By Tarney Baldinger
On April 26, 1986, a reactor at the Chornobyl Nuclear Plant in northern Ukraine melted down and exploded. It remains the largest nuclear disaster in history, releasing more than ten times as much radiation as Fukushima and the contaminated zone is far larger. Its radiation is much more damaging than that of Hiroshima. Nearly 50 years later, it still is releasing a third as much as on the first day. It remains the most highly irradiated place on the planet, and it will be at least 100 years more before it becomes safe. Millions of people in both Ukraine and Belarus were forcibly relocated, though some have chosen to return. Estimates of related deaths range up to 60,000.
The cause most likely was the Soviet habit of forcing Five-Year plans: a certain job will be completed by a certain date or else! The haste led to the use of substandard materials, poor engineering, and hasty construction. For many months the government denied that anything had happened, greatly endangering millions.
The radiation continues to be spread through wildfires and disturbance of the soil—as was caused in 2022 by the Russian invasion through the Exclusion Zone by an ignorant military.
Since the anniversary of the nuclear disaster was just recently, I wanted to share some impressions about that catastrophe from the point of view of people who experienced it. There are no facts here, no statistics. I have read no books and seen no movies. What I know, I learned from a Ukrainian scientist who was one of the first responders and was in charge of assessing all of the waters.
(include) (You may be wondering why I spell Chornobyl with an o. Because that is Ukrainian name. Spelled with an e is actually Russian.
Many people were forcibly evacuated from the contamination zone, and many older people, especially from small villages, returned despite prohibitions and just lived however they could because they — well, you’ll read it in the poem.This was told to me by the man from whom I learned everything I know about Chernobyl. This particular aspect really broke his heart.
The Old Ones of Chornobyl
Like moles who love their tunnels,
The old ones burrow blindly
Back into their villages,
Numb and instinctual.
Too grieved to understand,
Too faithful to believe,
They will not leave the graveyards
Of the ancient mothers.
Barbed wire and snarling dogs
Cannot keep them from the old familiar
Potato fields and cabbage patches,
Digging the deadly soil
With bare hands, with sticks.
They were children in the shadow of fear,
Schooled in blind obedience
And silent stealth,
Reared to speak when spoken to
And keep out of view.
They loved in secret in the cherry orchards,
Summer forests, fields of corn,
And raised their children in the shadow of fear.
Should it be any different now?
What matters is how we die,
For surely death will come
Here in our ancestral village,
Our only home.
But here in the shadow of fear
We die alone.
No goats bleat or children laugh,
No infants cry or young mother moans
In the passion of a winter’s night.
No young men sing in the fields.
Only us, the old moles,
Tunneled in here
For the last, dank, fearful days
In the only place we know.
But Ihor has his bandura still
To coax the ancient melodies,
Sweetening the wind that moans
Through empty streets,
And Ola has an icon still
To drape with fine embroidery
From her mother’s hand.
And Valya lights their final candle
Just to see her husband’s face
In its pallid glow.
–For Victor, whose heart they broke
(a note before Home from Chornobyl)
This was written in Sonoma in 1992, before I had ever been to Ukraine. It is in the voice of my friend, just recounting exactly what he had told me. When he first heard it, he asked me how I could do that. He said it was exactly his experience. I had no idea how I did it. That resulted in a poem “Ventriloquy,” which might I share another time.
This was inspired by what I heard in a lecture in Andrew’s Hall in January, 1992, about the aftermath of Chornobyl. Someone asked how Kaniv has been affected, and he replied that it was perfectly safe if you do not go into the woods. To me, a girl who spent all of her summers in a forest in the Sierra, this was intolerable. This is my most widely performed and exhibited poem. It has been read as an explanation of the effect of the disaster on ordinary people. There are several Ukrainian translations.
Walking in the Wood
A lament after Chornobyl
The vast blue sky is just as blue,
The morning wheat fields bright with dew
That bears the silent deadly blight
Borne on the poisoned winds of night.
The forest beckons like a dream
And all is not what it would seem.
Everything’s just as it should
If you don’t go walking in the wood.
All is well, no harm remains.
(On the map, a few dark stains.
In the river, deadly fish.)
All is just as you would wish.
Rich the soil the farmer tills
That grows the grain for bread that kills,
And mushrooms thick on the forest floor
So changed we gather them no more.
So tell the children to be good
And not go walking in the wood.
In ancient splendor, all the trees
Are bending gently in the breeze
And gathering to each leafy arm
And untold legacy of harm.
Breathing in the lovely air,
They harvest all the poison there
And store in beauty such a treasure
Of death and anguish without measure
That though we’re told all’s as it should,
You mustn’t venture near the wood.
Sweet the birds are singing there
In the quiet, tainted air.
Sweet the cool and shadowed gloom
Which harbors now a ghastly doom.
Life is hard, and times are bleak,
And once the purling of the creek
Was solace for a somber heart,
But the forest’s now a place apart.
For though we’re told all as it should,
You mustn’t wander in the wood.
The forest beckons like a dream,
And all is not what it would seem
For though we’re told all’s as it should,
We’ll not go walking in the wood.
For the people of Ukraine and Belarus
On a cheerier note, please come celebrate together at the Family Ukrainian Fiesta and Art Show this Sunday from 2 to 5 at the Methodist Church at 109 Patten Street. Games, bubbles, crafts, hula hooping, art, Ukrainian treats, singing, and a concert of Ukrainian and Mexican music. Bring every child you know! We’ll raise money, sure, but we’ll also raise our spirits and send happy, upbeat energy to our friends in Ukraine. Joyous, upbeat, silly. It’s also a chance to take home handcraft, toys, embroideries, protection dolls, and fine art from our sister city, Kaniv. $5 for young kids, $15 for those over 12. Please register through Facebook Events. Questions? tarneyb@gmail
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