Author: Marina Korchaka

Confession of a poet after a year of war

Confession of a poet after a year of war

If you think of yourself as a poet or a poetess and you are considering taking this path seriously, most likely sooner or later you will ask yourself this question: what can I do for poetry?

When will you go away, you traitor?

The Ukrainian city of Kherson was under occupation for more than eight months. Having occupied the city in spite of the powerful civic resistance, on March 1 the Russian army shot 17 territorial defense soldiers from tanks.

Light at the end of the war

Kyiv. It is night outdoors. It is absolutely dark in this yard. Two multi-storeyed buildings standing one after the other are not lit at all. Adults, children, elderly people with specific needs live in these buildings.

Musicians Do Not Live Underground

I was arranging the sheet music on the stand, trying to follow the correct order, but Sonia’s words still echoed in my head. She had repeated the word “try” so many times for the past day and the past hour as if I had a choice.

Fresh wounds on the white canvas

It was so hard to lose everything at once that my heart broke apart with pain. The sounds of explosions were coming from every direction, and I could not pull my thoughts together.

Front? Are you sure?

Front? Are you sure?

The word “front” in the dictionary of the Ukrainian language has got nine meanings. That is incredibly a lot, since when I normally work with texts and check specific words, they have several lexical meanings.

It is impossible to say “Goodbye!”

It is impossible to say “Goodbye!”

Having a separate place at a Ukrainian cemetery is considered to be a luxury today. To bury a person following the rites we had before the outbreak of the great war is mere luck.