kalyna poems

{kalyna berries in the river valley}

{fallen kalyna, in the river valley}

Apparently the theme of the week is berries... It seems that my current favourite thing to do when I should be doing schoolwork is concoct poems interwoven with Ukrainian folk songs, inspired by the lovely kalyna-berries growing everywhere in the woods down in my part of the river valley.

Kalyna is the Ukrainian word for the high-bush cranberry, 'viburnum trilobum/opulus' in Latin, or 'anepeminan' in Cree (which inspired the naming of the Pembina River). These bitter little berries are medicinally very useful; as respiratory and digestive tonics, skin cleanser, menstrual discomfort, and even as a preventative for arteriosclerosis and to treat tumours.

It is a rather multivalent symbol as well, evoking remembrance & longing & liminal spaces between child- & adulthood & love of all forms & beauty & (female) sexuality -- in folksongs it often directly refers to a young woman, or sometimes even a homeland, a beautiful place remembered from childhood.

There are two folk songs that are part of this piece; one is little fragments from a song simply called 'Kalyna', and the other is 'De je moja myla?' you can click on the footnote-numbers & find the translations at the end of the poem, and then click them again to return to the poem-line.

I think songs about love triangles must form an entire sub-genre of Ukrainian love songs. In my use of 'De je moja myla?' I should note that I played with the gender-marking in the lyrics... usually a male sings the song, all wistful for his female love whose run off with Ivan, but the voice in my poem is female.

* * *

de je moja myla?[1] (kalyna)

de je moja myla?
hej, vona vzhe zaljubylasja v ivana..[2]

1.

oi u luzi kalyna[3]

in the breathing green membranes of leaves between us
there was too much tenderness

sweet innuendo pressed up against your shoulderblades
like riverbanks rising off the bed –

my palms kneading those knots
growing on your spine hard as beetroots,

your sweetly sticky temples a closeness to curl around, cocoon of dusk.

i leave my fingerprints all over the white webs of unseen skin
& this is when i always want to tell you –

but every time my ears burn dull red like smashed cranberries
when you speak about that crow-eyed boy who

made you sing like a swallow, sway
& you ran down to follow him

at the feast of john the baptist when the river swept the bridge away –

hej, vona vzhe zakokhalasja v ivana..[4].

2.

svit kalyny lamala[5]

i ran down to the river & stood in the whirlwind of leaves,
watching bonfires leap in the bucking trees, ash blossoms, falling snow –

when i saw you, the storm-trees were heavy over our heads
with the weight of bush cranberries

red as bitten lips, drops of blood on white linen nightshirts
that you had been wearing in his bed

made of mallows & periwinkles & a wasp-nest of nettles
& i feel them prick as i hold you

now under the red moon, red june with all the swallows
diving over the crumbling banks –

hej, vona vzhe je zaruchena z ivanom..[6].

3.

ta v pochechku skladala[7]

cranberries fall, blood drawn out of the heavy air
i hold your hands as the breeze sways the terrible vertebrae

of larkspur like the blue lightning of your mother’s eyes –
remember how our mothers said to us, ne jizh kalyny[8]!

gathering berries after frosts to make that medicine
that could cure anything! colds & tumours & haemorrhages, everything

except a heart bloated, water-swollen pericardium,
drowning in the problem of the body, &

the one it cannot have –

hej, vona vzhe vyjshla zamizh za ivana..[9].

4.

taj na khloptsi morhala[10]

i tried to kiss you once, i think it was in a dream –
your lips parted, red boughs split by sweet words

but then your mouth shrivelled up leaving crumbs
of communion & ash on my tongue. & that’s when

the swallows came & picked you up, carried you
swarming & singing & diving over the banks

to where he was waiting, somewhere beyond
the water, back in some heavenly springtime –

so i called back those flocks, called them
to a heart hanging on the reddened branches:

overripe cranberry with no one to taste it, so
let the swallows peck it, let it stain their hungry beaks.

---

[1] where is my beloved?

[2] hey, she’s falling for ivan...

[3] oh, in the meadow there’s a kalyna

[4] hey, she’s fallen in love with ivan...

[5] she plucked the kalyna blossom

[6] hey, now she’s engaged to ivan...

[7] she placed the blossom in her bouquet

[8] don’t eat the kalyna!

[9] hey, she’s now gone to marry ivan

[10] and winked at the boy...