Winter, 1915. Seven men step out of a column of sixty thousand and sit down in the snow.
They have no food, no fire, and no road back. Ahead of them the file of prisoners crawls on into the fog like a great trampled worm.
A Ukrainian doctor. A Hungarian. A Pole. A young Serb. An Austrian lieutenant who is blind and carries a violin. A man who has forgotten his own name.
What happens on that mountain over one day and one night - the ball they invent to keep from freezing, the blind man who feeds his violin to the fire, the lot drawn to decide which of them must die so that the rest may eat, and what is said when the moment comes - Osyp Turiansky did not invent. He was one of the men.
Driven across the Albanian mountains with the retreating Serbian army in the winter of 1915, he was one of roughly fifteen thousand prisoners who came out alive. Forty-five thousand did not. He wrote the book, he said, so that he would not lose his mind.
Published in Vienna in 1921 and little read in English since, this is unlike anything else the First World War produced. Turiansky called it a picture from the abyss: not a novel but a novella-poem, in which narration breaks into verse, sentences shorten to the length of a breath, and rows of dots stand where language gives out. It is testimony written as art - and at the very edge of what human beings can do to one another, it refuses to become either a horror story or a sermon.
At the centre of it a blind man who has lost everything says four words that the rest of the book is built to earn: There is a sun in life.
This annotated edition restores the 1921 first edition entire - the subtitle later printings dropped, the dedication, the author's portrait, the four plates, and Robert Plen's contemporary essay - with an introduction, a glossary, and notes throughout on the history, the songs and rituals, and the choices behind every difficult line.
Translated and annotated by Serhii Sakal.
"synopsis" may belong to another edition of this title.
Osyp Turiansky (1880-1933) was born in the village of Ohliadiv in Austrian Galicia and took a doctorate in philosophy at Vienna in 1907. He was teaching at the gymnasium in Przemyśl when the First World War began. Conscripted as an Austro-Hungarian subject and sent to the Serbian front, he was taken prisoner in 1915; that winter the retreating Serbian army drove its prisoners across the mountains of northern Albania, and of the sixty thousand men he counts, forty-five thousand died. He wrote Beyond the Limits of Pain in 1917, in Italian internment, and published it in Vienna in 1921. He later directed gymnasia in Yavoriv and Drohobych, taught in Lviv, and died there on 28 March 1933.
Serhii Sakal was born in Ukraine in 1987 and lives in the United States. He read the Ukrainian classics at school, as everyone there does, and came back to them as an adult in a country where they had not been read. His previous translations are Taras Shevchenko's The Artist and Lesya Ukrainka's The Forest Song.
"About this title" may belong to another edition of this title.
Seller: Grand Eagle Retail, Bensenville, IL, U.S.A.
Paperback. Condition: new. Paperback. Winter, 1915. Seven men step out of a column of sixty thousand and sit down in the snow.They have no food, no fire, and no road back. Ahead of them the file of prisoners crawls on into the fog like a great trampled worm.A Ukrainian doctor. A Hungarian. A Pole. A young Serb. An Austrian lieutenant who is blind and carries a violin. A man who has forgotten his own name.What happens on that mountain over one day and one night - the ball they invent to keep from freezing, the blind man who feeds his violin to the fire, the lot drawn to decide which of them must die so that the rest may eat, and what is said when the moment comes - Osyp Turiansky did not invent. He was one of the men.Driven across the Albanian mountains with the retreating Serbian army in the winter of 1915, he was one of roughly fifteen thousand prisoners who came out alive. Forty-five thousand did not. He wrote the book, he said, so that he would not lose his mind.Published in Vienna in 1921 and little read in English since, this is unlike anything else the First World War produced. Turiansky called it a picture from the abyss: not a novel but a novella-poem, in which narration breaks into verse, sentences shorten to the length of a breath, and rows of dots stand where language gives out. It is testimony written as art - and at the very edge of what human beings can do to one another, it refuses to become either a horror story or a sermon.At the centre of it a blind man who has lost everything says four words that the rest of the book is built to earn: There is a sun in life.This annotated edition restores the 1921 first edition entire - the subtitle later printings dropped, the dedication, the author's portrait, the four plates, and Robert Plen's contemporary essay - with an introduction, a glossary, and notes throughout on the history, the songs and rituals, and the choices behind every difficult line.Translated and annotated by Serhii Sakal. Winter, 1915. Seven prisoners of war sit down in the Albanian snow with no food, no fire and no road back. Osyp Turiansky was one of them, and one of the few who came back. An annotated edition of the 1921 novella-poem. This item is printed on demand. Shipping may be from multiple locations in the US or from the UK, depending on stock availability. Seller Inventory # 9798240847684
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Paperback. Condition: new. Paperback. Winter, 1915. Seven men step out of a column of sixty thousand and sit down in the snow.They have no food, no fire, and no road back. Ahead of them the file of prisoners crawls on into the fog like a great trampled worm.A Ukrainian doctor. A Hungarian. A Pole. A young Serb. An Austrian lieutenant who is blind and carries a violin. A man who has forgotten his own name.What happens on that mountain over one day and one night - the ball they invent to keep from freezing, the blind man who feeds his violin to the fire, the lot drawn to decide which of them must die so that the rest may eat, and what is said when the moment comes - Osyp Turiansky did not invent. He was one of the men.Driven across the Albanian mountains with the retreating Serbian army in the winter of 1915, he was one of roughly fifteen thousand prisoners who came out alive. Forty-five thousand did not. He wrote the book, he said, so that he would not lose his mind.Published in Vienna in 1921 and little read in English since, this is unlike anything else the First World War produced. Turiansky called it a picture from the abyss: not a novel but a novella-poem, in which narration breaks into verse, sentences shorten to the length of a breath, and rows of dots stand where language gives out. It is testimony written as art - and at the very edge of what human beings can do to one another, it refuses to become either a horror story or a sermon.At the centre of it a blind man who has lost everything says four words that the rest of the book is built to earn: There is a sun in life.This annotated edition restores the 1921 first edition entire - the subtitle later printings dropped, the dedication, the author's portrait, the four plates, and Robert Plen's contemporary essay - with an introduction, a glossary, and notes throughout on the history, the songs and rituals, and the choices behind every difficult line.Translated and annotated by Serhii Sakal. Winter, 1915. Seven prisoners of war sit down in the Albanian snow with no food, no fire and no road back. Osyp Turiansky was one of them, and one of the few who came back. An annotated edition of the 1921 novella-poem. This item is printed on demand. Shipping may be from our Sydney, NSW warehouse or from our UK or US warehouse, depending on stock availability. Seller Inventory # 9798240847684
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Taschenbuch. Condition: Neu. nach der Bestellung gedruckt Neuware - Printed after ordering - Winter, 1915. Seven men step out of a column of sixty thousand and sit down in the snow.They have no food, no fire, and no road back. Ahead of them the file of prisoners crawls on into the fog like a great trampled worm.A Ukrainian doctor. A Hungarian. A Pole. A young Serb. An Austrian lieutenant who is blind and carries a violin. A man who has forgotten his own name.What happens on that mountain over one day and one night - the ball they invent to keep from freezing, the blind man who feeds his violin to the fire, the lot drawn to decide which of them must die so that the rest may eat, and what is said when the moment comes - Osyp Turiansky did not invent. He was one of the men.Driven across the Albanian mountains with the retreating Serbian army in the winter of 1915, he was one of roughly fifteen thousand prisoners who came out alive. Forty-five thousand did not. He wrote the book, he said, so that he would not lose his mind.Published in Vienna in 1921 and little read in English since, this is unlike anything else the First World War produced. Turiansky called it a picture from the abyss: not a novel but a novella-poem, in which narration breaks into verse, sentences shorten to the length of a breath, and rows of dots stand where language gives out. It is testimony written as art - and at the very edge of what human beings can do to one another, it refuses to become either a horror story or a sermon.At the centre of it a blind man who has lost everything says four words that the rest of the book is built to earn: There is a sun in life.This annotated edition restores the 1921 first edition entire - the subtitle later printings dropped, the dedication, the author's portrait, the four plates, and Robert Plen's contemporary essay - with an introduction, a glossary, and notes throughout on the history, the songs and rituals, and the choices behind every difficult line.Translated and annotated by Serhii Sakal. Seller Inventory # 9798240847684
Seller: CitiRetail, Stevenage, United Kingdom
Paperback. Condition: new. Paperback. Winter, 1915. Seven men step out of a column of sixty thousand and sit down in the snow.They have no food, no fire, and no road back. Ahead of them the file of prisoners crawls on into the fog like a great trampled worm.A Ukrainian doctor. A Hungarian. A Pole. A young Serb. An Austrian lieutenant who is blind and carries a violin. A man who has forgotten his own name.What happens on that mountain over one day and one night - the ball they invent to keep from freezing, the blind man who feeds his violin to the fire, the lot drawn to decide which of them must die so that the rest may eat, and what is said when the moment comes - Osyp Turiansky did not invent. He was one of the men.Driven across the Albanian mountains with the retreating Serbian army in the winter of 1915, he was one of roughly fifteen thousand prisoners who came out alive. Forty-five thousand did not. He wrote the book, he said, so that he would not lose his mind.Published in Vienna in 1921 and little read in English since, this is unlike anything else the First World War produced. Turiansky called it a picture from the abyss: not a novel but a novella-poem, in which narration breaks into verse, sentences shorten to the length of a breath, and rows of dots stand where language gives out. It is testimony written as art - and at the very edge of what human beings can do to one another, it refuses to become either a horror story or a sermon.At the centre of it a blind man who has lost everything says four words that the rest of the book is built to earn: There is a sun in life.This annotated edition restores the 1921 first edition entire - the subtitle later printings dropped, the dedication, the author's portrait, the four plates, and Robert Plen's contemporary essay - with an introduction, a glossary, and notes throughout on the history, the songs and rituals, and the choices behind every difficult line.Translated and annotated by Serhii Sakal. Winter, 1915. Seven prisoners of war sit down in the Albanian snow with no food, no fire and no road back. Osyp Turiansky was one of them, and one of the few who came back. An annotated edition of the 1921 novella-poem. This item is printed on demand. Shipping may be from our UK warehouse or from our Australian or US warehouses, depending on stock availability. Seller Inventory # 9798240847684
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Seller: preigu, Osnabrück, Germany
Taschenbuch. Condition: Neu. Beyond the Limits of Pain | A Picture from the Abyss | Osyp Turiansky | Taschenbuch | Englisch | 2026 | Serhii Sakal | EAN 9798240847684 | Verantwortliche Person für die EU: Libri GmbH, Europaallee 1, 36244 Bad Hersfeld, gpsr[at]libri[dot]de | Anbieter: preigu Print on Demand. Seller Inventory # 136825796