Marko Cheremshyna, The Village Is Trembling

Over the third mountain yonder, the sky’s a-yawnin’. The glow wouldn’t let the sky sleep last night, searing the sky’s sides, mantling the sky’s face. The glow rested against the mountains, and unfasten its crimson-red girdle, and unclasp its necklace to line the air above the village with blood-red crosses, and unbraid its flaxen hair to let it flow on pearly clouds, […]

trans. by Yelyzaveta Bolotova

Ahatanhel Krymskyi, Andrii Lahovskyi

Due to his natural meekness vis-à-vis womankind, the professor once again did not believe for long that Zoe truly loved him. That same evening, during the walk, he abandoned the thought altogether. That change occurred in him quite easily. He and the three younger Schmidts walked rather far out from Tuapse, all the way to the Kadosh lighthouse, and, tired from walking, they settled to rest by the seaside. […]

trans. by Liubov Kukharenko

Mykola Kulish, Myna Mazailo

AUNTIE MOTIA
All right, that’s enough! Now, Moka, Moka, Moka, will you finally tell us — are you really not a Russian person?
MOKII
I’m a Ukrainian.
AUNTIE MOTIA
And Ukrainians, are they not Russian people? Tell me, are they not Russian? Are they not just the same as all Russians?
[…]

trans. by William Debnam

Anastasia Levkova, There is Land beyond Perekop

Aliye, Aliona, and I. From our names, written out in a line or listed in a column, you can read the history of Crimea — or at least one of its chapters: however, a superficial glance at these three names would certainly lead to confusion. Aliona, with her Russian-looking name, is Ukrainian. I, with my Ukrainian-looking name, am a Russian. And this deception in names makes the picture even more intricate […]

trans. by Marta Gosovska

Oksana Lushchevska, ‘Our Big Imaginary Family’

There are quite a lot of buses that stop here because our town sits right where two highways cross. Over there, two very old roads to Uman and Cherkasy intersect. Any bus you might take to Korsun, Zvenyhorodka, Kaniv or Kryvyi Rih, even if it’s only local transit, will come our way. It’s summer now, though, and there are fewer passengers. Maybe they’ve all gone away […]

trans. by Lesia Waschuk

Sofia Yablonska, Marseille

Again, the entire afternoon stretched before me in anticipation of departure. And again, it was sunny and bright. Although this was no longer breathless Paris but a carefree, cheerful Marseille, where people resembled migratory birds who had landed briefly to rest before flying on. Small steamers, motorboats, fishing barges, and passenger boats went back and forth from the old dock. Streetcars, cars, limousines, and busses […]

trans. by Hanna Leliv