Viche 2007 22

22, 2007

Oleksa Yushchenko: I am a poet, rather than Presidents relative

For ninety years Oleksa Yushchenko has not even earned for a small summer residence and a modest car. He celebrated his anniversary at the comfortable Columnar hall named after M.V. Lysenko in the National philharmonic society of Ukraine. When the elder of writer cohort was presented with two volume edition of the chosen poetic works of Maksym Rylskyi, he kissed the books. It was so unexpectedly and naturally, that the representatives of senior generations (there were no people of the same of age), and young people, who already for a long time name those who wore grey overcoats and poor kufaykas in the XX century dust-laden museums, burst in applause unwittingly.

There is neither Oleksandrs son nor many sworn brothers with whom he neighbored in Pechersk district, in the truly writers street Suvorov. Presently the place, where he used to exchange friendly looks with the unique translator Mykola Lukash or talented prosaic Yevgen Gutsalo, breathes with sorrowful loneliness. However, as always without regard to all confusions and difficulties, ninety year old Oleksa Yakovych Yushchenko (already even older) goes to the museums and galleries, visits creative evenings of the familiar kobzars, artists and singers, he does not miss any presentation of new books. As in youth he wants to see everything and know about everything. It happens in the evening. And every morning he writes the poems, because he isnt somebody's relative, he is a poet.