Archive for the ‘Poetry’ Category

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70 years ago

October 4, 2011

The first executions began at Babi Yar in Kiev, Ukraine. They began on September 27, to be exact. The first victims were patients at the local psychiatric hospital. They were murdered by Nazi occupiers together with local collaborators. Then the city’s Jewish population was taken there. They were told that they were being “resettled.” And you can guess what happened next.

Babi Yar is the final resting place of many, many people – mostly civilian Jews, as well as Soviet POWs, Ukrainian nationalists, Roma folks who were rounded up, etc. I am distantly related to some of the people who were murdered there, as a lot of Kievans are.

My first play featured an incident at Babi Yar as it is today, but I couldn’t do justice to the setting.

Poet Evgeny Yevtushenko wrote of Babi Yar: “I am like a constant, soundless scream, over the buried thousands. I am every old man shot to death here. I am every child shot to death here.” At the time that Yevtushenko wrote these words, the Soviet powers were still steadfastly refusing to place a monument at Babi Yar.

All of that has changed. And a museum is likely to be built. I guess that justifies the “Good News” tag, maybe.

Posted in Good News, Poetry, Ukraine | Tagged , | 2 Comments »

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Monday Music, for famous Seamus

January 12, 2010

Now, to pry into roots, to finger slime,
To stare, big-eyed Narcissus, into some spring
Is beneath all adult dignity. I rhyme
To see myself, to set the darkness echoing.

I don’t prattle on about Seamus Heaney nearly enough on this blog. I love Seamus Heaney. You know how much I love Seamus Heaney? I love him more than instant coffee, which is really another way of saying that I love him more than life itself. This one time, I was in the presence of none other than Paul Muldoon, and when he used the phrase “famous Seamus,” I kinda wanted to thump my chest and say “Ave,” and the only reason why I didn’t do that is because I didn’t want to go down in the annals of the English Department as that Chick Who Sketched Out Paul Freaking Muldoon.

I have been rereading Heaney lately, for several reasons, and it’s a bit like having happiness dissolve on your tongue (yes, bad metaphor, nobody reads with their tongue, stupid Natalia does not care for such trifling details in her quest to sexualize the hell out of her relationship with great poetry). All I can do is dedicate some music to him.

Seamus Heaney, even when your poetry is brimming over with guilt and longing and despair, this is how you make me feel:

Love You ‘Till the End – The Pogues
Wai – Bonnie Prince Billy
Crazy He Calls Me – Billie Holiday
Tugboat – Galaxie 500
Mama Anarkhia – Kino
I’m Going Away Smiling – Yoko Ono Plastic Ono Band
A Journey in the Dark – Howard Shore & New Zealand Symphony Orchestra
Fruit Machine – the Ting Tings
La Duchesse Anne – Grizzly Bear
Il Pleut – Emilie Simon

“Il Pleut” is a great, amazing, haunting pop song, one of the few pop songs that oddly goes along with famous Seamus’ poetry. Here it is live:

And this is oddly soothing:

(I love these random YouTube image compilations set along to great songs)

I am Ireland-themed, at the moment. It’s brought back all sorts of memories. And made new ones.

Posted in fandom, Music, Poetry, Videos | Tagged , | 2 Comments »

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I just re-read “The Day Saved” and it is perfect

January 9, 2010

Odd to think that I published the poem on my 25th birthday. Or maybe not so odd after all. Enjoy.

Posted in Poetry, Work, Writers | Leave a Comment »

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You know, I’d say that this entire Derek Walcott thing has left a bad taste in my mouth

May 28, 2009

…But then, some pervert might interpret it as a come-on. 

*haw haw*

As evil_fizz recently pointed out – most people are aware of Walcott’s reputation as, well, someone who doesn’t respect certain boundaries with women. As most of the recent defenses of Walcott attest, it isn’t that anyone is denying that improprities have occurred – instead, people are saying that we should have a different standard for Walcott than we do for other people. 

I am sympathetic to Ruth Padel, Walcott’s rival for the Professor of Poetry post at Oxford, who had to resign after it was alleged that she engaged in a “smear-campaign” that forced Walcott to withdraw his nomination for the post. I think she was being careless when she talked to the media, but what does it say about our priorities when Walcott only recently saw his inappropriate conduct affect his career, whereas women like Padel are automatically reduced to the status of evil trolls when they discuss information that’s already in the public domain? 

As a young female journalist and aspiring novelist, I am routinely warned to never, EVER criticize men like Walcott. If I want to have a writing career, I am told, I need to shut up and smile and allow the Great Men of Letters to bask in their Greatness. Perhaps then they’ll let me sit in their laps, or something. 

More importantly, we are taught to believe that certain men who Live the Life of the Mind can and should get away with demeaning women. Tom Wolfe can call young college women “sluts,” Derek Walcott can be the sort of man whom female undergraduates are explicitly warned against and not be the worse for wear, and so on. Not harassing or demeaning women is already seen as a tough business for your average man, but a man whose “brain is the size of a planet” cannot be held responsible as they are too distracted by their own brilliance to act as responsible residents of this sinful firmament – hell, poor guy was only thinking deep thoughts on Daniel Defoe when he accidentally stumbled into your pants, lady. 

Odd how these excuses are only extended to men wherein their conduct with women is concerned. If Walcott was prone to picking fellow academics’ pockets or abusing his cat, would we be even having this discussion? 

Read the rest of this entry ?

Posted in Bad News, Duke, Kultur, Poetry, The F-Word, Writers | Tagged | 14 Comments »

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Being nearly 25, unmarried, female and from Kyiv

May 21, 2009

Being thus is a flashing green light for anyone who is dying to quote out loud that awesome thing they read this morning on the metro in a women’s magazine. 

Being thus is that pause in conversation.

Being thus is the following phrase: “Get married, you can always have affairs later!”

Being thus is remembering Yaroslava, whom someone else remembers with “…and for some reason, this beautiful girl just didn’t have a husband. And then she died.”

Being thus is a prickly blanket of loneliness even if you are not lonely. 

Being thus is comparing yourself to those wilting teabags that are saved in the little dish in the cupboard above the sink. 

Being thus is telling people that they sound as though they are from a village. 

Being thus is not telling people your whereabouts. 

Being thus is an intimacy. 

Being thus is being pitied and adored.

Being thus is a passing glance.

Being thus is whispers hanging in the air like cobwebs in the damp-stained corners of rooms with high ceilings.

Being thus is digging at a clump of frozen raspberries with a spoon.

Being thus is an invitation to the parties of your parents’ friends. 

Being thus is advice on how sex prevents cancer – “but I’m having it” – “but you’re an idiot.”

Being thus is a conversation that gets spread outward and outward, like butter.

Being thus is a reassuring smile from beneath a veil from a woman in a church. 

Being thus is the looks from your neighbours. 

Being thus is the quiet lassitude of the swallow-streaked evening skies, and the kettle boiling right as he calls. 

Loosely inspired by the infinitely superior Being Poor (in case you’re wondering).

Posted in Personal Essays, Poetry, The F-Word, Ukraine | 9 Comments »

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Eurovision, Poetry and Sangria

May 17, 2009

A big congratulations to Norway’s Alexander Rybak and his lovely, playful “Fairytale” – a huge Eurovision win. Sasha was born in Belarus and speaks Russian as well as Norwegian. I still think that Sweden should have done much better, but “Fairytale” works on so many levels that it’s hard to fault anyone for voting for Norway.

In other work-related links, please hop on over to read David King’s “Estuary Sands, 11:00.” It’s the type of leisurely poem that sneaks up on you and makes your heart beat faster.

Finally – while I give props to the beauty of the Spanish countryside, I have decided that there is simply no better place to drink sangria than in Kiev, in May, under the stars.

Posted in Kultur, Music, Poetry, Work | 3 Comments »

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This one’s about rape again. Rape of children, in fact. So you’ve been warned.

December 29, 2008

“I cried as if I was his daughter,
As I felt my insides being slaughtered.”

- Jasmine Mans

(hat-tip to Renee on this one.)

Is there a bigger betrayal than a parent raping a child? We talk about Caesar and Brutus quite a bit, but a parent raping their child? You might want to invent an entirely new circle of hell for that one, Dante. Just saying…

I remember a time I was terrified of my father. It wasn’t because he was doing anything wrong , it was because I had been abused, at that point, for about a year now by another relative, and began associating all men with what happened to me. My father would go to kiss me on the cheek after a day at work, and I would feel as if I was about to puke up my own stomach then run away screaming.

It’s bad enough when some asshole creeps into your bed at night, but I can’t imagine what it would be like to have your own father do it. That’s a new dimension of stark raving horror.

I once corresponded with a woman who found out that her husband was raping their daughters. When confronted with the fact, he offered up this priceless reply: “Well, if you had spent more time pleasing me sexually, I would have never had to turn to them.”

The girls were about 9, 12 and 14 years old, respectively.

What struck me about the response, aside from the aforementioned stark raving horror of it, is how the wife was to blame, of course. “Bitch, you didn’t like it rough, so I got our fourth-grader to take it like I want it instead.” I mean, seriously. Of course, this Beezlebub in human form just had to be a freaking boy-scout in real life. His entire office, like, cried, when he got his prison sentence. I don’t necessarily really blame them for crying, though. If anything, that entire fiasco proved that it could be anyone who can do something like this.

I have a lot of friends who have children. Sometimes, we end up having conversations that basically amount to – “Natalia, how can I make sure that what happened to you doesn’t happen to my own kid?” Read the rest of this entry ?

Posted in Personal Essays, Poetry, The F-Word | Tagged , , | 3 Comments »

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And has it really been three years, Yaroslava?

September 24, 2008

“…dead has a smile like the nicest man you’ve never met who maybe winks
at you in a streetcar and you pretend you don’t but really you do
see and you are My how glad he winked and hope he’ll do it again.”
- e.e. cummings.”

Posted in Pictures, Poetry, Ukraine | Tagged , | Leave a Comment »

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Good writing, good times, good scandals, and (what else?) hot guys!

June 5, 2008

Before anything else, I have to give props to Renegade Evolution for celebrating Female Desire Week with such flair. If there is one thing the world needs, it is more pictures of gorgeous men set to White Zombie. We’ve got Meloni, Mortensen…

Where was I now?

OK, I’d also like to highlight the growing writing collections on the magazine: particularly, our section on election ’08, our humor section, our very quirky travel section, and our poetry corner. The website is in the middle of a major growth spurt, and I hope you (yes, you!) contribute to it. For details, see our submissions page.

Since I’m going around and promoting collections of great writing, I have to include Lina’s Feministisches Dogmatiks, BD’s coverage of all things sex positive, Slut Machine’s writing on Jezebel, Afronerd (I didn’t spot any tags, but just read the entire thing, you’ll enjoy), Secular Apostate’s media criticism, and (while it may seem redundant) check out Litlove on books.

Oh, and this film review, the accompanying picture, and male critics’ take on Sex & the City in general are being rightfully called out for what they are: creepy, sad, and just a tad on the sexist side. Remind me why we need cultural gate-keepers again? Oh, it’s because someone better keep those sexy older women in line (hmm, speaking of Madonna at 50…). You know, I was never a huge fan of “Sex & the City,” but I did enjoy it, and I hate the way it is used by women-bashers.

Oh dear, women enjoyed a fluffy show about f*cking and over-priced shoes, this is scientific proof that women are dumbasses! It’s funny how hardly anyone wishes to extend this logic to men who happen to enjoy pro-wrestling. Oh sure, the cultural gate-keepers might look down their nose at men (or women, for that matter) who do, but they’ll never use this to bash the entire gender, or bash presidential candidate supporters.

Women might complain about said “boys’ entertainment,” but men openly  and viciously despise anything branded as “girls’ entertainment.” It’s almost like you have to prove your masculinity by going out of your way to stomp on the throats of the “Sex & the City” crew. It’s insecure bullshit. It’s the “omigod, someone might think I’m gay” defense.

I didn’t like “The Golden Compass,” for example, but was dismayed to hear that little boys simply refused to see it on account of the girl being the hero. This is while women are encouraged to identify with boy-heros all the time – how many female Harry Potter fans are out there? How many women love The Lord of the Rings?

Just in case the drama is getting too much for you at the moment, here’s a hot picture of Ewan McGregor, being hot:

mcgregor for davidoff

Picture from Lipstick Bitches.

Posted in Good News, Harem, Poetry, Stories, The F-Word, Work, Writers | 11 Comments »

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Христос Воскрес!

April 27, 2008

Я в гроб сойду и в третий день восстану,
И, как сплавляют по реке плоты,
Ко мне на суд, как баржи каравана,
Столетья поплывут из темноты

- Борис Пастернак

I will go down to the grave and on the third day rise,
And, like rafts floated downriver,
To my judgment, like barges in a caravan,
The centuries will drift out of the darkness.

- Boris Pasternak (bad translation mine)

Your Mother, my Lord, holds the universe, the known, and the unknown.

Posted in Good News, Pictures, Poetry, Religion | Tagged , , , , | 7 Comments »

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