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I have just finished teaching my open class at Yale, “The Making of Modern Ukraine.” It has been work to write the twenty new lectures, but it has been very gratifying to know that these lectures have been viewed millions of times around the world, including in Ukraine itself. (The link above is video; this is the podcast version).

In the penultimate lecture, on culture, I read my own translation of a poem by Julia Musakovska, which I first heard myself this summer (and which I recited myself in Ukrainian in front of a camera at one point.) Now my English translation, like other things from that class, is making its own little career on the internet. So I thought I would set it down here, and then offer some comments. Julia’s poem is found in her the collection Zalizo/Zelazo (Iron), which was published this summer by the Borderland Foundation in Poland. The poem itself dates from March. Here goes:

Such problematic, such frightful poems

Full of anger

So politically incorrect

No beauty in these poems

No aesthetic at all

The metaphors withered and fell to pieces

Before they could bloom

The metaphors buried

In children’s playgrounds

Under hastily raised crosses

Dead

In unnatural poses

By the gates of houses

Covered in dust

They prepared meals over an open fire

They did try to survive

It was of dehydration that they perished

Under the rubble

Shot in a car

Under a white flag

Made from a sheet

With colorful backpacks over their shoulder

They lie on the asphalt

Face down

Next to the cats and dogs

I'm sorry to say so, but such verses

Are all we have for you today

Dear Ladies and Gentlemen

Spectators

Of the theater of war

In the lecture, I wanted to make the point that the poem answers itself, in a couple of ways.

First, this poem is only one example of a flood of Ukrainian creativity during this war. Looking at the horrors of the trenches around Bakhmut, people invoke the First World War. But another resemblance to that era is the unspoken assumption that war itself must be described, and that art is there to describe it, that nothing is beyond art. To be sure, different people have responded in different ways, and many creative people are now in the armed forces — where some of them continue their creative work. But in general, as far as I can make out, the attitude seems to be that the war calls for more creation and documentation, not less.

Second, there is nothing problematic or awkward about the poem itself. It is elegant and powerful. It reminds us how metaphors work. The awkwardness and the frightfulness resides not in the poem, but in us. The poem helps us own this. What are we supposed to do, we the spectators of the theater of war? When we feel awkward about the suffering of others, we sometimes find ways to make it all about ourselves. Hence all of the feckless talk about “escalation” and so on. Our fears then displace others’ experiences.

But in the end that leaves us feeling more awkward. The way to relieve the sense of awkwardness is to do something to help. In this horrible war of atrocity, the Ukrainians have made this easy for us. This is not a conflict where it is unclear whom to help or how. Both the Ukrainian state and Ukrainian civil society are highly functional, which means that it is quite simple to do something more than spectate.

If you want to help Ukrainians stay warm despite the Russian campaign to take down their entire power grid with missiles and drones, make a (tax-deductible) donation to Razom. If you want to support Ukrainian aims through President Zelens’kyi’s own platform, United 24, you can do so here. I am an “ambassador” for a campaign there to defend Ukrainian cities from Russian attacks. If you want to support Ukrainians who are at work in the arts, sciences, and in journalism to document this war, make a (tax-deductible) contribution to Documenting Ukraine.

These are three causes with which I am personally associated; other reputable people can recommend others (and in earlier posts I have other, longer lists). The Ukrainians are not only in need, they are offering us so very much — that will be the subject of my next, longer post.

So, please, don’t just spectate.

7 December 2022

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"Such problematic, such frightful poems..."