Iryna, in your penultimate collection, “Jak se líčit v nemoci“—which was nominated for the Magnesia Litera Award and won the Literary Critics’ Award—you revisit, among other things, the traumas of war and the experience of serious illness. Now your new collection, “Propaganda“, is being published. What themes do you explore in it, and how does it differ from your previous book?
"Propaganda" is a word we use when talking about politics and social issues. That is exactly what this collection is about, and so it can be said that it follows on from the previous book, where one of the central ideas was that the personal is political. The poems in “Propaganda” were written between 2023 and 2025 and were mostly reactions to very specific events and situations, whether social or from personal life.
Do you see “Propaganda“ as an activist book?
It’s socially engaged poetry, and I consider it a form of activism through art. I stand by that and don’t shy away from it, even though I sometimes hear that the word “activist” isn’t appealing to Czech citizens. The word “propaganda” probably isn’t either, but I wanted to play with that concept. I want to show that I also have something to promote—for example, my values or reflections on uncomfortable topics.
But the book also has a second part that shifts “propaganda” to the realm of personal experiences, particularly erotic ones. And more precisely—queer eroticism. So I’m actually doing what traditionalists and right-wing radicals would call “promoting gender ideology,” “gay propaganda,” or “the depravity of the corrupt West.” Such rhetoric fascinates me, and fighting against it with a straight face is simply impossible.
“Jak se líčit v nemoci“ is set to be published in German. What stage is the translation currently in, and when is it expected to be released? How do you explain the book’s popularity abroad?
The book will be published at the end of summer, and work on the translation is currently underway. The visual design is already known, however—it will be essentially identical to the Czech edition. Together with the publisher, we are preparing promotional materials for the Leipzig Book Fair; these will be simple yet beautiful fold-out leaflets with information about the book.
I owe the interest abroad to the Literary Critics’ Award and the Czech Literary Center, which promote titles that have gained recognition in the Czech Republic. In two out of four cases, the credit for the translation goes to my translators, who saw the book’s potential after reading it. I am also aware of that potential. These are themes that can be relatively easily transferred to the context of another country. The form also helps, especially the presence of diary entries. Genres such as confessional poetry and autofiction in prose are now very popular on the Western literary scene, especially among readers.
I also realize that my background—having moved to another country and begun writing in a new language—may be of interest to the audience. Moreover, I am an author from Ukraine. I’m not judging whether this is good or bad, but it is true that nowadays an author’s background can add value to their work—and sometimes diminish it.
The body and physicality are very much present in your poetry, often in a very direct, even unflinching way. Do you ever feel vulnerable when you “put yourself out there” like that in front of strangers? Or can it actually be liberating?
I felt vulnerable both before the release of “Jak se líčit v nemoci“and “Propaganda“. I was worried whether I was doing the right thing for myself by writing about such personal and physical topics. With the first book, it was especially challenging because it dealt with illness and, at times, purely physical suffering. I was afraid of insensitive questions people might ask me after its release.
Some questions—especially in media interviews—actually surprised me with their insensitivity. I used to send them to a friend and ask if she thought they were insensitive too. Sometimes I felt like I couldn’t adequately judge what was still okay and what wasn’t. Over time, however, I learned to answer anything in a way that didn’t make me feel hurt—so sometimes I answer a bit harshly and in a way that makes the interviewer uncomfortable. That’s precisely where the liberation lay, which I now feel in connection with “Propaganda” as well.
You studied theoretical physics. Are you still involved in science? Does the theme of science find its way into your literary work in any way? Have you ever been tempted to poeticize science?
No, just as I’ve never been tempted to “scientize” poetry. These two worlds intersect in the process of my literary work, but not in the texts themselves. I’m able to work systematically, reflect on my creative process, notice certain patterns, and plan. That in itself strikes me as quite a scientific approach.
I’m not currently involved in science, but I use my knowledge to explain various interesting physics concepts to my friends. People are really interested in things like Schrödinger’s cat, black holes, or the fact that the universe is constantly expanding. Sometimes, though, I’ve also explained how magnetic resonance imaging or a cell phone signal works. Science has always interested me and always will.
In “Jak se líčit v nemoci“, you address a number of very painful experiences. Did you write those pieces while you were going through them, or rather with the benefit of hindsight? And isn’t revisiting these topics sometimes retraumatizing for you?
It isn’t retraumatizing, perhaps because it wasn’t a single event, but rather an ongoing process that I was able to reflect on as it unfolded. Or perhaps because I still don’t feel like it’s all behind me. In a way, I’m still living through it: the war is still ongoing, and in 2022 I was diagnosed with depression, which was later reclassified as an anxiety-depressive disorder. However, this diagnosis is not solely the result of the war and the illness I’ve experienced. Added to this is significant minority stress—I am a migrant, I am queer, and I live in a world and on a continent where fascism is slowly blossoming once again. The painful experience continues.
And what does the title actually mean: are we supposed to “put on a face” when we’re sick? Can makeup hide what we’re going through—or is it more of a crutch that can help us get through a difficult situation? How did the title come about?
It’s a line from a poem in the collection. The working title, however, was “I Don’t Put on a Face“, because I wanted to tie in with my previous collection, “Putting on a Face”. And I think I succeeded in doing so anyway. Bizarre fact: the description at one online bookstore says that the book thoroughly explains how to properly apply makeup while sick. But I think the book actually shows the opposite. It’s true that you can use a crutch, but you can’t hide the crutch itself. Of course, I mean this metaphorically—a crutch can also be a smile or a manner of behavior that hides one’s true feelings.
What do you personally enjoy reading in contemporary Czech poetry, and what inspires you? Is it the young poets you accompanied to a recent event in Berlin?
I’m inspired by how dynamic the poetry scene is in the Czech Republic. I enjoy following emerging authors, though they don’t necessarily have to be queer. It wasn’t until I was sitting in the hall listening to them that I realized most of those who read in Berlin were queer. So it wasn’t intentional. The concept of that evening was to introduce the German audience to Czech poets who have so far published only their first collection.
What do you think shouldn’t get lost in today’s highly competitive environment—whether it’s authorship, specific books, or a particular style of writing?
A sense of belonging and community definitely shouldn’t get lost. The poetry scene isn’t as competitive as the prose scene. What is there to compete for, anyway? The few thousand the publisher gives you for copyright? A two-thousand-crown honorarium including travel expenses? Participation in a free one-hour interview? We’re more like allies in the unfortunate situation of an underfunded cultural landscape than competitors. Things have certainly changed a bit now thanks to the Czechia 2026 project and the upcoming Frankfurt Book Fair. As a community and a literary circle, we naturally expect the selection committee to make decisions that will benefit the Czech literary scene and showcase the diversity of its personalities and themes. But this isn’t about competition; rather, it’s about shared concerns and a bit of mistrust.
Photo: Tereza Škoulová, Tomáš Vodňanský
The interview with Iryna Zahladko was conducted by Karolína Tomečková.