I don’t see why you must remember 1980s Kyiv
the white walls the sterile windows of the churches
the empty silence the lines of white bandages and fresh asphalt
still hot scorching underdone bitumen
why you must remember the waterless fizzy water vending machine those white celandine meringues
you’ll be forever stuck leafing through old photos here’s one of you just before your birthday
sneaking past the heroes of the revolution past the warm columns of autocracy the symbols of homeland
I don’t see why you must remember Kyiv now no one lives to love the dead or tear apart notebooks
and the cloudy Podol oil Annushka spilled
I don’t see why you must remember who lived in house that was Emperor Nikolаi’s favourite colour
those who told tales to the caretaker and to childhood friends
they didn’t recognise or remember you after all these years
here a democratic life passes under local anaesthetic
something with no name other than why must you remember 1980s Kyiv divided into before and after
folded pages in the spine of Duke Berry’s book of hours
love is restless and unkind it doesn’t end or begin only the burning asphalt
the shortages of potato peelings acorns and tap water
shortages of bath salts cheerful people in the metro
I don’t see why you must remember
Translated by Mark Wingrave
Series edited by Emilia Mirazchiyska
Mark Wingrave is a painter. He is interested in the interplay between translation and ekphrasis. Mark has exhibited internationally and many of his recent exhibitions are dedicated to the visualisation and translation of Russian literature. In particular, he has worked with texts from Nikolai Gogol, Elena Shvarts, and Evgenia Rits. His translations from Russian to English have appeared in Azuria and Soanyway (collaboration with Gala Uzryutova).
