Requiem for a Village

Припять, Украйна 26 Апреля 1986 г. В 1:23:58 часов Pripyat, Ukraine 26 April 1986 At 1:23:58 A.M.

We slept with windows open that night, Our lovely land exhaling scents of pine and earth. The twins – Yurochka and Annushka – had played For hours in the sandy soil and now murmured softly in their sleep. Next week would be easy – Workers’ International Solidarity Days Would give Thursday and Friday as gifts of feasting and fishing. At sunrise today, we’d go catch small fry Where the power plant outflow pours into the cooling pond A mile from the Chornobyl No. 4 electric power station. We’d use the small fish to bait our hooks When we went after perch and pike on the Pripyat River During the holidays. The waters teemed with life. And so our little world glided happily along in delicious spring. We were as children skipping through the woods With no inkling of perils we could not see, hear, touch, taste. Two sharp detonations from Chornobyl No. 4 Stopped the clock for our poor village For the next twenty-five thousand years, Although for many the grace period was much shorter. We stared at the pyrotechnics several miles away, Like mice caught in the stare of Gadyuka, the viper, While isotopes of death gathered in our hair, On our clothes, in our childrens’ thyroid glands. Did you know ionizing radiation can give you an all-over tan, Even if you’re wearing clothes?

Another Thank-You

Adding to the Gratitude List: Thanks to Kathy Matisko for her kind words about my book on Amazon. Anyone who's experienced Kathy's narrative virtuosity would know that praises from that quarter are rare and precious gems indeed.

My thanks to Nathaniel Thomas, Wes Loder, Steve Page, Doug Arnold, Dennis Murphy, Frank Mulligan and Don Zeiter, for your kind reviews of Up Home on Amazon.com. Your encouragement is what keeps the sometimes reluctant pen moving across the page -- the laxative that keeps the vowels moving, if you please. I am most grateful.

I Speak Only Few Words of English

Я Говорю Несколко Слов По-анлиский Yes, I speak to you few words of English, my friend. Hell of language you have there, if I may say so. Academic commissars took eight-year-old girl in State school, Filled her head with strange alphabet, words said Not at all like written. And your grammar! Свяатой Бог! – Who can say I do that correct? (Так правильно? Не знаю!). Yes, yes, yours is language of Shakespeare and All his followers. God knoweth I stumble through Much of that in University, dictionary at my right – and Аспирин at left. But, friend, do you know Pushkin In original tongue? No matter. My English Is schoolgirl’s English; your Russian is schoolboy’s. But still – you see? – we communicate. Прекрасно! Clem Page 12.VIII.2005 На Ваёмиссинг, Пеннсилвании