BSH1 MEMORiAL PROFiLE PiC PiCK of the WEEK No. 40- STAND with UKRAINE

A country in the shape of a puddle, on the map.

Any country is an easy target in March,

in June, July, August, September, October,

as long as it rains

and maps litter the street.

Stop, who goes there, General Oaken Knees.

The Red Square of his naked chest shines the way.

And behind him, a half-shadow, half-man,

half-orphan, half-exile, whose mouth is as coarse

as his land —

double-land where every cave is at war.

Do you say there won’t be a war? I say nothing.

A small gray person cancels

this twenty-first century,

adjusts his country’s clocks

for the winter war.

Buried in a human neck, a bullet looks like an eye, sewn in,

an eye looking back at one’s fate.

Who shot him there? Who gave the order, which man?

Who will bury him, and what’s the rate?

When it comes to humanity, war is the beginning and end.

Whoever attacks you, don’t turn your back.

Says the Lord: For my people are foolish, they have not known me,

they are silly children and they have no understanding.

But the children feel as strong as their machinery,

mass-produced, with plenty of seamstresses for repairing:

some ladies patch holes, others fix neck bones,

still more sew on buttons that were torn away from hands.

And the Lord says:  They are wise in doing evil — but,

says the Lord — they do not know how to do good.

But the children, if they survive, say it was luck,

and if they die, they think that was yesterday,

today is another day,

and the seamstresses stand with a shroud, telling them, “Put this on.”

How long must we put up with the flags, the trumpets calling us into the fray?

What beast has awakened? Where did our special forces land?

Who shot that man in the back? Who gave the command?

Who will bury him, and what’s the rate?

people carry explosives around the city

in plastic shopping bags and little suitcases

they trample the cobblestone we learn their secrets

only the day after and even then it’s just checking the facts

how many windows shattered how many collapsed balconies

did anyone die or is everyone alive and kicking

only frightened that there is no more peaceful life perhaps

war happens and the laws of war are a cruel thing

or perhaps there are no more laws and explosions are now the norm

we don’t get up from the table just shiver and shed some hope

an enemy chooses weapons as a thief finds the pick for a door

when in fact the door is already open

this war isn’t war — it’s a chance not to kill anyone

this love isn’t love unto death — it’s as long as it lasts

to protect one another is all this occasion demands

and to look at the world through a steady rifle sight

and to look within ourselves through every microscope

and to look at you at every hour every minute at all times

to protect one another — and in keeping calm and carrying on

to burn down to the ground and to rise up as smoke

this war isn’t war — but a certain and fiery passion

this love is forever — just as moments pass forever

we hit bottom to get stuck in some new heaven

there is a string that binds us all together

that string between us is a safety fuse

This coffin’s for you, little boy, don’t be afraid, lie down,

A bullet called life clutched tight in your fist,

We didn’t believe in death, look – the crosses are tinfoil.

Do you hear – all the bell towers tore out their tongues?

We won’t forget you, believe it, believe it, be …

Belief bleeds down the seam inside your sleeve,

Chants, prayers, psalms swell up in a lump in your throat

In the middle of this damned winter all dressed in khaki,

And February, getting the ink, is sobbing.

And the candle drips on the table, burning and burning…

-Iya Kiva

to hold a needle of silence in your mouth

to stitch your words in white thread

to whimper while drowning in spit

to keep from screaming spitting blood

to hold the water of a language on your tongue

which leaks like a rusty bucket

to mend things that are still useful

to sew crosses on the really weak spots

like bandages on the wounded in a hospital

to learn to search for the roots of a life

that has yet to learn its name

-Iya Kiva

21 March 2022 - 21:17

Great people of great Ukraine!

21 March 2022 - 00:49

Free people of a free country!

You’re standing with a “No war” sign as if indulging

the inevitable: this war can’t be stopped,

like bright arterial blood from an open wound

it flows till it kills,

it enters our cities with the armed men,

seeps into our courtyards with the reconnaissance units,

like deadly mercury beads that can’t be put back,

you can’t fix it, except to find and neutralize it,

these civilian managers, clerks, IT-guys and students,

life didn’t prepare them for street fights, but the war did,

on the frontline, in a painfully familiar landscape, in a hurry

at first they only recruit experienced combat fighters to the defense units,

after that gamers who play Dune and Fallout,

or maybe if you’ve had a short-course in Molotov cocktails from a bartender you know,

at the local club while the kids are asleep, the kids are crying, the kids are being born

into a world temporarily unfit for life

Out on the playground they’re assembling Czech hedgehogs,

and nuclear families are mixing deadly “drinks.”

whole families, finally enjoying a conversation

and a collective project—war shortens the distance

from person to person, from birth to death,

from what we never wished for—

to what it turned out we were capable of

“Mom, pick up the phone,” a woman’s been pleading for two hours in the apartment building basement,

stubborn and dense, she won’t stop believing in a miracle

but her mother is out of cell phone range, in the suburbs,

where the prefab collapsed like cheap Legos

from the massive strikes, where just yesterday broadcast towers

stopped connecting people, where the world got blown up into pre- and post-war

along the uneven fold of the “no war” sign,

which you’ll toss in the nearest trash,

on your way home from the protest, Russian poet,

war kills with the hands of the indifferent

and even the hands of idle sympathizers.

_____________________________

Halyna Kruk 

Here, take this language, woman,

Use it to shoot.

Defend yourself to your last breath—and whatever you do

don’t let them near you. Use

the radio interception system

and the night vision riflescope.

These are included. And don’t pretend you don’t know how to use it.

Keep your eye trained

on the enemy’s location and on his slightest advance.

Let him come within shooting range—then strike the target and

don’t hesitate.

There are plenty of bullets, don’t spare them,

if they run out—

make new ones out of words,

only slender feminine fingers are suited to such maneuvers.

And come what may, don’t let them near

the old border, where father’s plums lie ripe and heavy.

When they cross it—you must confront them, hand to hand.

Then pierce them with your bayonet, slit them ear to ear,

slash, smash, and scalp them

until the light dims before your eyes.

When you wake up, you’ll stroke the prickly nape

of your recruit-son, hand your husband his crutches,

and then, you’ll start over.

Who said we left you to your fate?

We’ve armed you as best we could.

But these things happen:

heroes have died, enemies survive,

and people, regular people, neither one nor the other,

string and scatter the beads of happiness—

celebrating love, somebody’s birthday,

A house-warming party,

while you’ve filled an earth pie with your flesh.

The planets haven’t ceased their orbit,

even the trams haven’t changed their schedules.

Outside the hospital window there’s a construction site,

hammering stakes, knocking like distant artillery,

and a boy, grasping a piece of rebar, hits it against the asphalt,

the way a night rail worker hits the wheels of the train,

that you ride in oblivion across the whole country,

falling hard, your belly sticking in the earth pie,

that’s been stuffed to the brim with people.

There were days and hours when the city was shelled and I told myself, OK, I am about to die. We live in a private house without a basement: my mother, my 82-two-year-old uncle, and me.

How to say, how to unfold the words that I clench inside my fist onto this page? I am re-watching a video (I don’t know who took it, I found it online) of a bomb that exploded on my street, not 300 meters from my home. Sasha, my neighbor, was killed.

Saltivka, the Kharkiv neighborhood, is a scene from a movie about the apocalypse: Russian soldiers bomb everything in this part of the city. They bomb the city center, too: hospitals, schools, shopping malls. If there is a logic to this bombardment it is the logic of a madman who wants to shell everything he sees. But the city refuses to give in.

At night: large stars. Silhouettes of houses. And hours of fear and waiting. All streetlamps are turned off. People are hiding in the basements and metro stations. During the day: this large city is deserted, like an empty sports stadium, no one is there. In the first days of war, people are hunting for food in groceries, crowds in pharmacies. But the war also unites us — neighbors help each other, it is as if we look into these days as into the mirror and see ourselves for who we are. My friend Oleg volunteers by transporting people. He drives under bombs every day. Another friend, a young man named Nikita, and his mother find themselves in the basement of a shopping mall where they cook food for 1,500 people hiding in a nearby metro station. He walks underground for miles bringing people large pots of food. My neighbor Kostya drives people out of town in his ancient, trembling car and comes back and drives more people. Probably, we are all going mad here. Poetry is what saves me, daily; my straw through which I breathe fresh air. One must breathe through terror.

Morning: they are bombing the city. Night: I am editing my poems. Morning: bombardments again. For everything, there is time: bombardments, fear, quiet, loved ones, moments of wonder. Reality fragments.

Those who have seen war understand this.

Breakdown                                    Estimated & claimed casualties           Time period     

Civilians                                        12,000–28,521+ killed                             24 February – 7 August 2022

Russian and other forces    70,000–80,000 killed and wounded  24 February – 8 August 2022

US estimate                                   20,000 killed 

Ukraine estimate                        43,400 killed,                                               24 February – 13 August 2022

Speech by President Volodymyr Zelenskyy on Independence Day of Ukraine

24 August 2022 - 09:07

The free people of independent Ukraine!

And that says it all. Just four words, but how much is behind them today. On the 182nd day of the full-scale war. How many symbols and meanings, feats and losses, joy and pain are in these words. And mainly how much truth is in them. Our truth. Truth about our present, with which it is impossible to argue, as it is impossible not to see and not to admit. We are the free people of independent Ukraine. After six months of the attempts to destroy us, we are the free people of independent Ukraine. And this is the truth about our future. The free people of independent Ukraine.

Six months ago, Russia declared war against us. On February 24, the entire Ukraine heard explosions and gunshots. And on August 24, it wasn’t supposed to hear the words "Happy Independence Day". On February 24, we were told: you have no chance. On August 24, we say: Happy Independence Day, Ukraine!

During these six months, we changed history, changed the world and changed ourselves. Now we know for sure who is really our brother and friend, and who is not even a casual acquaintance. Who did not lose his name and reputation, and who worried for the terrorists to save face. Who doesn't really need us, and where the door is really open for us. We understood who is who. And the whole world learned who Ukrainians are. What Ukraine is. No one will say about it anymore: it is somewhere over there, near Russia.

We started to respect ourselves. We understood that despite any help and support, no one but us will fight for our independence. And we united.

We didn't have HIMARS yet, but we had people willing to stop tanks with their bare hands. They were not ready to close the sky for us, but we had people willing to cover their native land with themselves.

The Ukrainian people and their courage inspired the whole world. They gave humanity a new hope that justice has not completely left our cynical world. And it is still not force that wins in it, but truth. Not money, but values. Not oil, but people.

Yesterday the world was not united. COVID-19 clearly showed: it's every man for himself. Ukraine has changed this in six months. All world history textbooks will have a section "Times when Ukraine united the world". When democracy grew teeth again. When tyranny receives an answer in the language it understands.
Someone said: Europe is no longer a player. Weak, disunited, passive, sleepy. Ukraine invigorated the whole continent. Europe takes to the squares. Europe introduces tough sanctions. Europe unanimously recognizes that Ukraine is a future member of the European Union.

Big business realized that money still smells. With blood, cinder, death. Corporations and brands are leaving the Russian market, and people have become more important than potential losses.

Never before in the world has public opinion had such an influence on politicians. Today, people dictate trends and rules of behavior to the authorities. Being indifferent, inactive and slow is a shame. Being indecisive and too cautious is a shame. Speaking sluggishly, vaguely and too diplomatically is a shame. Not supporting Ukraine is a shame. And saying about fatigue from Ukraine is a shame. This is a very comfortable position: fatigue is a cover to close your eyes. And today we hear from world leaders and ordinary citizens: we will be with you until the end, until your victory.

We always paid tribute to all the fighters for independence, called this day the main holiday, and the blue-yellow flag - a shrine, put our hands to our hearts while singing the national anthem, and proudly said "Glory to Ukraine!" and "Glory to Heroes!". On February 24, we had to prove our words with deeds.

On this day, the second all-Ukrainian referendum actually took place. Again - the main question. Again - a decisive choice. But this time it was necessary to say "yes" to independence not in the ballot, but in the soul and conscience. Go not to the precinct, but to the military commissariat departments, the territorial defense units, the volunteer movement, the information troops or simply work steadily and conscientiously in your place, at full strength, for a common goal.

We all changed. Someone was born again. As a person, individual, citizen, patriot, simply as a Ukrainian. And this, of course, is good news. Someone disappeared. Did not perish, did not die, but dissolved. As a person, individual, citizen, as a Ukrainian. And this is actually not bad news either. We will not hinder each other anymore.

We made a choice. For some, it is Mariupol. For some - Monaco. But we know who the majority is. And we finally became truly one. A new nation that emerged on February 24 at 4 am. Not born, but reborn. A nation that didn't cry, didn't scream, didn't get scared. Didn't run away. Didn't give up. Didn't forget.

This flag will be everywhere it should be by right. Both in Donbas and in Crimea. The enemy thought we would greet him with flowers and champagne. Instead, he received wreaths and Molotov cocktails. He was waiting for an ovation, but hears "claps".

The occupier believed that in a few days he would be on parade in our capital’s downtown. Today, you can see this "parade" on Khreshchatyk. The proof that enemy equipment can appear in the center of Kyiv only in such form. Burnt, wrecked and destroyed.

It doesn't matter to us what kind of army you have, what matters to us is our land. We will fight for it until the end.

We are holding on for six months. It is difficult for us, but we clenched our fists fighting for our fate. Every new day is a new reason not to give up. Because, having gone through so much, we have no right not to reach the end. What is the end of the war for us? We used to say: peace. Now we say: victory.

We will not seek an understanding with the terrorists. Although we understand the Russian language that you came to defend. And killed thousands of people you came to liberate.

And Johnson, who speaks English, is much more understandable and close to us than murderers, rapists and looters who did it in Russian.

And we don't sit down at the negotiating table because of fear, with a gun pointed at our head. For us, the most terrible iron is not missiles, aircraft and tanks, but shackles. Not trenches, but fetters.

And we will put our hands up only once - when we will celebrate our victory. The whole of Ukraine. Because we do not trade our lands and our people. For us,

Ukraine is all of Ukraine. All 25 regions, without any concessions or compromises. We do not know these words, they were destroyed by missiles on February 24.
Donbas is Ukraine. And we will return it, whatever the path may be. Crimea is Ukraine. And we will return it. Whatever the path may be. You don't want your soldiers to die? Free our lands. You don't want your mothers to cry? Free our lands. These are our simple and clear terms.

We are facing this day in different places. Someone is in trenches and dugouts, in tanks and IFVs, at sea and in the air. Fighting for independence on the frontline. Someone is on the road, in cars, trucks and trains. Fighting for independence by delivering what is necessary to those on the frontline. And someone is on a smartphone or on a computer. Also fighting for independence by raising funds so that those on the road have something to bring to those on the frontline.

We are facing this day in different circumstances, conditions and even in different time zones, but with one goal - preservation of independence and victory of Ukraine!

-Joseph Brodsky

1991