Serhij Zhadan
Autore di The Orphanage
Sull'Autore
Serhiy Zhadan is one of Eastern Europe's leading literary figures and widely recognized as the voice of post-Soviet Ukraine. His work has been translated into a dozen languages, and his books in English include the novels Voroshilovgrad and Depeche Mode, as well as a book of poetry, What We Live mostra altro For, What We Die For. He has received the 2015 Angelus Central European Literary Award (Poland), the 2014 Jan Michalski Prize for Literature (Switzerland), the 2009 Joseph Conrad-Korzeniowski Literary Award (Ukraine), the 2006 Hubert Burda Prize for young Eastern European poets (Austria), and the BBC Ukrainian Book of the Year award in 2006, 2010, and 2014. Zhadan lives in Kharkiv. mostra meno
Opere di Serhij Zhadan
Opere correlate
Etichette
Informazioni generali
- Nome legale
- Zhadan, Serhiy Viktorovych
Жадан, Сергій Вікторович - Data di nascita
- 1974-08-23
- Sesso
- male
- Nazionalità
- Ukraine
- Nazione (per mappa)
- Ukraine
- Luogo di nascita
- Starobilsk, Luhansk Oblast, Ukrainian Soviet Socialist Republic, USSR
Starobilsk, Luhansk Oblast, Ukraine - Luogo di residenza
- Ukraine
- Istruzione
- H.S. Skovoroda Kharkiv National Pedagogical University (philology)
- Attività lavorative
- teacher (Ukrainian and world literature)
freelance writer
writer
translator
poet
novelist (mostra tutto 8)
political activist
musician - Organizzazioni
- Serhiy Zhadan Charitable Foundation
Zhadan and the Dogs (ska band|frontman) - Premi e riconoscimenti
- Friedenspreis des Deutschen Buchhandels (2022)
Utenti
Recensioni
Liste
Premi e riconoscimenti
Potrebbero anche piacerti
Autori correlati
Statistiche
- Opere
- 32
- Opere correlate
- 4
- Utenti
- 521
- Popolarità
- #47,687
- Voto
- 3.9
- Recensioni
- 19
- ISBN
- 114
- Lingue
- 15
- Preferito da
- 2
The poems in this collection are somewhat longer than those in the new volume, but it didn't deter me. They are a good introduction on the poet and his work. I love this guy's poetry. Period.
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"TAKE ONLY WHAT IS MOST IMPORTANT"
Take only what is most important. Take the letters.
Take only what you can carry.
Take the icons and the embroidery, take the silver,
Take the wooden crucifix and the golden replicas.
Take some bread, the vegetables from the garden, then leave.
We will never return again.
We will never see our city again.
Take the letters, all of them, every last piece of bad news.
We will never see our corner store again.
We will never drink from that dry well again.
We will never see familiar faces again.
We are refugees. We’ll run all night.
We will run past fields of sunflowers.
We will run from dogs, rest with cows.
We’ll scoop up water with our bare hands,
sit waiting in camps, annoying the dragons of war.
You will not return, and friends will never come back.
There will be no smoky kitchens, no usual jobs,
There will be no dreamy lights in sleepy towns,
no green valleys, no suburban wastelands.
The sun will be a smudge on the window of a cheap train,
rushing past cholera pits covered with lime.
There will be blood on women’s heels,
tired guards on borderlands covered with snow,
a postman with empty bags shot down,
a priest with a hapless smile hung by his ribs,
the quiet of cemetery, the noise of a command post,
and unedited lists of the dead,
as long that there won’t be enough time
to check them for your own name.
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