Sunday, May 9, 2021
Mark’s Text Terminal has undergone a number of major changes during the COVID19 pandemic while the author has been unemployed. The blog is now more searchable while at the same time fewer, and more descriptive (I hope) categories and compound tags serve to guide you toward what you seek. If you’re looking for the original COVID 19 at Mark’s Text Terminal post that was previously pinned here, you’ll find it here. If you have any questions about the material you find here, leave a comment with contact information (all comments on the blog require my approval, so you won’t be exposing your email address to the open Internet; I’ll delete your comment after I take your contact information from it) and I’ll get back to you. The only other change here is that I deleted the Twitter account associated with this blog: Twitter, for reasons that escape me, suspended my account, and I just don’t care enough about it to work at resolving whatever caused the suspension.
Stay safe, be well, and let’s all get back to educating children.
“Gennady Nikolaevich Aigi: (1934-2006) Chuvash poet and translator. Aigi published six collections of poetry in his native Chuvash language in the period 1958-1988, and several translations into Russian. Later, however, he was only able to publish poems in Russian abroad, in Stikhi, 1954-71 (Poems, 1975) and the two-volume Otmechannaia zima (The Naked Winter, 1982). Aigi worked on various translation projects from the mid-1960s until the early 1980s. His best-known anthologies of translations into Chuvash include works of the French poets (1968) and the poets of Hungary (1974). In 1992, an English-language edition of Chuvash poems selected by Aigi—An Anthology of Chuvash Poetry—appeared in the West. Since the onset of Perestroika, Aigi’s poetry in Russian has once again been officially published in Russia—Zdes (Here, 1991) and Teper vsegda snega (Now There Is Always Snow, 1991). Aigi writes in free verse and searches for new means of expression to embody his vision; he sees the world as broken apart and composed of isolated images, and his metaphors are often abstract. Because his work can be obscure, he sometimes provides his own commentary.”
Excerpted from: Murphy, Bruce, ed. Benet’s Reader’s Encyclopedia, Fourth Edition. New York: Harper Collins, 1996.