"We won't be erased from the literary map of the world": An Interview with Serhiy Zhadan
Serhiy Zhadan is a poet, novelist, essayist, translator, philanthropist and rock star from eastern Ukraine. He is arguably the most famous Ukrainian artist today: his work has been widely translated into numerous languages and nominated for several prestigious awards. In 2014 he won BBC Ukraine’s Book of the Decade Award for his novel VOROSHYLOVHRAD and in 2015 he was given the Angelus Award for his novel MESOPOTAMIA. This past year a translation of his poem ‘Headphones’ earned him the distinction of being the first Ukrainian poet to be published in The New York Times Magazine. Two of his poetry collections were also nominated for the PEN America Literary Award.
During the 2021 Meridian Czernowitz literary festival he met with Liliia Shutiak to discuss his presence in the American literary scene, the role of translators as cultural diplomats, why Bertolt Brecht is relevant today, whether it is necessary to be a church goer to know the images and values of Christianity, and more.
A translation of your poem “Headphones” was published in the New York Times Magazine. This is the first translation of Ukrainian literature in the publication. Tell us, how did that come about?
Five of my books have already been translated and published in the States. They kind of have their own life over there and some people might even notice them. What We Live For, What We Die For, a collection of my poetry translated by Virlyana Tkach and Wanda Phipps, entered the finals of the PEN Award for Best Translated Book. The collection A New Orthography, translated by John Hennessey and Ostap Kin, also entered the finals of the American PEN Award and won The Derek Walcott Prize for Poetry. I say this not to brag, but to show that American readers are beginning to respond to Ukrainian literature. On the one hand, it is nice that the poem was published, but on the other hand, it means that it is still a significant event for Ukrainian writers when our poems are published abroad. If you think about it, this does not work in our favor. It would be better if, thanks to translators and journalists, we said: "Oh look, another Ukrainian poet has been published, yet another collection has appeared."
What We Live For, What We Die For was nominated for the PEN America Literary Award. The New York Times Book Review added the publication to the list of recommended books in 2019. In 2020 it was awarded the prize of the American Association of Modern Languages. Do you notice any changes in your status as a writer? Does the American market open wider opportunities for you as a writer in Ukraine?
We should remember that these are poetry collections we’re talking about, not bestsellers or genre literature. With that in mind, I think the answer to your question has less to do with the American literary market than it does with the local literary environment, where those aforementioned books are read and discussed not only by scholars of Slavic literature or the Ukrainian diaspora, but by people who simply show an interest in poetry. Of course, this pleases the author's ego, but I'm more interested in seeing how the American literary environment works. I am grateful to my translators because I understand that their work is no less important than what I wrote in Ukrainian. Maybe even more so. In this regard, I would like to praise Virlana Tkach, who has been doing a lot for two decades to promote Ukrainian culture and Ukraine in general. She is Ukrainian and actively cooperates with our communities in America. However she is also trying to expand the Ukrainian context and bring our culture to an American audience. It is important that her work is not limited to the diaspora, although I have great respect for them. Virlana co-translates with the American poet Wanda Phipps, which shows how flexible and complete this cooperation is. It is not just the subjective view of a Ukrainian woman who is trying to translate from her native language to another.
There is also a whole new generation of translators now. I mentioned Ostap Kin, who works actively with poetry. I would also like to mention my prose translators Reilly Costigan Humes and Isaac Wheeler, with whom we have already done three books. It all started off as a friendly project, and later turned into something more serious. They translate other authors, these books are published, they promote them. If we talk about translations and publications of Ukrainian literature in the United States, 20 years ago it was kind of exotic. Instead, today it is almost a normal practice. Ukrainian books do not collect dust somewhere in the libraries of the departments of Slavic studies, but have their own readers and a critical reception.
In this way, translators become cultural diplomats…
Their presence and activity are no less important than the work of writers. There are literatures that have been translated for a long time: Russian, Czech, Polish, and so on. Of course, if you write in one of these languages, it is much easier to be translated because, firstly, there are more translators, and secondly, there is a habit, longevity and demand for these works to be translated. Literature like ours, which appeared with the restoration of statehood, the change of the political situation—because, whether we like it or not, all this is connected and correlated with politics—is also important. We have declared our presence, registered it on the literary map of the world, and won’t be erased from it. Some can complain about greater opportunities for other literatures, quietly envy them or have a superiority complex, but it’s better to just do your job. When writing is done honestly and professionally, the result is immediately visible.
You recently published a book of translations of Bertolt Brecht's poems, In Praise Of Dialectics. Why are we talking about this writer today? How is he still relevant?
Brecht is still relevant because he is a genius poet. And such poetry is relevant at all times, regardless of context. Although the latter also matter quite a lot. Brecht was actively involved in political and social processes and, among other things, wrote poetic journalism. And since the history of Europe has the unfortunate ability to repeat itself in its most unsympathetic manifestations, what Brecht wrote a hundred years ago is, unfortunately, still relevant today. The policies of a country, problems with radicalism, the stratification of society are just some examples. There is not just a left-wing ideological component, although it is also important—Brecht was a consistent ideological communist. His communism went far beyond purely party dogmas and acquired a biblical sound. He wrote about the stratification of society, the problem of social injustice, social antagonism. This is something that has not changed in 100 years. When you read the author's early poems on the First World War, his anti-fascist poetry and philosophical reflections, it correlates well with our realities—today's Germany and Ukraine. Therefore, it seems to me that Brecht, based on the amazing combination of journalism and biblical parables, is still relevant. But he is less known in the guise of a poet than he is as a playwright.
In Praise Of Dialectics is part of an ongoing series of translations. This is the first collection of the author's poems in Ukrainian. Earlier your translation of the Swiss poet Pedro Lenz’s My Friend The Crane Operator was also published. What other authors will we see in this series? Will it be only German-speaking writers?
I hope that next year a book of poems by the Belarusian poet Andrei Khadanovich, whom I admire very much, will be published. He and I have been translating each other for a long time, and Andrei's work has previously been published in Ukrainian. But I would very much like a separate collection of him to be published in this series by Meridian Czernowitz. I also plan to publish a book by the genius Polish poet Ryszard Krynicki, whom I have been translating for a long time. I love him as a poet and translator, because he himself is a brilliant translator of Paul Celan’s work. When I was working on my translations of Paul Celan, I kept his work close, and engaged in a dialogue with him.
My translation of Paul Celan’s poems, which was published by Meridian Czernowitz, included 100 poems from several collections. We plan to make a second, supplemented edition. There will be some critical texts about Celan and, I think, there will be many more translations.
A performance of The Bread Truce during the 2021 Meridian Czernowitz International Poetry Festival
In your play The Bread Truce, which is about the war in Ukraine, characters communicate with but do not listen to each other. Isn't this a metaphor for modern society? How can we reach an understanding between conflicting parties?
One of the main themes of the play is the inability to be heard, to speak, to establish a dialogue. Since 2014, the word "dialogue" has acquired negative connotations in Ukraine. If you have a dialogue with someone, then it is considered by some as a sign of weakness. This can be explained emotionally, which, in my opinion, is terribly fatal and suicidal in the context of the fact that we want to move on and win the war. How can we overcome everything that we’re facing? This is a complex process. It does not exclusively concern the ongoing war with Russia, or the front lines which run through Crimea and the Donetsk and Luhansk regions. It is much sadder and more important to understand that this line of misunderstanding, the inability to speak to each other runs through our society as a whole. This is the thing that was laid down by decades of political, social, cultural life, and it still largely determines everything. The inability or unwillingness to hear another, to establish a conversation within the community and Ukrainian society in general—even between people who are not enemies or antagonists, but simply people with specific views.
In recent years, religious themes have intensified in your poetic texts, for example, in List of Ships, and most recently Aviation Psalm. How relevant is the question of faith for you?
In my opinion, these verses are not so much about religiosity as they are about the Bible. In them, the Bible, the Old and New Testaments, are used as a metatext, which with its metaphors fills our conceptual figurative space. We do not have to be church goers to know the images, symbols, and values of Christianity. So I would describe it more as a cultural background. But speaking in principle, the mentioned topic interests me a great deal, that is, the functioning of the church in today's society, and the transformations that take place with this institution. This is probably not a concept of faith from the point of view of a believer, a person who is a member of and regularly attends church, but rather an agnostic, who tries to understand what society breathes.
Over the last year, I have had some rather interesting conversations with people from the church who represent various Christian denominations, i.e. Orthodox, Greek Catholic. Today's communities and church leaders are trying to adapt to changes in the world. Circumstances are changing: informational, social communication, the things that determine our daily rhythm. The Church has no choice but react to this, because it risks losing a lot.
As a person of agnostic beliefs who respects different denominations—not just Christianity—it seems to me that the presence of the church in a society like ours, post-totalitarian, which is just trying to cope with freedom and subjectivity, and does not always cope, is very important. This is a certain factor that restrains, but also helps to build some coordinates. This is not about adhering to church dogmas, not about church going as such, but about church ethics—what is laid down in each of the denominations and religions at the level of ethical moral precepts. Let's say there are 10 commandments that we can't list, but we know what they are in essence and even remember some of them. "Don't kill" and "don't steal" are morals I think most people live by, regardless of whether they go to church or not. These are the things that will be perceived somewhat ironically and skeptically in an intellectual environment, but if you look at real life, it is exactly what protects us from losing our humanity.
In one of your interviews, you quoted Oksana Zabuzhko, who said that you can't write about yourself all your life. Who is Serhiy Zhadan writing about?
Of course, everything you write is in some way related to your own personal experiences. Even if the protagonist of the book is not the author himself, it is a reflection of his presence in this world. Even if you invent some dream worlds, it still somehow relates to your ideas of how it should look. Therefore, it is clear that there is a certain playfulness in those words: we say that we do not write about ourselves, but nonetheless, this is what we do.
My first collection of prose, Big Mac, was declaratively autobiographical, and Oksana Zabuzhko told me so back then. It was wise advice. Both the recommendation and the evolution in the understanding and perception of prose have been reduced to the fact that I am not interested in reading about writers themselves. I understand that many authors will not agree with this, but I personally prefer to focus about what is happening in the world around me.
In addition to taking part in numerous literary events and concerts, you also founded the Serhiy Zhadan Charitable Foundation. For the third year in a row, the foundation held the "Read and Write" contest for children in Donbas. What has changed in the minds of schoolchildren living through the war during these past three years? How did the war affect them?
Unfortunately, not all children take part in the competition. Despite the fact that we received more than 500 submissions this year, statistically it is very little. We try to find children who are interested in books, literature, and creative expression. In the schools where teachers and management are attentive, they spot them and do their best to encourage them. These children like to write, draw, sing and dance. Not everyone is interested in books and culture, and that's obvious. Now they read little—even less than before. This applies not only to the East, but to Ukraine as a whole and to the world at large. You can complain about it, or you can try to do something to somehow fix this situation. That is is our goal.
Children who grew up under the bombing are traumatized for life. They are more sensitive to certain things and they have issues that, thank God, do not exist for those who live in the center or west of Ukraine. And these are children whose questions will sooner or later have to be answered. The situation of war changes the concept of what is normal: the perception, behavior, characterization of things. I tried to explore this in my novel The Orphanage, when people who find themselves in abnormal conditions begin to behave abnormally. Because it's the only way to survive. After all, you get used to everything. When people continue to do business, gardening, and raising children during shelling, it is shocking at first, and then you realize that they are protecting themselves. Fear kills. It deprives you of identity and self-sufficiency.
We communicate a lot with children who have lived through the fighting. Although the situation in their towns or villages has returned to normal, the experience of war remains. It remains at the level of long-standing fear, where every sharp sound is associated with imminent danger and you have to respond to it. Both the military and civilians are suffering from post-traumatic stress syndrome. Many people forget about the latter, although it is just as painful and requires our attention.
Interviewed by Liliia Shutiak
Translated from the Ukrainian by Kate Tsurkan
Photos by Julia Weber, taken from Meridian Czernowitz Facebook page