неділя, 22 березня 2015 р.

Ukrainian Books in English

If you are Ukrainian, interested in Ukrainian language and culture or just like to discover something new - I want to present you book of ukrainian famous writer in English.

There are books and poems of the most famous Ukrainian writer - Taras Shevchenko. You can feel ukrainian soul while reading this poems.
So if you are interested in Ukrainian ethnity - you are welsome to read this beautiful poems!
To understand this poems, I must tell you a little about life in Ukraine in 19 century.
Ukraine was part of Russian empire at that time. A lot of Ukrainians lived very poor or was kind of serfs. They dream about their own independant tate and also about freedom and free life.

Taras Shevchenko

The Testament

Dig my grave and raise my barrow
By the Dnieper-side
In Ukraina, my own land,
A fair land and wide.
I will lie and watch the cornfields,
Listen through the years
To the river voices roaring,
Roaring in my ears.
When I hear the call
Of the racing flood,
Loud with hated blood,
I will leave them all,
Fields and hills; and force my way
Right up to the Throne
Where God sits alone;
Clasp His feet and pray…
But till that day
What is God to me?
Bury me, be done with me,
Rise and break your chain,
Water your new liberty
With blood for rain.
Then, in the mighty family
Of all men that are free,
May be sometimes, very softly
You will speak of me?
Taras Shevchenko
Translated by E. L. Voynich
London, 1911


Як умру, то поховайте
Мене на могилі
Серед степу широкого
На Вкраїні милій,
Щоб лани широкополі,
І Дніпро, і кручі
Було видно, було чути,
Як реве ревучий.
Як понесе з України
У синєє море
Кров ворожу… отойді я
І лани і гори —
Все покину, і полину
До самого Бога
Молитися… а до того
Я не знаю Бога.
Поховайте та вставайте,
Кайдани порвіте
І вражою злою кров’ю
Волю окропіте.
І мене в сем’ї великій,
В сем’ї вольній, новій,
Не забудьте пом’янути
Незлим тихим словом.


Cuando yo muera, enterradme
en una tumba allб arriba,
sobre un cerro que domine
toda mi Ucrania querida.

Que inmensos campos se vean,
y al Dniйper con sus colinas
que se le vea y que se oiga
cуmo ruge y cуmo grita.
Cuando el Dniйper desde Ucrania.

al mar azul lleve en clamor,
de todos sus enemigos,
la sangre, entonces yo
dejarй campos y montes
y he de volar hasta Dios
para rezar. Y antes de esto
a Dios no conozco yo.

Y despuйs de sepultarme
alzaos, romped las cadenas,
rociad con sangre enemiga
la libertad, que es tan vuestra.
Y a mi, en la familia nueva
no me olvidйis, acordaos
con palabras dulces, buenas.


It Makes No Difference To Me

It makes no difference to me,
If I shall live or not in Ukraine
Or whether any one shall think
Of me ‘mid foreign snow and rain.
It makes no difference to me.
In slavery I grew ‘mid strangers,
Unwept by any kin of mine;
In slavery I now will die
And vanish without any sign.
I shall not leave the slightest trace
Upon our glorious Ukraine,
Our land, but not as ours known.
No father will remind his son
Or say to him, “Repeat one prayer,
One prayer for him; for our Ukraine
They tortured him in their foul lair.”
It makes no difference to me,
If that son says a prayer or not.
It makes great difference to me
That evil folk and wicked men
Attack our Ukraine, once so free,
And rob and plunder it at will.
That makes great difference to me.
Taras Shevchenko
St. Petersburg Citadel Prison May, 1847
Translated by Clarence A. Manning Columbia University New York, 1944

Мені однаково

Мені однаково, чи буду
Я жить в Україні, чи ні.
Чи хто згадає, чи забуде
Мене в снігу на чужині -
Однаковісінько мені.
В неволі виріс між чужими,
І, неоплаканий своїми,
В неволі, плачучи, умру,
І все з собою заберу -
Малого сліду не покину
На нашій славній Україні,
На нашій – не своїй землі.
I не пом’яне батько з сином,
Не скаже синові: – Молись.
Молися, сину: за Вкраїну
Його замучили колись.
Мені однаково, чи буде
Той син молитися, чи ні…
Та не однаково мені,
Як Україну злії люди
Присплять, лукаві, і в огні
Її, окраденую, збудять…
Ох, не однаково мені.
(В казематі 1847)

I was thirteen

I was thirteen. I herded lambs
Beyond the village on the lea.
The magic of the sun, perhaps,
Or what was it affected me?
I felt with joy all overcome,
As though with God….
The time for lunch had long passed by,
And still among the weeds I lay
And prayed to God…. I know not why
It was so pleasant then to pray
For me, an orphan peasant boy,
Or why such bliss so filled me there?
The sky seemed bright, the village fair,
The very lambs seemed to rejoice!
The sun’s rays warmed but did not sear!
But not for long the sun stayed kind,
Not long in bliss I prayed….
It turned into a ball of fire
And set the world ablaze.
As though just wakened up, I gaze:
The hamlet’s drab and poor,
And God’s blue heavens — even they
Are glorious no more.
I look upon the lambs I tend –
Those lambs are not my own!
I eye the hut wherein I dwell –
I do not have a home!
God gave me nothing, naught at all….
I bowed my head and wept
Such bitter tears…. And then a lass*
Who had been sorting hemp
Not far from there, down by the path,
Heard my lament and came
Across the field to comfort me;
She spoke a soothing phrase
And gently dried my weeping eyes
And kissed my tear-wet face….
It was as though the sun had smiled,
As though all things on earth were mine,
My own…. the orchards, fields and groves!…
And, laughing merrily the while,
The master’s lambs to drink we drove.
Oh, how disgusting!… Yet, when I
Recall those days, my heart is sore
That there my brief life’s span the Lord
Did not grant me to live and die.
There, plowing, I’d have passed away,
With ignorance my life-long lot,
I’d not an outcast be today,
I’d not be cursing Man and God! …
Translated by John Weir Toronto, 1961
* Oksana Kovalenko to whom Shevchenko dedicated the Poem to

Мені тринадцятий минало

Мені тринадцятий минало.
Я пас ягнята за селом.
Чи то так сонечко сіяло,
Чи так мені чого було?
Мені так любо, любо стало,
Неначе в Бога……
Уже прокликали до паю,
А я собі у бур’яні
Молюся Богу… І не знаю,
Чого маленькому мені
Тойді так приязно молилось,
Чого так весело було.
Господнє небо, і село,
Ягня, здається, веселилось!
І сонце гріло, не пекло!
Та недовго сонце гріло,
Недовго молилось…
Запекло, почервоніло
І рай запалило.
Мов прокинувся, дивлюся:
Село почорніло,
Боже небо голубеє
І те помарніло.
Поглянув я на ягнята —
Не мої ягнята!
Обернувся я на хати —
Нема в мене хати!
Не дав мені Бог нічого!..
І хлинули сльози,
Тяжкі сльози!.. А дівчина *
При самій дорозі
Недалеко коло мене
Плоскінь вибирала,
Та й почула, що я плачу.
Прийшла, привітала,
Утирала мої сльози
І поцілувала…
Неначе сонце засіяло,
Неначе все на світі стало
Моє… лани, гаї, сади!..
І ми, жартуючи, погнали
Чужі ягнята до води.
Бридня!.. А й досі, як згадаю,
То серце плаче та болить,
Чому Господь не дав дожить
Малого віку у тім раю.
Умер би, орючи на ниві,
Нічого б на світі не знав.
Не був би в світі юродивим.
Людей і [Бога] не прокляв!

Taras Shevchenko
Artist, poet, national bard of Ukraine, Taras Shevchenko was born on 9 March, 1814 in Moryntsi, Kiev gubernia. He was born a serf. When he was a teenager he became an orphan, and grew up in poverty. When he was 14, his owner, Engelhardt took him to serve as a houseboy. And Taras travelled with him to Vilnus and to St Petersburg. In Vilnus Taras for the first time heard different languages, Lithuanian, Russian and Polish and there he saw people whom their masters made free. When Engelhardt noticed the boy’s skiils in painting he apprenticed him to the painter Shiriayev for four years.
At that time the young man met his compatriots Zoshchenko, Hrebinka, Hryhorovych, and Venetsianov, they showed his works to the famous Russian artist Karl Bryullov. Shevchenko’s paintings impressed Bryullov, and he decided to help him. Karl Bryullov painted a portrait of the Russian poet Zhukovsky and disposed it in a lottery. The money was used to buy Shevchenko’s freedom from Engelhardt in 1838.
Shevchenko entered the Academy of Fine Arts in St Petersburg, there he became a student of Bryullov. Shevchenko was awarded three silver medals for his works and later he had become an Academician in engraving.
Studying at the Academy T. Shevchenko understood that his main calling, his true passion was poetry. In 1840 he published his first collection of poems “Kobzar”. In 1841 followed the epic poem “Haidamaky”, in 1844 the ballad “Hamalia”.
When he graduated from the Academy, he became a member of the Kiev Archeographic Commission. In 1846 in Kiev he entered the secret Cyril and Methodius Brotherhood. It was a secret political society, in 1847 it was smashed, and Shevchenko was arrested and sent to the Orenburg special corps, he was deprived the right to draw and write. 10 years of exile ruined his health, and Shevchenko became seriously ill.
When he was released in 1857 it was forbidden to him to live in Ukraine. He moved to St Petersburg but on March 10, 1861 the great poet died of heart disease. He was buried in St Petersburg, but his friends wanted to fulfill the poet’s wish that he had expressed in his “Testament” and they transferred his remains to the Chernecha Hill near Kanev, in Ukraine.
Shevchenko’s works take an important place in Ukrainian literature and history. His literary output consists of the collection of poetry “Kobzar”, the drama “Nazar Stodolia”; two dramatic fragments; nine novelettes, a diary, and a autobiography in Russian; and over 250 letters.
Shevchenko was an outstanding poet and a highly accomplished artist. There are 835 works written by him, although 270 are known to have been lost. His collection also contains over 150 portraits, 42 self-portraits. There are many landscapes, watercolours and etchings.

Ivan Franko

Я бачив дивний сон. Немов передо мною
Безмірна, та пуста, і дика площина,
І я,прикований ланцем залізним, стою
Під височенною гранітною скалою,
А далі тисячі таких самих, як я.
У кождого чоло життя і жаль порили,
І в оці кождого горить любові жар,
І руки в кождого ланці, мов гадь, обвили,
І плечі кождого додолу ся схилили,
Бо давить всіх один страшний якийсь тягар.
У кождого в руках тяжкий залізний молот,
І голос сильний нам згори, як грім, гримить:
"Лупайте сю скалу! Нехай ні жар, ні холод
Не спинить вас! Зносіть і труд, і спрагу, й голод,
Бо вам призначено скалу сесю розбить."
І всі ми, як один, підняли вгору руки,
І тисяч молотів о камінь загуло,
І в тисячні боки розприскалися штуки
Та відривки скали; ми з силою розпуки
Раз по раз гримали о кам'яне чоло.
Мов водопаду рев, мов битви гук кривавий,
Так наші молоти гриміли раз у раз;
І п'ядь за п'ядею ми місця здобували;
Хоч не одного там калічили ті скали,
Ми далі йшли, ніщо не спинювало нас.
І кождий з нас те знав, що слави нам не буде,
Ні пам'яті в людей за сей кривавий труд,
Що аж тоді підуть по сій дорозі люди,
Як ми проб'єм її та вирівняєм всюди,
Як наші кості тут під нею зогниють.
Та слави людської зовсім ми не бажали,
Бо не герої ми і не богатирі.
Ні, ми невольники, хоч добровільно взяли
На себе пута. Ми рабами волі стали:
На шляху поступу ми лиш каменярі.
І всі ми вірили, що своїми руками
Розіб'ємо скалу, роздробимо граніт,
Що кров'ю власною і власними кістками
Твердий змуруємо гостинець і за нами
Прийде нове життя, добро нове у світ.
І знали ми, що там далеко десь у світі,
Який ми кинули для праці, поту й пут,
За нами сльози ллють мами, жінки і діти,
Що други й недруги, гнівнії та сердиті,
І нас, і намір наш, і діло те кленуть.
Ми знали се, і в нас не раз душа боліла,
І серце рвалося, і груди жаль стискав;
Та сльози, ані жаль, ні біль пекучий тіла,
Ані прокляття нас не відтягли від діла,
І молота ніхто із рук не випускав.
Отак ми всі йдемо, в одну громаду скуті
Святою думкою, а молоти в руках.
Нехай прокляті ми і світом позабуті!
Ми ломимор скалу, рівняєм правді путі,
І щастя всіх прийде по наших аж кістках.

I saw a vision strange. Stretched out before me lay
A measureless but barren, open plain. And I,
With iron chains on hands and feet, stood in array
Before a granite mount which rose up, towering high,
With other thousands—captives, fettered the
    same way.

Deep lines of pain and grief were etched on every
Yet in the eyes of all the flame of love still burned.
The fetters clung to each with serpent-like embrace,
And every back was bent, each face was downwards
For all seemed bowed beneath a burden of disgrace.

A mighty iron sledge I saw in every hand,
And sudden from the sky a voice like thunder burst:
"Break through this rock! Let neither cold nor
    heat withstand
Your toil! In spite of danger, hunger, cold, and
Stay not, for yours it is to smash this granite band!"
At this we all as one our sledges raised on high;
A thousand thundering blows crashed down upon
    the rock.
On every side we saw the shards of granite fly,
The rock crack off in blocks. With ceaseless,
    desperate shock,
We hammered on with strength that nothing
    could defy.

Like roaring cataract or battle's bloody din,
Our sledges kept on thudding with exhaustless
New footholds every moment we never failed to win.
Though many a one of us fell crippled in the fight,
We onward pressed, for naught could shake our

Yet each of us well knew he should no glory reap,
Nor would man's memory requite our toilsome pain,
That long before our seed along that road would
Ere we could break a path and make it smooth and
Our bleaching bones would lie beside it in a heap.

We had no thirst of glory in our hearts to slake,
For we were neither knights nor heroes seeking
Mere slaves we were, but such as freely, gladly take
Their bonds as self-made slaves in freedom's,
    glorious name
The pioneers who toil a new highway to break.

And all held firm belief that by our strength
We'd rend the prisoning rock, the granite wall defy;
That by our mortal strength, though we to death
    were buried,
Yet after, with our bones, we'd pave a road whereby
New life and hope might come into this sorry world.

And every one knew too, that in the world we'd left
Behind us for these chains and sweat and toil forlorn,
Were mothers, sweethearts, weeping wives and
    little ones bereft,
And friends and enemies, who, pitying or in scorn,
Cursed us and our emprise and feared the dreadful

We knew it and at times, bowed down in sore
Our hearts would almost fail as sweet remembrance
Yet neither tears nor pity nor great weariness
Nor curses ever made us falter in our aims—
No sledge dropped from our hands beneath the
    awful stress.

We march in close accord, for each the purpose owns
To form a brotherhood, each with a sledge in hand.
What though the world forgets, or even us disowns!
We'll rend that prisoning rock, we'll pave a broad
    new strand!
New life shall come to man, though it come o'er
    our bones!


Lesya Ukrainka

Forest song - read here
Cassandra - read here
Hope (Ukrainian vs English) - read here 

Larysa Petrivna Kosach-Kvitka (Ukrainian: Лариса Петрівна Косач-Квітка) (February 25 [O.S. February 13] 1871 – August 1 [O.S. July 19] 1913) better known under her literary pseudonym Lesya Ukrainka (Ukrainian: Леся Українка), was one of Ukraine's best-known poets and writers and the foremost woman writer in Ukrainian literature. Ukrainka wrote epic poems, prose dramas, prose, several articles of literary criticism, and a number of sociopolitical essays. She was best known for her plays Boyarynya (1914; The Noblewoman), which refers directly to Ukrainian history, and Lisova pisnya (1912; The Forest Song), whose characters include mythological beings from Ukrainian folklore. Ukrainka was born in 1871 in the town of Novohrad-Volynskyi of Ukraine. There are many monuments to Lesya Ukrainka in Ukraine and many other former Soviet Republics. Particularly in Kiev, there is a main monument at the boulevard that bears her name and a smaller monument in the Mariyinsky Park (next to Mariyinsky Palace). There is also a bust in Garadagh raion of Azerbaijan. One of the main Kiev theaters, the Lesya Ukrainka National Academic Theater of Russian Drama is colloquially referred to simply as Lesya Ukrainka Theater. 
Under initiatives of local Ukrainian diasporas, there are several memorial societies and monuments to her throughout Canada and the United States, most notably a monument on the campus of the University of Saskatchewan in Saskatoon, Saskatchewan. There is also a bust of Ukrainka in Soyuzivka in New York State. 
On May 28, 2007, the National Bank of Ukraine released a 200-hryvnia banknote depicting Lesya Ukrainka.

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