May 24 Joseph Brodsky would have turned 70 years

[Vladimir]

Yesterday, the culture-K showed a documentary about Brodsky - are off-screen interviews with the visuals of the chronicles and photographs. At the end of Brodsky Brodsky asked whether he believed in superstitions. In response: "No, I'm not superstitious, although most trouble I had happened in late January." The conversation ends. And the final credits: "Joseph Brodsky died on January 28, 1996.

[Игорь Гурьев]

Сообщение от Vladimir

"Joseph Brodsky died on January 28, 1996".

Exactly 10 years after the explosion of Challenger. On the same day.

[ранжер]

http://malutka-du.livejournal.com/



Brodsky as a mirror of Russian provincialism

Nerve, essence, core, existence, the quintessence of Brodsky - provincialism. More precisely - the ideology, attitude and outlook of provincialism.

Brodsky - more than a poet. He is the leader and ideologist of the whole trend in modern culture - provincialism.

Actually, the fact that he was born in the provincial city of Leningrad, spoke for himself. And even could not continue.

For cultural Muscovite is impossible to imagine a more provincial town, embodied the whole ideology of provincialism than "Peter".

Leningrad became hopelessly settling the province as lost its status as capital. Deteriorated quickly, did not last a few months.

Brodsky and a team of associates from his generation understood, in what turned out to be a dump. Therefore set ourselves the task of turning their own inferiority and uebischnost in celebration of the Nobel Prize.

Possible.

How?

I had to try.

The team Brodsky beautifully presented, that there is a huge untilled field - endless Sewer-USSR superpower - from Kaliningrad through Kiev, and Asia to Vladivostok. Hated stain that can not be removed, looked Moscow - "capital", where in contrast to the steel oblivion with might and main seething intellectual metaphysical life.

The contradictions between capital (including cultural) life and provincial were glaring, glaring. Especially with regard to modern culture. In general, Peter had no idea who this Mamleev. Anyway anything have no idea.

Brodsky understand that meddling in Moscow, and even more so to win it for the poet to his level - meaningless. The boy from the provinces too tough capital bison. Cultural Space of Moscow densely occupied taken lightly geniuses. From Gubanov Mamleeva, Zvereva, Rabin, Limonov to Gladilina-Aksenova-Yevtushenko. Then - everywhere, in every apartment (basement, attic, in the boiler room, lifterskoy) - for the prophet, and not with the provincial, and with the Capital mentality. Brodsky was aware that he is not Suvorov, to take an impregnable fortress.

For the team Brodsky had no other options, as do the truly titanic work ideologically to seize anything that is not Moscow - simply speaking province, to become a leader in the periphery, to compile and build an absolute ideology of inferiority, and a banner proclaiming himself the leader of the fringe, but - with audacious oriented NOBEL PRIZE.

No sooner said than done.

Brodsky as a born accountant sat down and counted how and what to write and do to become (HAVE THE RIGHT to position themselves) as an ideology, an alternative Moscow avant-garde.

It is clear that Moscow has always been weak on intelligence. Well, what of us "intellectuals". More so - in the 60's - 70's. We were - shamans, accusers, heralds, prophets, holy fools.

Brodsky knew that to win you need only to contrast the capital irrationalism - the strict classical rationalism, dressed in a form of "ritmizirovannoy, zombiruyuschey erudition" - as an endless postmodern play on words, images, concepts, categories and meanings. What a postmodern, non-stop.

People shavaet, because literature teacher from Ryazan, reading Gubanova or Mamleeva not sleep at night. It is therefore appropriate to offer her a smart, full of metaphors, but absolutely distilled to poetry.

Brodsky's brilliant invention was ideal bait for the defective part of intellectuals - who are not read by the forces of "terrible", and prefer to solve "puzzles" and "crossword".

What to invite friends brighten leisure, prepariruya someone unowned dead or at worst, to do group sex with invited homeless people, where the "ethical" and decent play puzzle type of Rubik's cube.

The main thing - absolutely sterile and safe for women and children's psyche and at the same time creates a simulation of mental activity.

Explain the popularity. Today the place is competently Brodsky D. Bykov. It is absolutely equal and consubstantial with him a literary figure of all Hypostases. Is that "his" NOBEL PRIZE got Brodsky. But no one doubts that he will get a million other prizes, which eventually will reduce the balance.

By the way, inexplicable attraction and love for Venice Brodsky explained it was his undying, animals provincialism. By that time, as Brodsky arrived in Venice, the city, like the rest of Europe, has become a hopeless and the province of garbage. A sedimentation "former" city in Europe is impossible to imagine. Naturally, the passion for Venice Brodsky once again proved that he is - a singer and ideologist PROVINCE in the most wretched of its incarnations. In the passion of Brodsky to Venice embodies its complex provincial capitals in panic fearing their violent cultural and artistic life.

Even as I was told, the poet was buried at a dump, which he was immensely pleased to advance.

Brodsky feat that in his work he has compiled and accumulated all the quintessence of provincial thinking, presented in contemporary culture, to justify the existence Provincialism Ideology, has given its highest grandeur and brilliance of intellect, and finally got the idea for his loyalty to the service and the task of the Nobel Prize.

His contemporaries - inhabitants of the capital - NOBEL PRIZE failed - again for reasons of the same poses on all of us political correctness - they say, will be the humanitarian point of genius from the provinces and the capital - as always wait. In Moscow's already all geniuses in sight. Where they go, basking in the glow of fame and success without Nobelevok. More humane will be noted and reward someone "from the slums".

[LCR]

How can you Ranzher?

How can you compare Brodsky with Limonov, capable, certainly, very capable, but so ... In general, little interest Narcissus, with Mamleeva, which I like to call simply graphomaniac?


Brodsky - poet (that's already under whose birth was not without Moose, or even the Muses childbirth certainly present himself Apollo), a poet, which appears in a century a handful. How can we remain indifferent to his stammering verbosity, his high stuttering, his focus and seriousness, his thoroughness, his absolute integrity? His poetry affects me like a drug, it puts me into euphoria.

Incidentally, that same Leningrad gave us not only Brodsky, and Victor Krivulina, Lena Schwarz - not bad for a "hopelessly sucked province.

In Moscow, poetry was different. Poziya in Moscow, wonderful - it Choline Nekrasov, Prigov-Satunovsky, Gena Aigi strolling by itself, and I'm very fond of them, but Brodsky, Brodsky - a whole world ...

I do not want to argue. I only important to say that I agree with you I can not.


 

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Isaac and Abraham (1963)

    MB

     "Come on, Isak. What you get up?" Come on.
     "I'm coming. - A broad branches of wet
     night dives under a thick rain
     how fast the raft - where extinguished cry.

     In Russian Isaac loses sound.
     Neither his shadow, or spirit (the arrow in izlete)
     they do not complain against the letter instead of two
     to empty the mouth (in his last flesh).
     Another is not here - go look-fistula.
     And this also - a drop crumbs, a little.
     Isak general of the candle candles
     that all the first name was Isaac.
     And the sound back is possible - just shouting:
     "Isaac" Isaac! " - This is the right and left:
     "Isaac" Isaac! " - And at the same instant candle
     shake the trunk, and the flames bursting into the sky.

     Quite another thing - Abraham.
     The hills, bushes, enemies, make friends
     in a crowd, cemeteries, the branches, the temple -
     and then all for him to appeal to force -
     response to them will not. Like hearing
     shielded from the brain wall red
     Since then, he has lost the vowel sound
     and the country had changed a consonant sound.
     From the date of loss, he, instead of the hail of arrows,
     in response to them sends a silent throat and brain.
     This is not the candlestick - here the whole bush burned.
     Bunch of twigs. What is a bucket of wax?

     "We go the same Isaac. - "I'm coming."
     "Let's go faster." - But he hesitates to answer.
     "What do you get stuck there?" - "Wait. - "I'm waiting.
     (A candle burns in the darkness of full light).
     "Come on. Do not fall behind." - "Now, I run.
     To the east, clouds creeping silent army.
     "What do you got?" - "The eyes are full of sand."
     "Do not fall behind." - "No, no." - "Go on, do not be afraid".

     In the desert, Isaac and Abraham
     fourth day of walking to an empty space
     Are Going all empty hills
     that churns akin (underneath) test.
     But the sand. A thick sand.
     And there the grass (Touch - obrezhesh finger),
     whose root - if I was - has long been stiffened.
     She wanders with sand, grass-wanderer.
     Its seeds have a pale color.
     And some say - where to take her juice?
     In it, as in the sand, a drop of moisture there.
     The taste of it - akin to forest sedge.
     Around the sand. The hills of sand. Paul.
     The hills of sand. They can not find it, measure it.
     Verneuil - the sea. Down at the bottom of the earth.
     But is hard to believe, hard to believe.
     The hills of sand. The dunes - name them.
     Desert firmament circling above them.
     Abraham walks. Immediately behind him
     Isaac walks in the expanse of the desert.
     Sun sets in the back beating his father.
     Circling the sand. Added the wind speed.
     Hills, hills. And no end of.
     "Son, wood with thee?" - "Here he is, brushwood.
     A wave came and once again goes back.
     How long conversation fell silent at once,
     from the shore subtracting grain of sand, a bridge
     balance of thought - no, balance it.
     But there are shores, only small traces
     two travelers creates similarity with edge
     Coastal sand - only one side is not
     Coastal foam tape - no, even modest.
     No, there are shafts of dark, light, black.
     Here the sea on the right, left, behind, everywhere.
     And these travelers - boats, canoes,
     swallowing water mark, surging boat.
     "A punk, a father, with thee?" - "Here he is, tinder.
     Do not be seen against the light, vaguely some sort ...
     Both of their slopes, back tinder
     through the cloth bundles of clothes dark dark branches.
     But Abraham is also fur
     with a dense wine, and Isaac on the road,
     Wells met, the water took them all.
     What are they now look like the side?
     To the east a cloud obscures the vault of heaven.
     Wind pulls on the peaks, needles.
     Notched front, as if the black forest,
     of Isaac, all the trunks quiet.
     Lumina are extinguished. As if they met
     wild beasts - the back light was closed.
     Now they - vertical - down
     pomchat to the sand, pitch bird wings.
     The forest grows. Nodes up crawling ...
     And travelers are floating like a boat in the sea.
     The dunes at the bottom of the darkness bear.
     A fire would have them here soon.

     I also remember: there is one mountain.
     There is a trail of blooming cherry trees arch
     hanging over her, and pairs of floats in the morning:
     there is a lake in the foot, largo
     wave of rustling and Noise grass.
     The path is empty, there is no trace of a clock.
     It is always only a shadow of leaves
     in autumn - fall leaves themselves.
     Pairs of sneaks away glitters toe,
     bleached trunk gnaw wood mouse,
     and branches that always look in the sand
     leaning closer to him, below.
     As if eager to know what happened here
     trails in the sand with the shadows of their relatives,
     glares, and somehow grow downwards,
     merging on the trail with them forever.
     A bee buzzes, shining lake circle,
     The moon sails among the thin branches of the night,
     shade leaves of two, as the figure 8, suddenly
     in the wild by quickly overthrew the grove.

     Suddenly, Abraham saw a bush.
     The thick branches hung low over.
     Although the horizon, as before, was here empty,
     but this meant: the purpose of their loved ones.
     "This close," - whispered bush
     almost in his face, but Abraham, however,
     did not appear, and stepped into the darkness.
     And sure enough - Isaac did not see the sign.
     He raised his head, looked back,
     which expose them roots thicket gloomy
     sprawling over it - there star
     among them (roots) turned on his light transparent.
     Another. Passing them away
     lumps of "land" for "root" sailed blindly.
     Finally they passed over him.
     The vision of the forest away disappeared from the sky.
     And only now he is in two steps
     said bush (his father sensed envy).
     He dropped the brushwood, and was squeezed in the hands
     colorless leaves, staring into the sand.

     In fact, the bush is like at all.
     In the shadow of the tent, the terrible explosion at the robe,
     on river deltas, on the beam, the wheel -
     but it will have down the axis.
     On hand is similar, similar to the flesh throughout.
     A cursory glance tape veins flash.
     From the people is similar - his whole scatter,
     but he whistled again a number of closes.
     Since palm is similar, similar to hundreds of hands.
     (With all the flesh - not in him only of speech
     but the same height, but the same world around).
     In the spring it around candles, candles.
     "Come quickly." - "Wait. - "Let's go." - "Now".
     "Come on, do not stop" - (under the cap, as under the roof).
     "Come quick," - (hide each eye).
     "Let's go faster. Come on." - "Now". - "I can not hear."
     It is similar to the nest, into the darkness of his nestlings
     waving the green wing, dashing about the world.
     It is similar to the blood - it all ends
     tends to its run (though it no return).
     But the more he is not with the body is similar,
     and is similar to the soul, with all its ways.
     Motion in them, they exactly the same quake.
     Merge them, but that in their passage?
     Merge and again in a hurry before.
     Stopped and they are each other can not.
     Meddling in the night, near the slip.
     Bent joints, curved sheet.
     Is closing and immediately rush back,
     dive into the darkness of space, in nakedness,
     while those who crave away - immediately crackle
     and fall - and here he is, firewood, firewood.
     Once again, the wind rushes over them whistling.
     The rest - in a moment - for the first branch
     lean back, rustling, crackling,
     driven by a coil spring of some.
     All desires of life in this realm of feeling:
     as the appearance of them, with a similar desert bush,
     shakes the wind is not dark bush
     But the life form, all the earth passer.
     Not only the appearance (feelings) - must be the whole
     wide world - a coarse, broad, thin,
     hundred times stronger than (luxurious) - crowded here.
     "Hey, Isaac. What do you got?" We go the same. "
     What? Bush. What? Bush. There are no more roots.
     In its own letter more words, more.
     "K" with a sprig of similar, "Y" - is even stronger.
     Only a "C" and "T in a different kind of world.
     At the branch "K" processes only two
     a branch of "Y" - with just one joint.
     But the lesson: it is time words
     learn to form letters, to the detriment of the compositions.
     "Hey, Isaac!" - "Now, I go. I'm going."
     (Inside a hot steam accumulated.
     He is on the move raised the pitcher mouth,
     but slipped - he fell, crashed).
     Night. Near Abraham Isaac
     walks in the desert in a long dress.
     The moon, and each new step
     glittered like silver in the sandy Zlata.
     Hills, hills. I can not see them end.
     Do not see this anywhere solid objects.
     Everything is vague, like sand, like the shadow of his father.
     Murmur grows in heaven drills.
     It shines the moon turns blue thick horizon.
     The solid shadow, vanished without a trace breeze.
     "Far from us eh, father? - "Oh, no, just eh"
     Without looking, Abraham immediately answered.
     From dune to dune and down again,
     on the sides of hasty groping gaze
     they wander. Bushes prostrated themselves down,
     but all are silent: they go after next.
     But Abraham is clear all the way:
     they came, he digs a shoe pits.
     Rustling grass. Now, go a trifle.
     They themselves are satisfied here overnight.
     "Hey, Isaac. You once again lagged behind. I'm waiting."
     He strained his eyes, that the air reticulate
     He fancied - and now: "I'm coming.
     I thought the bush here is whispering.
     "We go the same." - Abraham added step.
     Moon lit. All the sky in bright stars
     silent on it. Plenty of room ringing in my ears.
     But this is only the air, only the air.
     Sand and darkness. Bushes prostrated prostration.
     All the harder to climb them every time.
     Wander, slopes. Not seen those.
     ... And Abraham threw a bundle to the ground.

     They sit. Between them lit a fire.
     Eyes watering the smoke acrid
     and the sparks fly off in a night scope.
     Isaac Breaks twigs.
     Kneeling, they, leaning forward,
     wants to toss: the flame was fragile.
     But the hand of his father taking:
     "Leave him alone, we need the firewood in the morning.
     Narvi grass. "- Weary Isaac
     rises, moving with difficulty his legs,
     wanders into the dunes where a bottomless darkness
     from all sides and rear of the flame is extinguished.
     Branches broken off think: death
     caught up with them - now it only time
     separate them, not what the flesh and the firmament;
     but here they face a different burden.
     Broken off branches of a dead sleep
     resting here - in the hot sand, bright.
     But they still have to be a fire
     and after that the new flesh - reduced to ashes.
     And only when all the ashes in the dust blot
     avalanche of sand now hordes and sets -
     then they must be really die
     disappeared, sginuv, kanuv, destroyed.
     Death is different and these branches waiting.
     Fallen behind the forest wolf pack
     rushing between nocturnal voids, voids,
     and dart into the darkness branches silence.
     Isaac came back, carrying the grass.
     On the fingers Abraham threw a rag:
     "Give it here. We'll break it.
     And quickly became a chop on the fire heap.
     A little bit lighter. Disappeared from the heart of fear.
     Then fanned the flames suddenly the wind.
     "Why we wood in the morning?" - Isaac
     Then he asked and Abraham answered:
     "Then why do we were here
     (You fall behind, and all hurried after him,
     but as we arrived, misfortune) -
     tomorrow we are here to zaklast lamb.
     Have not seen you an altar there, as he had
     look for the grass? "-" Yes we can see that there?
     There darkness so that I froze from the darkness.
     One of the sand. "-" Well, okay, you want a drink?
     So too, Abraham compresses fur
     his hand, and moisture flowing into the throat;
     Isaac's eyes is look up:
     it is getting stronger hoot, flashing, drill.
     "Enough" - and he was from here the fire
     yet wiped his mouth with a gesture short drunks.
     Already begun to decline warm to sleep.
     He looked up into the darkness - "And where is the lamb?"
     Fire gave vague shine eyes
     he heard the answer (almost cry):
     "In the desert of this ... God himself lamb
     find myself ... Lord, he will provide ... "
     Lit the fire. In the eyes of his father's amber.
     Playing with fire eyes and flame - a glance.
     It shines a star. Nearer sleepy king
     suited to Isaac. Here he is near.
     "There is a long-standing altar. Difficult it
     long time ago ... I do not remember who, but. "
     Hills of sand floating on all sides,
     as before - as if the bush is not signaled.

     Lit the fire. Rather, the smoke toward the star
     through the thickness of ash breaks up stiffly.
     We fell asleep all things. Peace everywhere.
     Not only is sleeping Abraham. But it should be.
     Sleeps Isaac and dreaming like this:
     The silent bush before him, waving branches.
     He wants to touch their hand
     but each sheet before him wildly dancing.
     Who: Bush. What: A bush. There are no more roots.
     In its own letter more words, more.
     "K" with a sprig of similar, "Y" - is even stronger.
     Only a "C" and "T" - in another kind of world.
     Before him all the branches, all the way soul
     merge, each other beat, the crowd.
     In deep sleep, in darkness, in a continuous silence,
     bend, flash, upward striving.
     And before him, needle bush lifted.
     He sees further: where the dim, misty
     that firewood that he brought here,
     fused with a living branch quickly.
     And all the branches of a long, long, long,
     to his face leaves nearer and nearer.
     Earth shines, and lush bush over it
     rises before him in the darkness all the above.
     What "C and" T "- and Bush pierces Khmara.
     What "C and" T "- all branches are broken into dancing.
     But then he realized: "T" - the altar, the altar,
     A "C" is for him as a lamb caught in the cycle.
     So this is what BUSH: K, Y, and C, and T.
     Gusts of wind abruptly branches rely
     all corners, but a meeting of a cross,
     where the letter "T" all five, one will replace.
     Not only the "C" will have to sleep there,
     not only the "Y" to share after dreams.
     Only the upper limit is down to slide,
     not the letter "T" - and immediately CREST before us.
     And branches, he sees, long, long.
     And so they did a hast taken.
     Earth shines - and it floats above it.
     Burning Star ...
         In fact - given
     Dawn had already painted in yellow
     and Abraham, he linked the body,
     he suffered there, which implies
     trampled was here, where the flame smoldered.
     All the firewood had been there long ago demolished,
     and Isaac, he is a couch
     folded now - and all the way into sleep
     but how little was in reality similar.
     He returned, put hair in a fire.
     That broke, flinging his hand warmly,
     and immediately swam around the stench;
     Abraham and his knife with a short sting
     got (almost there, where sleep
     That knife that he cut the bread in the house ...)
     "Well, it's time" - he said and looked:
     on what are now his hands?
     In one - a dagger in the other - my own flesh.
     "Now the compound ..." - And then froze
     just muttering: "Save me, Lord." -
     Due to the dune quickly left angel.

     "Rather, Abraham, - he said,
     and the body of Abraham immediately sweaty
     suddenly become, he opened his palm,
     the knife fell to the ground, quickly raised an angel.
     "Rather, Abraham. End of everything.
     The end of everything, and the sky is encouraging
     you dare - while you're the victim's father.
     Well, with this all. Now let us go back.
     Come to where all are sad.
     Let them they shall see that there is no evil in the world.
     Come to where the river all shine
     how is your dagger, but the flesh is a draw not hurt.
     Come to where waiting for your herd
     grasses other than that, that here, where dreams
     thy tent that day, when the number of
     your children with the number of sand compared.
     I also remember: there is one mountain.
     At its foot is a stream, glade.
     From there, steam creeping up in the morning.
     Always roaring on a hillside grove of zeal.
     Below the grass from the bed of noisy drinkers.
     Comes the wind - quickly bends wood.
     Its leaves are rotting in the damp earth,
     then spring back up again.
     At the stands at the leaves of similarities here. "
     Years will go by - they do not change their form.
     Are the trunks, among them bushes grow.
     Vast clouds at the top rushing suite.
     And multitudes of stars shining in the darkness of nights
     firmament cover part, densely.
     In the thick grass rustles wave stream
     and the steam rising in the night shape of the channel.
     Come to where the bushes are silent.
     Where there is no dry branches, where the birds platted
     nest of grasses. A branch that protruded
     sometimes at stake - so that the bushes, alive.
     Your brain is now like a cloud, obscures darkness.
     Open your eyes - there is no death in sight.
     Here, every bush - look - stands as a sign
     strivings up among the plains of the desert.
     Open your eyes: the heavenly bush in bloom.
     Look at it: He waits for you answer.
     The answer, Abraham, his list -
     The answer to me - we go. "wind rose.
     "Let's go, Abraham, in your country
     where flesh and spirit with people - people native,
     where everything that exists, lives in a captive
     where everything is a hundred times will change the name.
     They no longer will be, but the higher the darkness
     from their shadows, their hands, feet shortly.
     But every word is a sign
     which is again on the first sense will tell.
     Shrubs surround them, devour step
     grass fields and woods in the home blues
     a glimpse of how Abraham, Isaac.
     Come away. Now the storm subsides.
     Rather, Abraham is tested you.
     I took a knife - you really do not need it.
     The cold light of dawn flooded bushes.
     We must have, Isaac almost awakened.
     Rather, Abraham. Tested. Everything.
     The end of everything. All clear. Finish. Point.
     Rather, Abraham. Uncover your face.
     Enough. Now everything is clear for sure. "

     Are the tents, and the darkness of sheep everywhere.
     These clouds here - they can not find it. In addition,
     They gathered here, as clouds those
     that reflected right there in a pool.
     Smoke from the fires, fly hundreds of birds.
     Dogs fight each other, the bones in the boilers of plenty.
     Dripping sweat from the hot red faces.
     On all sides rushes loud conversation.
     On the slopes of the sheep. Beside the shadows behind the clouds.
     They creep forward: the sun had risen.
     Overthrown streams with brilliant steeps.
     Camels are there in the shadows are tired.
     Rustle bonfires, fly thousand and flies.
     In the crowd of sheep wasp buzzing incoherently.
     Taps ax. From the mountain looks a shepherd:
     tents are in the valley, like a stain.
     Through the crack of the entrance is visible clod.
     Outside the crack visible hands of women.
     Dust and light seeping into every corner.
     Everything here is full of gaps, gaps and cracks.
     Nobody knows the cracks as a board
     (Of any species - from the most durable, best, -
     let her thick, long, narrow),
     when the disorder begins between the branches.
     In the dry board usually cracks darkness.
     But it's nothing that is outside.
     But inside - resin mad,
     inside the case is much worse.
     The resin is dried up, became all the steam,
     left out. At the same time, place,
     abandoned her, creeping mowing -
     far - only one he knows.
     Stabbing (incision just Mademoiselle deep)
     and feel that he's in someone's power.
     Facilities his hard pulls to one side
     and suddenly shooting up into two parts.
     And if it succeeds in the same darkness
     and twigs to hide, then poor knife involuntarily
     until now always been a straight
     suddenly and quickly begins to cut the waves.
     All cracks inside is akin to the bush
     weave, jostle, drowning in disputes
     One of them is always repeating: "grow"
     resin debris and dust in dark pores.
     From the outside it seemed snow hidden.
     One Or Two - blackened, as though the window.
     However, the "entrance" in this house with a "wall" is fused.
     Drifting snow was piled up twigs, fibers.
     Hidden from the eyes and firmly locked entrance.
     But the knife is always (inside, underneath, over it)
     remain a servant of two masters:
     palm and board '- and who is stronger ...
     Not to mention that too, "in whose eyes.
     Dusts light, streaming through a crack in it.
     Where are the camels, Isaac
     with some stranger carries on a conversation.
     Smoke from the fires, fly hundreds of birds.
     Shouts sheep, buzzing wasp indistinctly.
     Flowing steam with the hot red faces.
     Tents are in the valley, like a stain.
     Wander herd. Sticking out of the grave house.
     Purls the stream, a wave of grass sways.
     He started: in the air empty
     He hears his own name again.
     He gazes into the distance: the tents in front of him lay,
     are people from the east cloud goes.
     Around the fires, as in dance, dogs, circling,
     rustle the bushes, and now he sees bump.
     It is his wife, for her tents, field.
     In her hand - green fig branch.
     She waved to her and calling king:
     "We go the same Isaac. - "Come on, Rebekah.

     "Come on, Isak. What you get up?" Come on.
     "I'm coming", the answer among the branches of wet
     night dives under a thick rain
     how fast raft - where goes the shout.
     "Isaac, do not fall behind." - "No, no, I'm coming".
     (Birch shows strength and durability.)
     "Isak, you remember the house? - "Yes, yes, I find."
     'Well, we went. Do not fall behind. " - "Do not be afraid."
     "Come on, Isak. - "Wait. - "Let's go." - "Now".
     "Come on, do not stop" - (under the cap, as under the roof).
     "Come quick," - (hide each eye).
     "Let's go faster. Come." - "Now". - "I can not hear."

     In Russian Isaac loses sound.
     On the other hand gets a lot of qualities,
     that for "the letter instead of two"
     pay three times, in letters hiding.
     In Russian "I" - just a simple union
     that the number of actions in a speech multiplies
     (Like in mathematics at the plus)
     However, he does not know who they are folded.
     (But the amount we are not put into the mouth.
     To do this: the world no sound).
     What does "C", we know from the bushes:
     "C" - is a victim, bound tightly.
     A letter "A" - among those old letters,
     Union, that between the words was sound separately.
     Essentially the same - it is a terrible cry,
     infant, unfortunate, howling death.
     And if to double, to build: AAA,
     add to consolidate these sounds
     which should divide the word
     then the sum would be a terrible cry of flour:
     "Flames enveloped all the joints" K "
     and the lone "A" tends directly.
     But nobody lifts a knife arm
     order to finish the meal, there is no near Abram.
     Paul behalf of another in the mouth sticks.
     The other half of the flame hides.

     And again the victim on fire Shouts:
     That's what "Isaac" means in Russian.

     The rain drums on the branches, knocking
     seemed beyond the fence someone cries
     invisible. "Hey, you there?" - All is silent.

     "Come on, Isak. - "Wait. - "Let's go." - "Now".
     "Come on, do not stop." Doldonit rain on the roof.
     "Come quick!" That's him every time.
     Come quick! Let's go. "-" Now. "-" I can not hear. "

     Rain falls continuously. Down Water
     rushes through the trunks, washing away the soot.
     The very leaves of spring, as always,
     much more sun than they should be
     In June the leaves - summer here we see
     doubly - even all the grass paler summer.
     But where the shadow of foliage hanging over her
     she's no longer yield to that of the latter.
     In the shadow of barrels more clearly see the ground,
     symbol on it that in the bright light of the weak.
     Silent train sped through the field,
     inclined at first to the rails on the right,
     and then - left - morning, night by day,
     white smoke clouds rubbing against the ground -
     and it seems suddenly to those who disappeared in it,
     that it flies endlessly through the figure 8.
     He cuts - on the axis - it crowns
     that the villages, fields, fences, gullies filled.
     On both sides - from the rail - all parts
     slashed to the sky rushing waves.
     Through the figure 8 - the wings of a windmill,
     through the blades of steel screws in heaven,
     He rushes forward - it is a hand
     and a bundle of rays gliding in the rays of the surroundings.
     The same sheaf hidden away inside him
     but with some passion, passion greedy,
     Spotlight engulfed in a dead sleep:
     as a sheaf of wiring, it is linked back wall.
     Flying the composition, in the darkness can not see people.
     But the hills - the hills around are not imaginary,
     and waves from the path up and down
     rush, as the rays from the lamps plains.
     Rain lashed continually Everything glitters.
     The veil a doorway, window mowing,
     toppling down the chute, whistling.
     Wet the corners of the house elevate.
     The candle burns all in one window.
     A cold rain on a thin frame.
     As if under water, at the very bottom
     trembles in the darkness and the burning flame.
     It burns, though all to the fact that the light
     quench would be here, to become invisible, incorporeal.
     Here in the darkness anywhere passers no
     brick wall is silent in the opposite wall.
     The yard is locked, the janitor started drinking the night is empty.
     Swings rain locking steel.
     The candle is burning, and visible edge of the sheet.
     Bolts, like water, fire obstali.
     Catches the wave, the deep gloom of the latch
     at the bottom - the keys - a jellyfish in the dimensional chorus
     sing hooks, latches, chains, bolts:
     all this - only the sea, only the sea.
     And yet it seeks its light into darkness,
     appeal to you (through the rain, brick, through the board).
     To yourself eh? - Oh, no, continuous call for
     that it burns. It must be, to wax, to wax.
     Wooden fence. Three Castle in the doorway.
     There are no cracks. Hence the key is not removed.
     From all sides reigns bottomless darkness.
     Open the window - and immediately the wave will swing.
     Zasov thunders and access to it is closed.
     (Hand locking in impotent rage stisni.)
     And still it burns, burns.
     But devour something more than life.
     Came the fox, his eyes shining in the window.
     Before her glass, as the wave dampens glare.
     She looks - a candle burning on the bottom
     and the long shadows of the wall colors.
     Came the fox, looking over his shoulder.
     A little bit of whistling, and something could hear the whistle
     similar words. Here, the candle burns.
     The candlestick is decorated with bees, leaves.
     Everywhere bees, wings, dust, flowers,
     and in the heart of copper that the landscape
     shopping to eat, and there are fruits,
     which are less striking, even
     seeds from pears. - But the language itself candles
     forgetting that you can call salvation,
     trembles at her and waits for the end of the night,
     as a summer sheet in an empty forest autumn.

[Игорь Гурьев]

Сообщение от LCR

How can you Ranzher?

How can you compare with Brodsky

What is taboo?

In my opinion, an excellent text.


And, in my opinion, there is an excellent text Limonov about Brotskava "poet-dogmatist" and tagzhe text Limonov about My favorite poet Anna Akhmatova, where he compares its vocabulary with a dictionary Ellochka-ogress.

Wonderful lyrics!

Another recommend texts Limonov about Galic (if someone did not read).

And the other texts Limonov - strongly not recommended!

===============

And if anyone thinks about art must have a unified opinion, he (tsenzored) ... wrong.


In art criticism, and above all - honesty, rather than unanimity.

[Евгений]

Chairman of the CPC, the People's Commissariat, Foreign Minister?
This area is familiar to me as a suburb of China!
This personality is familiar to me! The sign of interrogation, instead of the body.

Читать дальше... 

Dots coat. Instead of the brain - a comma.
Instead of the throat - a dark evening. Instead Boorcan - division sign.
That man was released, the representative of the population.
That came a citizen,
taken out of the legs.

"And how is the record player?"
"Who was Savonarola?
"Probably the reduction.
"Where is a toilet, I beg your pardon?"

Included Pushkin in a flying helmet, thin fingers - a cigarette.
In the open field racing fast with a single passenger.
And cut obliquely, as Poltava, wheels
with vykovyrennym under Gdov finger switchman fat
enliven the cloth of snow, halt and fork
engulfing content overturned bottle.

Hiding in the den of his
Wolves howl "e-me.

"Life - it is like a lottery."
"She married a Jew."
"They have brought the country to handle."
"Give a gold coin to pay."

Enter Gogol in his cap, beside him - mezzo-soprano.
At the grocery - not enough to swear; roam rats, groceries.
Hiding solid horn in the scrawl, a man in trousers from sheep
turns into a tyrant on the podium of the Mausoleum.
They say spirited people inside, disappointed
in the end, both fish on a platter, the body is stuffed.

Well, losing speech,
stand with a rifle to guard the tomb.

"Do not look in my eyes, a virgin:
still go to the left. "
"The priest had a dog."
"Both died of cancer."

Enter Leo Tolstoy in his pajamas, everywhere - Yasna Polyana.
(Lads wandering around with knives, smells shipr with the Komsomol.)
He - the predecessor Tarzan: fountain pen - like a liana,
fly back and forth over the French nuclear palisades.
Behold - the great son of Russia, though the ruling class!
Her husband, whose great-grandchildren bare too rarely see the meat.

Miracle-Judaic: gentle Count
turned into a bookcase!

"I've trained her to blow job."
"What's the buzz, and no fights?"
"The wing's last words."
"Who is the last one? I'm for you."

Included couple Alexandrov escorted Nikolasha.
They say "What a mess" or "sweet jam.
In Europe, roam bunk in a vain search for bucket,
bumping everywhere on the shy cattle.
Reflecting on the dock, floating on the waves of Aurora,
to blurt out at the beginning of continuous terror.

Oh, you, the fate of the ship:
say "Fire!" - Will say "fuck!"

"Combine with her marriage."
"All the same, put the cancer.
"Oh, Tsushima, Hiroshima!
To live completely unbearable.

Enter Herzen Ogaryov, sparrows chirping in the woods.
What sounds at the time of the girth as an adverb foreign country.
Best view of this city - if you sit in the bomber.
Take a look - his heavy as wool from neskromnyya hollows
replicate without the resonator, the clouds cling to the architecture.
Kremlin looms like a zone; say, in a nutshell.

The wind is whistling. Bittern screaming.
Woodpecker crow knocks.

"They say, opened the Plenary Session.
"Punched her between the eyes a log.
"Above the Arab peace hut
proudly fluttering scabby Jew. "

Enter Stalin Dzhugashvili, a quarrel between them.
Quickly taking aim at each other, click on the dog,
and a smoking pipe ... Thus, according to the director,
and the father of his people died, a day smokes a pack.
And there are ranges of the Caucasus as a guard of honor.
Brown eyes bubbling Napareuli.

Others-kundk plunges Fang
a half-eaten kebab.

"You looked Dersu Uzala?"
"I'm not all told.
"Once chuchmek, then believe in Buddha."
"Bitch you?" "Bitch I will."

Included with the cry abroad, with a restricted Hemisphere
and protruding from his pocket the horizon that vulgarises.
Miscall Ermolai Frederick or Charles,
fault with the law, boiled for fees
exclaiming: "How are you!" And trouble gloss flesh
Rafael with Buonarroti - not a damn thing on the back.

Workers of all countries
Marching in a restaurant.

"In these shkarah you like the Yankees."
"I broke it while drunk."
"There was a whole life as an ordinary worker."
"Incidentally, we all Fingering."

The thoughts about the future, in khaki shirts.
Make an atomic bomb with ballistic missiles.
They dance and dance: "We are warriors, bullies!
Russian with German will lie near, for example, at Stalingrad.
And, as a widow Matrona, muffled howl cyclotrons.
The Ministry of Defence loud cawing crows.

Enter the bedroom - these are to:
on the pillow - the Order.

"Where is the egg, there - a frying pan."
"They say that soon vodka
will again be on the ruble. "
"Mom, Dad, I do not like."

Enter one Orthodox, said: "Now I - the main issue.
In my heart Firebird and longing for the emperor.
Igor come back soon to enjoy Yaroslavna.
Give me a sign of the cross, and not - in the person hit.
The worst damage and stripping - Western thoughts infection.
Sing, accordion, saxophone drowning - progeny of jazz. "

And kiss the image
with weeping victims of shotgun ...

"I - steak, uncut.
"Boatmen in Severomorsk
pull cruiser towing,
thin with radiotherapy.

The thoughts of the past, all dressed haphazardly
with preference to chernoburym. In classical Latin
and softly in Russian said: "All is lost,
a) the fox trot to the shade, black and white shrines;
b) caviar, sturgeon, corn, c) krasavitsyny furniture.
But - not enough characters. And the baby in a cradle

hearing "Baiushki-hush",
says: "your mother!" .

"He climbed hand in Shahno, getting to know.
"Podmahnu - and in Sochi." "A cross between
Leukocyte with anthracite
called Cocytus.

Enter systems pioneers, who - with the model of plywood,
who - with handwritten meaningful denunciation.
In that light, as chimeras, butchers retired
nod approvingly them, challenging and a snub-nosed,
that the cut in "Russian Ball" and runs into the house to tyate
drive tyatyu of double where they were made, the bed.

What way around? Youth.
Do not strangle him, not kill.

"Spat in the soup, to conceal his vexation."
"I'm with him I will not sit to shit."
"And mine, like the Madonna,
does not want without condom.

Enter Swan, reflecting a round mirror in which
platoon birches are squatting position, the first violin making faces.
Ardent Maitre with imagination, inflamed grenadier,
only timid, tearing claws velvet box.
The rain. Dog barks. Hanging from the stove, trash slash
with a bare bottom pesters disabled, nail biting:

"Disabled, and disabled.
I hurt inside. "

"Lie down in a coffin, though not an hour has struck!"
"This is - female or male?"
"Squabble investigation to the cause
terminated with the death. "

Included Rubbish, shouting: "Enough!" Prosecutor square jaw.
The door to the cave citizen does not need to "sesame".
Whether the great-grandson, or great-grandfather in the depths of ore wheelbarrow wheels,
bathed in generous subsoil color crystal tears.
And for the death line, bathed in moonlight gleam,
jaw with fixed gold shines permafrost.

Knowing he lived long enough
those who gave their lives.

"Hut there, but too lazy to drag."
"I'm not a whore, a crane-driver."
"Life has emerged as a habit
before chickens and eggs. "

We filled the whole stage! It remains to climb a wall!
Whirl falcon under the dome! Decrease in ascaris!
Either everyone, including dolls, tongue whipping foam
chorus suddenly copulate, to bring hybrid.
Bo, space saving, as otlitsya in the form of mass
except the cemetery, and besides the black line at the checkout?

Oh, give scope steppe
without a chain reaction!

"Give him time without penalty!"
"Someone shouted:" Stop thief! "?"
"Draw a member in a notebook.
"Let me go, for Christ's sake."

Included in this evening, the house from hell at the end of the world.
Tablecloth arguing with a curtain in the sense of external decoration.
Excluding the heartbeat - this babbling, I quoted -
feeling that is subtracted from the Lobachevsky space.
Murmurs of leaf color of money, even mosquito buzzer.
The eye can not increase the six-to-nine of those who died,

who sprouted thick grass.
However, this is not the first time.

"From love are children.
You're now one of the world.
Remember the song that used to
I sing in the dark?

This - the cat is - mouse.
This - the camp is - tower.
This - the time on the sly
killing his mother and father. "

1986

[Евгений]

Сообщение от LCR

but Brodsky, Brodsky - a whole world ...

Liana, you are as always right, and to argue the point? Time has placed all the places and St. Petersburg "provincial" and Moscow "grave geniuses" .. where are they? Brodsky and where ...

-------------------------------------------
    They tell me what to leave.
     Yes. Thank you. I'm going.
     Yes. I understand. See
     should not be. Yes, I do not get lost.

     Oh, what you say - a long journey.
     Any nearest stop.
     Oh, no, do not worry. Somehow.
     I'm traveling light. No luggage.

     Yes. It's time to go. Thank you.
     Yes. It's time. And everyone understands.
     Bleak winter dawn
     over the birthplace of the trees raised.

     All over. I will not argue.
     Hands to shake - and goodbye.
     I recovered. It is necessary to leave.
     Yes. Thank you for the parting.

     Take me to home, taxi.
     As if I forget to address.
     In a stopped field Bring me.
     I, you know, with the motherland eliminated.

     As if I forgot to address:
     to the window sweating priniknu
     and over the river, which he loved,
     I will pay the boatman and hollered.

     (It's all over. Now I'm in no hurry.
     Off you go back quietly, for God's sake.
     I'll look into the sky and breathe
     the cold wind of another bank.)

     Well, that's a welcome move.
     Katie ago, not feeling sad.
     When you come back home to the entrance,
     I have a gently sloping shore moorings.

[Самвел]

Сообщение от ranzher

Team Brodsky beautifully presented, that there is a huge untilled field - endless Sewer-USSR superpower - from Kaliningrad through Kiev, and Asia to Vladivostok. Hated stain that can not be removed, looked Moscow - "capital", where in contrast to the steel oblivion with might and main seething intellectual metaphysical life.

Now do not be Brodsky, something would have to understand that nothing has changed, and it got worse, and in Moscow did not have even balance intellectually and metaphysical life. And then he Brodsky said that people were no different in the west, and still do not know how they behave, would be living in union. Brodsky is also possible to argue, not so smooth, though very much, if not all I learned, felt, reading it, and that he predpochital.Inogda he was very rude, I even said, would be unrestrained, which only cost him statements about the Ascension, and Yevtushenko, one he called a blasphemer, a liar and the other on aesthetics, if I do not oshibayus.Ochen interesting that, he would have said if he were alive, looking at the world today.

[Peter]

Brodsky was a man and chelovekom.On keenly felt, and never alone with a hypocrite soboy.Esli something aroused in him a contradiction, he said this otkryto.Poetomu and we like some beskompromistnost in his poetry.