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Viktor Nedostup

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Viktor Nedostup

  • Waiting for nocturne

    Kyiv – the champion!

    Kyiv – the champion!

    The clouds crawl like burning ice floes

    the streets are brimming with gold and wind

    doors rattle neons tremble

    frost bitumen anxiety

    ladies are sharp like silver strings

    they take trolleys they flag taxis

    the sun is setting and its angle of incidence

    is somewhat like a B flat note

    bohunks in the sub are croaking predictions

    led by a full fed elephant

    deerskins coats phonemes phonemes

    cracked and coarse like moonshine

    and my teeth are like a r-r-r-radiator

    phonemes stick the portraits of stars

    thirty-years-old queens like a chapeau claque

    deflate to the size of unhappy women

    but the smile is needless the sun is buried

    a cripple stumbles across a lonely square

    throws up his head and watches

    light raging in the hundred thousandth cup

    young and deceived with a baby in her arms

    returns to her mother to Stary Oskol

    a fiery explosion wakes the baby

    a hundred thousand voices in one ‘goal’

    a hundred thousand happies on the street

    fall in cafes fall flowing into the sub

    and black cuts the city in twain

    unable to freeze groans the Dnipro.

  • Nocturne I

    In winter in the night

    something wakes me up

    something holds me by the throat

    I cannot breathe

    I hate walls

    I walk along naked dark streets

    I look for the sun

    my frozen lips try to remember something

    a song or a name

    there is no name to that

    there is no way out

    it’s Kyiv

    perhaps my friends are not asleep

    it’s Kyiv thank Heaven.

    I ease off at Podil.

    I’m sorry. I feel,

    by Heavens, much better now.

    (Yurko Pozaiak, Viktor Nedostup, Semen Lybon. The Lost Letter: Poems. Kyiv: Liuta Sprava, 2019, p. 71, 73.)
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