Lіudmyla Diadchenko (Ukraine)

Lіudmyla Diadchenko (Ukraine)


Lіudmyla Diadchenko (2.08.1988, Kyiv, Ukraine) Poet, a Vice President of Ukrainian Writers Association, Ukrainian literary rating “The Book of the Year” expert, member of World Nations writers’ Union (Kazakhstan). Doctor of philosophy (Theory of literature), works at Taras Shevchenko National University of Kyiv. Scientific interests: mythopoetic, hermeneutics, spatial studios. The author of poetry collections: Fee For Access (2011), The Hen for Turkish Man (2017), which is one of the ten best Ukrainian books of the year, Kedem (2020).
Sources of published poems;
Literature magazines and journals – “Porter Gulch Review 2020” (USA), “Shahitto” (India, 2019), “Armagan” (Bosnia, 2020), Knjizevno pero (Crotia, 2019), “Artkaspi” (Azerbaijan, 2018), «Publishers Weekly» (United Arab Emirates, 2018); “Modernity”, “SHO”, “Courier Krivbas”, “Dyvoslovo”, “Ukrainian literary newspaper”.
Anthology – “NEP: Night of erotic poetry” (2011), almanac of International Istanbul Poetry and Literature Festival (2017), of 18th International Sapanca Poetry Evenings (2018), Terra Poetica (Minsk, 2016), The Language of the Sky (Tbilisi, 2016), other almanacs and online publications.
A participant and winner of literary festivals;
2012 – Marked by Oles Gonchar International Ukrainian-German Prize.
2018 – Literary competition “Poetry of pomegranate tints” winner (Azerbaijan Diaspora Association).
Took place in The 10th International Istanbul Poetry and Literature Festival (Turkey, 2017), The18th International Sapanca Poetry Evenings (Turkey, 2018), The 11th International Istanbul Poetry and Literature Festival (Turkey, 2019), The 6th International poetry festival in Sidi bou Said (Tunisia, 2019), International Fikret Demirağ Poetry Festival (Nicosia-Cyprus, 2019), The 30th Medellin International poetry festival (Colombia, 2020). Some poems translated into English, Spanish, Arabic, Georgian, Belarusian, Croatian, Bosnian, Russian, Azerbaijani and Turkish languages. She lives in Kyiv.


Poems by Lіudmyla Diadchenko



what will be left of you? withered leaves and a couple of skins
you shed in a serpent-like manner? dead wormwood stalks?
ambrosia buds? greek gods had a taste for that weed
but gods’ meat is woman’s poison gods are not us
the ragweed breeds allergy (a surgical mask as a chador)
and the dead leaves get noisy amidst the nights of delirium
what will be left of me? You took everything quite away
and all knaves of hearts’ mischief compared to that is a boyish parody
though what’s being left of us all: symbols, memories or just lies?
of jesus – the cross, of van gogh – sunflowers, of hugo – quasimodo
and of the world — the bones of all those who were driven by God
onto this earth under these skies into this adventure

Translation into English by Viacheslav Stelmakh


To Asmaa Azaizeh

a couple of sand grains strewn to the desert’s grounds
a couple of sun rays to what is already clear
how fares your palestine? when will it let you go?
how fares your heart amidst the strange and the alien?
i’m muddling up words. languages. in the evenings
i read that Lord’s love’s parceled out by abraham’s children
out rolls the spring on a camel laden with gifts
green turns the cover and contents of your koran –
sort of a book devised by an ancient poet:
a peculiar one. books resemble the poets’ regrets
a few questions and dreams and a bit of humour
but as it often happens it’s been misread

Translation into English by Viacheslav Stelmakh



through ukrainian weeds and right to the very sanskrit
walking and gathering alien alphabets with your ears
the day before yesterday takes to the road to converse
the day after tomorrow calls you from round the evening
here the sun sinks earlier on the horns of the cows
and the winds of no names flock to the watering places
this sarcasm of fate that has led me here by the hand
just won’t disappear and so there are two of us now
dressing a weary day in a bright-colored sari
bidding a hasty farewell just in time for a new one
your language won’t tell neither where nor how long you go
perhaps you’ll be lucky to settle this matter with sanskrit

Translation into English by Viacheslav Stelmakh



July has left behind a few magnetic storms,
And you have left me with a few new neuroses.
I knead August to make it rise whole, just as
I knead space on trails by hiking strange trajectories;
I follow recipes and find my joy in baking—
This, then, is my being, my clear sooth.
Whatever barkhan is shaped by a lonely wind,
Sand and desert are ever-menacing, ever the same.
So gather your scarabs and jackals, pick up any girl
And break off some of your improper compassion.
May you be completely lucky, may your August succeed
In making your fingers sticky like persimmons once did.

Translation into English by Padma Thornlyre

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