3 Poems by Vasyl Barka

Born on July 16, 1908 in Ukraine’s Poltava region, Vasyl Barka was a prolific poet, novelist and religious thinker. Best known for “The Yellow Prince,” a novel set against the 1932-33 Holodomor, which he survived as a young man, he has also chronicled World War II and life in exile among the Ukrainian diaspora in the United States. His magnum opus, “Witness for the Seraphim’s Sun” is a four volume narrative in verse exploring the interpenetration of spiritual and worldly struggles against the background of World War II, during which the author was wounded as a soldier for the Red Army and taken prisoner by the Germans. Barka died in 2003 in Liberty, New York.JOIN US ON TELEGRAMFollow our coverage of the war on the @Kyivpost_official. The Ocean The ocean stirs muscles and moss,shakes their stone-hold in its froth. Ridges doze over a blanket of blue;hundred-candled servants: cherries bloom. The day decrees the wave’s breakinto a chamomile wreath, seethingas it smashes – like a lion! beforethe boiling retreats and leaves a mirrorto reflect the smile back to its source. Freedom, sailing; day by dayyour flowing strings dronelike a minstrel in the bay;a melody of youth out of blue light,with the thrashing waves you glideover the water and its evil crypts. Then a petrel invokes a lightning bolt –and the rains to nurture nature’s crib. Evening Candle Dark! the dying wick disappears. Other Topics of Interest ‘Deliberate Provocation’: Ukrainian Writer’s Grave Vandalized in Poland Ukraine called the vandalism of Bohdan Lepkyi’s grave in Poland a “deliberate provocation” aimed at inflaming tensions between the neighbors. But the lip is lit; a suddensplash (into the wax) –its sowing: the spirit wedding life,its sowing: heaven in the eyes.An ascetic’s peace; a bee’s spray –the wax flashes!…We’re blind to its shining;we’ve recognized the bitterbluing wick rising.We wait – the wick in its coffined cell –for the sky to light the icon.Monastic wax. Home Sunflowers pray. Thunder reads the Bible on a cloud…poplar whispers: what dread your lament, Isaiah! Sunflowers pray. Hunger; mother kills her child…poplar screams: such is my paradise, Isaiah! Translated by Stash Luczkiw Stash Luczkiw is a US-born, European-based writer, translator and features editor for Kyiv Post.