Skip to content
Call Us Today! 212-533-4646 | MON-FRI 12PM - 4PM (EST)
DONATE
SUBSCRIBE
Search for:
About Us
UNWLA 100
Publications
FAQ
Annual Report 2023
Annual Report 2022
Annual Report 2021
Initiatives
Advocate
Educate
Cultivate
Care
News
Newsletters
Sign Up For Our Newsletter
Join UNWLA
Become a Member
Volunteer With Us
Donate to UNWLA
Members Portal
Calendar
Shop to Support Ukraine
Search for:
Print
Print Page
Download
Download Page
Download Right Page
Open
1
2-3
4-5
6-7
8-9
10-11
12-13
14-15
16-17
18-19
20-21
22-23
24-25
26-27
28-29
30-31
32-33
34-35
36-37
38-39
40
The Stone A precious stone upon the road was cast — And many people down that roadway passed Yet none gave to that gem a second look But trudged along and stomped it under foot. Then came a man, with vision keen and just Who spied the precious jewel in the dust And recognizing it as something rich and rare He brought it home and with a reverent care Began to cut it, shape it, give it form Until it was a stone fit for a priceless crown. Our language in the dust thus lay inert Until a master plucked it from the dirt And labored over it until Each syllable, shaped beneath his will, Became a priceless gem to set before the crowd Raised like a star above a darkening cloud Spiting the enemies who looked in speechless rage To see our language glistening on the page. Excerpted translation from Volodymyr Samiylenko (1864-1925) “The Ukrainian Language,” written to honor the memory of Taras Shevchenko. Samiylenko served in the Education and Finance ministries of the Ukrainian National Republic. A prolific poet and dramatist, he also translated Homer’s Iliad, Dante’s Inferno, and other classics of world literature into Ukrainian. Asters At midnight, in the garden, asters brown Each washed herself in dew, put on a crown, And waited for the rosy morn to dawn And spread for her a rainbow-colored gown. The asters in their drowsy state were dreaming Of silken grass and of the sunlight gleaming Of fairy realms that that would forever bring For fadeless flowers an eternal spring Thus in their garden did the asters stay All through September as they longed for May But cold rains every morning on them wept And from behind the bush a chill wind swept. Around them, a vast prison, spread a plain They saw their hopes to live were all in vain They bowed their heads and perished, all without The sun above, which blazed and then went out. — Oleksander Oles (1878-1944) Born in Sumy, Oleksander Oles (pseudonym of O. Kandy ba) emigrated from Ukraine in 1919 and eventually settled in Prague, writing poetry, translating, and editing. For many years he served as head of Union of Ukrainian Journalists and Writers Abroad. His poetry, laced with strong patriotic sentiments, was banned in the Ukrainian SSR for nearly 30 years. Видання C оюзу Українок A мерики - перевидано в електронному форматі в 2012 році . A рхів C У A - Ню Йорк , Н . Й . C Ш A.
Page load link
Go to Top
1 
2-3 
4-5 
6-7 
8-9 
10-11 
12-13 
14-15 
16-17 
18-19 
20-21 
22-23 
24-25 
26-27 
28-29 
30-31 
32-33 
34-35 
36-37 
38-39 
40 
