for how do you snatch them so?
Hard as I tried, I couldn’t be your match.
Calling the strong ones, so they do not dare refrain
But come under your banner black versus falling slow
Into the waters so dead and so blue and wretched.
Autumn my dove, what secrets do you impart?
Sharing money? Cells? Or the last bread-bite?
Why would they need your bread with their apples the best?
Squinting as predators do, paranoid in heart,
A bony shoulder you bared – and waters wide
Thickened and ripened before we quenched the thirst.
Forests of yours have air that rings with steel,
Incense and myrrh in leaves that are rustling hide.
The smell of rebellion is sharp in your army’s keep.
Sweeping aside all things on their path as they will,
Your soldiers are now in their quarters, and there abide
Waiting for summer. Dreading to fall asleep.
Return me my summer –
I’ll throw you my springs upcoming to step upon.
Return me my body – it never was yours, by the way, to begin with.
Bohemian life blindly binds with virtuous overtones
Of stories of saints who might also be open to doing things simply.
All around – the fixtures, all behind – the experience, the urban camel so-called…
A dove is delivering emails in yearning – for maybe…
So how can I prove I don’t love you, what pledge should hold?
Pledging my right hand? Oh wait, let my braid be ready.
No count for your growth rings – for words cannot get it right.
You put on a yoke and call it a necklace pretty…
Should my city protest a connection so overtly tight –
Then I also protest against living in such a city.
A word or two about love
We’re exactly the same, so the tears are wasted and spare.
More important than principles, all’s overwhelmed by gain.
Yes, the steerers are mighty, but what if we had to compare
The whole world that is scared and hunched in its wait for the rain?
You will also all shrunken exhale in the air so weakly
A word or two ‘bout love, while the double war
topped with cream `s getting cold.
And some bloody benevolent sicko
Will provide us a place on his newly-built ark on a whim.
Hand in hand, you and I, we are harnessed together as workhorses.
Forty years in a desert, we persistently toil at this work…
Here’s a bird with a letter. It says it all only will worsen…
I will fend for myself somehow. Listen, you go to the war.
Translation by Natalie Domova
Olga Brazhnyk was born in 1981 in Bilopillya, Sumy region of Northeast Ukraine. She was studying to be a lawyer and obtained a master's degree in media communication. She worked on television and radio. Her first book of poetry, "If She exists", was published in 2019. Her poetry has been published in almanacs, collective publications, regional and national press. She is a member of the National Union of Journalists of Ukraine and the National Union of Writers of Ukraine. Organizer and participant of literary and artistic events. Winner of the "I. Drach Golden Goat Literary Award". laureate of the festival of bards' songs and sung poetry "Bulat".
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