Kharkiv: The City of the Sun

I had no doubts whom I would like to interview about Kharkiv — it had to be Serhii Zhadan, one of its most noted residents, a poet, prose writer, and journalist.

Let us start in a traditional way — with your biography. How did you find yourself in Kharkiv?

“In my eleventh grade I won a republican Ukrainian literature competition, so I could enroll in any philological faculty within the Ukrainian SSR without taking the entrance exams. I wasn’t sure whether I wanted to study in Luhansk or Kharkiv for a while, but my aunt was — and is still — working for the Kharkiv Pedagogical Institute. Her name is Oleksandra Kovaliova; she is a poet, translator, and philologist, specializing in the Germanic languages. She told me, ‘Try our institute; we have a good Germanic philology department.’ I had often visited her and decided to follow her advice. I enrolled in Kharkiv Pedagogical Institute in 1991. It was largely a chance occurrence, but I am grateful to whoever makes such chance occurrences happen.”

What were your first impressions?

“The size of the city, the scope, the landscape. Walking from the east, from the Rohan River, you can see the tractor works and all that proletarian ornament; it’s like being on a movie set with its props. It was quite impressive when you were eight or ten years old. Add to this a sense of an altogether different rhythm of life. In summer, for example, during the vacation season, you saw some of the burghers running around the office, with the rest simply relaxing and enjoying themselves. This discordant note, this unusual kind of dynamics was the first thing I noticed.”

The city must have changed considerably since then.

“There is a dual attitude to what is happening. Downtown Kharkiv looked rather neglected in the late 1980s and the early 1990s, yet this was a forlorn appearance being carefully tended, with snack bars, gastronom delis, parks with broken benches, and vandalized monuments. These things were a mirror reflection of the times; they had their own private, homelike atmosphere.

“Now all of this is being removed. This is the right thing to do on the one hand; the city is evolving, its roads are repaired, there are new housing projects, and life must go on. On the other hand, Kharkiv is losing its old spirit. This makes me nostalgic in a way.

“The Metalist Stadium is being renovated. Of course, it’s good to have a sports facility that meets the UEFA standards, but there will be no atmosphere dating from the 1980s and the 1990s — and that was an entire cultural stratum, a special way of life. Be that as it may, the ongoing process is cynical in its own way, with new things appearing in place of old ones.

It is probably bad that evolution in our conditions is taking place by removing and actually replacing previous cultural strata. We have never succeeded in developing a tradition of cultural continuity. In a word, I will miss the good old snack bars.”

What about your own specific sentiments regarding this city?

“The good old Gorky Park. After my son was born, I took him for a walk to this park. He is 13 years old now, and we recently went there again and shot at cans with my PM pistol. Or take the building of the Writers’ Union on Chernyshevsky St., with its old billiard table at which whole generations of writers have played. My friends and I frequented the place throughout the 1990s. There are many such places, buildings, courtyards, and streets, each evoking special memories. An inner kind of topography, which is hard to explain.”

Any irritating factors?

“The loss of the old Kharkiv. It was more intellectual and humane at the time — of course, any big city is cynical and cold in its own way. The megalopolises are too big to be sentimental. A small town can be sentimental. A big city must be tough to secure its operation. Nevertheless, the old Kharkiv was more on the intellectual side. It has changed considerably over the past 15 years, of course. A number of residents have left the city, immigrating to Kyiv, Moscow, or elsewhere in the world. This hasn’t done Kharkiv any good, because the emigres are replaced by people who aren’t any better, rather to the contrary. Kharkiv is becoming a more mercantile city, as is the case with the rest of Ukraine. There are supermarkets and people selling things on every corner. All this is so different from Kharkiv’s innate atmosphere. Regrettably, things like that are happening everywhere. It is a natural process, so how can you influence it?

“Also, I don’t like the changes being made to Kharkiv’s visage. Old structures are being torn down and replaced by high apartment buildings. I realize that this is necessary, because this city must grow somehow, but quite often this is done in an manner that leaves much to be desired in terms of constructiveness with little if any attention paid to the city’s historical visage. They erect such high-rises that simply destroy the landscape.

“On the other hand, when they started erecting constructivist buildings in Kharkiv, in the 1920s, I suspect that a number of old Kharkivites regarded this as an act of barbarism. Today these structures are seen as masterpieces of constructivism, as a way to uphold the city’s architectural glory. Anyway, I hope that Kharkiv will once again look intellectual, five to ten years from now, and that its supermarkets will accommodate contemporary art galleries.”

OK then, let’s get closer to the art theme. How big a role did Kharkiv play in your becoming a poet?

“It must have been tangible. I was 17 when I moved to Kharkiv. For a man of letters this age is precisely when you determine your priorities and literary style. Kharkiv, with its literature of the 1920s, emerged in my life and made its impact with its outspoken authors, like Semenko, Khvyliovy, Kulish, Yohansen, Shkurupii, and Vlyzko. I remember all this too well, for it was in 1989 that Kharkiv’s literary museum was launched. It is still there. For me it was one of the most important places. Its first exhibit was about the literature of the Red Renaissance. As you stepped inside, you found yourself facing two floors with bookshelves featuring the names of the poets shot [by the NKVD]. Here you could immediately become aware of Kharkiv’s atmosphere of the 1920s. I worked for the museum later and took part in its exhibits. We’re still arranging for cultural events, expositions, and soirees there.”

We have been talking mostly about the 20th century, yet Slobozhanshchyna has an age-old history. Which of the epochs do you think has left the most vivid trace in Kharkiv?

“I’m not sure about the impact of old civilizations on anything today, although it is clearly apparent that the Slobozhanshchyna mentality took shape over a period longer than a century. As for today’s Kharkiv, its formation was completed at the turn of the 20th century, when it transformed into a large trade and railroad center that remained at the crossroads. I think this is something to be found in the local character and mentality. A big city — which is cosmopolitan to an extent — that consists of a large variety of ethnic groups; you would call it Ukrainian America. Lots of business and creative opportunities. Less so now, perhaps because of the centralized command trend Ukraine must have inherited from the USSR, when everyone had to take orders from Moscow and forget about local healthy initiatives. Kharkiv was always a dynamic, a living alternative to the more officially sophisticated Kyiv.”

Speaking of the status of the nation’s capital, I have noticed that people in Kharkiv well remember its status as the first capital of Soviet Ukraine.

“Indeed, it is a matter of pride for some and complexes for others. Most people, however, are too busy with their daily routine to pay attention. Of course, there are politicians who keep reminding us of this status; there are others who are following suit, ranging from soccer fans, shouting about Kharkiv being Ukraine’s first capital at stadiums, to the mayor. This is a good concept, not the worst of things, something you can feel proud about.”

Personally I think that the destiny of Kharkiv was defined when it was founded as the last bulwark, the last fortress on the steppe frontier.

“I would rather describe it as a city-cum-railroad-station, a transit city. Of course, this is my personal biased view, but one gets this feeling that this is still a frontier city. Look at the way Kharkiv is treated in literature. It is often present in classical and modern literary works as a transit point between Moscow, Kyiv, the Crimea, and the Caucasus. Thousands of passengers from various countries pass through Kharkiv on their trains daily and countless freight trains pass through. This must have its effect on the population’s mentality. Quite a few local residents feel sure that they will be better off if they leave. On the other hand, being constantly present at the railroad station, at this transit point, is every interesting; it allows one to become aware of the scope and the pulsating rhythm. Apparently, the status of an old fortress and the last bulwark has survived after some development and transformation.”

How is all this affecting the cityscape?

“The center is on a hill, surrounded by rivers. The layout is really that of a classical fortress. There are the bedroom communities, built in place of former Sloboda outskirts and villages that merged with the city in the 1920s. When the factories entered the infrastructure, there emerged a sophisticated tangle that has to be untangled now — a hard but interesting task.

“There are all those peculiar city districts bordering on industrial enterprises with pre- or post-revolution architecture. The Red Capital City atmosphere is best preserved there. Like I said, when you visit the impression is that you are on a movie set, in a 1905 Russian revolution setting. Such places are disappearing at an increasing pace.”

What types of residents does Kharkiv have? How do they live?

“There are many types. Categorizing them in any way would require time and energy. Let me mention the types which I regard as most attractive and characteristic of Kharkiv. First, there are the ‘technical people,’ the remains of Kharkiv’s technological intelligentsia: mathematicians, physicists, engineers who built rockets, jets, turbines, and tanks while avidly reading books and listening to rock music. A hybrid of physicists and lyricists. They kept me breathless with admiration; to me they were the ‘salt’ of Kharkiv.

“One could bump into them anywhere — from a political rally to a literary soiree. Somehow they combined top-notch expertise with a nerve-fraying degree of irrational conduct, being absolutely unable to adjust to simple realities. Too bad, an increasingly small number of them are left among the living, which is the reason why they need to be valued even more.

“Second, the lumpens of Kharkiv — they deserve a separate description, with all those ex-plumbers now painting pictures, accountants drawing up campaign programs, and female factory workers turning into porno stars. There is a life story in each such case. Telling them would take too long, the more so that most Kharkivites are modest and reticent.

“Finally, there are Kharkiv’s muggers and thieves. One day these youngsters will inevitably flood the streets with the torrent of their unaccomplished passions and violence and will revamp them for the benefit of progress and their own subsequent evolution.”

In terms of the history of the arts, Kharkiv looks like a real Klondike. There have been the Burliuks, VAPLITE, Mikhailov, Limomov, etc.

“Indeed, Russian futurism developed in Kharkiv in the early 20th century. Khlebnikov, Mayakovsky, Aseyev, and Petnikov were closely associated with Kharkiv. Add to this the Red Renaissance of the 1920s and the literary works of the 1960s, when Kharkiv boasted residents such as Vasyl Mysyk and Borys Chychybabin. The same is true of the arts, music, and drama — suffice it to recall Les Kurbas. Even now we witness the emergence of a number of interesting, talented individuals.”

Why?

“Perhaps there is that genius of the place at work, but there are also all those subjective factors. For the past 200 years Kharkiv has remained a large university campus, a center of enlightenment. From what I know, we have over 200,000 college/university students, the greatest number in Ukraine. At one time a powerful cultural educational structure was established that keeps encouraging people to take up arts and sciences and attracting talent. Kharkiv University is one of the oldest in Ukraine; extremely interesting phenomena emerge and grow at this university at all times.”

A powerful intellectual environment usually produces its own myths. What are the most popular myths about Kharkiv?

“There are lots of interesting stories and concepts. Each person has his or her story to tell. For me the number one myth about Kharkiv is about it as the Ukrainian capital city. An ideal City of the Sun the Ukrainian communists tried to build in the 1920s, turning a typical gubernia town into an ideal communist city. This project was being carried out in various directions, ranging from the administrative to the cultural one. Alternatives were worked out for the benefit of Moscow and Kyiv, including architectural experiments, when they started building futurist constructions in Kharkiv, using an idealistic, somewhat utopian matrix: city districts for scholars, districts for blue-collar workers, and districts for artists.”

This is strongly reminiscent of Campanella.

“Right. A combination of medieval concepts and futuristic Utopianism. This is very interesting. One can only guess what would happen if Kharkiv retained its capital city status for another 20-25 years. But then the Second World War broke out. The same is true of intensifying cultural life. We have mentioned the Red Renaissance. It came out of nowhere. Kharkiv became the capital city of Soviet Ukraine in 1919, and there were no Ukrainian writers in it. They were brought to Kharkiv on a voluntary and forceful basis. The first of the intrepid handful included Sosiura, Elan-Blakytny, Yohansen, Khvyliovy, and Tychyna. Five to ten years later there were two, maybe three hundred of them. This was a remarkably intensive literary life; there were numerous publishing houses, editorial offices, literary and art roundtables, and a steady output of good literary works, written by authors forced to adopt an incubator mode. Then, suddenly, all this seemed to have taken root. It was as though Slobozhanshchyna had found fertile soil in Kharkiv — even if it did not seem Ukrainian at all.”

Suppose we visualize a city as a personality with a certain character and other traits. How would you describe your relationships with Kharkiv?

“I’m not sure about how Kharkiv feels about me, but I tend to regard this city as a cousin. Since moving in, I have become part of this city. I love it. I realize that all this is abstract verbiage, but I love returning to Kharkiv.”

What is Kharkiv all about? Is there any fitting metaphor?

“The Gorky Park, which I have mentioned. It was started by carefully planning the alleys. This required painstaking gardening work with a view to the distant future — and yet it seems to be an entertainment area designed for just this quick-passing festive occasion. This is what Kharkiv is all about: a combination of continuity and transience.”