Googolev's room

1.

With some, very recent, we live in the absence of “general questions” and “general answers”. There are no more physics lessons, which at the same time, at the same hour, take place in schools on the streets of Lenin in Pskov, Murmansk, Kaliningrad and Vladikavkaz. There is no canon, there is no big style.

And thank God that it is not: this is a victory of private experiments, everything has been crushed - in Murmansk they are already talking about the power of attraction, and in Moscow they only start a conversation about atoms. But many people have a longing for these “common lessons” that gave a classic confidence that everyone looks at the world through glasses with the same diopters and the unity of time, action and place will always work as crutches. Probably, this is a herd feeling, a way to hide from the darkness of personal issues: since the question is one to all, it means that there is one answer to all, and most importantly - this answer is at the end of the problem.

This is not now. Now there is nothing at all, the roll is staggering along the field, littered with candy wrappers and cigarette butts, walk, toss, do not forget to puff up, flows into your ears, it flows on the mustache, nothing is shining at this feast, the table is already disassembled. We live in the interval of the interval: reality has not gone anywhere, and it is not clear to explain it as in the “foundation pit”, only our construction has not yet begun (or frozen - even worse), so there are no words, only porridge tilted by fat.

Walking deep into the subway,
everyone wants "7" so that there was a figure
And, look, it flew into the bowels
Some, [***, censored at the request of Roskomnadzor], like a circus.

Someone, we will refresh the memory,
Porridge -seasoned lard:
She is dead and dry,
She is alive and wet - ours.

Physical coaching of faces -
Lachudras, pentuhi, jogobina, -
Eyes in the back of the head roll down down
continuous wave of hemoglobin.

The crevice of the horde,
Sole thinking lichen
it dries with foam at the mouth,
It whips like from the movie " Shining ".

Uterine candle of faces,
A trace of the indelible GOST ...
I am sure that there would be still found
striking similarities,

So that everyone will find out - in that
There is a gap - and not small ...
But where I myself stand
a merchant, a seller and a channel?

When you can get an answer to questions, a large style, which is always totalitarian, becomes a reference point: you can fight or hug this style. When it is not, everything is allowed, and if everything is allowed, then nothing is impossible. The way out of this vacuum is individual people, as a rule, inventing such solutions that by their nature deny a large style and which suggest the possibility of exclusively private answers. Like Eisenberg - “And Lenya says: we are Paria. / We are a substance without a shell; / Unusual newcomers. / Therefore, for each line / you need special glasses - / Comments are needed. ”

In this sense, this is a conversation about unusual beginners who go in special glasses with special diopters. Like ours, everyone has. That is, you need to find and hold on to the coat of the Paria necessary for you, which creates a "new primer."

In today's period, not just answers - there are not even asked questions, and there is only persistent bewilderment, that is, the moment before the questions will be asked. We are no longer in a large hall, but in small rooms, where it is cold and lonely. And in these rooms we must learn to extract a private question out of private bewilderment - and then, if it is lucky, hear the answer.

In this room in our regular life, we throw tea, brew garbage, make some regular movements and hear how bewilderment is noisy in the head. But we do not respond to this bewilderment, standing on a stool (except in order to attach a rope to the beam), we do not recite and do not declare. We “just live” - we have lunch, read the news feed in the toilet, put the kettle, but we ask in “pre -quotes”, we are trembling with small itching of bewilderment and what to do with it, we don’t know: there is no ready -made solution, only the noise in the heads of the surrenders about death, involvement, our responsibility, the possibility or impossibility of “just life” next to the darkness and willingness to leave the room and the willingness to leave the room and Other, and so on, you do not know what to do with all this - today, in 2015, when the previous archers help only theoretically.

But the poet Julius Gugolev seems to know what to do with it. And this knowledge is especially important, because he speaks from today - not in the central audience, not standing on a stool, but from a room next to you. He speaks through a very subjective microphone: do not want - do not listen, but I allow my bewilderment like this. After listening, you understand that he not only moved from bewilderment to the question, but is already somewhere in the field of answers. In this sense, this is another rhyme with other important rooms - with the room of Aizenberg, Gandlevsky, Kibirov, Stepanova or even Koval (even because it would seem to be completely different, but no, the same, only the coal uses completely different modulations, and because its room has long overgrown with an unusual landscape, but this is a separate conversation). Julius Gugolev knows what to do with it.

And how his new verses differ from the previous ones is fierce proof of this.

I am busy not simple:
So that happiness is complete
So as not to forget, we will not forgive -
We will not reproach, we will not remember
In order not to try not to torture -
Who is spinning, who is the headman ...
And to burn your hands and vodka eat -
Please, please!

2.

So I look at you, fag
And I think that I would have to live,
Without wishing -

That's how V.N. Nekrasov -

Neither at home, nor their wives, nor will ...
... or a donkey ... - their donkey, and their will -
Only justice -

Like Vsevol'd Nikolaich.

This year, eight new Gugolev texts were published: this is a little, especially if you remember that it has not been there for a long time. Only eight. But this “only” is already enough to understand what a new poetic situation is talking to us, a new poetic sentence has been made to us. Moreover, there is a temptation to talk about these texts as a separate book, a full -fledged statement in which “chapters” - individual texts - are interconnected. I will do so, although I assume that the poet’s plan was different, but it’s more convenient for me now, as if someone had slipped an envelope under the door of the room, and the book was in it-almost all the pages burned out, but the cover and several reversal were preserved, and they have business with them. I have with them.

These poems (cited above, at least) seemed to apologize for what appeared, but do it rather from their inherent cunning politeness: as a guest who enters the house with gifts of gifts, a bottle and pies and a little apologizes for having come. However, at the next reading, this impression is leaving, you begin to forget, “who is at a party”, and the poems know this: it is because they are self -sufficient and undemanding, that is, as if (namely) “quiet”, and if you are your joy that you read them, they don’t have to apologize for them, and you have to fail in them.

... Well, then everyone will go to the salute,
The necks will be covered and Belma will flood,
The wall with the wall converges -
Kutuzovsky with the upper student.
Only this salute is not for me.
I True, Semyon, next to my dad.
- Everything, no salute, -
And he smiles fiercely.
Woe to me, if we are going home.
Mom went on duty at the hospital.
What kind of family dramas
They ripen in the absence of mom!
You need to build a plan in advance:
Or for a chair ... or in a closet ...
Do not avoid punishment ...
Inevitable tangles ...
But the details are better to deputy.
Let's just say that dad is a belt
So the loins gives me
That not to sit in this chair.
This, of course, is a bad option.
I forgot everything. Only a cabinet and a sideboard
They remember what was reflected in them ...
How much it continued ...
I look at him from the bottom up ...
He mows at me from top to bottom ...
But no ... we are going to the Pioneer cinema!
The light crumbles ... the square is torn ...
This is immediately behind the house where the registry office used to be ...
Either crying, or laughter ...
Either wheezing, or whistle ...
A thin Oliver Twist climbs into the window.
Behind - the bully terrier and Bill Six.

It seems that these are texts with hidden keys that there is a reader with whom they talk: names, dates, revolutions of speech - all this implies home semantics, which seems not to be quite accessible to people from other rooms. Here the reference to Vsevolod Nekrasov already requires some pass.

This was also in Gugolev’s previous things: consciously or not, they sent home semantics to the homeland of domestic poetry - the beginning of the 19th century, were filled with “secrets”, which did not interfere with the pleasure of reading these messages, but forcing the existence of the meanings inaccessible to you (which, of course, gives additional meanings and charm). But in the new "Book" this technique is turning over. From the text to the text, you begin to understand that “closeness” is now (or also before?) Only one of the tools working for a general statement. Home semantics or closeness turn out to be imaginary-the fact that the key is hidden, but not the fact that it is (or is it easier: it is not a fact that knowledge of certain realities and circumstances will clarify the statement for you or change its perception, at best-add some details). These texts pretend that there is a reader who knows that “there is actually”, but now they are not made from it closed. They now have a more complicated way of closing: not for their own, but for everyone.

As before, but here it works new - even stronger, the exactingness of words is huge. With an apparent free, conversational gender, any character of this statement should earn his appearance and explain. That is, the best of the best gathered, who proved their right to stand in the ranks, and, encountering, going to, should get out of themselves, rearranging the letters and sounds, a new word - and now it will give a new meaning.

Go out early and ask:
- Are you tyrants? - We are tyrants? !!!
We are veterans ... - I'm sorry ...
Wash the wounds ... drink ... howl ...

And then I move to the most interesting - to fragments that cannot be cut in the film.

3.

9/11

Lyol believes that Alik is to blame for everything.
“Lyol, do not la-la,” Molabai objects.
Alik, of course, is partly ... um ... eccentric.
That he lay his "Lee Mubai, is Mubai ..."?

So everything is fine, I met me in JFK,
The city was not seen, immediately - come on, pour.
In appearance, a responsible, shaven -headed Jew,
And all there - again says: "Lee Mubai ..."

Well, “Lee Mubai” ... I will say more: “Tai Lai La”!
What is unclear, huh? Lee Mubai - Chow Yunfat.
What now, so that Alik was to blame for everything?
So, you know, everyone will come out, [***, censored at the request of Roskomnadzor], Lel, to blame!

Then it will all smoke and smolder.
Well, for now, we are at the building of Pavonia/Newport.
Alik on the camera could such [***, censored at the request of Roskomnadzor] under
Karl Bryullov easily capture:

Heavenly forces are ready to flog out of darkness,
The sky is inclined above us, like over a layout,
lightning gaps so illuminated by Manhattan,
So that we are subconsciously ready and we:

that tomorrow the plane flies through the sky,
Someone is sitting in him, but it’s obvious that not Solzhenitsyn,
Something yells and strives from heaven already down by him;
Lyol-in the kitchen and also yells something.

So, along the way, the city of Zero breaks us.
Breakfast a la grand Ziro will not take place.
Who sneaks there? Who is lurking there?
Who gets used to attentive views in the subway?

Who, being in the area of ​​the 15th street,
He sees how water and cupcakes are thrown into firefighters?
Who dissolved in the seas of these tears of grateful,
Yes, that shore is far away, and the case is closed ...

Who already sees only ashes everywhere, raid,
Even in the eyes, where neither shame nor excitement;
And that all this will not happen to someone there,
Ah, bitch, with each! Today! - Well, God with you ... tomorrow ...

Like on the screen when he suddenly spreads,
Smaras sparkling with smoky light of the dispatch:
Lyol curses, Alik is grimacing, the tiger sneaks, lurks a dragon ...
What is Mubai? Lee Mubai returns to the city,

Where is this evening, thunderstorm, this view from the window -
Only fragments that cannot be cut in the film.
All these years you have been looking dry with dry eyes
You hear how Lyol ​​shouts to someone that “war, [***, censored at the request of Roskomnadzor] ! war!".

This is the main text of Gugolev’s new “book”, and it is enough to read it to understand what happened, what proposal you made and how poetry begins to talk about today.

As at the time of the disaster, fleeting, detail, random gestures become something extremely sharp and are done “forever”-we have known this at least since the time of Baratynsky and Tyutchev. But Gugolev has a focus: a catastrophe (in the most specific and broad sense of the word) dissolves in everything that “by the word had to”, life changes it. Horror dissolves in human intonation: everything always begins with human and human ends-“Lyol believes that Alik is to blame for everything” and “all these years you look with dry eyes, you hear Lyolya screaming to someone,” [***, censored at the request of Roskomnadzor]! War! ””

And the home semantics are no longer home, but an autobiography of everyone.

How would it be written in the textbook “Native Speech” in a few decades, which, we had classicism, would simultaneously read schoolchildren Anadyr and Kaliningrad? I think something like this: “Gugolev has two main ones, if not the only ones, the topics are life and death and their constant proximity to each other, they are sister, you look at one - you see another.” Here is some kind of banality to which I would add one more: to bewilderment and on the following questions about death there is an answer in the life itself, which is happening here and now, in it, in this life, there is nothing superfluous. Neither a piece of the cake, nor the phrase that you say, entering a visit, nor quotes from a stupid song spinning in your head, nor a funny typo on the label, or tears; There is nothing superfluous, there is nothing in vain. Perhaps because it is the foliage that will always rustle:

Or, having come to say goodbye to the corpse,
You feel, sniffing barely:
Strange, near the morgue smells of soup,
The sun shines, the foliage rustles ...

4.

There must be no new questions, they are all about one thing. There is only a new way to talk about them, and this is especially important in the absence of general instructions - to find a form of an answer that is adequate to today's mailboxes. Gugolev’s texts offer, as in June 2015, to answer my bewilderment, thereby approving the fearlessness of Russian literature. This is all about how life defeats death: this could be said if the phrase had not been erased from use - and if we keep in mind that the word "life" in the literal of Googolev is a slightly different meaning. It is clear that his former books spoke of the same, but not so persistent - or I was not so listening. In any case, this book is new, much more desperate and tough, talking ruthlessly with itself, and therefore with me. For which she is thank you.

We get the opportunity to read the texts of our time, we are dealing with a wonderful modern poet, no matter what the word means in our new non -classical circumstances. For example, the fact that a lot of people need a lot of people in the “Gugolev’s room”, some are not yet in the know. They need, because he knows something that many people need to hear what was said in a new language. Throwing garbage, I know that I will whisper. And I know what I will see, brewing tea in my room - fragments that cannot be cut in the film.

Poetic evening Julia Gugoleva will take place today at 19:30 in the cafe "Bobra and Ducks" on 56 Pyatnitskaya Street