“I wrote these lines a very long time ago, when there were no jubilees, not even in theory. I thought at the time, Why had I written this? What jubilee? What eulogy? Well, rhymes like jubilee-eulogy must have come to my head. Force of habit. Soon I forgot all about it. Only now do I realize that jubilees are a tiresome business, and pens are indeed poised to write eulogies.
“However, you can ignore words of praise and hope that people will understand and stop saying or writing them; you can avoid attending a jubilee soiree to spare yourself the dubious pleasure of listening to official eulogies; you can use the option chosen by this publishing company…
“Can you imagine? They suggested a launch of the book. Well, that’s a launch we are having, isn’t it? Let’s not confuse the genres. True, this soiree has turned out warm and friendly, and there seems to be a bit too many people present as for a launch. Thanks for finding the time to come, to make us realize that we’re together and that we need each other.
“Yes, it’s true. I decided to return to this literature, this culture. Hard times have always been my times. I don’t know about easy times. When things eased up a little I seemed to understand where we were heading to. There are my Chornobyl friends here, my dear expedition. They’ve already told about how I tirelessly collected pieces of the cultural heritage, the archives of the Chornobyl zone.
“Let me tell you frankly: that expedition was my emigration. And you know what? I found my true Ukraine there, precisely where Ukraine had died. It is there! People who live there have lost their small homeland but found the big one and they love it with all of their hearts.
“So much for eulogy. No pasaran! No ceremonies and fake celebrations! But a jubilee is a different, more complicated matter, because it’s when you have to think things over, ponder past experiences, what you did and how. In a word, a jubilee is when you put your life on display.
“Well, here we are, launching my book, whereas I’m displaying my life. I have a heavy heart; on the one hand, they took away my life, as they did everyone else’s. We would like to live in a better way. We would like to have independence and a decent government. Unfortunately, we have what we have.
“So what? Should we give way to despair? Many have spoken about our defeat tonight. So we have been defeated — or have we? That’s how history works, you know, taking a step at a time. Looking closely, you see a defeat, of course, a fiasco, yet at a distance in time we realize that this is the way history works. We must now collect our strength, be patient, and keep our good humor. Laughter makes bad things burn out, whereas tears can drown you. So no tears!
“If we assume that a jubilee is when you put your life on display, rather than an occasion for greeting each other, accepting presents, flowers, and so on, then what? Let me tell you that I could have achieved more during my lifetime. I had a very big project! A huge one!
“I wanted to commit Ukrainian history to paper as so many poems, historical novels, and dramatic verse. I have these lines in my Scythian Odyssey: ‘Historic memory’s at fault, /Its chain is broken somewhere here, /Yet this chain is everlasting, /It is made of solid gold.’ I wanted to make this chain of historical memory go through centuries. And I did work on that project.
“As you know, I also have The Drevlians’ Triptych, Marusia Churai, Berestechko, and Duma pro brativ neazovskykh. You can’t write one poem after the next; you write what you feel. My projects included Volodymyr the Great, Roksolana, Countess Razumovsky, Andrii Potebnia, and so on — with the themes getting more complicated as they approached the present day. I decided to cope with all these tasks, to carry out all of them.
“Perhaps I wanted something different. Someone has praised me and portrayed me as a ‘social’ poet. Was that you, Yurii? Really? Well, thanks a lot for being so observant, but let me tell you frankly that I would like to write lyrical poems, lots of them.
“Perhaps I wanted to draw pictures with a silver pencil. Pictures of birds on linen. Perhaps when Olha Bohomolets starts singing “De vechir pakhne miatoiu, azh kholodno dzhmeliu” (Mint-Smelling Evening, When a Bumblebee Feels Cold), I find this theme closer to me, but Stefanyk wrote, ‘He didn’t want to, but had to…’ And you know what? I feel at home in history, I can step into any century and know my way around.
“And so I kept working on that project; I wanted to make that gold chain go through Ukraine’s entire history, but then the happy day came and Ukraine became independent. Now was the time to write whatever you wanted to write, no more Soviet persecution and censorship. Now you could really write something for Ukraine. But something strange happened. Suddenly there were fluids floating around: The Sixtiers? What did they actually accomplish? Zilch! History? Bah! Humbug! Patriotism? It’s for the birds!
“Some of the older generation will remember the catch phrase ‘Patriotism is the last refuge of a scoundrel’ that often appeared on the screen. Now who would want to be the scoundrel? People were being fed all kinds of stories and they listened. All of a sudden writers — like me, for one — were made to look funny. So what’s she writing about? What people? We need modern things!
“So what will it be? Underground? OK, underground it will be… And so they boarded that underground and got nowhere, because underground is an old thing, like the one in London. So where will our writers be headed? You’re waiting to hear the voice of the new generation, for every new generation is supposed to set the tune. Now what were the Sixtiers all about? How many are left today? But look at Dziuba or Yurii Shcherbak. See? Their names did mean something and they looked good!
“When the Soviets suspect you of nationalist affiliation and so on, when you have no freedom, when you fight to keep every line from being crossed out [by the censor], it’s one thing. Then comes freedom and independent Ukraine, but before you know it, you are in another weird situation. You discover that you are a narodnytsia [populist. – Ed.]! Quite frankly and between us, I’m nothing one of the kind. I’m a Chornobylist, considering that topics relating to Chornobyl are in vogue, for there is no other Chornobyl anywhere in the world.
“True, no one bothered me. Somehow they kept their distance with what looked like respect. But I was keenly aware of those disgusting fluids floating around in society. And so I decided — because Ukrainian was enriched with Russian expletives… But this has to be done with good understanding. By the way, there is a scholarly theory on the matter in Russia, including research papers entitled ‘What is Russian Fenia?’ and Akhmetova’s ‘On Russian Expletives’ (it is actually a thesis, somewhere in secret archives, and the Russians are right to care about their language).
“What happened here was that young Ukrainians, ill-prepared as they were, eagerly borrowed all those dirty words. How could I look on without trying to do anything about it? For them using four-letter words was a manifestation of freedom. Can you imagine how the Sixtiers felt about it, considering that they knew what freedom was all about in conditions of bondage? Now that we had freedom, there appeared young Ukrainian authors who used dirty words, trying to outdo each other and demonstrating their independence!
“It was then that I told myself — I am not speaking here about the political aspects — I actually wrote then, ‘I want no part in this satanic show!’
“And then I emigrated to the Chornobyl zone, together with people I dearly love, members of the Chornobyl historical-cultural expedition. I think I’ve never heard such laughter, so many jokes, or witnessed such strength than I did on that expedition.
“I withdrew from the Writers’ Union [of Ukraine], because I was sick and tired of their whining and whimpering, and I spent the years after that very well, at my desk, my PC, and on the Chornobyl expedition, with infrequent trips to Poland, France, Burgundy in between. In a word, I kept working.
“And then someone said that the situation is hopeless and that no one wanted to do anything about it. I don’t understand this. I see no defeat at the moment. Defeat can be either in people or not at all. You see, there is a high-voltage line of the spirit that has been mounted through the ages. We must link to it. This will be the spirit of resistance. I don’t mean that we’ll have to walk out on the street, hit each other in the face, or resort to other demarches. We must stay human and my impression is that people are longing to be their true selves. I think the fact that all of you are here at this launch of the book is proof that you are missing your true selves; you’re missing the atmosphere.
“My husband once told me, ‘Lina, honey, don’t worry, humankind will never deny itself that which it loves in itself.’ Ukrainians know what they love, and people in general know what they love.
“I am speaking specificically about this Berestechko.
“Since our readers appear to have no need for literature and poetry, there are more reasons for closing bookstores. Look at Khreshchatyk St.! Tell me, what are the municipal authorities doing? All they have to do is lift a finger, and this outrage will be stopped. But it doesn’t stop.
“I was a member of the National Council on Culture and Spirituality attached to the President of Ukraine. We kept arguing our case, but nothing happened. That was under the previous president. I think the situation will be the same under the current one. But we can’t put up with it any longer.
“I knew that my fellow Ukrainians didn’t seem to need poetry and historical novels, so I decided to try modern prose. I was writing prose books when I received a letter from the Lybid Publishers, offering to print Berestechko.
“I didn’t reply. I didn’t want another Berestechko published the way the first edition had been. It was a shame. Books mustn’t be published like that in our country. Mine had a print run of 10,000 copies, but then suddenly pirated copies started circulating. Someone was making money on this without asking my permission.
“To top it all off, I recently discovered that a prestigious publishing company — I seem to remember it was the government-run Kameniar Publishers in Lviv — published Berestechko without my knowledge and consent, without a contract. I happened to learn about this from other people.
“From what I know, they have a commission or committee that deals with especially important publications. Why didn’t they react? Who gave them the right to give money to that pirate for publishing Berestechko behind my back?
“Well, I had enough of that edition. I didn’t want another one, although I can tell you that I treasure Berestechko. Writing it took a long time and I would now and then add to the manuscript. They said it was about defeat, but I say it isn’t about defeat, but about a victory over defeat. That was actually why I started writing it in the first place.
“I wanted to create an image of a personality, but if you choose a personality, you have to choose a crucial moment in that personality’s life. I did just that in the case of Bohdan Khmelnytsky. I decided to write about Berestechko, because it was a shattering fiasco. After such defeats people drink themselves to death or hang themselves, but not Bohdan. He remained totally alone; no one wanted to have anything to do with him; they wouldn’t even allow him to live in Chyhyryn, and he had no troops. How could one get back on one’s feet after all that?
“Do you know what he did after that terrible defeat? He got married. I was stunned to discover this. They thought that was the end of him and he got married instead. His happy marriage was what gave him fresh strength. Kostomarov wrote that no one knew exactly what happened there at Berestechko… Perhaps his personal tragedy played a great role in this … I wrote somewhere ‘a great soul can also shudder.’ And he was weak and humiliated.
“You can’t live and win victories if you are humiliated. I think the Ukrainian people hasn’t won its victory as yet, because it is suffering a great historical humiliation. This people is being humiliated by all kinds of scum, and it has lost its [national] dignity. Ukrainians keep being told that they are Untermenschen, and they are used to hearing this. I remember when, right after forming the new Ukrainian state, when our cherished dream came true, everybody, unfortunately even our writers and various kinds of intellectuals, started calling for rising from our knees. But you have to fall to your knees to rise from them. I was outraged.
“Under the Soviets they wrote that ‘the party is my eyes’ and ‘the party is my heart,’ and now they were urging us to rise from our knees. Well, if you crawled rather than walked at the time, keep crawling. Why call on the people to rise? And the people kept sleeping.
“That’s another reason I’m so fond of the people in Chornobyl. There are just a handful left. Special commemorative days — hrobky — will start shortly.
“People visit ‘living’ cemeteries near dead villages. No one is standing on their knees down there. People laugh and exchange jokes. I’ve never heard such laughter and such jokes as on that expedition. But here the atmosphere is sour, as though we depended on the Holodomor being deleted from the [presidential] website. The main thing now is keeping people fed. The new government is here to feed the people. Bah! People are feeding this government!
“Some are telling the khokhols not to worry, that they will be allowed to speak their language. That’s not the way it should be. Also, someone said he had carried Ukraine in his hands. Enough of this verbiage. One must respect the people. And then we hear about east and west…
“You know who was the first to greet me? I was having guests when the phone rang. A call from Makiivka. There is a good choir there. ‘Lina, are you having company? OK, give them regards from the Donetsk bandits!’
“So I gave my guests regards from the Donetsk bandits. I appear to have my own Ukraine which
I recognize and love. I know no such Ukrainian in other politicians’ interpretation. I know the kind of Ukraine for which I live, for which it is worth living and working.
“Getting back to Berestechko. Why did I write it? It’s not about defeat. It is about victory over defeat. I had to describe all of [Khmelnytsky’s] moods. He was said to have been drinking for three days and nights after the fiasco. So he drank, so what? When a strong man tumbles down, there is more noise than when a mosquito does. Consequently, there is more suffering, more emotions. But for me the main thing was to describe a victory over defeat. And so I did: ‘There is no time left for defeat.’
“My first book of prose was to appear in print. Dmytro Drozdovsky is still reproaching me for holding it back. You know, writing prose is harder than verse. It is a terribly responsible task, especially these days. The story will soon come off the presses. It is entitled Diary of a Ukrainian Madman. I specified Gogol’s Diary of a Madman, considering that Ukrainian madness is something special. Whereas in Russia megalomania is a disease, while in Ukraine it is inferiority mania.
“Gogol’s crazy government clerk became King Ferdinand VIII. Here every Ukrainian is crazy by definition and can run up the wall like Kafka’s hero.
“One has to pay attention to all this. Humiliation means all the things which we can tolerate no longer. After the publishing company decided to ignore my silence (tonight someone thanked my [daughter] Oxana [Pachlovska] for carrying out a shuttle mission; well, she did, she told me you know Serhii Yakutovych will be there, too… then I thought my God, I knew his father.
“Oxana also said you should hear Petro Boiko recite Shevchenko. I told her I was sick and tired of recitals.
“Why don’t you listen to him, Oxana said, which I did and it was great! And then he read Berestechko, an ordinary parish priest from Shevchenko’s church, without the reciter’s skill. But I suddenly fell in love with Rev. Petro Boiko I’d never met. His voice sounded too young for this kind of recital. Well, I said OK, let him come.
“Believe it or not, I was scared to look at the book. I saw it tonight for the first time. They sent a copy to my place. I told Oxana I wouldn’t look at it, because I was scared in a good way, scared to be pleasantly surprised. Could this edition look good after all the previous lousy ones? They would publish their hacks like back under the Soviets, on glossy paper. My books came out printed on what resembled newspaper paper, and I was used to it. Now here I was looking at this edition, after all those pirated ones and that gentleman in Lviv (I will deal with all this later).
“I was told that he had placed the honorarium on a deposit account. Such money for a pirated edition. Let them fine him and give the money to a children’s hospital in Lviv. You see, such insolent characters have to be taught a lesson. You can’t let them keep doing such things.
“Then they started publishing Olha Bohomolets’ collection of songs to my lyrics. Ivan Marchuk instantly materialized. I’m very fond of him as an artist. I can’t stop marveling at his talent. He is brilliant! Someone joked that he hadn’t seen so many exceptionally gifted people per square meter. I am so grateful to them all! For the first time in so many years my heart is at peace. So many years!
“I would like to thank you all for this book: Olena Boiko, Petro Boiko, Serhii Yakutovych — and my Oxana for talking me into this project. I will say no more, just read a couple of selected poems:
You fought and yakked,
Squabbled, shouting yourselves hoarse.
O Ukraine, have you ever been
Truly free, even for a moment,
From the shackles on your will?
From the hooves trampling your soul?
From the strangers buying you wholesale?
From your people putting you up for sale?
* * *
Forgive me, o my downtrodden people,
For keeping silent. Allow me to say naught.
We keep sowing seeds that yield no crops,
There are only hissing, slithering snakes.
All against all, no one agrees with anyone.
People driven by hate
Toward the abyss…
