Natalka Bilotserkivets

Natalka Bilotserkivets Poems

In memory of Ernst Juenger

There are boys who befriend snakes.
They are fearless and they sing.
...

When on a red screen
on the white pillows that are of dead faces
lie the hieroglyphs of brows and eyes
like butterflies embroidered in silk —
...

There's nothing better than the scent
of a child's hair... only a dried violet
smells that way... only an unsure-blue
petal on the thin neck
...

for anyone

in one of the cities where at an uncertain time
capricious fate acknowledges us
...

only a year is left just one year
until he can cross the shoe-scraped threshold
and beyond the dark walls covered in lice and fleas
...

You are the train that leaves at zero hour
of the new year.
Again the same compartments, illuminated,
like smoke in the vast night.
...

7.

It's time to pack your bag and go.
You don't know what to take - something easy
to carry; everything you'd possibly need,
instantly found.
...

Natalka Bilotserkivets Biography

Bilotserkivets' was born in 1954 and holds a degree in Ukrainian literature from Kyiv University. Her poetical universe was formed under the influence of French symbolism and Russian acmeism, thus for the Western reader there are no cultural barriers which often impede the adequate translation of Ukrainian poetry into foreign languages. Her first poetry book Ballad about the Invincibles was published in 1976, while she was still a student. The collections of poems The Underground Fire (1984) and November (1989) became real hallmarks of Ukrainian poetical life of 1980's. Her meticulous, refined lyrics became a serious competitor to the powerful male poetry of the generation of 1980's. For the entire younger generation of the post-Chornobyl Ukraine her poem "We Will Not Die in Paris" served as a kind of prayer. Her name is often associated with it, though she also wrote a lot of other great poems.)

The Best Poem Of Natalka Bilotserkivets

Boys Choir

In memory of Ernst Juenger

There are boys who befriend snakes.
They are fearless and they sing.
Their white shirts, like snow
fly above a fresh grave.

Beneath the black velvet of their pants
their knees burn, torn in marches
on the marble cliffs. Their voices
are thin, but even thinner is their pure breath.

Their perfect pitch resounds like thunder
from lop-eared ears to tender ribs.

...There is no falsity in my feelings
for You, my Lord, for You.

O this love, cold and clear,
this steel honor:
like crystal, salty and icy
and crystal.

There are lips that close the seam
on the sleepy wound;
and blood that drips from the sole
becomes dew.

This is the love that befriends snakes
and beats without pity;
and will kill if Your image
winks from the crystal

and points towards the bloodied path
between reapings
where snow lies on dead ships
and sailors sleep.

Natalka Bilotserkivets Comments

Rosalind in Canada 02 March 2022

Stay safe. I love your work. I'm writing a blessing poem for you.

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