Poems from Ukraine

FIRST STEPS – „Village Without a Name”

Introduction

 

I have never been as a tourist in Ukraine.

I`ve never dreamed of visiting this country and even more about to work here.

Yes, in my childhood I got in my hand Ukrainian fairy tales and in the seminary novels of Ukrainian writers. Working in Russia and traveling in transit I began to visit it.

That is why it is not worth looking for depth, it`s just a flying memory of this country, to which turbulent winds led me, about a country, that has never been home to me.

As exiled from Russia I came to the East of Ukraine already known to me from my travels. This was my stop on the way back to Siberia or even further, my missionary appetite is still great…I was probably not very diligent in studying the genius of this country.

For the first time the reflection on Ukraine came because of events at the Maidan of Independence. The Orange Revolution had such an impact on me that I decided to celebrate this country and give him a piece of heart and time. Just like I did in Russia…outside of work.

I know that Henryk Sienkiewicz (Polish writer) did a lot so that Poles would like Ukraine. I will, however, be glad if someone finds some sympathy for Ukraine with the help of my poems.

I.UKRAINIAN WEST

Lviv – Brzuchowice – 1997

Lviv suburb Brzuchowice
Houses on the hill, sanatorium
Big board: sectarian property
Modest sign: seminary

Cool, damp barracks walls
Just from the state bought out
Cleriks, a group of enthusiasts
First recruitment of candidates

The air is fresh, heavy because is foggy
Such Advent beginnings
God bless their courage
Bless the clergy of the Lviv diocese

Lviv Cathedral

Courtyard and all streets
Which lead to the Cathedral Square
And here is the statue of Adam Mickiewicz

Inside it is dusk like in Mariacki Church
However, I can`t hear the bugle call here
There are no crowds like in Krakow
As if the soul had been stolen from the city

Priests bustle like bees
Bishop Rafał and Jaworski
Was here Markijan Trofimiak
And finally the poet – Bishop Padewski…

Mother of the churches of Ukraina
Today the capital of the Cardinal
House of God Mother of the Most Graces
Here wanted to see the Pope

Anthony of Lviv

On the hill St. Anthon`s Church
There “black fathers” – conventual
Lucjan, Władysław…us, pilgrims
Host for the indulgence!

The tenth year of “pieriestrojka” lasts
The metropolis wakes up from sleep:
Beautiful streets, old houses
Temples are waiting for renovations

Pilgrims from Russia, from Taganrog
Go to Poland by bus
Anthony opens to us borders
Luckily leads to Przemyśl

Tarnopol

We walked without obstacles
Around the great presbytery looking for a priest
He was just visiting his branches
Or a friend`s, neighbor`s

Outside it was raining cruelly
Puddles, clay paths
Lead to great building
The only Latin parish

Łuck – Cathedral

City of the Wołyń, Episcopal capital
White, high walls
A spacious property, Bishop`s Curia
Caritas in the attic

Father Bishop Markijan is pleased
Receives guests in his home
Shares his memories
As a nobleman in the countryside

Small diocese, few people
The tragedy of war hangs in the air
The local church is barely born again
On the bones of martyrs

Bishop Szelazek and nuns Terezjanki
Have their beginnings here…
The Novitiate went to the Podlasie region
A small town of Mońki

I once met Pallotine
In the Krakow Piarist Monastery
He carried flowers in his hands and 
Wept at the grave of Bishop Szelazek…

He just came from Ukraine
Thank to God for your ordination
In these difficult times he studied in Riga
In distant tiny Latvia

He was asked if that true
That there are agents in the seminary…

That`s how I known about Szelazek
Then also about routs
About people drowned in a well
About heads off

Poczajów

Wandering through the wilderness at night
Having lost the trail of the main road
We got to the town in the morning
Where the great monastery reigned

Lady stolen, stolen Orthodox Church
Old Punic Icon
Give Your Graces to people in Wołyń
And to these in neighboring Poland

Torn nation, stolen temples
Disorder, spiritual anarchy
The First Roma with the Third met
In the Poczajów`s monastery

II. CENTRAL UKRAINE

Żytomierz 1996

Cathedral Square, Saint Sophia
Classicist church structure
Bishop Purwiński, modest presbytery
Provincial city of Żytomierz

Kijowska street number 4
Temple of Bernardine brothers
Once the Soviets turned it into a cinema
Today, the Fransiscan capital

The choir was moved to the presbytery
Where the altar was, today is the tower
Such a church “pieriestrojka”
Brand new cells in an old monastery

Brother secretary like a donut in butter
Sits happily behind the computer
A brand new fax machine
Photocopier, furniture smelling of the West

Meanwhile, the Curia of the great
Diocese of Żytomierz – Kiev
Makes an impression like Sielsoviet
Or the village post office

Father John Purwiński a little secretive
Melancholy, probably Latvian
Has a nice smile in his hands
Wait, sit with him and see

Korostyszew 1996 – 2003

The town is large and scattered
Wooden houses low
Winding streets, Central Square
Stone statue of The Immaculate

In the old presbytery a young priest
Eyes sleepy, watery…
Broken prematurely with terrible pain
Sclerosis multiplex!

Second bald, full of life
Recently exiled from Rostov
Doing renovations, work is around
But he doesn`t look good

“We deserved” he says sadly
I am surprised by the sudden humility
“We had to leave ourselves
This is our fate”

Tear is spinning above the fate of the priests
Both in full bloom age
One is killed serious illness
Second, because tethered

He sits and misses the Cossacks
Who taught him in Rostov
What can he afford your
And what he must not do

Father Edward, you like Zagłoba
Always gush with humor
Suddenly you lost all the gaiety
And you run away to your homeland?

Come back to steppes, you all come back
Poles imprisoned in Europe
Bring us to the Wild Fields
God`s looking at things

And don`t tell me we are sinners
Unworthy to go on missions
You look like a young priest with a cane
Didn`t run away, crying and praying!

Krasilov

In a small estate I found
A church with a powerful monastery
Which was bursting at the seams from the guests 
Young people run in the corridors

A multi-story maze
A spacious hall downstairs
There classes for gathered
School of Evangelization

Brother Paul with the face of a prophet
With sightless eyes
Maybe it`s the first impression
Or maybe he is sleepy

Reportedly on the black list
In Moscow he was enlisted
So crowds are pounding here
From outside the eastern cordon

Winnica

In Warsaw on Wyszyński Square
A Commision for Church matters in the East is
Visited this a priest journalist
And a nun with her car

They came from distant Winnica
To take books with yourself
I also took the diary of Faustyna
I would like to renew my relationship

On the way to Murafa
I looked out the window for a few moments
On the city nice in appearance
Extensive, hilly

Koriaka worked in Rostov
Orthodox priest W ładimir
He was friendly to me
He also came from Winnica

Now in Makiejewka
Every other my parishioner
Comes from Winnica, Zmerinka
Kamieniec or Murafa

Murafa 1997

Blue-gray church on the hill
Fortress, homeland of numerous vocations
Far from great politic`
The spiritual capital of Podole

I met Father Świdnicki
Who is considered a legend
He drenched his fists, chattered teeth
And sang songs vigorously

Apparently he lost his sight partially
When traveling somewhere in Central Asia
They threatened to kill him
Because he preached Christ to Muslims

Somewhere his chapel was ruined
Somewhere else he went to prison
He was friendly with Baptists everywhere
And was annoyed at the priests

Little Murafa in Podolia
Expelled several great people
Dozens of priests, Carmelite nuns
Apparently Bishops are in this circle

So Murafa is not a village
Or town in Ukraine
Murafa is the vestibule of heaven
Given to others for example

I was passing three hours
In a neighboring village without a name
And I drove a few seconds
I looked at the amazing fortress

It seems to me that I see a church
Which is hooking a cloud with its
And he makes a black hole in heaven
And there is hope is pouring from the cross

And it still fills human souls
And maybe to you the traveler
Says “Go further – swim to deep 
You will inevitably reach heaven”

III. UKRAINIAN SOUTH

Dżankoj 1994

Where Crimea joins the steppe
A narrow neck like the Hel peninsula
Country town Dżankoj, small station
Dirty settlements of old blocks

Summer noon, heat of the tropics
A friend`s mom and his sister
They could not go to Yalta
For christening they brought a priest from Russia

I was traveling with great curiosity
Because the cleric who invited me
Studied at the Polish seminary
My hometown of Białystok

We took on the way all things
Needed to perform the “rite”
Nobody has ever traveled here before
To gather Catholics, christen them

Yalta 1994

The Immaculate Conception`s small church
White, neo-Gothic, in the passage
Opens the way for sunbathers
As in Sochi, dwarf palm trees

Organs inside behind the altar
That what “soviets” wanted
To take place the concerts here
In the years when priests were expelled

Image of the Rosary Mary
With accompanied by Catherine
And modestly kneels on his knees
In the white habit Saint Dominic

Odessa 1998

Train from Warsaw to Przemyśl
And then straight to Odessa
Was carrying a group of children
I took them from Rostov to the Polish capital

Discounted ticket for kids
Cost over a thousand PLN
Bought director Caritas
Who wondered, that I far them was taking

Odessa is half way
We were supposed to wait three hours
It was enough to see the port
And the Black Sea from afar

We quickly fell into the cathedral
A few “Hail Mary” refuse there
Greetings to the Salesian priests
And return to the train quickly

IV. UKRAINIAN CAPITAL

Mount Askold

Warm church basements
With the humble Way of the Cross
Filigree classicism
Mother of God statue

On the paths of the old cemetery
John Paul the Second walked
He looked at the sculpture of Andrzej
And down towards the waters of the Dnieper

The sun`s beginning of faith
Legend, trees, wasteland
On a cobblestone road
The spirit of Ukraine wades

Mikołaj of Kiev

A red church in the capital
It has foundations cracked
Maybe the walls are shaking
Because they play loud concerts here

Or maybe a subway underground
The lines were made like in Moscow
This was the case at Little Georgian
The church was cracking with anger

The Kiev authorities are malicious
Because they mislead with promises
People pray patiently
Church walls are cracking

And in Moscow and Kiev
It was built around
The homes of rich sharps
Historic temples

Capuchin Kiev

On the left bank mushrooms
Church turrets grow like
Yellow walls of the church
Brick-colored roofs

Chapel, belfry, yard
A lot of square for the garden
A lot of books in disarray
Guest attic but empty

Tiny, tight refectory
On porcelain noodles
Holy Mass, short sermon
Everything in Ukrainian

Brand new and fresh plasters
Probably a big expense
I am looking for a legend
About a little boy “found”

Bread – wine, Emanuel
And good Marcellino
Feliks what loved children
Stigma of Padre Pio

When you are looking for the traces of Francisco
Come to Kiev
Mandatory in autumn
Warm, evening time

Worcel Kijowski

In the woods where mushrooms
Many dacha houses
Palaces for chiefs are growing
Seminary of the diocese of Kiev

The leaves fall on the road
Autumn is a difficult time for students
In the silence of trees the soul grows
Of modern hermits

Alwernia of Saint Francis
Or Antony`s Egypt
Dense forest, pagan temptations
Or school for a saint…

Take care young adepts
Of the cross and holy altars
The lamp should stand on the candle holder
Make sure it doesn`t fall

V. WILD FIELDS

Zaporoże

Not far from the Circus
Quite close to the militia
Merciful God lives
In the Center of the Cossack capital

The city on the Dnieper is huge
In autumn it sinks in clouds of
Lights of new settlements
On the Wild Sicz like fireworks

Roads are leaky terrible
Nevertheless, you are rushing merrily
There are the Albertine brothers
They will embrace, warm, drink

Spirit of Chmielnicki far
Maybe he dreams at night
Old diagrams will be recalled
You will forget them in prayer

Going for a walk in the evening
Touch the stones with your hand
They are arranged around
Rosary beads

Josef Dniepropietrowski

A visit to the church ends in a fiasco
In great Dniepropietrowsk
Instead of altars, benches, paintings
There are offices in the church

An attendant in black sits at the entrance
And seeing the cassock
He replaced my way, said:
“Not allowed” – the director forbade to priests

I asked for the name – didn`t answer
It was a strange meeting
They were not allowed to visit the church
In broad daylight – because of the cassock!

The chapel is located in the neighboring
Tiny, low and dark just like in the Soviet era
To this day they are trampling the rights of faithful

Mikołaj Dnieprodzierżyński

It is worth, coming here at night
Avenue wide and steep
From the side of the Breżniew`s monument
Rush alone downwards

Lamps and the moon will gave
You a theatrical effect strong
There is no smoke cloud suffocating
The city`s inhabitants

And here as in Kiev
Santa Mikołaj is the patron
And here also Capuchins
They camp in small houses

Here rebel youth
Sings their songs in the basement
The kids are sitting in kindergarten
They are guarded by Polish nuns

Neocatechumenate in the underground
Evangelization in garages…
They shake off sandals on the stairs
Steel mill dust gift for parishioners

Ash Wednesday is 
In the city of Saint Mykoła
Spring, summer, autumn come
Come, see, smell

Pawłograd

A small church somewhere in an alley
We wandered around the city at night
We were waiting for someone to open
Returned temple it is rare

There is no priest – sad fate
Sheep scattered somewhere 
Please God give the city such a day
That someone would collect them feed them, warm them up

An empty bottle in the middle of the road
Someone drank beer and went on
This is a metaphor
Many people here but soulless

VI. AZOW COUNTRY

Berdiańsk

Cool sea in November
White as a powder, sand on the beach
Pink church facade
A new land bell rings

Sisters of Merciful Jesus
A small presbytery with a garden
Square where the foundation of an old
Park today, the Institute nearby

Wetland and little land
The priest parish did not like it
Once lived here Deans
Of the whole Donbass and Rostov

Czechograd

Potiomkin with Tsarina Catherina
Traveled in this area
And with them models of the village
To look from the ship admire their view

Today ghost cities and especially the villages
Once with life pulsated
Today only the elderly and their grandchildren
In the chapel they will come to pray

Slovak priests, Czech sisters
They will bring God here
And they fill the church walls
Twice a week

Melitopol

Chapel of Cyril Metody
In an ordinary Cossack garden
A statue in the garden and the sisters` house
Behind the parish fence

A happy priest, happy sisters
A guitar is standing somewhere in the corner
They go on pilgrimage here from summer
To Zaporoże, to God The Father

There is also a Chech here who writes
Her poems usually in Ukrainian
Because her ancestors at Catherina
Come here to create colonies

A small island arrived from afar
Of Chech Catholics from afar
Two hundred years in the Wild Fields
Lives quietly in kolkhozes

Mariupol

Four churches in the area
Italians, Germans, Poles
Among the huge mass of Greeks
There is such a city

Pauline bishop directed here
To build Częstochowa
A small chapel on the evening market
And wandering image

VII. DONBASS

Jozef of Donieck

Comintern street
The truest truth
About tears , about the despair of Dobass
In which the church was built here

A small town Jozowka has grown up
First as the great Stalino
Today the word Donetsk unfortunately
Is synonymous with bandits

Everything what is clear and good
It passes through a terrible melting pot
Therefore and also Jozef`s church
This way came here

The old temple is gone
I think this was looking for
A new square for the church
We were given next to the viaduct

Jozef of Makiejewka

Brother of Jozef from Donetsk
Laborer and bridegroom
Only 15 kilometers
Are apart these parishes

Jozef from Donetsk powerful
Provincial church
Though this was born in tears
Now life roars in this

Jozef from Makiejewka
In the old Jewish housing estate
Small house like in the countryside
It can accommodate 50 people

Jozef has in the garden today
Her small tower
And some secrets for the future
Like Jozef an Egyptian exile

Mother Teresa of Smelter

Old church wooden gate
Waterlogged from snow
Ten steel workers sat next to it
I asked them to help the door close

Like a pea against the wall my prayers came
I first time in the world saw
No courtesy in a small matter
They sat smoking on cigarettes

Mother Teresa seeing indifference
Numb Calcutta Hindus
Alone she gathered people in agony
No Hindus moved

Huge ironworks next to the church
Looks at a beautiful temple
The dust is falling on our heads
Such a benefit from a neighbor

Rosary Lady from Bachmut
Tatar town, former capital
All of Donbass…unusual landscape
Two hills and a gorge wide trough
And the tiny river Bachmutka

Salt mines, champagne in adits
Boring steppes and here
Wide streets Art Nouvean houses
Church, two Orthodox churches, Baptists

A city of students, musicians, medics
Small but great
On the day of indulgence we pray
With the rosary in hand to return the church

October, evening, cool and drizzle
Finally a sweet supper
Homeless parish at the temple wall
Is waiting for the church to be returned

VIII. LUGANSK

Przewalsk

There are cemeteries in Ukraine
Which cross and graves do not have
These are squares where prisoners
Of war were simply, buried

The first random passerby
Asked in the city of Przewalsk
Showed his hand and explained that
He remembers everything well

Behind the territory of an ordinary cemetery
Slope and crooked trees
A cool brook at the bottom of hill
Hot, hot air

The dead and were killed buried
Shallow in the snow or in the sand
Time rolls bones for years
Over half of the century

I gathered the crossbones for my shirt
And I lay in the trunk
In the evening there were silent egzekwie
For all German prisoners of war

After a few days in a card board box
I took this to the Lugansk cemetery
Among the many neglected graves
I was looking for German names

I found a metal monument
Of little Sasha Stolpen
Near the chapel of the well-known
Saint Elder Philip

Semi-empty, little grave, the ground slid down
As if waiting for my box
To this day, hundreds of cemeteries
Without graves waiting for such a funeral

Starobielsk

Thousands of great Polish names
To get to know them go to Kharkov
Our officers were sent to the
Orthodox monastery

Czapski collected memories about them
Apparently they kept bravely
There were also a few cowards
It happens in the face of death

There were sick people there
Within a few months
There were funerals among the prisoners
They were buried in Starobielsk

Forty-several soldiers` graves
Near the militia building
It lay without crosses or signs
Among the city garages

After exhumation away from the center
They lie among birches and pines
Rarely comes here a pilgrim from Poland 
From Lugansk parish bus

IX. SECOND CAPITAL

Kharkiv Cemetery
Four thousand iron plaques
Rusting under the open sky
There is a big bell deaf underground
Like a gagged prisoner`s mouth

It is impossible to stand on such a ground
Knees bend by themselves
It is impossible to speak when they shout
Screaming innocently lost

But there is gentleness in these martyrs
Without a desire for revenge
When I was praying listening to their words
“Go in peace, you have our blessing”

Gluchow – Lenin Buried
A tiny regional town
Cossack capital – Juszczenka`s homeland
So beautiful that you had to stand
Took numerous photos here

We stayed here by accident
To ask for directions
I didn`t see the signpost for Sumy in time
You had to make sure

Asking a woman how to go
When she said to Lenin…
Why haven`t they taken it down yet
Joking, I dared to ask

And I heard in a local dialect
They called this dialect a surzyk
That “If they could, they wouldn`t undress
But they buried it to the neck”

That`s how I found out by accident
That there is a city of Gluchow on the map
And though the Moscow border is right there
I felt also now. Yes, it`s the capital!

Fr. Jarosław Wiśniewski
Makiejewka, 22 December 2004