Ivan Davydenko
- Ukraine, Poland, -
Born in 1988 in Żytomierz, Ukraine; Polish poet (Halal, 2022; zine Praca z cieniem [Working With Shadow], 2024); political commentator (podcast Jak zostać Ukraińcem [How to Become a Ukrainian], 2022; column Kącik wróżb i egzorcyzmów [Fortune Telling and Exorcism Corner], since 2024), editor of ten issues of an independent Magazyn Malkontenty in Lublin (2018-2022).
In 2023 he received the Silesius Wrocław Poetry Award in the category “Debut of the Year” for the volume Halal; in the same year he was recognized by the Artur Fryz National Literary Competition “Golden Medium of Poetry” for best debut book of poetry; he was nominated for the Stanisław Barańczak Grant as part of the Poznań Literary Award 2023.
He lives in Poland since 2012.
Ivan Davydenko, born in 1988, is a Ukrainian poet who has been living in Poland since 2012. He writes in Polish: he publishes the zine Malkontenty, collaborates as a columnist with Czas Kultury, and is connected to the literary and artistic scene in Lublin. His debut poetry collection Halal (published by papierwdole–Katalog Press, Ligota Mała–Dùn Èideann 2022) garnered significant attention from critics (as well as from non-professional readers) and earned him a reputation as a “quiet revolutionary.”
Davydenko’s poetry transplants elements of the Ukrainian literary tradition—its spoken, almost sung nature, pathos balanced with gentle irony, and existential realism—into contemporary Polish idioms. He combines narrative fluency with the limitations of a language acquired later in life.
The result can be electrifying, as the language in Halal continually lays linguistic “traps” for the reader, like in the poem Nic cię (“Nothing touches you / until / your sandals fall apart / and now / you explode”). A focus on everyday perspective, detailed imagery—often centered around food (the title refers to food prepared according to Islamic dietary laws; the cover, meanwhile, features a painting of chicken soup by Tomasz Kręcicki)—is constantly juxtaposed with reflections on existence.
The lyrical subject in Davydenko’s poems struggles with being out of place, with homelessness and a lack of clear identity (“I haven’t / lived / through any stories / I made / everything up” from the poem *** [lying...]), but he reports on his attempts to describe (and live through) reality using simple, sometimes harsh, sometimes tender metaphors:
“let’s lie in bed let’s dream of breathlessness / and the screams of figurines no one will take home // their faces will fade in the scent of fryer oil / what a shame / we’re out of coupons” (Szklana sobótka).
Afterimages of religious iconography (“the laughter of candles in church,” confessional litanies) blend with scraps of reportage from the city’s dirty corners (“pigeons at the bus stop eating snow / with undigested kebab meat” from the poem Ożywienie relacji), while longing for closeness and subtle eroticism intertwine with images of a “piss-soaked crotch” and raucous exclamations like in the poem Czemu lecisz ze mną w chuja noc (“Why are you fucking with me tonight?”).
One could say we are presented with a skillfully composed collage poem, energetically juggling genres (from elegy to political verse, from gnomic fragments to rhythmic quasi-songs), which—importantly—delivers the pleasure of reading, only to finally catch in the throat:
“I stand crosswise // like cat hairballs / the city’s throat / spits out others, / but not me” (Łzy mi pociekli).
Still, collage is not the only hallmark of Davydenko’s poetics. A striking feature from the very first read is the poet’s fondness for diminutives and affectionate forms: sometimes it feels like a poem exists just to let “puszynki, sierścinki” (little fuzzies), “rybki, kiełbaski” (little fish, little sausages), “piórko, naczynko” (little feather, little dish), “cebulka, papryczka” (little onion, little pepper), or “silniczek i masełko” (little engine and butter) resonate—often doubled, transformed, melodically emphasized.
Though the lyrical subject claims, “language was a cold knife I’ve only ever played with” (Bismillah), the war perspective that emerges in some poems (in more or less personal tones) more often activates grotesque poetics rather than heroic pathos:
“I wanted / to write a poem / about the war / send it to a magazine / get some cash / go back for a day / to my old haunts / have a drink with my sister / in the shittiest dive / go with my brother-in-law / to the frog world exhibition” (Chciałem napisać wiersz o wojnie).
Halal received a slew of accolades—the Wrocław Silesius Poetry Award for best debut, the Kutno Golden Mean of Poetry award, a nomination for the Stanisław Barańczak Scholarship under the Poznań Literary Award—as well as numerous reviews and analyses, and enthusiastic audience reactions. One reason for this is that Ivan Davydenko designed his collection in a way that runs counter to trends promoting hermeticism and formal experimentation, yet he did not give up innovation or play with reader expectations.
The collection’s refreshing idiom would not be as effective without its clever balance between the personal and political, the “private” language and the broader context. Ultimately, though, these distinctions fade:
“Withered sea buckthorn by the tracks / stripped by birds / by children / by the homeless / lisps: // eat the rich” (To all who regained not dignity but a shoebox burial).
Poetry
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Tears Ran Down My Face / Łzy mi pociekli
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Junkfood / Junkfood
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Archanga / Arczanga
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Post-colonialism / Post-kolonializm
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Nothing has / Nic cię
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Foccacia / Focaccia
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Glass Midsummer / Szklana sobótka
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A Radical Moment / Radykalny moment
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Seeing a Doctor / Chodzić do lekarza
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I Wanted to Write a Poem About War / Chciałem napisać wiersz o wojnie
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Bismillah / Bismillah
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[For Forty Years I Was Scuttling Around Town] / [Czterdzieści lat dyrdałem po mieście]
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Étude for Two Clenched Fists / Etiuda na dwie zaciśnięte pięści
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To Myself / Na siebie
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Working With Shadow / Praca z cieniem
