"Russian was my oxygen"

Poetess Ekaterina Gorbovskaya (London):

We left Russia in 1991. Having left, our whole family completely plunged into the English -speaking world. The circle of Russian acquaintances we had very narrow then, there was no Internet, we never had Russian television either. Everything that happened in England, where we lived, was important and significant, and Russia, everything that was connected with it remained somewhere far in a past life. And the Russian language began to gradually go into a passive.

Yes, of course, we talked in Russian at home, but already thinking was built on the concepts that entered our life in English. Already conversations were built around the realities that took place in a new life, they were consistent with certain constructions, certain turns, certain words that designated exactly what you want to say in English. All Russian alternatives were stilt, were artificial and unnatural. Therefore, very often the proposal, which began in Russian, ended in English. Or there were absurd constructions that the speaker himself did not even notice. I remember Sasha, my husband, - we sat in the living room, - I asked: "Listen, we installed this fireplace or he came with the house?" To be honest, this loss of the Russian language at that time did not even really worry me. I remembered that once the Russian language was my oxygen, but it was from this hypostasis that I at one time and ran away. There was not the slightest desire to return and join the same river twice, now there was another new life, in no way connected with the Russian language. Therefore, there was still some element of rejection, coming from the desire to close that door and never return, because it seemed that this door was closed forever. In these circumstances, the Russian language became rudimentary and darkened behind the then unnecessary then. I did not have a need for Russian, because I did not write poetry then, I did not communicate with anyone in writing, so there was no feeling of loss and some kind of inferiority in this area. But at some point, as the Internet develops, it suddenly came to me that, probably, the Internet exists not only in English, but also in Russian. I found Runet, I started with Rambler and began to fumble from search engines in search of people from a past life. It became interesting for me to watch who they are, what they are now. After some time, I suddenly decided to find another person from my past life-Ekaterina Gorbovskaya. I did not expect at all that the search engine would show me something, because I disappeared from the radars long before the Internet, I have not been and could not be. And here something happened that I could not expect: quite a lot of pages came out with the mention of me, this person-Ekaterina Gorbovskaya-which no longer existed in Russian transcription in my mind, some even sites where they discussed, what she, what she was. Did she die? Yes, she died. And they even told what she died from. Thus, I began to gradually enter the Russian blogosphere, establish some kind of ties with people and enter into correspondence with them. And now the correspondence began with people, and then I found that I could not make written phrases in Russian. It was difficult for me to select words, put them in phrases, because I was not sure whether such a phrase is used or not, it is correct or not. I did not write these letters that I wrote for the first time - I made them out of the blocks and each block checked in Yandex. I watched: there are such phrases whether they are used or not. I then wrote these letters as Meresiev danced on prostheses. As a result, it turned out very hard, but what was worth it to me, I only know me alone. It was a fairly short period, because the language quickly forgives treason and returns at the first call. As a result, I wrote everything correctly, Yandex told me: smart, well done, everything is correct ... You understand that over the years the conversational language has changed, the vocabulary has already been updated, and the system of speech has been updated. The concept of the norm, of course, exists, but this is not the norm where the step to the left, the step to the right is already a shame.

"Culture of the funeral."

On the attitude to the burial of the deceased in different countries.

"Radioantology of modern Russian poetry."

Poems by Alexei Zelensky (Budapest).

***

Ivan wanted to return the current water

In a long -drying channel.

He went down the boulder trail upstairs

Where the moisture once flickered,

And now perhaps when the moonlight

River stones flickered here.

And then he sat on his porch.

An hour later, traces of the collapse appeared.

Only this was missing for me

Ivan thought.

What did he want? Nothing.

Longevity, apparently. Few

That, autumn began on the mountain:

As much as you can see, a haze grave in the sky,

And the thunderstorm hit the iron basin along the edges of the massif.

The lake reflected mountains and darkness and kneaded

Paints,

Preparing a canvas

For autumn,

first,

blind explosion.

But Ivan was not afraid, but only added a step.

The first stone flew over the mountain on Thursday

And without noise he went through the thickness of the forest.

Stopped by clay at the edge of the waters,

He fell silent at all, without giving up a splash.

And at the top on the horn with the body of Ivan,

He froze and listened

- Nothing but bribet - he continued.

It turned out to bite into the ridge all the same in the body
Your: Tearing off the cables from the liver,
Upling grass with teeth,
Commemorating the lungs that, inhaling,
We exhaled "Well, just a little more."
And Kirka grew up to her hands and acted tirelessly,

Measurement of the path.

And when a puddle roared across the abdomen,
Ivan did not know that the mountain ridge was destroyed,

And through it, water washes the hem.

"Red dry"

Conversation about Roma and the island of Barbados, whose inhabitants consider their island the birthplace