A Pysanka Poem Worth Sharing

Once Upon a Pysanka . . . . some literary works about pysanky. This poem, Pysanka: Icon of the Universe, is by Roman Onujfrijchuk, Winnipeg, 1975.

And child:
this thing is no longer egg,
its time of “egg”
is long gone, only to be recounted in memory.
it once was egg, and came from clucking hen but that time has passed . . . long.
And this thing . . . no longer egg,
when it was; but egg was;
more perfect, more beautiful then others
in colour,
in shape,
in the life within . . . so its honour was greater
chosen
collected
and now, the days of our youth gone . . . long
it is pysanka
 
Pysanka, a name:
what meaning has it in you?
What doors of secret memory can it open?
Pysanka, book of my people, book of the ages.
You are written, pysaty is to write.
You are written, chytaty is to read.
Pysanka, a name:
what meaning has it in you?
 
Pysanka, ancient art,
since before times you have been with us
Your humble people.
When we were trypillia,
Five thousand summers ago
out of clay we made you painting these our meanders on you
Three thousand summers ago
We drew a reed through wet glazes
and you, pysanko, came to life.
 
Name the names of the artists:
the great artists
and there are no names but
you and I; in every hand
pysanka lives
for everyone.
 
Five thousand years we have done this:
from steppe to carpathians
we have mixed the dyes,
heated the beeswax
drawn these little wax roadways
drowning this once-egg in sunset (spreading, glowing)
                    night (count the stars on velvet)
                    spring (and the dance of our youth)
fire (of the passion for life)
                    harvest (rich ancestral ocean)
                    sky (meadowlark’s song)
                    evening (and nightingale)
                    and the resplendent sun . . .
and watches these flow
in and out, meander, weave . . .
sudden into the daybreak
sudden into wishes.
 
you are book of my people, pysanko!
you are my people’s soul.
 
All that is, is through God.
And the words of prayer
                    are the first designs on this white field
                                        richer than any
                                        richest of all
                    holiest foundation.
Without them, child, no kistka
should travel the path of pysanka
Child:
                    first comes the prayer
                    and in it comes the power
                    and the beauty of sunrise and dew-wing
                    on this one-egg.
 
Love, living egg, prayer
and
the secrets of the signs
And Child:
this little thing is no longer egg;
its time of egg
is long gone,
is long gone.
and child:
from the clucking hen it came
to be gathered by our hand
and taken away in all of its life
                    in all of its perfection
that it could become no longer egg
that its time of egg could end.
 
and we coloured it Child, with sunset
and dew song
and hot august sun
and flight of skylark
and the passions of the stars.
 
and they came from the depths of our soul, child,
 
and they came from the silent prayer,
                    that all creation prays with its breath:
                    to the maker.
and they came to the lover that has home in this
ancient heart of yours
                    of mine.
 
pysanka: a name
what meaning has it for you?
pysanko,
book of my people, pysanko, book of my soul
pysanko.