Poem
Myroslav Laiuk
TREES
your trees lively treessewn with roots to the bodies of ancestors
gush warm blood through the bark before easter
holy faces go out
your trees lively trees
play the birds like a symphony orchestra
no conductor the violin of orioles
maestro linden at dawn
your trees lively trees
bite their elbows and break their thin arms
losing children they nervously creak
in the faces of windows
your trees lively trees
will deliver three blows to the dead doors
cross the threshold and ask for some water
they will ask for a soul
© Translation: 2014, Alan Zhukovski
дерева
дерева
твої дерева живі деревакорінням зшиті з тілами предків
у страсний тиждень з кори б’ють кров’ю
виходять лики
твої дерева живі дерева
на птахах грають як оркестранти
без диригента на скрипці іволг
маестро липа
твої дерева живі дерева
в обличчя вікон будуть скребтати
кусати лікті ломити руки
дітей втрачати
твої дерева живі дерева
трикратно гримнуть у мертві двері
зайдуть до хати попросять пити
попросять душу
© 2019, Myroslav Laiuk
A different version of this poem appeared in Sow-Thistle!
Poems
Poems of Myroslav Laiuk
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TREES
your trees lively treessewn with roots to the bodies of ancestors
gush warm blood through the bark before easter
holy faces go out
your trees lively trees
play the birds like a symphony orchestra
no conductor the violin of orioles
maestro linden at dawn
your trees lively trees
bite their elbows and break their thin arms
losing children they nervously creak
in the faces of windows
your trees lively trees
will deliver three blows to the dead doors
cross the threshold and ask for some water
they will ask for a soul
© 2014, Alan Zhukovski
A different version of this poem appeared in Sow-Thistle!
TREES
your trees lively treessewn with roots to the bodies of ancestors
gush warm blood through the bark before easter
holy faces go out
your trees lively trees
play the birds like a symphony orchestra
no conductor the violin of orioles
maestro linden at dawn
your trees lively trees
bite their elbows and break their thin arms
losing children they nervously creak
in the faces of windows
your trees lively trees
will deliver three blows to the dead doors
cross the threshold and ask for some water
they will ask for a soul
© 2014, Alan Zhukovski
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