Four seasons in Kiev

Posted by

Victor Postnikov

4 July 2023

There were legendary times, when in the gardens of the most wonderful city, there lived a happy young generation, certain in their hearts that they’ll spend their entire life under the white blossoming, quietly and gently… It has turned out otherwise.
Michail Bulgakov (writing of Kiev)

Some time ago, I wrote these brief reminiscences of the city as if they were written by a teenager (now I am 74). Somewhat nostalgic and naive, these sketches are bound to reflect the blessed time of the 60s when we teenagers were having a peaceful and bountiful life. Now the city is under challenges that perhaps it has not seen since Nazi occupation. (I write this from Krakow, Poland, where I have taken refuge.)

But the mind has a peculiar ability to preserve happy moments experienced in youth.

I hope it resonates with many Kievites.

Wintertime

I loved the winter in Kiev.

Parks and streets are covered with snow. It drifts fluffy and warm. In the evening, snowflakes shine like diamonds.

We are sledding on Pankovskaya Street, from the Botanical Garden down to Saksagansky Street. The street is pretty steep and the speed is considerable. Mom forbids me to ride with other boys and I’m a little afraid. Finally, I return home, without gloves, with battle marks. Mom will add more.

Sometimes we go out of town. You can go to Goloseevo. There are beautiful slides there. I remember one journey to our friends in the Syrets. Misha Pavlov and I are sitting on a sleigh; we are being driven by a huge German shepherd.

There are incredibly beautiful winter forests in Boyarka, Vorzel, Irpen.

On Trukhanov Island you can rent a sleigh and go very far. Admire the frozen lakes. Once I took my skates and decided to go for a ride on the lake, but I fell into it knee-deep, and went home wet. I never learned to skate.

Spring begins with a bright blinding sun on the ice, violent streams in the streets. Such powerful streams happen only in Kiev, and only when you are young.

Springtime

Do you remember boisterous spring, silvery poplars, and catkins on willows?

Sparkling ice under your feet?

Thundering trams on Saksagansky Street? Torrent of streams?

The old town is washing up, people are leaving their homes. There’s a crush in bookstores. Birds are making noise everywhere; sparrows are moving in cheerful flocks from bush to bush.

Outside the city, in Goloseevo, probably already the first flowers. Violets on the roadsides.

It’s getting hot on Trukhanov Island.

You can sit on the sand, look at the high bank with Lavra bell tower and the cross of St Vladimir. The Dnieper is gaining strength. New water renews it.

May!

I wake up to the music. I run to the window to look at the street. There is greenery everywhere, although cold shadows are still roaming under the windows. Red flags on the houses. On the asphalt – hopscotch courts!

We’ll soon go to the parade and then – to the forest!

In the forest, we will look for pasqueflowers, admire the first blooming trees.

And in the evening, we gather and read poetry.

Summertime

Summer had to begin immediately after sitting the last exam.

I would run home, hurl my briefcase down and walk into the dining room (where dark curtains were already hanging on the windows).

Grannie would put a big plate of strawberries in front of me, filled with milk.

In anticipation of the dish, I’d tune in my transistor to Radio Prague.

Hey, hey, Paula! I wanna marry you!

My head was spinning with plans. But first of all, to take the ball, get out of the house and meet someone who’s already in the yard.

The heat was beginning to be felt just around the corner of the house.

There was a pleasant coolness in the shade of the house, so I was reluctant to leave.

After chasing the ball, you could call on friends.

The evening promised other pleasures.

Tomorrow, you can go to the Dnieper. Cross the bridge, lie on the sand, swim.

But the main thing is ahead. Two months of idleness.

1963? 1964?

Autumntime

Autumn in Kiev is primarily shiny dark-brown chestnuts.

It’s a pity they can’t be eaten. But you can play football with them, or keep them in the pocket.

It’s nice to touch them in the pocket.

Returning to the city after a trip to the Black Sea is exciting.

First, to meet a friend and share with him the latest pop songs and news. (I’ve been turning the transistor dial throughout summer.)

Secondly, to meet Her. (Or maybe first of all, I haven’t decided yet.)

To walk through the streets of the city, which I had already missed.

To see if letters have come from pen-girls from Bulgaria and Poland.

Later, by the middle of autumn, to look for mushrooms, to breathe in the smell of the fallen leaves.

You can go to Goloseevo, or Koncha Zaspa, or Puscha Voditsa, or even further out of town.

Each place has its own charm, its own mushrooms.

In the evening, we sit late with Grannie, admire mushrooms and peel them.

Late autumn is especially beautiful. The trees are translucent, and the bright yellow leaves of the poplar are glowing. It’s a good time for a fire. Potatoes are best baked in dry leaves. This smell is hard to describe in words. There is nothing better.

Explanations of some names

Kiev – I have used the old spelling of the city’s name here instead of the new one (Kyiv), risking being accused of being a Russian sympathiser. I’m not. It’s just a matter of habit and maybe a tribute to the past to where I belong. Hopefully it is not offensive to too many. There’s not much left of that.

Pankovskaya, Saksagansky – names of streets where I lived.

Boyarka, Vorzel, Irpen – popular countryside areas.

Goloseevo, Koncha Zaspa, Puscha Voditsa – woodland suburbs.

Trukhanov Island – an island on the Dnieper river

Lavra – a famous bell tower of the Pechersk Lavra monastery.