By Arkadii Dragomoshchenko, Evgeny Pavlov
This is often my test, now not a retail book. I don't imagine there's one to be had.
Fiction. Poetry. Translated from the Russian by means of Evgeny Pavlov. Arkadii Dragomoschenko got here to us first as a samizdat/underground poet, his strains & gestures signaling a gap to new discoveries & freedoms in what have been the closed global of the Soviet superstate. That freedom as a poet resided squarely within the center of his poetry--its language & shape serving because the conduits for concepts & realities formerly obscured. Now, in chinese language solar, he launches a clean attack, this time at the global of prose--a poet's reconfiguration (transformation) of the unconventional & a piece that crosses open borders as a present to all of us.
From Publishers Weekly:
"The sum overall is perpetually perplexing," writes the narrator of Dragomoshchenko's novel, his first fiction to be translated into English. referred to as an experimental poet in his local Russia, Dragomoshchenko twists, tweaks and pummels the unconventional into an unrecognizable, yet no longer unappealing, shape within which stream-of-consciousness ramblings, semi-autobiographical vignettes and meditations on paintings, time, silence and reminiscence supersede any conventional iterations of plot. Like language poetry, this paintings self-reflexively obsesses over problems with writing and phrases whereas espousing artful aphorisms: the narrator wonders, "Do we all know that we know?" in different places, a personality describes God as taking a look "like a pronoun and all letters at once." yet different cunningly brainy dictums develop into murkier upon mirrored image: "there is not any e-book in that book." there's a ebook during this novel, notwithstanding, anticipating sufferer readers to puzzle it out.
Arkadii Dragomoshchenko is a poet, essayist, and translator who was once born in Potsdam, Germany in 1946 and grew up in Vinnitsa, Ukraine. He has lived and labored in St. Petersburg (formerly Leningrad), Russia in view that 1969. His writing has earned him a name because the consultant determine of Language poetry in Russia.
Dragomoshchenko's poetry was once first brought to American audiences within the volumes Description and Xenia, translated by way of Lyn Hejinian and released by way of solar & Moon Press within the Nineteen Nineties. He has due to the fact authored chinese language solar, released in 2005 via grotesque Duckling Presse, and the prose assortment dirt (Dalkey Archive Press, 2005).
C.D. Wright has acknowledged of his paintings, "This is poetry. conceited. Magisterial. roughly impenetrable. The relation of language is capability yet no longer improvisational.” approximately airborne dirt and dust, Lyn Hejinian wrote, “Full of energy in addition to profundity, and resonating with whatever i will be able to purely time period friendship, those meditations/memoirs belong to the nice culture of metaphysical prose, along the works of Nietzsche, Shklovsky, Kierkegaard, and Toufic.”
Ugly Duckling Presse is a 501 (c)(3) nonprofit writer dependent in Brooklyn, manhattan, which focuses on poetry, translation, misplaced literature, and books by means of artists.
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Extra info for Chinese Sun
Let's talk about something else. Let's talk about houses and 36 I CHINESE SUN fires that surface from the bottom of halted October days; let's talk about voids, about wax tablets of dreams to whose pliable matter an imprint arises, exfoliating, from the depths of yet another surface. Let us finally say-in that same year he leaves Berlin only to find himself in Derbyshire, England, lost in the soundless orgy of kites. Aerial horses of Ashvins are inescapable, horses of twins, of heavenly offsprings marked by the stamp of servitude.
The things consisted of many states or, perhaps, of consequences of their own origins-false anticipation had forced speech to turn to sources of desire. A catalog of things is attached: bookshelves, books proper, photographs with human visages, a map of Petersburg covered with colored pencil marks, for the most part blue and red (yellow was barely discernible). Each thing was labeled. The room was quite dark this time of year. It was spring. Airplanes were soundlessly falling upwards. An uncataloged, unknown bird was singing.
Dikikh felt cold sweat on his temples: there was no water, no Neva, buildings closed in tight before him. There was nothing, except the "was". Bad company. A few painted concrete fishes adorned the children's playground. The situation was inexorably getting worse. Dikikh looked toward the University. owed into one another, not finding the salutary stumbling point that could pluck the moment from the step of all dates in order to form the ovary of at least an approximate meaning even in the most inconspicuous of such sprouts.