On June 28, Ihor Kalynets—a man of letters, a dissident, and a political prisoner of the communist regime—passed into eternity.
Volodymyr Marmus, a member of the Supervisory Board of the Ukrainian Helsinki Human Rights Union (UHHRU), was present at the farewell ceremony in Lviv.
In his eulogy, Mr. Marmus shared warm memories of Ihor Myronovych, with whom he spent two years in the Ural camps.
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“Так, ми відходимо, як тіні, і мов колосся з-пі коси, в однім єднаєм голосінні свої самотні голоси”
V. Stus
On Saturday, June 28, 2025, the poet and former political prisoner Ihor Kalynets passed away. I heard about this sad event that same day and immediately informed my brother, Mykola.
I last saw Ihor in 2016 at the Lviv City Council during the anniversary commemoration of the Ukrainian Helsinki Group. He still looked quite well, although he had a cane, and we jokingly asked if it was to look more distinguished, to which he replied with a smile that it was. After a short conversation, he gave us his new book, *Molimos Zoriam Dalnim* (Let’s Pray to the Distant Stars), written in prose, as he had stopped writing poetry.
Nine years have passed since then, and during that time, we often felt the desire to go to Lviv and meet with him. But it never happened.
And so, here we are in the crowded St. George's Cathedral, where Ihor's funeral service is taking place. We manage to make our way closer to the deceased to bid him a final farewell. Soon after, we join the funeral procession to the buses—about a dozen of them—and head towards the City Hall, but we meander a bit through the streets, following the deceased as if he were saying goodbye to his beloved city. Here, near the City Hall, a city-wide farewell ceremony was held to the melody of the riflemen’s song “Poviyav Viter Stepovyi” (“A Steppe Wind Began to Blow”).
The funeral procession then made its way to the Lychakiv Cemetery, where a memorial service was held, and Ihor was buried in the Field of Honorary Burials.
Sadly, during the memorial service, among the speeches by representatives of the authorities and other institutions, there was not a single speech from Ihor's former fellow prisoners. We stood not far from the master of ceremonies, waiting in vain for her to ask if anyone else wished to speak.
But it did not happen. And yet, we wanted to say a few warm farewell words to Ihor on behalf of his brothers-in-captivity. After all, we were imprisoned with Ihor in zone No. 35 in the Urals from 1973 to 1975.
And we were close to him not only because we were in the same place but also because of our convictions. For unlike many dissident-democrats who dreamed of changing the political system, we strove for its collapse and the restoration of the Ukrainian state. We also had no disagreements on the issue of the Ukrainian church.
He seemed somewhat phlegmatic, but he held firm convictions. He knew the history of the Ukrainian liberation struggle well, and it was a pleasure to talk with him on this topic and to learn something from him.
We knew him little as a poet, for he rarely spoke to us about his poetic work. True, one time, when he received a small volume of poetry by Volodymyr Samiylenko from somewhere, he enthusiastically read his patriotic poems to us. And sometimes we would overhear his discussions with others who were involved in poetry and were nearby, like Ivan Svitlychny, Mykola Horbal, Taras Melnychuk, and Semen Gluzman.
I want to recall two incidents that occurred during our time with him in the camp. In August 1974, Ihor Kalynets was denied a visit with his mother and his young daughter, Zvenyslava. This happened right before the visit was supposed to take place, after his relatives had already arrived, because something resembling alcohol was allegedly found during an inspection of the food they brought. This caused outrage. Several prisoners declared hunger strikes, including my brother Mykola. Many prisoners, my brother and I among them, sent protest letters to the prosecutor's office.
Another time, it was in the winter, Ihor gathered a circle of his brothers-in-arms, including my brother Mykola and me, for a cup of strongly brewed tea, the so-called *chifir*. When those present asked what the occasion was, he answered with a question: “What is today’s date?” And he answered himself: “January 22, the Day of Unity and Freedom of Ukraine.” He then added, “Among us are the boys who, on this date, raised national flags over Chortkiv and posted proclamations. So from now on, we will celebrate this date every year.”
I also want to mention that Ihor and I, as well as his wife Iryna, corresponded lively during our exile, when they were in the Chita Oblast and we were in the Tyumen Oblast. Later, after we were free, we met many times. Until in 2012, we said goodbye to Mrs. Iryna, and now, to Mr. Ihor.
So may your native earth rest lightly on you, my friend, and may the memory of you remain among us forever.
Glory to Ukraine! Glory to the Heroes!