The words themselves are not overwhelmed by the result

From the editorial office. There are eras when real poetry not only articulates itself, achieving the clarity and severity of its own hearing, but also thinks about its foundations, that the weed of verbal fabric. This is the era of poetics, theoretical works. The Russian poetry of recent times is more likely to move large strata of statements from one genre to another, by absorbing a new experience, by studying what a new subject can say - to a creative theory, an extra -polling poet, but deeply important for all its development, does not reach. But as the contours of the movement, the shift of the layers change, the poet’s new confidence appears in their word along with the new defenselessness and openness of poetic speech, a request for poetics also appears. About what is happening, what is guessed in a modern poetic word - we talked with the poet Vasily Borodin.

* * *

Russian magazine: First of all, what often pushes to the writing of the poem, repulsion from what the poet sees around, or attraction to what he wants to see?

Vasily Borodin: It turns out two escapisms! It is unlikely that "repulsion"; It is unlikely that "attraction"; When, for example, there are “bad” around, when people behave badly, including themselves, etc.-this is a consequence of some kind of falling away from life, from freedom, and in this case-freedom that comes to the rescue. Two or three words stand so close, joyful that it is clear: here is life; There was not a brick left from Prison of Own Device, because these, the very first, a few words are the window into infinity (infinity-how-to -tustrity of etc.) of life. M. B., this is the window of the train-then the poem is arranged as a movement, as a series of some transformations: it was more often in early verses; Now it turns out rather "o'kna at home"-something spatial, looking at simple peace; New verses are more likely to grow from (plus or minus) inner clarity than fly to it, giving themselves a kick.

And everything is not very similar to the pictures from nature, because the “vision” is probably when you look around and somehow feel that this “around” is based on. And here it is rather not “desire to see”, but (never you know, imaginary or not imaginary, but) a meeting with something invisibly-contaminated. Words, images can be a kind of medieval allegorical animals-“meaning”, which is the very fact that it is such nonsense compared to the “meaning”. Moreover, they almost do not know how to “mean”: completely misses, shortcomings and flights, scratching the air around the unjusted essence - and, m., (When the rhyme is successful), in the hypothetical/ideal reader's head, this essence can hatch, as out of the shell, from this air -longed air? Or do not hatch, but to say: "I am not at all where this dude is busy." When she tells this to the author, this is the most joyful result, the answer to everything at once: say "UV-F"-and in the unknown!

RG: What hook does the poet come to when does the poem begin to write? What can he no longer abandon, or what is forced to refuse, which from what is happening in his inner world becomes irreversible?

VB: If this is about distinguishing entities, I, the farther from the early youth, the more I understand that I do not know how, in any way. Intermediate conclusion - do not be angry and greedy: neither in work, nor in life; It’s good to wave your hand for a lot. In the inner world ... if you distract from it, any holes will overgrow in it; At some point, it just hit, like a cockroach with a spherical Christmas tree toy on the head, and it seems, the courage came to write whatever you like-because it is not “about anything”, but “there are more waves; but they are stronger; but there’s a beacon; here the boat turned over-but here the log was surfaced, and I will drown, but my beacon, but my beacon, but my beacon, but my beacon. Look, dudes: I calmed down; It was (in life) arrogant and (in verses) slurred; This, perhaps, was “fell on the hook”, but the youth went away - and it was gone. And unbelief-in-purpose remains, and it seems, strengthened.

RG: Many poets of the post -carman era thought of inspiration as a sound, as a kind of call hearing in an inner ear, which is then cast in strict forms of the verse. Modern poets seem to be more attracted to visual images, they rather see the future poem, and admit that they train their attention, and not the carelessness of hearing. Is it so?

VB: Now I'll tell you about the sound! In the summer of 1995 I was thirteen years old; I ate something, lay on the bed in the room of our country house; Outside the windows - the sun through the Christmas trees. And thirteen years-this is 1. There is nowhere to rush 2. Nothing hurts 3. You are waiting for something seriously immense. The wheel of a transistor receiver began to turn, and on medium waves he caught the song of the group "The Optimal Option" "It will wake up in a flower." Radio "Turn". Does anyone remember? Hippovsky is not clumsy, but ... You can even say “graceful” approximate words and, most importantly, very bright, dry, like hay of white rays, the sound of a guitar. It became somehow clear that in a person, in addition to the veins, there are some kind of electric wires, the “inclusion” not only in nature, the “promise” of not only health-adversity-nodinism, and the “risk” of not only hunger and cold. For several years in a row there was the only dream-just to grow patches, hang them on the nose and play the guitar in the most smoky corner of a ball, at the most deserted hour. Sound-clouds, sun and clouds of sound simply started in the head, but it did not work out with music, and there were many years before tolerable poems: something was missing. He studied at a very good school, in a good area, in the "hooligans" simply did not believe in aliens. And then he fell into philology, for about a year talked almost exclusively with the guitar, bought up conservative textbooks in a note store. The finally nothing came of it - and in 2000 he entered the evening metallurgical institute. And there, except for my best friends, the talented and independent N. and M. were just “bulls” - and realized that I did not understand their jargon, I don’t understand, for example, a threat in their intonations or grin? At school, we talked very definitely and at the same time delicately; They swore reluctantly, and here ... And the white divine brain was enough to accept the challenge: he began to master simply objective conversational speech, translate complicated thoughts - pure intonation, obscenities and interjections.

This was found: each word has two “extremums” of sound: on the one hand, a certain Aidos, the sound of a word pronouncing itself (like a “note-in-no” at Karavaychuk), and, on the other hand, a sound porridge, similar to the tuning of an orchestra, is the same word pronounced by all people, in different occasions, and in it, in this sound, in this sound. porridge, a tangle of plots. "Inspiration"-suddenly the actualizing the possibility of "pure words", some kind of path that opens to them. It happens: you find in - an intoned word, a tail, a thread in the head of a “pure words”, “pure meanings” - and images, everything that is in memory or outside the window (or in reader memory, an unnamed, but full of “traces of speech”, all this begins to speak linitingly from his own. places and times, pronounces its whole. And sometimes there is immediately a simple melody of "pure words".

RG: Picturesque impressions are clearly important to you. What attracts you to painting more - expressionist or impressionist principle, “loud” or “quiet” expressiveness? Where does the border between expression and inner impression begin, is it important to feel this border?

VB: What if it is impressioniism-expressionism-a false opposition? True - not invented by me - the opposition of direct (quietly drawing) prospects in classical painting and, for example, the reverse perspective on the icons. In impressionism and espressionism-one or the other and this related. The impressionists happened that each smear is like a supporting point for several short rays looking at the viewer, and the picture is like a flat hedgehog from small ("deskaralized", someone would say) reverse prospects. The viewer looks around-he sees around him, the eyes of the picture, beautiful girls, clouds-so very beautiful, but fractional, limited (albeit healthy and pleasant, but) only the world.

For expressionists, the picture could be such ... directly, like a brick, beating a plane: a bang in the face of the viewer; He, having taken aback, looks around - and sees that everything is around. Let his own loneliness forced to see one dying, get sick with someone else's pain and not be able to get out of this; Awareness/sensation of a continuing itself, which has some supports of being, begins to unobviously and reliably treat everything in the head. And years later, the viewer or dude with the artist’s ambitions looks at someone else's or his own “overcame” expressionism as something only, and no one needs to anyone. This is byaka, ingratitude.

In general, expressionism and impressionism are two honest semi -truths of secular art, the same - for the entire artistic unconnected life - a flight and shortness. But they must be - to look between them and around them; In this sense, they are at least a look, a nod (albeit dumb, like “mu-mu”), in the right direction.

RG: Sometimes critics were divided into Russian lyrics of recent decades into “loud” and “quiet”, by analogy with painting. Is this separation legitimate?

VB: ... probably was legitimate. But we won, and it is time to divide more like a “quiet” and “soundless”.

RG: The artist never makes impromptu, even his random sketch is the result of a well -thought -out plan, inscribed in larger compositional plans, implemented or not implemented. And does the modern poet compose impromptu, or does he also bear his great plan, attitude to the language and the event?

VB: "Big Plan" is like a globe: here I, it seems, is sitting motionless in a chair; A chair on a flat floor - but in fact, we and the floor are spinning on a ball, and he is in orbit! A truly big plan-he is as much as the artist and his understanding as the whole universe is larger than his boots. The world is already there; time is already on; The bird flies from the branch to the branch; The artist puts a random blot, strokes next to her something more conscious; In the end, something in contact with the world and the course of time, human perceptions/intuition/hopes is born-or it turns out some kind of ... not nothing, but a lie.

The poet probably has something similar: the inner tuning fork is buzzing in the ear; Outside the window, the starry sky is buzzing; Somewhere in the body is a moral law. If something in the rhyme argues with one, the other or the third, you can listen, wait for the last word-and, if everything turned out completely wrong, put the poem in a pile of pieces of paper to walk the turtles.

RG: Do you feel variability, fragility, instability or ineffectiveness of the language when you write, or is the language for you - the material of the letter?

VB: Language is an interlocutor, a great amyoba, a best friend who, unlike me, has a hearing, a voice, a desire (that is, a vocation!) Something to sing something-but who, like lead soles, is a diver, something needs my personal despair, hopes, love and trams-pam-pums. No one for anyone, just two fighters.

RG: And can some word, expression, linguistic fact, blow up the poem from the inside, re-enlighten everything, changing what previously dictated inspiration? Can, in other words, can change the prospect at the very moment of essay?

VB: Still, I always knew where I go, and therefore I allowed the primary elements of the poem (in the early verses-its “internal contradictions”) to grow, grow up and cleanse according to their laws. “Protagonist”-some new line or exactly one word-always appears at some point and wins, if at least a little you believe in the possibility of such a victory, “you know the last note”.

RG: Harmony in the classical sense is associated with numerical laws, that is, with intuition is more of an writer than a listener or reader who takes already created for granted. Modernism (in the broad sense) tried to make the reader an accomplice of harmony, who completes the missing links of harmony with his own personality, sacrificing his peace for the sake of the appearance of the whole. Do you proceed from the experience of a classic creator or modernist reader?

VB: Maybe this is: when you write inside-write and freely with the reader sharing this disobedience? And, when calmly, you share peace-probably, for the last four years I strove for this, but inside rest, some lies will be started, and you have to live and think.

RG: From the point of view of some modern sociologists, taste is primarily a social characteristic of a person, this is a privilege determined by education and position. But the same can be said not only about the taste, but also about the composition - after all, it not only “builds a system of values” (how the emotional opponents of the modernity began to think, while completely belonging to the era of modernity), but also creates complex relations of the initiates and initiates. Do you perceive the taste as a social phenomenon? Or are you betting on an individual understanding?

VB: No, the taste is basically like a musical hearing or tail: either there is or not. The environment or ... does not kill, it is impossible, but it torments - or primitively, but not ugly develops, or difficult to develop - and then necessarily in the very small one, but spoils.

Taste-the sensitivity of the veracity of internal architecture of anything-works, act, and “understanding”, m., It simply does not happen: there is an intuitive recognition by the reader in the text-author’s love, or loss, or some honest errors-and then the reader or everything rejects, or already, not understanding why-loves with insurance.

RG: Is the taste formed for modern poetry only Thanks to reading verses, or is it necessary to master something else?

VB: The area is not necessary! Contemporary art is not even a subculture or counter-culture, it (the best, most lively and most interesting part) is some kind of sub-contracture-not a handful, but a pinch of those who found each other and who had already managed to get tired of eccentrics.

Reader, read better Chekhov! If suddenly-having fed a duck in the park, having climbed home, listening to Buysteuhud for three in a row-you still catch yourself on "I want that-I don’t know what", then WelCome. I do not promise.

RSA: Is there a place in the modern world for good -natured utopia of universal love for poetry, “city of poets”, or any utopia is discredited in advance?

VB: I do not want to go to utopia, not in any!

RG: Anna Glazova recalled in connection with your verses the multi -figure canvases of Bruegel and Bosch. Do you really see all these figures? What is more important then - to see the characters or see scenes?

VB: No, I do not see figures. Homemade philosophys are stepping over by homemade allegories; It turns out such a pseudo-visionary, "carts".

RG: What arts are closest to modern poetry? Is it possible to say that modern poetry is in some ways not only elegant, but also to applied arts, because it is important as an element, a fragment of a whole worldview, that it no longer claims to be “everyone and for everything”?

VB: It is good when she is so quite quiet: and boundless (with the eyes of the wrong beetle that in the box, but what is in the garden), and not trying to be a power similar to a face like a fist. It is terrible when she is completely determined: now it seems that they scolded and scolded the postmodern fathers for the irony, sowed, sowed "metaphysical poetry", "new sincere seriousness"-and shook a hampi with a club. It is clear that "this is not us!", That no one reads poems ...

Someone was a Soviet line: "But still, nevertheless, still."

RG: Is the image of man reflected in modern poetry? More or less than in other arts?

VB: Probably reflected - "self -portrait", lyrical poets. This is just what can be loved once and.

RZh: Does modern poetry requires the poet to stop, for some time to get away from “practice”, to try herself in other arts, or is it always continuous production from the spirit of language and spirit of self -contemplation?

VB: When the poet for a long, long-lasting poetry and poetry, in-sebe, does not understand or offends-it itself leaves; None of the poets familiar to me never once “drove it away”, never changed something else if she was near. The fact of the matter is that it is not production, but buddy and clever: it would be good to protect, listen, not to give out for just and not boast of anyone.

And - I do not know how, I do everything on the contrary.

Talked by Alexander Markov