Fragments of a cultural life, that once bloomed

I shot 500 pictures during our walk through Pripyat. It was so easy imagining how life took place here more than 30 years ago. Like in the café above. The coffee shop was attached to the ferry terminal, from where you could go by boat to Kyiv. Behind the trees we can catch a glimpse of the colourful art-windows, which are only partially still there.

The city's public places are beautifully decorated with mosaic and coloured windows.

LOVE

Embraces flow down like water,

A night-light parts our shadow . . . 

Not a sacrifice, not passion, not a gift –

Only the effort to stay alive.

Arched over the mortal agonies

Of strontium-plagued cities

Burns the evanescent bridge

Of our intertwined arms. 

And as long as this nocturnal sun lasts, 

And these brief flashes, 

Love, tremble and scream

Through this final moment

On the brink!

Shattering the night mirrors

We step from the frames like portraits –

But our breath, coarse as ash, 

Scatters from our lips . . . 

It’s as though we were gasping

With pierced lungs, 

And the imprints of bodies stiffen

In the hot, crumpled air. 

Oh where has it come from, and how, and why, 

This pallid light on the ceiling?

“Look, my love, what’s that outside the window?”

He looked and said, “the desert.”

Oksana Zabuzhko

translated by Lisa Sapinkopf

The music school had a stage for the students. All that remains is a silent grand piano.

A radio in one of the offices.

The cinema, with three available seats.



The sports building and somebody's right shoe.

The big swimming pool, where we heard somebody say; "even the water is gone...". That might not be a mystery, however an empty swimming pool can hardly be called a swimming pool...