This poem is a response to a video I saw posted on 3/16 where the dead were not claimed in Mariupol and a doctor was holding a lifeless newborn less than a week old. The images were too graphic for the public news and it’s the stuff you can never unsee. The theater where the refugees were hiding had a big sign outside saying Children дети in Russian, or діти (deety) in Ukrainian. That theater was bombed. I chose to use two Ukrainian words in this poem which rhyme deety and kveety = children and flowers because those words are sacred in Ukrainian.

nobody’s coming for the dead in Mariupol

March 16, 2022

by Ruslana Westerlund

nobody’s coming for the dead in Mariupol

a lifeless newborn in doctor’s arms

nobody’s coming for the dead in Mariupol

the sirens didn’t save you from putler’s firearms

nobody’s coming for the dead in Mariupol

the children are being bombed

nobody’s coming for the dead in Mariupol

the anguish is deep, it’s just beyond

nobody’s coming for the dead in Mariupol

the sign by the theater reads, CHILDREN ДІТИ

nobody’s coming for the dead in Mariupol

the dead are not buried, there are no kveeti

nobody’s coming for the dead in Mariupol

there are not enough alive

nobody’s coming for the dead in Mariupol

the bodies cannot be revived

nobody’s coming for the dead in Mariupol

And the peace bell doesn’t ring in Mariupol

And the peace bell doesn’t ring in Mariupol

Day 13 of War

March 9, 2022

Painting by Nicholas Westerlund

There are no words

Sometimes they are stuck in my throat, swallowed along with salty tears

Sometimes they are unspoken

Replaced by anger, rage, despair, heavy sighs, tears, sorrow, heartbreak, groans, and deep deep anguish

Because there are no words for pain for unborn babies in mother’s pregnant bellies shot in the Mariupol maternal ward with an airstrike

There are no words for a human-body-size stain of blood from the body that was carrying a baby shot in that same maternal ward

There are no words for CNN headlines “Ukraine accuses Russia for bombing the maternity ward in Mariupol”.

Or Aljezeera’s headline “Ukraine accuses Russia of bombing children’s hospital in Mariupol”

How about a headline “Russian terrorists bombed a maternity ward and a children’s hospital in Mariupol today”? CNN and Al Jazeera, do you see the difference?

There are no words for humanitarian corridors being mined

There are no words for a family with children being shot in Irpin as they were running to the evacuation bus

There are no words for a heavily-pregnant woman being carried out on stretches and not being allowed to give life to a newborn

A newborn who would play, giggle, run, play catch, color with crayons, go to school, study and recite Shevchenko.

There is no newborn to be born. Period.

There are no words for children trapped in the rubble

There are no words for terrorists except terrorists

They do not deserve the word “Russian army” because they are terrorists who kill unborn life

The only words I have are

Acts of atrocity

Terrorist acts

Child killers

Maternity ward bombers

Who hold nothing sacred

Who kill women with pregnant bellies full of life

Death to the enemy!

There are no words today

Maybe they will come back tomorrow

But today there are no words 

“Немає слів”

13-й день війни

Руслана Вестерланд

Переклад Дмитро Комар

Немає слів

Іноді вони застряють у горлі, ковтаються разом із солоними сльозами, іноді вони невисловлені.

Заміщені гнівом, люттю, відчаєм, тяжкими зітханнями, сльозами, сумом, розбитим серцем, стогоном і глибокою-глибокою тугою.

Адже немає слів, які би описали біль ненароджених дітей в утробах матерів, розстріляних у Маріупольському пологовому будинку ударами авіації.

Немає слів, щоб описати пляму крові розміром з людське тіло від тіла, яке носило убиту дитину у тій самій пологовій палаті.

Немає слів для заголовків CNN: «Україна звинувачує Росію у бомбардуванні пологового відділення у Маріуполі». Чи для заголовків Al Jazeera: «Україна звинувачує Росію у бомбардуванні дитячої лікарні у місті Маріуполь».

Як вам такий заголовок: «Сьогодні російські терористи розбомбили пологове відділення та дитячу лікарню у Маріуполі»? CNN і Al Jazeera, ви відчуваєте різницю?

Немає слів про замінування гуманітарних коридорів.

Немає слів про розстріл сім’ї з дітьми в Ірпіні, коли вони бігли до евакуаційного автобусу.

Немає слів для важко вагітної жінки, яку виносять на розтяжках і не дають можливості дотримуватися постільного режиму щоб дати життя новонародженому.

Новонародженому, який би бавився, гиготав, бігав, грався у квача, розфарбовував олівцями, ходив би до школи, вивчав і розказував вірші Шевченка.

Немає новонародженого, щоб народитися. Крапка.

Немає слів для дітей, які застрягли в руїнах міст.

Немає слів для терористів, окрім терористів.

Вони не заслуговують на слово «російська армія», бо вони терористи, які холоднокровно вбивають ненароджене життя.

Єдині слова, які я маю:

Жорстокість

Тероризм

Вбивці дітей

Бомбардувальники пологового відділення, які не мають нічого святого.

Ті, хто вбивають жінок з вагітними утробами, повними життя.

Смерть ворогу!

Сьогодні немає слів.

Можливо, вони повернуться завтра, але сьогодні немає слів.

 

Learning the language of war

To ask “How does Ukrainian compare to Russian?” is to admit that you’ve heard of Russian but didn’t realize that Ukrainian was even a language. It is not your own fault, it’s a consequence of many years of linguicism. 

To ask “How does Ukrainian compare to Russian?” seems so innocent and so curious and yet it is so tiring for Ukrainians to keep repeating the same thing over and over again—yes, they are similar in some of the lexicon and yet so different because we have 16 words for the word “to open” depending on what it is that we are opening, while Russian has one.

To ask “How does Ukrainian compare to Russian?” is to insinuate that languages can peacefully co-exist as siblings in the same East Slavic language family… as if languages are a pure linguistic phenomenon not intertwined with people, politics, and power.  

If you ask “How does Ukrainian compare to Russian?,” be ready and willing to learn a new words like

linguicide, language suppression, banned language, linguicism, language status, linguistic inferiority

and events like

the Synod of the Russian Patriarchal Church prohibits printing and using the Ukrainian bukvar, an alphabet book, in 1769,

prohibition on translating books into Ukrainian,

banning of printing of Ukrainian spiritual and popular education literature,

banning of theatrical performances and printing of Ukrainian texts on sheet music,

limiting the use of Ukrainian in higher education,

Andropov’s order in 1983 to increase salaries of Russian language teachers. 

If you ask “How does Ukrainian compare to Russian?,” be ready and willing to learn that, according to some Russian linguists, Ukrainian does not even hold the status of a language but has been reduced to a mere dialect of the peasant people, who are a bunch of rebels and farmers who can’t let go of their land. But they forgot that language is a dialect with an army and… Ukrainians do have an army.

If you ask “How does Ukrainian compare to Russian?,” be ready and willing to learn that the official language of the Ukrainian people was in the minority status for over 70 years, which eventually led to Russian being established as the official language of Ukraine in 1990.

If you ask “How does Ukrainian compare to Russian?,” be ready and willing to learn that children like me in the 1980s grew up with linguistic inferiority if they were not fluent in Russian, and when playing dolls, the cool dolls from the city spoke Ruskiy/русский and the peasant dolls from the village/село/selo spoke Ukrainian. 

If you ask “How does Ukrainian compare to Russian?,” be ready and willing to learn that students like me never had a chance to contribute our knowledge in our native language because, in 1970, the Soviet government ordered for all dissertations and major theses to be written in Russian, thus distributing knowledge only to the Russian readers.  

If you ask “How does Ukrainian compare to Russian?,” be ready and willing to learn of the centuries of regimes ruling over Ukraine trying to destroy its language over the span of 337 years, from 1654 to 1991, with 60 prohibitions in total.  

To ask “How does Ukrainian compare to Russian?” Aren’t they very similar? 

But no one asks in return, “How does English compare to German? How does French compare with Spanish?” 

Because they don’t drag with themselves “disputed territory,” “conflict with Russia,” “we are a sovereign nation whose existence Putin denies,” “Donbas region,” “Eastern Ukraine,” “Russian troops massing at the eastern border”…

Free Ukrainian lessons: www.ukrainianlessons.com
Some information in this poem was taken from A Short Guide to the Linguicide of the Ukrainian Language by Euromaidan Press. 

Languaging in COVID19

By Ruslana A. Westerlund, Author of From Borsch to Burgers: Cross-cultural Memoir. 

April 28, 2020

To be human is to language (Who said language cannot be a verb? The same person who said that like cannot be a noun?)

To language is to unite and bring people closer together through words such as “social distancing”, “separate but together”, “six feet apart”, “підтримуйте дистанцію на два метри”, “stay home”, “quedarse en su casa”, “blieben zu Hause”, “залишайтеся вдома”.

To language is to laugh and cry through “where did all the toilet paper go?”, “covidiot and Lysol” (please do not do Oxford comma between the last two words).

To language is to travel back in time, to say things like “let’s get together for coffee” and be instantly transported to your favorite table by the window in your local coffee shop.

To language is to let go of phrases that drag the whole cultural practice with it such as “excuse me, is this seat taken”, “excuse me, I’m going to sneak right past ya”, when grabbing something off the shelf two feet away because you are already six feet apart.

To language is to imagine the future where the new normal doesn’t drag with it the old normal.

To language is to mean without words by using body language to create meanings that words are too loud for in virtual meetings.

To language is to redefine “face to face” by “facetime”.

To language is to reopen again where “we are OPEN” means more than being open 9-5.

To language is to be mindful that not everyone has a family to talk to and walk with and say, “I’ll walk with you because you live alone.”

To language is to be human in times of crisis.

---

Шевченко, Interrupted.
Poem by Руслана Westerlund

A poem in response to a question, “How do you say that in Ukrainian?  How much input do you get in Ukrainian?”  This poem is the illustration of the input.  The Ukrainian words are from Shevchenko’s famous poem that I’m trying to read but get interrupted by English a hundred times a day.  It’s a cry for losing one’s home language.  

“Як умру, то поховайте
Мене на могилі,
Серед степу широкого,
На Вкраїні милій”

The research says that reading in your first language has many benefits. There are negative consequences to losing your home language, especially on one’s ethnic identity. Be proud of your home language. Work hard to keep it.

“Щоб лани широкополі,
І Дніпро, і кручі”

What is my home language? English is my home language. Ukrainian is my home language. Which home? Where’s home?

“Було видно, було чути,
Як реве ревучий.”

The next stop is Regent and Whitney. Have a good night. Thanks, you too. Enjoy your evening.

“Як понесе з України
У синєє море
Кров ворожу… отойді я
І лани, і гори —”

Hi honey, how was your day? I’m on my way home. It was just a regular day but too many meetings. Okay, see you when you get home.

“Все покину і полину”

What should I make for dinner tonight?

“До самого бога”

You are listening to 102.5. Thanks for taking along on your way home. The traffic is heavy on the beltine.

“Молитися… а до того
Я не знаю бога.”

Ingredients. 4 skinless, boneless chicken breast halves. salt and freshly ground black pepper to taste. 2 eggs. 1 cup panko bread crumbs, or more as needed. ½ cup grated Parmesan cheese. 2 tablespoons all-purpose flour, or more if needed. 1 cup olive oil for frying.

“Поховайте та вставайте,
Кайдани порвіте
І вражою злою кров’ю
Волю окропіте.”

Follow along with our live coverage of the Democratic debate. Bernie Sanders felt the burn during Tuesday’s debate. The frontrunner for the…

“І мене в сем’ї великій,
В сем’ї вольній, новій,”

The forecast is sunny and it will feel like spring on Sunday with 52 degrees!

“Не забудьте пом’янути
Незлим тихим словом.”

Mom, what’s for dinner? Mom, how do you say that in Ukrainian? Sorry son, I don’t remember.

---

I am Today’s Generation. I am Today’s Classroom.

Dedicated to the students who come through our doors, not the ones we want, but the ones that arrive every day, originally published around 2008

I am multi-racial

I am global

I am hyper-connected

Yet, I’m lonely

I am often hungry

Or malnourished

I am longing, never reaching

I am pursuing, never yielding

I am digital, yet I’m human

I am schooled, yet, not educated

I am followed and yet abandoned

I am Hispanic, I am Navajo, I am Dene, I am Latino, I am Indian, I am Asian, I am Japanese American,

I am!!!!!!!!  I am Korean, I am Russian, I am Vietnamese, I am Somali,

I am Muslim, and yet I am AMERICAN!

I am educated, but my mind is not liberated

I am free, yet, I’m bound

Bound by inequality

Bound by injustices

By injustices in the 21st century

In a world that’s speeding toward singularity

Yet duality in words and action

Singularity of the digital mind, yet plurality of thinking that cannot agree on what’s best for me!

Testing me on an empty stomach…

Analyzing without supper the night before or breakfast the morning of

Standardizing me by test scores…

Standardizing my free will, my creativity, my thinking…

You will never standardize me!

Your multiple choices do not give me enough choices

I need choices for breakfast

I need choices to create, to contribute

To the world that is neworked and yet out of reach

Out of reach for me:

The ethnic minority

The homeless

The hungry

The “culturally and linguistically diverse”

Even me, who inhabited this land before 1942

In the land that sings “This land is your land”, it ain’t my land

I am today’s classroom

So sorry I am so difficult to educate and impossible to differentiate

You know that I would do great in my school was the same as Sidwell Friends

The school of high-powered politicians’ children

I would do just fine…

Dear teachers,

Dear politicians,

Can you hear me?

I am a different generation, so educate ME

Not the generation before me!

My Speech is Accentless, But My Skin Color is Not

Featured on Protest Poems. Originally published in 2010.

Where are you from?

What languages do you speak?

Aren’t you from Mexico?

Really, where are you from?

Since you asked, I will answer you.

You might listen, but will you hear me?

You might hear me, but will you understand?

You might nod, like you’re understanding, but will you accept me?

Will you accept me and my olive skin as your equal, as your American kin?

You might “embrace diversity”, but will you respect me?

You might even say, “We are not just tolerant, we are multicultural!”

But will you truly listen to what I have to say?

If you listen, I will answer you.

I will speak on behalf of those who were born and raised on this side of the border, but who get interrogated constantly.

You asked, “Where are you from?”

I am actually from Irvine, California.

No, but where are you really from?

From Irvine, Orange County, California, I thought I had already said that.

“Aren’t you from Mexico?”

I say nothing. I want to say, “Aren’t you from Ireland?”

I say quietly, “Born and raised right here, Irvine, California.”

Not all of us are FOBs, “fresh-off-the-border”

And before you ask…

Yes, I am here legally.

I dare not repeat “Born and raised, Irvine….”

Instead inside of me I yell, “NOT ALL MEXICANS ARE ILLEGAL, FYI…”

“Who is your ESL teacher?” he continues.

I do not say a word…

My English is flawless. My speech is accentless, but my skin color is not.

No, I do not dare say, “Not all of us, Latinos are in ESL!”

Instead inside of me I yell, “NOT ALL OF US LATINOS ARE IN ESL!”

You asked, “What languages do you speak?”

I say, “English. Do you want to know what language my grandpa
spoke? Spanish! When he went to school, they didn’t let him speak Spanish. That’s why I am not bilingual.”

“Wow! You speak English good!”

I reply, “You mean, I speak English WELL?”

We Must Define Ourselves

Originally posted around 2008… I definitely remember it was a Saturday, but I forgot the year….

Today, I was inspired. I was inspired by the dedicated ESL Teachers who chose to spend their Saturday together with other ESL teachers. ESL Teachers are a very closely-knit group of advocates who work tirelessly to support English Learners. They are often misunderstood, or, even worse, inappropriately defined. I was inspired by what Cynthia Lundgren said at the end of her presentation. She said, “We must define ourselves, and if we don’t, others will define us.” Out of that line a poem was born. This poem reflects many of my experiences I’ve had an ESL teacher, and I hope it resonates with many of you.

I am defined as…
I am defined as another reading teacher who takes a group of kids and works on phonics, decoding, and blending!
I am defined as a homework helper who helps English learners finish an assignment that’s way over students’ head.
I am defined as a parent substitute who works on a science project and shops at Wallmart for poster board and markers.
I am defined as a teacher’s aid who works with all students who need help, not just English learners.
I am defined as that teacher down the hall who helps those Mexicans learn English.
I am defined as a social worker who gets coats, gloves, and snow pants for “those poor kids”.
I am defined as a family liaison who gets the parents to the conferences.
I am defined as a grammar teacher who works on English grammar and vocabulary.
Sometimes I am defined as a gatekeeper who doesn’t let English learners be labeled as “special ed” just because they struggle in academic English even though they are “fluent” English speakers.
Often I am defined as a polyglot who “must speak all of those languages to help the kids from 20 different countries.”
Others in my profession define me as an advocate, who amplifies the voices of those who don’t get heart even though they might be yelling at the top of their lungs: we matter!
Very rarely I am defined as a language teacher whose role is to accelerate the academic achievement by providing language support

Not just phonics support
Not just homework support
Not just science project support,
But a critical linguistic foundation that mediates and facilitates all learning for language learners!
So, if you define me with any of the above, here is a lesson for you:
We are highly skilled teachers who lay the very language foundation without which no other learning can take place
And if there is one lesson we, the ESL teacher must learn, it is this:

We must define ourselves, and if we don’t, others will define us.