Apollo in the snow : selected poems / Aleksandr Kushner ; translated by Paul Graves and Carol Ueland ; with an introduction by Joseph Brodsky.
1991
PG3482.8.U73 A88 1991
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Details
Title
Apollo in the snow : selected poems / Aleksandr Kushner ; translated by Paul Graves and Carol Ueland ; with an introduction by Joseph Brodsky.
Author
Edition
1st ed.
ISBN
0374105499
9780374105495
9780374105495
Imprint
New York : Farrar, Straus and Giroux, 1991.
Language
English
Description
xii, 99 pages ; 24 cm
Call Number
PG3482.8.U73 A88 1991
System Control No.
(OCoLC)22309158
Summary
Born in Leningrad in 1936, Aleksandr Kushner is one of the best of contemporary Russian poets. In both 1987 and 1988, Kushner was invited to the United States to recite his work in the company of his peers, John Ashbery and Derek Walcott. Writing in a society centered on social ritual and public involvement, Kushner has always celebrated the refuge of private life. His is often a sort of chamber poetry, contained and contemplative, offering unique combinations of the.
Everyday and the mythical, of minute observation and philosophical speculation. Like Anna Akhmatova and Joseph Brodsky, Kushner is heir to the magnificent Petersburg tradition of Russian poetry: Leningrad, in both its modern and its historical visages, is a major subject as well as setting for Kushner's poems; and the forms of his verse, his use of rhyme and meter, are classical. This first selection in English of Kushner's work gathers more than sixty poems, from his.
Debut collection of 1962 through the present, and traces the poet's development and range--which, when recording the experience of Kushner's generation, does not shy from the political.
Everyday and the mythical, of minute observation and philosophical speculation. Like Anna Akhmatova and Joseph Brodsky, Kushner is heir to the magnificent Petersburg tradition of Russian poetry: Leningrad, in both its modern and its historical visages, is a major subject as well as setting for Kushner's poems; and the forms of his verse, his use of rhyme and meter, are classical. This first selection in English of Kushner's work gathers more than sixty poems, from his.
Debut collection of 1962 through the present, and traces the poet's development and range--which, when recording the experience of Kushner's generation, does not shy from the political.
Note
Translated from the Russian.
Formatted Contents Note
1960-1974. The Decanter. It's longer, harder saying our goodbyes. God of family complaisance. No, not one face, but two: the world. By leaving, you opted for space. The Adoration of the Magi. No woman that I'd met before. Hoffmann. Here I am
my chair is wobbly
. It struck me that two darks. It's the way things are arranged. The envelope looks so peculiar. Our tastes mark us as unromantic. In the cold of Petropavlovsk, Peter dreams. O fame, you have passed us by like the rain, vanished. Someone's crying all night. In a Cafe. At the window I watch the nocturnal clouds pass. Remembering Love
1975-1979. Apollo in the Snow. Folded Wings. The Bush. September picks up a wide broom and it sweeps. Look: bronze. This statue was poured in obedience to. We don't get to choose our century. In the morning, drafts in the blinds and curtains. Man with a Rose. As at every doorstep grow rowan and maple. The dust in a shaft of late sun turns the distance. Vyritsa. I loved. I'd wake, not recollecting myself. This country, huge, wintry, and blue. When it's thirteen below, the mind begins preparing. On this, the near side of the mystery line, a cloud. Pan. No better fate is given than to die in Rome. Your exit's into frost, and the audience exits. How stormily on the sarcophagus' white panels. As coal is used for cleaning a white horse. It pleases me that Bakst, Nijinsky, and Benois. Palace. Memoirs
1980-1987. In one of our darkest, most ghastly. Dream. The rustle of trees
what's more sweeping or capacious? Out of the various deaths, he was allowed to choose. And if you sleep, and if the sheets are clean. Which poet was the first to bring the sea to us. The ancient obol's only button-size. Sleep, sleep ... while you sleep, I'll be here at my desk. The Rooster. Rain. But you, unfortunately, are neither cold nor hot. Just think: if there were still centaurs and sirens. Michelangelo. Before the War: Recollections. While someone sleeps, slumped over his elbows at. The Hedgerow. Chinese names are always full of q and z. Tragedy's easy: once onstage, men wreck or slaughter. Cypress. Mozart's skull, from between two columns of the news. It so happens you're not yet asleep. Domitian, the last cruel and savage emperor. There are two marvels, friend. As Catullus wrote, a man's voice deserts him.
my chair is wobbly
. It struck me that two darks. It's the way things are arranged. The envelope looks so peculiar. Our tastes mark us as unromantic. In the cold of Petropavlovsk, Peter dreams. O fame, you have passed us by like the rain, vanished. Someone's crying all night. In a Cafe. At the window I watch the nocturnal clouds pass. Remembering Love
1975-1979. Apollo in the Snow. Folded Wings. The Bush. September picks up a wide broom and it sweeps. Look: bronze. This statue was poured in obedience to. We don't get to choose our century. In the morning, drafts in the blinds and curtains. Man with a Rose. As at every doorstep grow rowan and maple. The dust in a shaft of late sun turns the distance. Vyritsa. I loved. I'd wake, not recollecting myself. This country, huge, wintry, and blue. When it's thirteen below, the mind begins preparing. On this, the near side of the mystery line, a cloud. Pan. No better fate is given than to die in Rome. Your exit's into frost, and the audience exits. How stormily on the sarcophagus' white panels. As coal is used for cleaning a white horse. It pleases me that Bakst, Nijinsky, and Benois. Palace. Memoirs
1980-1987. In one of our darkest, most ghastly. Dream. The rustle of trees
what's more sweeping or capacious? Out of the various deaths, he was allowed to choose. And if you sleep, and if the sheets are clean. Which poet was the first to bring the sea to us. The ancient obol's only button-size. Sleep, sleep ... while you sleep, I'll be here at my desk. The Rooster. Rain. But you, unfortunately, are neither cold nor hot. Just think: if there were still centaurs and sirens. Michelangelo. Before the War: Recollections. While someone sleeps, slumped over his elbows at. The Hedgerow. Chinese names are always full of q and z. Tragedy's easy: once onstage, men wreck or slaughter. Cypress. Mozart's skull, from between two columns of the news. It so happens you're not yet asleep. Domitian, the last cruel and savage emperor. There are two marvels, friend. As Catullus wrote, a man's voice deserts him.
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