I'm glad to hear it...all of it!
Now for the odd proviso...be reminded that there are two distinct Gorkys: pre-revolutionary and post-revolutionary. It's a simple matter of establishing publication dates, but it can be a bit of fun trying to determine when (approximately) he was writing simply from the prose itself, without looking at dates. Personally, I find "pre" wonderful, "post" largely disappointing, occasionally repulsive. It's not entirely a matter of politics, more a matter of spirit. When Gorky 'went political' he sold his soul and the writing, to put it gently, suffers.
About poetry in translation we are in general agreement. I do a lot of work translating and I am, at times, concerned about losing good poet/friends because of it. If their English were better, they might legitimately wonder who had written the verse now bearing their names in Latin script. Still, on occasion, something truly outstanding rises up from the muck and the Hayward/Kunitz Akhmatova selection is one of those occasions.
Most renderings of Pushkin, Blok (my fave), Esenin (ok, another fave), Brodsky (including his 'own' translations, hah!), Tsvetaeva, and that long-suffering Pasternak, i.t.d., are simply dreadful. Our lives are rendered worse for having read them. Moments never to be recaptured. (The preceding sentences employ understatement.) But this Akhmatova, I am stunned: it is that good. If it turns out for you that there is no copy available, I will send you mine somehow. I think you MUST - ok, that's a word - read it. Akhmatova is one of those rare cases when the vocable 'genius' is not undeserved.
In Russian, she writes almost like a villager with these primitive cadences that shatter your heart. Tsarist era, Soviet era, internal exile era - it doesn't matter: the voice is divine. Besides, how can you deny me? How many American males do you know who read, and weep for, dead Russian female poets? It has to count for something! (She is - ahem - by the way, Ukrainian.)
A digression: I have been blessed to read a good deal of Shakespeare in Ukrainian. I suppose it's like anything: there is good and not good. Andrukovych's Ukrainian "Hamlet" is wonderful. Pasternak's - again, Hamlet - translation is an example one of those almost mythical instances of divine inspiration. Russians swear - ok, they don't really, but almost - that Pasternak prefigures Shakespeare (we won't get into the space-time continuum complications involved). The Kozintsev film of the same features the Pasternak translation, Anastasiya Vertinskaya as my most beloved ever Ophelia (she was also brilliant in Bondarchuk's "War & Peace"), Smoktunovsky as Hamlet and a Shostakovich score to boot! All of that is just to say, poetry in translation is often a risky venture, but when it works, we need to read, watch, and inwardly digest it. :)
So now you feel guilty.
When I gave real thought to you and - as I imagine - your circumstances, the Kemal just jumped out at me. He makes me want to wander Turkey more, put my life at risk. And, yes, I think he recommends himself to you, perhaps to all of us, with greater force than Pamuk, though I do enjoy Pamuk with the exception of that awful, immense, most recent novel whose title escapes me.
The Americans are honest and have little to do with the frenetic (I'm trying to be kind and don't want to write 'shallow' but now have done just that) concerns of the up-and-comers like Franzen, Eggers, and Foer. So I'm painting with a broad brush as those writers have something to offer, but I snobbily prefer, as Queen Gertrude jibed Polonius, "more matter, less art." So you got stuck with Robinson and Enger!
And finally Klima. Internal, intellectual, absurd, dyspnoeic settings and rarely any answers, but I love him. And would completely understand if you did not.
On my (your) list, I'm about a quarter of the way through the Kehlmann. It was a coin toss between that and the Maugham!