Impressive historical dramas can be reproduced in different ways. One can write thorough research, study archives, create documentaries, or apply the methodology of the epistolary genre — there are many options. Alternatively, one can use the amazing possibilities of the written word; then, despite the colossal space and time distance, the past “revives,” people (heroes, traitors, executioners, saints, and “ordinary” people) acquire real passions, and stop simply being walking mouthpieces of abstract ideas.
Antonina Lystopad, our contemporary, a wonderful writer, poet, public activist, author of many prominent books (more works to be published) of different genres, knows this very well. On October 12, at the National Union of Writers, the presentation of her book with the short and harrowing title Solovki [named after the Solovetsky Islands, located in the Onega Bay of the White Sea – Ed.] was held. The writer confessed that she could not help writing this book (its genre is a versified requiem, a book of Memory, an epopee of over 500 pages consisting of a number of thematically related separate poems, a unique event in recent Ukrainian literature); it was an absolute public and ethical imperative; an internal obligation: commemorate each innocent victim of the Solovki violence (among them, according to moderate estimates, at least a third were Ukrainians). Let’s remember that we didn’t fully expiate our sin before the murdered at Solovki, at this martyr’s land. “Therefore it is necessary to think and write about it, and feel Repentance,” said Lystopad. For the main law of life is as follows: a thought is active, a word is material, and what you send forth — will come back to you!
The history of Solovki started long before the 20th century. Understanding this, the author started her epic story from ancient times, when over five centuries ago the monks Zosym, Herman and Savvatii established an Orthodox monastery on the remote islands amidst the White Sea (the first chapter of the book is dedicated to this topic). One can’t help mentioning the exploit of the unforgettable Philip II of Moscow [born Feodor Stepanovich Kolychev – Ed.], the metropolitan of Moscow in 1564-68, who dared challenge Ivan the Terrible with words of anger and indignation (“Godless deeds you do, tsar, you are a murderer, and if I keep silent, stones will shout!”). For this he was strangled by Malyuta Skuratov. However, before moving to Moscow, Kolychev was the hegumen [head of an Orthodox monastry – Ed.] of the Solovetsky monastery, and did a lot to develop it (“For God’s sake, live in love!” he begged of Solovki residents, and also compared Russia to a “wild boar” that devours itself.)
It is impossible to retell the history of Solovki and omit the horrible fate of its greatest prisoner — the last Koshovy Otaman of the Zaporozhian Host Petro Kalnyshevsky (during the reign of “mother-tsarina” Catherine the Great, Solovki was transformed into a prison, which existed near the monastery). It is clear that a separate big chapter of the book is dedicated to the fate of this martyr. Just one but really impressive stroke: when the commander already lost his sight and hearing (25 years of imprisonment at Solovki; Decembrists who were exiled there later could stand only two years!) he asked the tsarina for a stick to drive rats away — but she did not give it.
However, Solovki for us is above all a mass homicide of the 20th century. The core of the book is about this. In 1917 the monastery was closed, and instead a frightful special prison, later called the SLON (Solovki Special Purpose Camp) was opened. In 1937 the flower of the Ukrainian intellectual elite died there: Yevhen Pluzhnyk, Valerian Pidmohylny, Mykola Zerov, Mykola Kulish, Les Kurbas, Valerian Polishchuk, Hryhorii Epik, Oleksa Slisarenko, and so on. A separate mini-poem from the cycle “The Number of the Apostle” (the spiritual core of the entire book) is dedicated to each of these martyrs (“They are not apostles. Only their death is one of an apostle’s,” said Lystopad).
The presentation of Lystopad’s work was called “Solovki — Far and Very Close.” This harbors a deep truth. Even despite the bitter confession of the writer: “And now Solovki became a trendy destination. Tourist sea liners with foreign visitors abound there.” But the memory persists: “Whatever happens — we shall stay,” the author believes.
