Ukrainian soldier-poet Maksym Kryvtsov was killed in battle on Ukraine’s eastern front on January 7. His death, among the relentless losses of the war in Ukraine, has struck a deep chord in Ukrainian society. His writings from the front lines, famous in Ukraine, are unknown in the West. His first collection of poetry, “Poems from the Embrasure,” published in December 2023, does not yet have an English translation. Hopefully that will come soon.
Thanks to an article about Kryvstov published in the Wall Street Journal, we can get a glimpse of that remarkable writing. With the outbreak of the Russian invasion of Ukraine, Kryvstov returned to his special operations unit, where he served as a machine gunner. An early poem from the war includes these lines:
“He took the cat that was like pastry
And said: Cat we need to go
War
Cold like ice
Came to us, like morning
Like life
Like Illness
The lesson called “Quiet Life” is over”
(translation courtesy of Oksana Grytsenko, for the Wall Street Journal, https://www.wsj.com/world/europe/ukraine-mourns-poet-soldier-who-found-darkness-beauty-on-front-lines-044892a2
So much is lost in war, especially in wars, like that fought by Russia against Ukraine, designed as a cultural genocide.
I used to sneak in some war poetry whenever I taught the history of the First World War. There is such a rich literature.
Among my favourites, Wilfrid Owen’s “Anthem for Doomed Youth.”* Here is a partial excerpt:
“What passing-bells for these who die as cattle?
—Only the monstrous anger of the guns.
Only the stuttering rifles’ rapid rattle
Can patter out their hasty orisons
…
What candles may be held to speed them all?
…
Their flowers the tenderness of patient minds.
And each slow dusk a drawing down of blinds.”
(*From the anthology edited by Jon Stallworthy, The Oxford Book of War Poetry, 1988)
For Canadian kids, a distant thought.
Owen was killed in action serving in the British army on November 4, 1918, one week before the armistice. He was 25.
Makysm Kryvstov outlived him by 8 years. He died age 33.
So much is lost in war. So much must be remembered.
And here's another one, written by a Palestinian poet assassinated in December by the Israeli military:
“IF I MUST DIE”
BY REFAAT ALAREER
If I must die,
you must live
to tell my story
to sell my things
to buy a piece of cloth
and some strings,
(make it white with a long tail)
so that a child, somewhere in Gaza
while looking heaven in the eye
awaiting his dad who left in a blaze—
and bid no one farewell
not even to his flesh
not even to himself—
sees the kite, my kite you made, flying up above
and thinks for a moment an angel is there
bringing back love
If I must die
let it bring hope
let it be a tale
My maternal grandmother survived the Blitz and moved to Canada as a war bride. If you asked her who won the war, or if England (UK) won the war, she would reply, "Everyone lost someone."