SurVision Magazine
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An
international online magazine that
publishes Surrealist poetry
in English.
Issue Four
DMYTRO CHYSTIAK
Acacia
You tread on acacia blossoms –
the fire of distant warm hands
heats up the quietude of this May night...
You follow the acacia scent –
and reverberate with the night's splendour.
Attracted by your voice, the fire shapes into candlelight.
But the winds will subside; only the nightingales will go on.
White hands abandon darkness for wholeness.
And the acacias blossom all over you, all over the stars.
Evening Song
The evening rows across the cherry grove –
And everything fades into white
Silence rows across the blue grove –
And tears; tears too
Threads have got lost
Shadows bow
Beauty settles all around
And the bright tree merges with my body
Moistened by a clear tear
Gilded is the evening silence –
And the singing grows louder
Gilded are the evening tears –
And fruits appear
Wedding fruits
That make you younger
It wasn't a pure word
That has persuaded the bright tree –
It was a baby!
It Stirs
It stirs – so softly
above the ancient Temple – nowhere else –
some traces of the golden rain
You blossom before dusk
in the late garden
amid the dewy dew
... just like a waterfall's outflow...
Translated from Ukrainian by Anatoly Kudryavitsky
the fire of distant warm hands
heats up the quietude of this May night...
You follow the acacia scent –
and reverberate with the night's splendour.
Attracted by your voice, the fire shapes into candlelight.
But the winds will subside; only the nightingales will go on.
White hands abandon darkness for wholeness.
And the acacias blossom all over you, all over the stars.
Evening Song
The evening rows across the cherry grove –
And everything fades into white
Silence rows across the blue grove –
And tears; tears too
Threads have got lost
Shadows bow
Beauty settles all around
And the bright tree merges with my body
Moistened by a clear tear
Gilded is the evening silence –
And the singing grows louder
Gilded are the evening tears –
And fruits appear
Wedding fruits
That make you younger
It wasn't a pure word
That has persuaded the bright tree –
It was a baby!
It Stirs
It stirs – so softly
above the ancient Temple – nowhere else –
some traces of the golden rain
You blossom before dusk
in the late garden
amid the dewy dew
... just like a waterfall's outflow...
Translated from Ukrainian by Anatoly Kudryavitsky
Dmytro Chystiak is a poet, short story writer and literary translator from Kyiv, Ukraine, assistant professor at the National Taras Shevchenko University of Kyiv. He has published a number of collections by Ukrainian poets in his translations into French, and French poets in his translations into Ukrainian. His debut collection of poems titled First Thawed Patches came out in 2006, followed by The Sea Cast in Stone (2016). In 2013, he won the Maxym Rylsky Prize for his translations of poetry.
