Contemporary Ukrainian writer LINA KOSTENK is in her 90s, but is already one of the most inspiring women in the country’s history. For many years, her work remained unpublished, since in the 1960s she participated in the dissident and “Sixties” movements. This period spurred the newest styles in Ukrainian literature, forced to create something avant-garde and critical in relation to the authorities and to the then-totalitarian regime. She wrote hundreds of poems but only one novel (Notes of the Ukrainian Insane), which instantly became a bestseller.
She was born in 1930 in Rzhyshchiv, Kyiv Oblast (not far from the Chernobyl Zone, and in the 1990s she worked in the affected area on the preservation of cultural heritage) into a family of teachers.
In the
1930s her father was sent to the Gulag as ‘an enemy of the people’. After WWII
Lina graduated from the Kyiv Pedagogical Institute and in 1956 from the Maxim
Gorky Literature Institute in
Her refusal
to give into ideological criticism and the demands of Soviet censorship led to
her work being blocked from publication until 1977. During this time she was an
active and outspoken member of the Ukrainian dissident movement. She continued
publishing into the post-Soviet period, and in 2010, she published her first
novel, "Notes of a Ukrainian Madman", an account of the social and political
upheaval in independent
Her poetry consists primarily of intimate, lyric poems and ‘social’ poems on the role and responsibility of a poet, particularly in a totalitarian society. Employing diverse rhythms, sophisticated language, it ranges from playful irony and humor to scathing satire. She is acknowledged as one of the best current Ukrainian poets. A wise and prophetic woman, she writes:…the worst is not that everything might be changed but that everything might stay the same…
Her poem “A terrible kaleidoscope,” was published
a year after the
A
Terrible Kaleidoscope
In this moment somewhere someone dies.
In this moment. This very moment.
Each and every minute
A ship is wrecked.
The Galapagos burn.
And above the Dnipro
Sets the bitter wormwood star.
Explosion. Volcano.
Ruin. Destruction.
One aims. Another falls.
“Don’t shoot!” a third implores.
Scheherazade’s tales run dry.
Lorelei sings by the
A child plays. A comet flies.
Faces bloom, not erased by dread.
Blessed is each moment we’re alive
On these worldwide fields of death.
.
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