Original
Про гон
Ніч приємна, весняна пора,Я вийшов на двір й забив комара,Який щойно прилетів і сівМені на руку, й крові захотів.
Та крові йому не вдалося попити,Зумів його я швидко забити.Він не відчув ні болі, ні страху,Бо я ж його забив з першого маху.
Тут прилетіла велика бджола,Я здивувався, як же вонаВ ночі не спала, а просто літала?І жало своє до мене ламала.
Translation
Ramblings
A pleasant night — the springtime season;I stepped outside and swatted a mosquitothat had just flown in and settledon my hand, wanting blood.
But it never got to drink that blood —I managed to kill it fast.It felt no pain, it felt no fear,for I killed it with the very first swing.
Then a big bee came flying up;I wondered how it was that shewas not asleep at night, but flying,and bending her sting at me.
About the poem
The title is slang for a wild, nonsensical trip, and the poem begins as one: a mosquito swatted, a giant bee felled with a thrown hammer, a black horse commandeered. Then the ride turns into a tour of Ukrainian literature — the mother’s embroidered rushnyk from Malyshko’s song, the village grieving for Shevchenko’s Kateryna, the old kobzar in a field who says there is no happiness in Ukraine, “and Will and Fate only in a dream.” “No, uncle — it’s you who’s dreaming; Fate and Will are already here.” He smiles and vanishes, and the mother’s towel appears. Nonsense that ends as a patriotic vision, or the other way round.