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.