Translated material
Miroslav Nemirov. All about Poetry 2
Discussion
Miroslav Nemirov
Publication date: November 22, 2000
Avedon, Richard
A renowned international master of advertising and other similar photography. And so: of course, it would be nice to include information and discussions about such masters in this essay. For they, of course, play an extremely important role in modern culture, firstly, and secondly, this essay will become more beautiful as a result: with pictures.
This is alas. I'm not at all an expert in this area, so...
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Here, for example, is one of the extremely famous photographs of A.’s work:
This picture, having been published in color in the Top Model magazine, where it took up an entire spread, in its torn form hung in my home for a year and a half, just on the way from the kitchen to the living room. And my little bird Guzel, during all these years and a half, could never pass by without freezing next to her, looking at her for a long time and carefully, and then taking one of the poses in which these five were captured. This was repeated daily and several times a day, and each time her face was extremely serious and diligent.
For the reader to better understand the essence of this picture, it is necessary to point out that my bird was then a serious lady of thirty-five years old, the director of a printing house, and in appearance - a Bashkir with a wide face, with short arms and legs and with weight, due to asthma and systematic use of hormonal drugs. drugs, 86 kilograms with a height of 1 m 58 cm.
That's right - November 23, 1997, 10.42 .
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2000, November 21 .
The bird demands to know that it has since taken action and now weighs just 69kg.
It's true, that's how it is. Therefore, I am happy to report this.
Automation of receptions
When the rhyme “love” pops up automatically for the word “blood”, and “roses” for “frost”. Or, for example, I decided to write a tragedy in verse - then white iambic pentameter pops up by itself.
Or Blok: when he decided to compose a poem, “blizzard”, “death” and so on immediately pop up.
Or Pasternak of the 1920s - the poems and "Spektorsky" are completely impossible to read, I have never been able to force myself to read them to the end: everything is written exclusively by itself, automatically, without the intervention of consciousness, using effective techniques in which P. got his hand, And - - -
Or for me: like what’s going where something is happening, it’s immediately like “fuck you” and “oh-oh-oh-oh-oh-oh.” But by the way, in fact, at one time I actually came up with these “f*ck you” as a tool for parodying speech automation - but over time it itself turned into a means of this automation.
Sad thing. And what? And then: you need to strain every time! Every time you overpower yourself and do everything differently than the skill automatically urges you to do, but strain yourself and do it differently.
But this, oddly enough, is difficult. And - laziness. And now I no longer have the strength to strain, and - - -
And nothing more than sheer idle talk begins (see), and then, in general, if you are an honest person, you need to give up this business and retrain as a house manager.
It’s not so easy to retrain as a building manager. No state will save any building management positions for all the former poets! And here are the masses of people who, once upon a time in their youth, wrote a few lively lines, continue, and continue, and continue...
We pull, we pull, the word is stale,We write both sluggishly and darkly ,
- as D. Samoilov correctly noted. "Professional poetry", a terrible thing! A person acquires the social status of a poet and then becomes obliged to support it with new works, well, so he writes all sorts of muddy mudot, sucked out of thin air - “without a deity, without inspiration,” but on one specified automatism.
In fact, of course, it would be fair for poets, like ballerinas, to be paid a pension starting at age 35. Or according to Kushner:
I'm afraid of old age: she doesn't want poetry,She is ashamed of them, grumbles, and since she writes them herself,
Then they are paler than sleep and the expressions are shorter,
And their poor pattern is embroidered with colorless thread. And craves simplicity! It would be better if she stole!
She is stingy, boring, and so aphoristic,
That all her poems are just for the pedestal,
It's funny to stand on it. Come to your senses: it’s indecent! The rain will flood you, a bird will spoil your shoulder.
When a warm embrace weakens life,
It's not scary to die, but scary to transform
In the repository of goodness and wisdom is a fiend. Poets need to go to the forest on a sled, like the Evenks,
Bring them when they are about seventy years old, so that they are false
Don't hear, let them sit with their faces buried in their knees,
Nearly seventy, in a deep forest, or even earlier!
(1996)
Only Kushner is spreading some kind of unprecedented liberalism here: under seventy? Almost thirty-five!
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The Soviet government, by the way, understood this in the 1920s. And she acted accordingly: she paid, for example, as Nadezhda Mandelstam reports (N. Mandelstam. Memoirs. - M.: Soglasie, 1999, p. 139), a pension to Mandelstam “for services in Russian literature when it is impossible for this writer to be used in Soviet literature” . “But they didn’t find anything better for Anna Andreevna ,” Nadezhda Yakovlevna sarcastically, “ than to give her a penis in old age, although she was about thirty-five years old.” Why be sarcastic? Everything is correct, very reasonable.
"Automatic letter"
The surrealists practiced.
They sought out and developed various techniques to ensure that it was not you who wrote, but that something itself wrote through you. The subconscious is there, or else - - -
Various methods and techniques, alcohol and drugs for example, but this is one of the simplest, and all sorts of other methods of bringing oneself into a mediumistic state, and:
a) it would be necessary to provide a description of these techniques;
b) give examples of what happened as a result.
I don’t have any books by surrealists at hand (I’m not a fan), so let’s put it aside.
As far as I remember, they didn’t succeed in anything interesting: writing something like that, that is, of course, is probably interesting, but reading the resulting products - - -
It turned out to be just a game for its own sake, and not for the sake of the result.
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It’s interesting that I almost succeed!
Moreover, I don’t strive for any kind of automatic writing, I don’t use any special techniques, including alcohol or drugs, but I just wake up in the morning, sit down at the computer and start pressing the keyboard without a break for about four hours, and I don’t know what happened in the end, and by the evening I don’t even remember what I wrote about.
There are also disadvantages to this - length and frequent repetition of the same thing.
Here I desperately need - an editor who would select what needs to be published and what needs to be revised.
There is no such editor yet, and there is nowhere to get one. - Such is my life, such is the automatic letter - July 29, 2000, Saturday, 6.02 am .
Today I need to go to the madhouse again - to appear in front of a psychiatrist, who will determine whether I can still remain free or whether I need to go back to the cell on haloperidol, etc.
Autonomy of the poem
The ability of a poem to present a complete and final picture of the world, contained in so many lines, autonomous and absolutely self-sufficient. Which, of course, is impossible, but the illusion that this is so, sometimes it can be achieved, nevertheless - sometimes it is possible.
In any case, this is exactly what we should definitely strive for, I think.
Because that's how it should be.
Because this is much more correct than - - -
Here.
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Brodsky, for example, almost always manages to achieve this, and Pasternak, and - - -
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For example, for this reason I resorted to all sorts of typographical tricks, to a special method of publishing and publishing poems - see Papers .