A Kindred Orphanhood: Selected Poems of Sergey Gandlevsky

by Sergey Gandlevsky, Philip Metres (Translator)

An integral member of the ’70s generation, Gandlevsky was one of the underground Russian poets who began by writing only for themselves and their circles of friends during the Brezhnev era. Despite their relative cultural obscurity—or perhaps, precisely because of their situation as internal émigrés—Gandlevsky and the Seventies Generation forged new directions in Russian poetry, unfettered by the pressures that burdened Russian writers both prior to, and during, the Soviet period. Gandlevsky, like many of the underground, chose unprestigious careers, or even odd jobs, both to avoid participating in what he saw as a morally bankrupt society, while freeing up time for writing and travel.

Gandlevsky has since become one of the most important contemporary Russian poets, winning both the Little Booker Prize and the Anti-Booker Prize in 1996 for his poetry and prose. A Kindred Orphanhood is the first English translation of Gandlevsky’s collected poems. The book follows the author’s chronological order; while the early poems introduce the reader to his recurring obsessions, the later poems most fully represent the scope of his achievement in poetry. Gandlevsky, in poet Chris Green’s words, "seems to have lived by poetry, as if it were a raft to swim through the last twenty-five years of Soviet history."

Sergey Gandlevsky has published several books of poetry, a memoir, and a book of essays in Russian. His work has been included in every major anthology, including: 20th Century Russian Poetry: Silver and Steel (Doubleday Press), and In the Grip of Strange Thoughts: Russian Poetry in a New Era (Zephyr Press).

Philip Metres is a poet and translator of Russian poetry. His own poetry appears in numerous journals, including Poetry, and in Best American Poetry 2002. He teaches literature and creative writing at John Carroll University.

Genres: Poetry, Biography

136 pages, Paperback

First published October 1, 2003

About the author

Sergey Gandlevsky (Russian: Сергей Гандлевский) was born in Moscow in 1952. He graduated in Russian literature at the University of Moscow and has been writing poetry since he was eighteen. One of the most prominent among the Russian poets, he is a complete author: beside poetry he has been writing short stories, novels, essays, critical writings and plays. In the 70’s, he was one of the founders and participants of the group of poets “Moscow Time” (Московское время) along with Alexei Tsvetkov, Aleksandr Soprovski and Kenzheiev Bakhit, and the group “The intimate conversation” (Задушевная беседа) – later “The Almanac” (Альманах) – together with Dmitri Prigov, Timur Kibírov, Lev Rubinstein and others. At present, he is a member of the club “Poetry” and collaborates with the journal “Foreign literature» (Иностранная литература). In 1991, he was admitted to the Union of Russian Writers.

Reviews

[Cynthia · Rating 5 out of 5]

I found this gem in a local Little Free Library. Yeah, our neighborhood is cool like that.

After starting this book, I handed it to a friend. "What do you think of this?" He read a few lines of one poem, tossed it on the floor, and said he wouldn't waste his time on it. I shrugged my shoulders, and continued to read. After all, it's a book of poems. It shouldn't take long to finish, as long as I don't dwell on esoteric meaning.

I came to love this book, in all its complexity, realizing I probably grasped 10% of its significance. I know close to nothing about poetry and Russian history, but I'll trust my heart to know this is the best poetry I've ever read.

This stanza from In Memory of My Mother nestled in after reading commentary by Philip Metres, then coming back to the poem:

*Speak. But what do you want to say? Perhaps
How the barge moved along the city river, trailing sunset,
How all June until the solstice
Summer stretched on its tiptoes to the light,
How breath of linden blew through sultry squares
And how thunder rolled from all directions that July?
You once believed that speech needs an underlying cause
And a grave occasion. But that's a lie.*

I worked with Russian and Ukranian people in the past. I've long been drawn to their culture. Some of the people I worked with would intermittently speak Russian to me forgetting that I didn't speak the language. They would say things like, "You seem like you are Russian. You look Russian." It was a marvelous connection of the heart. Intellect stepped aside and made room for enigma. I'm certain this is one reason I'm drawn to Sergey Gandlevsky's poetry.

I'm tempted to hold on to this book, aim to pick it up again, study its depths. I know I probably won't. I should return it the a Little Free Library, and allow someone else to stumble upon A Kindred Orphanhood.

[Rachel · Rating 5 out of 5]

This is damn good poetry. And you will look cool reading it because no one has ever heard of him, maybe not even in Russia. Buy it buy it buy it buy it

[emma]

Speak. But what do you want to say? Perhaps
How the barge moved along the city river, trailing sunset,
How all June until the solstice
Summer stretched on its tiptoes to the light,
How breath of linden blew through sultry squares
And how thunder rolled from all directions that July?
You once believed that speech needs an underlying cause
And a grave occasion. But that's a lie.
-from "Stanzas"

Some of the poems in this collection (like Stanzas) were absolutely beautiful—the kind of beautiful that reminds you why you love poetry. However, I unfortunately didn't connect with a lot of the works. This might be in part due to the fact that these are poems in translation, and thus I inevitably lost out on a lot of the work in meter, sound, and rhyme that was happening in the originals. It might also be due to the fact that Gandlevsky included a ton of Russian cultural and literary references that I didn't really know what to do with or how to comprehend.