Children's Summer

In May 2023 I came across a new poem by Alja Khajtlina that deeply touched my soul. It was about my childhood and about my children now. Each line resonated with me and reading it gave me goosebumps. I decided to capture a photo for each line.

A poem by Alja struck me with unexpected emotional force. Its essence resonated deeply — with my own childhood memories and with the lives of my children today. Each line felt like a quiet echo of something lived. I got goosebumps as I read it.

It is written in Russian and difficult to translate precisely. The poem spoke of a childhood: of scraped knees and yarrow growing along the roadside, of summer nights that seemed endless, of cornfields and bonfires, of a deep and innocent curiosity about the world. Of that fragile kind of magic we experience as children and how it stays with us even as we grow older.

I felt compelled to respond. I began creating one photograph for each line — a visual translation of the text. Some images are literal, others more abstract or emotional, but all are imbued with warmth, wonder and the passing nature of time.

This project is not only a personal journey. It is also a reflection on collective memory: on how childhood — ours or someone else’s — continues to live within us through smells, sensations and fleeting impressions.  In this visual series, poetry becomes image. And through looking the viewer is invited to return to that tender point of childhood.

The project was photographed between May and August 2023. Most of the images were taken at our home, with a few captured during our summer holidays in Norway. It was originally intended as a personal series for our family photo album, but it turned out to be so tender and emotional that I found myself needing to share it with others.

Аля Хайтлина

Hameln, 2023

Детское лето огромное, как корабль. 

Тот, кто в июне живот о песок царапал

К августу бороздит голубой простор.

Волны вокруг поднимаются, как тюлени. 

Детское лето, разбитые в пух колени, 

Жареный хлеб, палатки, ночной костёр. 

Детское лето тягучее, как ириска. 

Лучше не бегай к речке, ты в зоне риска, 

Там где другие падают, ты летишь. 

Не получилось - попробуй с другого бока. 

Эти штаны малы мне, узка футболка,

Не обниму, я давно уже не малыш.

Мне уже пять с половиной, мне скоро в школу.

Лето пропахло смородиной порошковой,

Красный язык от дёшевого петушка.

Что это тут за следы у тебя на пузе? 

Мы там гнездо построили в кукурузе, 

Только дорога выдалась нелегка. 

Детское лето длинное, как товарный, 

Видишь в окно чердачное мир овальный, 

Звёзды горстями, дальний лягушкин пруд,

Бабушкин клад под пылью и паутиной, 

Волосы пахнут дымом, песком и тиной - 

Так, что шампунь с мочалками не сотрут. 

Завтра с утра пойдём в кукурузный домик 

Завтра тысячелистник зажмём в ладони, 

Будем считаться, кто первый сидит внутри. 

Детское лето в сияющих звёздных точках. 

В мире не может быть смерти, уж летом точно. 

Нет, я прошу, не надо, не говори. 

Летнее лето огромное, как корабль, 

Что ты в своём секретике накорябал? 

Буквы вприпрыжку, "я" лицом не туда. 

Может, потом, найдёшь пожелтевший листик, 

Стёклышко, зёрна, засохший тысячелистник. 

Веру, что лето не кончится никогда. 

#світлопереможетемряву

Literal translation of the poem

Alya Khaitlina

Hameln, 2023

A child’s summer is huge like a ship.

The one who scraped their belly on the sand in June

By August sails through the blue expanse.

The waves around rise up like seals.

A child’s summer - knees bruised to fluff,

Fried bread, tents, a night bonfire.

A child’s summer is sticky like toffee.

Better not run to the river, you’re at risk,

Where others fall, you fly.

Didn’t work out — try from the other side.

These pants are too small for me, the T-shirt is tight,

I can’t hug you, I’m no longer a little one.

I’m already five and a half, I’m going to school soon.

Summer smells of powdery currants,

Red tongue from a cheap lollipop rooster.

What are these marks on your belly?

We built a nest there in the corn,

Only the path turned out to be not easy.

A child’s summer is long like a freight train,

Through the attic window you see an oval world,

Stars by the handful, the distant frog pond,

Grandma’s treasure under dust and cobwebs,

Hair smells of smoke, sand and mudweed

So much that shampoo and washcloths won’t wash it away.

Tomorrow morning we’ll go to the corn house,

Tomorrow we’ll press yarrow in our palms,

We’ll count who sits inside first.

A child’s summer in shining star points.

There can’t be death in the world, not in summer for sure.

No, please, don’t, don’t say it.

A children’s summer is huge like a ship,

What did you scribble in your little secret?

Letters skipping, “R” facing the wrong way.

Maybe later you’ll find a yellowed leaf,

A piece of glass, seeds, dried yarrow.

The faith that summer will never end.

#світлопереможетемряву