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Syndic Literary Journal


From a Distance  

Written by Dmytro Chystiak  

Translated from the Ukrainian by Hilary Sheers


Morning frost. Grey gloom in the distance. 

Cold voices rising from the night. 

Your water-lily trembles in my hand, 

But in the eyes a high call quivers 

From afar. And a golden phantom 

At dawn, on the feast of Transfiguration, the first bells 

Ring out in puritys embrace –  unfathomable 

Time divides between 

This grey loneliness on the edge of an abyss 

And a resounding cry of before-the-storm delight, 

At dawn, on the feast of Transfiguration, in union. 

Yet even then a strange thought comes to mind – 

That once all time was one 

Your wine, matured for years, 

With the caution of bewildered youth 

With near death yearning above the sea, 

With a childish stirring (like seashells do 

We curl into the night against a dream) 

In passions twilight not ourselves 

We make love in distant intertwining 

Of other rivers, waterfalls and heights 

Woven into oneness before the summer 

Will you return from beyond the sea I do not know. 

Or will the sea wash me away by morning? 

It matters not! A high call quivers in the eyes 

From the distance when we lay entwined together. 


Compiled/Published by LeRoy Chatfield
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