A Poem from Ukraine March 16, 2022 by Vasyl Stus translated by Artem Pulemotov

 So many words; they are like crippled ghosts!

They strike, like bullets, far and close by
But always miss the essence of my life;
They come in rows.
Through these deceitful words I walk and shamble.
There is a fight; I’m on the battlefield,
Where all my soldiers are the words I wield,
And treason’s sown by memories that scramble . . .
Don’t end up fooled when in the good you trust,
And don’t get lost in your afflictions’ mire.
As one remembers things, one grows more tired;
The day I tire, I will die and thus
Hide in the hues of night unseen by most,
Where they don’t know happiness or wrath,
Where they don’t live but chew their own death.
So many words; they are like crippled ghosts!

Decree of Abdication

 

Decree of Abdication

In the days of the great struggle against the foreign enemies, who for nearly three years have tried to enslave our fatherland, the Lord God has been pleased to send down on Russia a new heavy trial.

Internal popular disturbances threaten to have a disastrous effect on the future conduct of this persistent war.  The destiny of Russia, the honour of our heroic army, the welfare of the people and the whole future of our dear fatherland demand that the war should be brought to a victorious conclusion whatever the cost.

The cruel enemy is making his last efforts, and already the hour approaches when our glorious army together with our gallant allies will crush him.  In these decisive days in the life of Russia, We thought it Our duty of conscience to facilitate for Our people the closest union possible and a consolidation of all national forces for the speedy attainment of victory.

In agreement with the Imperial Duma We have thought it well to renounce the Throne of the Russian Empire and to lay down the supreme power.  As We do not wish to part from Our beloved son, We transmit the succession to Our brother, the Grand Duke Michael Alexandrovich, and give Him Our blessing to mount the Throne of the Russian Empire.

We direct Our brother to conduct the affairs of state in full and inviolable union with the representatives of the people in the legislative bodies on those principles which will be established by them, and on which He will take an inviolable oath.

In the name of Our dearly beloved homeland, We call on Our faithful sons of the fatherland to fulfil their sacred duty to the fatherland, to obey the Tsar in the heavy moment of national trials, and to help Him, together with the representatives of the people, to guide the Russian Empire on the road to victory, welfare, and glory.

May the Lord God help Russia!

(SIGNED)

NICHOLAS II

(COUNTER-SIGNED)

FREDERICKS, MINISTER OF THE IMPERIAL COURT

from https://georgestreetplayhouse.org/news/articles/timeless-script-play-about-russian-jewish-immigrants-struggles-has-modern-overtones/

 

A timeless script: Play about a Russian-Jewish immigrant’s struggles has modern overtones

March 6, 2019

Although a play at the George Street Playhouse in New Brunswick is set in the early 20th-century, its story of a Russian Jew’s flight from persecution and struggle to find acceptance in America has modern resonance.

“The Immigrant,” which runs March 12-April 7, was written by Mark Harelik based on the true story of his grandfather, Haskell Harelik, who fled czarist Russia and ended up the lone Jew in the small town of Hamilton, Texas. The play, with its four-person cast, has been performed throughout the country for a number of years.

“It’s a really beautiful personal story about a guy who leaves a pogrom and personal trauma and tries to establish a new life for himself in a land he knows nothing about,” said Benjamin Pelteson, who plays the title role of Haskell Harelik. “It resonates for me with a lot of things happening today with people who come to this country for their own personal safety.”

Jim Jack, the show’s director and the theater’s director of education and outreach, called “The Immigrant” “a great story for these polarizing times.”

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Wanted, wanted: Dolores Haze.

Vladimir Nabokov, Lolita, Chapter 25

Wanted, wanted: Dolores Haze.
Hair: brown. Lips: scarlet.
Age: five thousand three hundred days.
Profession: none, or "starlet"

Where are you hiding, Dolores Haze?
Why are you hiding, darling?
(I Talk in a daze, I walk in a maze
I cannot get out, said the starling).

Where are you riding, Dolores Haze?
What make is the magic carpet?
Is a Cream Cougar the present craze?
And where are you parked, my car pet?

Who is your hero, Dolores Haze?
Still one of those blue-capped star-men?
Oh the balmy days and the palmy bays,
And the cars, and the bars, my Carmen!

Oh Dolores, that juke-box hurts!
Are you still dancin', darlin'?
(Both in worn levis, both in torn T-shirts,
And I, in my corner, snarlin').

Happy, happy is gnarled McFate
Touring the States with a child wife,
Plowing his Molly in every State
Among the protected wild life.

My Dolly, my folly! Her eyes were vair,
And never closed when I kissed her.
Know an old perfume called Soliel Vert?
Are you from Paris, mister?

L'autre soir un air froid d'opera m'alita;
Son fele -- bien fol est qui s'y fie!
Il neige, le decor s'ecroule, Lolita!
Lolita, qu'ai-je fait de ta vie?

Dying, dying, Lolita Haze,
Of hate and remorse, I'm dying.
And again my hairy fist I raise,
And again I hear you crying.

Officer, officer, there they go--
In the rain, where that lighted store is!
And her socks are white, and I love her so,
And her name is Haze, Dolores.

Officer, officer, there they are--
Dolores Haze and her lover!
Whip out your gun and follow that car.
Now tumble out and take cover.

Wanted, wanted: Dolores Haze.
Her dream-gray gaze never flinches.
Ninety pounds is all she weighs
With a height of sixty inches.

My car is limping, Dolores Haze,
And the last long lap is the hardest,
And I shall be dumped where the weed decays,
And the rest is rust and stardust.