Introduction by Daniel Applebaum
Poems by Sofiia Turanska
Artwork by Rana Roosevelt
Introduction
In this powerful, cutting collection of poems, Sofiia whispers tender yet courageous melodies in response to the horrors of war. Welding paradoxes, musicality, and religious allusions, Sofiia's kaleidoscopic array of poetic techniques allows readers to access the Ukrainian War from multiple perspectives, coalescing into a cohesive composition on stolen childhood innocence and omnipresent threats of violence and destruction. Like a multi-movement musical composition, each poem operates as an independent movement, complementing the other while contributing novel rhythms and thematic material to the collection. Though each poem blooms from the barren land of war, the speaker of each poem poses hypotheticals that reach beyond the war, dream-like yet persistently real.
The first poem explores the ever-present trauma and loss associated with refugee displacement. Beginning with the conjunction "but," as if finishing the first half of an unfinished sentence, the poem progresses to a series of paradoxes: "grown children" who appear "healthy and sick." The speaker envisions a future in which even those who have escaped the war struggle to find belonging amidst lingering trauma from fractured identities and geopolitical instability, an instability that culminates in the "foreign white ceiling [that] comes crashing down." The final line – a question that calls back to the first line – acknowledges the uncertainty of these children's futures and the inescapability of wartime trauma.
In the second poem, the speaker adopts a first-person perspective, juxtaposing lullaby-like lyricism against the looming threat of bombing. Envisioning a bomb as a "death-bearing star," the speaker merges beauty with violence and death. The speaker expresses courage in the final two lines, "standing at the door, / looking out for your arrival," a declaration of bold acceptance. This resignation continues into the third and final poem, in which the speaker commits suicide yet reassures Jesus of her own internal peace. In the final line, the speaker articulates tenderness and longing, imploring, "If only you would hold me, / if only only you would hold me."
This collection of poems transcends the bounds of the sociopolitical context from which it originates, journeying from images of Ukrainian post-war futurity to death lullabies to theology. It is a testament to the sanctity of human imagination and the time-bending powers of poetry. Lyrical and vulnerable yet brave and self-assured, Sofiia's poems comprise a constellation of wisdom and unbroken human spirit.
Poem #1
but someday the kids will come back
grown children
with their faces sad, void of emotion
with their good foreign degrees
torn from others for so long, can’t be sure that they will root
they look healthy and sick
in their nice suits, their legs bound
no intention to bond
to people, to places, to life
children
like dried clay
like a dog no longer whining behind closed doors
they leave everything behind
they wake up translucent, pale
foreign white ceiling comes crashing down
what will they be like when they come back?
Poem #2
I am waiting for a death-bearing star
to peek into my window
how many times I heard them fall
and now I am finally brave enough to make a wish
fall, little star, fall
into my arms, on my face
rip out the guts of this apartment
I will meet you and drill into
your soul with my eyes
to see there the void
you will make out of me
my family, my memory,
my homeland, my intentions.
I can’t stand to be afraid anymore
I’m ready
I'm standing at the door
looking out for your arrival
Poem #3
I’m tired of sitting in the spider’s belly
and worshipping trees
your head in between my hips
a-a-a-and where's the body?
my dead head
and my martyred body
hanging from the tree
all’s good
many things ahead of us
Christ sat on a branch
he was confident
I will not do that
a white speck flickers between the leaves
I am clean inside
sorry, Jesus, I didn’t mean to
all’s good, really
I don’t eat bread nor drink wine
all was given to the others
charity?
you and I could never fuse together
and how I wanted it
and now your vision is eroding
I’m slipping
wonderful life
above cloudswe will certainly get to know
each other
and you will lay in my lap
you and I talked many times before
but it's not just your head I so badly need
If only you would hold me, if only you would hold me
Translators: Julia Murashova, Kateryna Kishchynska, and Sofiia Turanska
Content Editor: Daniel Applebaum
Interview with Sofiia Turanska
Your poem makes frequent use of paradox, as in the lines "grown children" or "they look healthy and sick." How do you see the literary device of paradox as a conduit for capturing the dualities of trauma and healing?
I think this was my attempt to convey a certain deceptiveness of people's appearance. They may have left Ukraine, and they may not have suffered physically from war, but through a healthy body you can see the imprint of traumatic events.
Does your poem draw inspiration from any other poets, writers, or artists – Ukrainian or otherwise?
Not intentionally. I'm mostly inspired by the work of my friends.
Your poem subverts grammar in fascinating and beautiful ways, mimicking the fractured realities of the people experiencing the Ukrainian War. In particular, I am intrigued by your poem's opening line, which begins with the conjunction "but," as if transitioning to the second half of a sentence. What is the first part of this sentence – the part that comes before "but"?
My poem and the events that take place in it are a part of the war, a torn piece of our reality, neither the start nor the end, so it begins as if with the second half of a sentence. The first half of this sentence is the actual beginning of the full-scale invasion. So I guess the first half could sound something like, "Yes, the war started and people had to leave, but one day, when the war is over or they have the opportunity, they will return."
Who is the speaker, and what is his/her/their relationship to the Ukrainian children forced to flee?
The speaker is me. It is a person who remains in Ukraine and observes how some of her loved ones were forced to leave. This is a sympathetic observation, and I tried to give a feeling of understanding and empathy through my poem.
I am struck by the line, "foreign white ceiling comes crashing down," which I interpreted as the dissolution of the illusion that the Ukrainians have "moved on" from the horrors of the war. What is your intention behind this cutting, beautiful line?
Rather, I meant that for those who left, the new place of residence never became home. It is still another unfamiliar country, and they miss Ukraine and dream of returning here. Waking up and realizing that you are not at home every time comes as a shock, something they cannot accept and realize fully.
I love how your poem's last line calls back to the first line, this time ending on a question, satisfyingly conveying the uncertainties of how the war's aftershocks might continue to reverberate across generations of Ukrainians, especially the children forced into displacement for their safety. Do you envisage poetry as a healing mechanism for Ukrainians – now and in the future – who may still be grappling with trauma?
I can only hope that someone will read my poem and feel seen. Maybe, this feeling of understanding will ease someone's condition. I would like to believe that poetry is also a tool with which we can explain how we feel and through which others can see that they are not alone.
Image Credits
Artwork by Rana Roosevelt
Rana Roosevelt is a digital and traditional artist from Philadelphia. She loves depicting the human form and challenging herself with strange color schemes. Although she frequently works digitally, her favorite medium is oil paint because of how well it can blend. In her spare time she also plays violin, writes poetry, makes jewelry (and of course, reads old issues of Polyphony Lit!)
About "Wake Up the War Is Here"
Please note that this post marks the end of the Voices Blog series "Wake Up the War Is Here." While the series is finished, Polyphony Lit still hopes to maintain a strong relationship with the editors, writers, and activists at Teen Side, and of course, young Ukrainian writers aged 14-18 are invited to submit their work to Polyphony Lit.
Please remember that this blog series is not just a reflection on the war, but also a call for activism. The prospect of catalyzing change, as an individual, can often feel intimidating, but there are still many actions you can take. You can always donate to a humanitarian organization such as Teenside or Reflect Empathy. And remember that even from afar you can impact global events by voting, protesting, speaking out on social media, or taking part in civic engagement. Thanks for reading; We hope that these poems and memoirs have resonated with you, and we hope you feel inspired to catalyze change!
As we begin the new year, a new Voices Blog series will run from January 2025 through December 2025. This new series is called "Love in the Time of Banned Books." In this series, we seek to celebrate LGBTQ+ identities and experiences, while critically examining book bans and how they impact the LGBTQ+ community. Stay tuned for more blog posts that delve into the literary world and contemporary issues.
If you would like to support Polyphony Lit and our efforts to make literary opportunities accessible to high school students worldwide, then please follow the link below to donate.
Comentários