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Read Ebook {PDF EPUB} Dancing in Odessa by Ilya Kaminsky ISBN 13: 9781932195125. Poetry. Winner of the 2002 Dorset Prize, and recipient of the Ruth Lilly Fellowship, Ilya Kaminsky is a recent Russian immigrant and rising poetic star. Despite the fact that he is a non-native speaker, Kaminksy's sense of rhythm and lyic surpasses that of most contemporary poets in the English language. This magical, musical book of poems draws readers into its unforgettable heart, and Carolyn Forch� wrties simply "I'm in awe of his gifts." "synopsis" may belong to another edition of this title. Ilya Kaminsky was born in Odessa, former Soviet Union in 1977, and arrived to the United States in 1993, when his family was granted asylum by the American government. Dancing In Odessa (Tupelo Press, 2004) won the Whiting Writer's Award, the American Academy of Arts and Letters' Metcalf Award, the Dorset Prize, the Ruth Lilly Fellowship given annually by Poetry magazine. Dancing In Odessa was also named Best Poetry Book of the Year 2004 by ForeWord Magazine . In 2008, Kaminsky was awarded Lannan Foundation's Literary Fellowship. In 2009, poems from his new manuscript, Deaf Republic , were awarded Poetry magazine's Levinson Prize. Currently, he teaches Contemporary World Poetry, Creative Writing, and Literary Translation in the Master of Fine Arts Program in Creative Writing at San Diego State University. a remarkable debut, one that affords a rare and exhilarating pleasure: the sense of being at the start of something marvelous. Boston Review. ""A superb and vigorous imagination, a poetic talent of rare and beautiful proportions, whose work is surely destined to be widely and enthusiastically noticed and applauded. This is the start of a brilliant career."" Anthony Hecht. ""Kaminsky is more than a promising young poet; he is a poet of promise fulfilled. I am in awe of his gifts."" Carolyn Forché ""Passionate, daring to laugh and weep, direct yet unexpected, Ilya Kaminsky's poetry has a glorious tilt and scope."" Robert Pinsky --Review. Dancing in Odessa by Ilya Kaminsky (2004, Trade Paperback) С самой низкой ценой, совершенно новый, неиспользованный, неоткрытый, неповрежденный товар в оригинальной упаковке (если товар поставляется в упаковке). Упаковка должна быть такой же, как упаковка этого товара в розничных магазинах, за исключением тех случаев, когда товар является изделием ручной работы или был упакован производителем в упаковку не для розничной продажи, например в коробку без маркировки или в пластиковый пакет. См. подробные сведения с дополнительным описанием товара. Ilya Kaminsky. Ilya Kaminsky was born in Odessa, former Soviet Union in 1977, and arrived to the United States in 1993, when his family was granted asylum by the American government. He is the author of Deaf Republic (Graywolf Press) and Dancing In Odessa (Tupelo Press) and co-editor and co-translated many other books, including Ecco Anthology of International Poetry (Harper Collins) and Dark Elderberry Branch: Poems of Marina Tsvetaeva (Alice James Books). His work won The Los Angeles Times Book Award, The Anisfield-Wolf Book Award, The National Jewish Book Award, the Guggenheim Fellowship, The Whiting Award, the American Academy of Arts and Letters' Metcalf Award, Lannan Fellowship, Academy of American Poets’ Fellowship, NEA Fellowship, Poetry magazine's Levinson Prize, and was also shortlisted for the National Book Award, National Book Critics Circle Award, Neustadt International Literature Prize, and T.S. Eliot Prize (UK). Deaf Republic was The New York Times’ Notable Book for 2019, and was also named Best Book of 2019 by dozens of other publications, including Washington Post, Times Literary Supplement, The Telegraph, Publishers Weekly, The Guardian, Irish Times, Vanity Fair, Lithub, Library Journal, and New Statesman . His poems have been translated into over twenty languages, and his books are published in many countries, including Turkey, Netherlands, Germany, Russia, France, Mexico, Macedonia, Romania, Spain and China, where his poetry was awarded the Yinchuan International Poetry Prize. In 2019, Kaminsky was selected by BBC as “one of the 12 artists that changed the world.” Ilya Kaminsky has worked as a law clerk for San Francisco Legal Aid and the National Immigration Law Center. More recently, he worked pro- bono as the Court Appointed Special Advocate for Orphaned Children in Southern California. Currently, he holds the Bourne Chair in Poetry at Georgia Institute of Technology and lives in Atlanta. Dancing In Odessa. We lived north of the future, days opened letters with a child’s signature, a raspberry, a page of sky. My grandmother threw tomatoes from her balcony, she pulled imagination like a blanket over my head. I painted my mother’s face. She understood loneliness, hid the dead in the earth like partisans. The night undressed us (I counted its pulse) my mother danced, she filled the past with peaches, casseroles. At this, my doctor laughed, his granddaughter touched my eyelid—I kissed the back of her knee. The city trembled, a ghost-ship setting sail. And my classmate invented twenty names for Jew. He was an angel, he had no name, we wrestled, yes. My grandfathers fought the German tanks on tractors, I kept a suitcase full of Brodsky’s poems. The city trembled, a ghost-ship setting sail. At night, I woke to whisper: yes, we lived. We lived, yes, don’t say it was a dream. At the local factory, my father took a handful of snow, put it in my mouth. The sun began a routine narration, whitening their bodies: mother, father dancing, moving as the darkness spoke behind them. It was April. The sun washed the balconies, April. I retell the story the light etches into my hand: Little book, go to the city without me. Ilya Kaminsky Dancing In Odessa was published in Dancing In Odessa (Tupelo Press, 2004). Appearing on From the Fishouse with permission of the author. Dancing in Odessa by Ilya Kaminsky. One of the difficulties of reviewing is the unhappy balance between the urge to review a title as if the reviewer’s attention focused solely on the work at hand—one reader, one writer, a world complete—and the compulsion to directly address the context in which the book is received. It’s a problem: On the one hand, the act of reviewing itself summons recognition of the wider world through which the book moves; on the other hand, how much knowledge of the book’s receipt is really useful to a discussion of its content? Am I reviewing the book or am I reviewing its readers? I mention this because I don’t find much in Ilya Kaminsky’s Dancing in Odessa to appreciate, and in that failure, it seems as if I am one of a bare handful of human persons immune to its charms. I don’t take pride in this fact; I’m not a contrarian. If I walk outside my door and find a parade passing by, peopled with happy citizens of all ages, I’m not going to recoil in horror at the spectacle of human joy; I’m not that suspicious. In fact, I’d be delighted to witness such delight, and (I think logically) I’d be curious as to the cause for celebration. I would join the parade, if only to see where it was heading, where it would all end or what caused it to begin. But I have to tell you, all that excitement would equal expectation: for the extension of my faith, I would want something good. And if, upon arrival at the prime mover of all this excitation, I found nothing remarkable, I would have a dilemma. There’s some latitude allowed by the vagaries of taste, but that latitude isn’t infinite. When the discrepancies become wild enough, and polarized enough, there comes a moment that requires serious and self-conscious critical evaluation. If Ilya Kaminsky’ Dancing in Odessa is remarkable, exhilarating, marvelous, superb, beautiful, brilliant, passionate, glorious, and fresh, then either I am quite mad, or else a vast and subtle perversion has subtly warped the minds of my fellow readers. I know, the numbers are on the side of those legions moved by Kaminsky’s efforts, and probability suggests that in this case I stand alone because I am absent some essential faculty that, were I to posses it, would grant me access to the Promised Land of his poetry. I do kinda wish I could get there from here; on the basis of the reviews alone, to say nothing of the personal testimonials, it’s a fine land, all the honey and twice the milk, filled with the glories of human feeling. But before Carolyn Forche and Adam Zagajewski gently stuff me into my short white coat and trundle me off to the Home for Wayward Critics, I’d like to make a case as to how Ilya Kaminsky has not done what he has been reported to do, and how the community’s willful misapprehension of Dancing in Odessa could perhaps cause harm proportionate to the excess of its welcome. I think the success of Dancing in Odessa documents the difficulties of how a reader’s will can both enable and interfere with the effect of language. This difficulty arises from the relationship between language that can transfix and language that can transfigure, and it is the reader’s great but unfortunately freestanding desire to be transfigured that creates the problem. To be transfigured by language, of course, is to be conscious of how that language has changed you: this can be a feeling of uplift or terror, of renewal or despair, of the assertion of the force of life as expressed in words. This desire for transfiguration doesn’t always translate to a desire for affirmation, exactly: the problem comes not from the reader’s belief that they can know what they want before they get it.

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