Ivan Bunin photo

Ivan Bunin

Ivan Alekseyevich Bunin (Russian: Иван Алексеевич Бунин) was the first Russian writer to win the Nobel Prize for Literature. He was noted for the strict artistry with which he carried on the classical Russian traditions in the writing of prose and poetry. The texture of his poems and stories, sometimes referred to as "Bunin brocade", is considered to be one of the richest in the language.

Best known for his short novels The Village (1910) and Dry Valley (1912), his autobiographical novel The Life of Arseniev (1933, 1939), the book of short stories Dark Avenues (1946) and his 1917–1918 diary ( Cursed Days, 1926), Bunin was a revered figure among anti-communist White emigres, European critics, and many of his fellow writers, who viewed him as a true heir to the tradition of realism in Russian literature established by Leo Tolstoy and Anton Chekhov.

He died November 8, 1953 in Paris.


“On the second and the third night there was again a ball -- this time in mid-ocean, during a furious storm sweeping over the ocean, which roared like a funeral mass and rolled up mountainous seas fringed with mourning silvery foam. The Devil, who from the rocks of Gibraltar, the stony gateway of two worlds, watched the ship vanish into night and storm, could hardly distinguish from behind the snow the innumerable fiery eyes of the ship. The Devil was as huge as a cliff, but the ship was even bigger, a many-storied, many-stacked giant, created by the arrogance of the New Man with his ancient heart.”
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“Of! Korkunç bir şey,diye söylendi kel kafasını eğerek. Korkunç olanın ne olduğunu ne anlamaya çalıştı ne de üstünde düşündü.Sonra alışkanlıkla ve dikkatle eklem yerleri damla hastalığından bozulmuş kısa parmaklarına ve badem pembesi iri,çıkıntılı turnaklarına baktı ve emin olarak "korkunç" diye yineledi. (Sanfransiskolu Adam adlı öyküsünden)”
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“Ve yine her zamanki gibi,ince,çevik kiralık sevgililer alevlerin parıltısı,ipekler,elmaslar ve açık kadın omuzları arasında kıvrılıyor ve dans ediyordu.(San Fransiskolu Adam adlı öyküden)”
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“Kürtler oldukça yabani bir millet...Sabahtan akşama kadar tüm günlerini nerdeyse uyuyarak geçiriyorlardı.Gürcüler ise ya türkü saylüyor ya da arkaya doğru kolayca savrulan geniş kollu elbiseleriyle hoplayarak zıplayarak dans ediyor elleriyle tempo tutarak kalabalığın içinde süzülüyor,birbirlerine kur yapıyorlardı.( Gençlik ve Yaşlılık öyküsünden)”
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“Yalınayaktı,eteğinin içine soktuğu yarım kollu gömleğini giymişti.Gömleğin altından dipdiri memeleri belli oluyordu.Geniş kesilmiş yakasından omuzları ve boynu görünüyordu.Sarı eşarpla bağlı başından, hem çocuksu hem de kadınsı çıplak ayaklarına kadar herşeyi öyle güzeldi ki onu şimdiye kadar hep süslenmiş gören Mitya bu yalın güzellik karşısında hayranlık duymaktan kendini alamadı.(Mitya'nın Aşkı Öyküsünden)”
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“Bahçenizdeki kulube var ya...İşte oraya gelirim.Yalnız beni aldatmaya kalkmayın bedavaya olmaz. Alyonka gülümseyen gözleriyle Mitya'ya bakarak: Burası Moskova değil, diye ekledi.Orda kadınlar üste para veriyorlarmış... (Mitya'nın Aşkı öyküsünden)”
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“Kadınlarda bulunan güzellik,zerafet,anlaşılmazlık,olağanüsütülük, her şey herşey bu fotoğrafta vardı.Ve saf,kışkırırtıcı bakışlar...Bu yakın olduğu kadar uzak,yaşamın sonsuz mutluluğunu tattırdıktan ssonra kendini çeken ve belki de kendini şimdi utanmazsa aldatan varlığın bakışı bitmek bilmez bir gülümseyişle parlıyordu. (Mitya'nın Aşkı Öyküsünden)”
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“The boats bumped against the side of the ship, the sailors and passengers shouted lustily, and somewhere a child, as if crushed to death, choked itself with screaming. The damp wind blew through the doors, and outside on the sea, from a reeling boat which showed the flag of the Hotel Royal, a fellow with guttural French exaggeration yelled unceasingly : '* Rrroy-al ! Hotel Rrroy-al ! " intending to lure passengers aboard his craft. Then the Gentleman from San Francisco, feeling, as he ought to have felt, quite an old man, thought with anguish and spite of all these " Royals," " Splendids,' 1 " Excelsiors," and of these greedy, good-for-nothing, garlic-stinking fellows called Italians. Once, during a halt, on opening his eyes and rising from the sofa he saw under the rocky cliff-curtain of the coast a heap of such miserable stone hovels, all musty and mouldy, stuck on top of one another by the very water, among the boats, and the rags of all sorts, tin cans and brown fishing-nets, and,remembering that this was the very Italy he had come to enjoy, he was seized with despair. . .”
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“Having shaved, washed, and dexterously arranged several artificial teeth, standing in front of the mirror, he moistened his silver-mounted brushes and plastered the remains of his thick pearly hair on his swarthy yellow skull. He drew on to his strong old body, with its abdomen protuberant from excessive good living, his cream-colored silk underwear, put black silk socks and patent-leather slippers on his flat-footed feet. He put sleeve-links in the shining cuffs of his snow-white shirt, and bending forward so that his shirt front bulged out, he arranged his trousers that were pulled up high by his silk braces, and began to torture himself, putting his collar-stud through the stiff collar. The floor was still rocking beneath him, the tips of his fingers hurt, the stud at moments pinched the flabby skin in the recess under his Adam's apple, but he persisted, and at last, with eyes all strained and face dove-blue from the over-tight collar that enclosed his throat, he finished the business and sat down exhausted in front of the pier glass, which reflected the whole of him, and repeated him in all the other mirrors." It is awful ! " he muttered, dropping his strong, bald head, but without trying to understand or to know what was awful. Then, with habitual careful attention examining his gouty-jointed short fingers and large, convex, almond-shaped finger-nails, he repeated : " It is awful. . . .”
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“The middle of the 'Atlantis' the warm, luxurious cabins,ining-rooms, halls, shed light and joy, buzzed with the chatter of an elegant crowd, was fragrant with fresh flowers, and quivered with the sounds of a string orchestra. And again amidst that crowd, amidst the brilliance of lights, silks, diamonds, and bare feminine shoulders, a slim and supple pair of hired lovers painfully writhed and at moments convulsively clashed. A sinfully discreet, pretty girl with lowered lashes and hair innocently dressed, and a tallish young man with black hair looking as if it were glued on, pale with powder, and wearing the most elegant patent-leather shoes and a narrow, long-tailed dress coat, a beau resembling an enormous leech. And no one knew that this couple had long since grown weary of shamly tormenting themselves with their beatific love-tortures, to the sound of bawdy-sad music ; nor did any one know of that thing which lay deep, deep below at the very bottom of the dark hold, near the gloomy and sultry bowels of the ship that was so gravely overcoming the darkness, the ocean, the blizzard.”
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