Kobzar
Award Reflections
By Volodymyr Kish
I had the good
fortune to be present at the Shevchenko Foundation’s 2012 Kobzar Literary Award
Ceremony on March 1 and was rewarded with a most stimulating and entertaining
evening focused on showcasing some of Canada’s most prominent literary talents
of Ukrainian background. This was the
fourth iteration of this biennial literary competition which has become one of
the most prestigious and eagerly awaited cultural events within the Ukrainian
community.
The
five finalists covered a broad spectrum of the literary arts that ranged from
the quirkily introspective poetry of a young Larissa Andrusyshyn (Mammoth),
to the latest soul-searching philosophical adventure by the dean of the
Ukrainian Canadian literary scene, Myrna Kostash (Prodigal Daughter: A
Journey to Byzantium). I should
mention that Myrna and I go back a long way, at least in a professional sense –
back in 1978 after her classic and somewhat controversial first book All of
Baba’s Children came out, she was the first interview I did as a budding
journalist and editor for the English section of The New Pathway (Noviy
Shliakh) newspaper. At the time, I
was powerfully moved by her book because it was the first book I had read about
the Ukrainian Canadian immigrant experience that went beyond the clichs and
took a hard, unbiased and sometimes painful look at Ukrainian culture,
politics, beliefs, values and prejudices.
It started me on my own critical exploration of my roots that has
continued to this day.
Interestingly
enough, most of the finalists in this year’s completion have continued in their
own unique way down that same road of exploring their personal and cultural
roots. Even Myrna Kostash, thirty four
years after that seminal first book, continues the quest, though this time she
focuses on the spiritual and philosophical foundation of Ukrainian culture,
namely our Byzantine heritage.
This
year’s Kobzar Literary Award winner was Shandi Mitchell (original Ukrainian
name Mykolayenko) and her novel Under This Unbroken Sky follows that
same exploratory quest for one’s roots, based in large part on the experiences,
memories and recollections of her immigrant father. It delves deeply into both the physical as
well as psychological tribulations faced by the original immigrants to Western
Canada as they sought to put behind them the horrors of Stalin’s genocidal oppression
of Ukraine, and build a new life on the Prairies.
Rhea
Tregebov’s novel The Knife Sharpener’s Bell, ironically deals with the
converse scenario, as it traces the fate of a Ukrainian Jewish family that had
moved to Winnipeg from Odessa, but having suffered through the ravages of the
Depression era, decide to return to Odessa, believing in Stalin’s promises of a
new worker’s paradise.
Larissa
Andrusyshyn’s collection of poems, revolving as it does around the
after-effects of her father’s death, also reflects the roots theme, though
obviously on a more personal basis. Even the more academic entry, Myroslav
Shkandrij’s Jews in Ukrainian Literature – Representation and Identity
looks at a still painful sore spot within Ukraine’s cultural and historical roots,
namely the uneasy relationship between Ukrainians and their Semitic countrymen.
The
exploration of one’s roots has been an influential force in my own life in
recent decades, so it is a theme with great personal resonance to me. Regrettably, I rue the fact that I did not
take greater interest when I was much younger, and my parents and their
generation were still alive. Back then,
I made little effort to tap into their vast bank of memories and knowledge. I wish I could go back and ask them the millions
of questions that now come to mind. I
wish I had taken the time and effort to capture and document their lives and
experiences, as it is only now that I am beginning to appreciate their
importance and relevance to my own life.
When
we are young, we really have little sense of our own history and are strongly
self-centred, so we tend to look almost exclusively at the present and the
future. It is only in the later stages
of our lives when we have built our own history that we begin to appreciate the
connectedness of our history with that of our parents, our ancestors and our
native culture. Sadly, by that time our
parents our usually gone, and with them a vast store of lore that could have
strengthened our appreciation and understanding of the continuum of our lives
with that of our forefathers and their culture.
For
those of you who still have living parents and other family members of the
previous generations, take the time to learn their personal histories. If you don’t, I guarantee you that there will
come a time when you will sorely regret it.