I \ \ c w \с ^ Ч .

О Ь \р Ч у ь )

ц - \5 4 U v

F I E L D -

R U S S I A

G E N N A D Y A Y G I
t r a n s l a t e d by Peter F r a n c e
 Hai1-015722

Т\ >\ '

М т 3 3835 Т 5000 1989г

 ( Д а . - снны й зко.

P r a i s e f o r G e n n a d y A y g i :

“N om inated several times for the Nobel Prize for Literature, w inner o f a
num ber o f international literary prizes, and translated into over twenty
languages, Gennady Aygi is regarded as one o f the m ost im portant Russian
poets o f the second half o f the 20th century. He is a poet o f the country and
stands totally against the classical tradition of Russian poetry from
Pushkin to Brodsky.” — Poetry London Newsletter

“In the poetry o f Gennady Aygi, the fragm ented typography and distrust
of M eaning and Reference that we associate with m odernity interact with
the pagan dances and songs o f the poet’s ancient ancestral culture to
produce a poetry at once familiar, unfamiliar, and distinctly Aygi’s own.”
— American Book Review

“Aygi writes with an imagistic compression and real tim e candor that is
utterly unique.” — Publishers Weekly

“There is a recurring and compelling quality of wonder in Aygi’s poetry.

. . . He is a genius o f liminal or border states— o f perceptions that are
altering, m om ents in our own processes o f form ation m arked by a
m om entary slippage.” — Rain Taxi

“Gennady Aygi is a m ajor and original voice in contem porary poetry.”

— Journal o f European Studies

“As a reader from the dem ocratic West, it alm ost hurts to read the work of
a m an so intoxicated with wonder. But G ennady’s poems are m ore than
paeans: they are venerations to the non-rational and non-m aterial . . .
W ithin these breathless exclamations he echoes Emily Dickinson or-
Wordsworth.” — M ary Gladstone, The Scotsman

“The m ost original voice in contem porary Russian poetry, and one o f the
m ost unusual voices in the world.”
— Jacques Roubaud, Times Literary Supplement
 “Aygi is entirely dedicated to poetry and indifferent to ‘literature’. . . . A
M allarme from the Volga, he will not be satisfied with chance utterances
and subordinates him self totally to the unexplored and the unknown,
asking questions o f that unknow n— this is his w ork.”
— Antoine Vitez, Le Monde

“Peter France’s scrupulous versions are faithful not simply to the often
am biguous sense o f the originals, bu t also to the typographical m inutiae
. . . which spell out the exclamations, questionings, pauses, vulnerabilities
and praises o f this m ost remarkable poet.”
— Edwin Morgan, Times Literary Supplement

“He is not a gloomy poet to meet or to read. Everything is illum inated by

the piercing clarity o f his images. And, for all his passionate love o f nature,
he is deeply h um ane Aygi has never forgotten that loving embrace, or
lost the unm isted eye of a child.”
— Paul Barker, The Times (London)

“An extraordinary poet o f the contem porary Russian avant-garde.”

— Rom an Jakobson

“To me these poem s are com parable only to the piano music o f LeoS
Janddek. The rhythm and interrupted range o f Aygi’s feelings have the
intelligence o f music whose patterns are determ ined by Amor, Am or the
child, the one whose reaches are reposes.” — Fanny Howe

“It seems to me beyond dispute that Gennady Aygi is one o f the w orld’s
m ost significant and innovative living poets. His work is uncannily tuned
b o th to vital currents in contem porary practice and to ancient chords o f
spiritual and social filiation. His translator, Peter France, has worked both
diligently and brilliantly over the years to render into English the boldness
and vitality o f the originals.” — Michael Palmer
F I E L D -
R U S S I A
ПОЛЕ-РОССИЯ
 т т -и ясм , f
»Ч **:
с. в. ч *

вот а жедав тебе! f v

♦
/вчдегье-шднтза безшлвно/ ч >$ LJ
в поле ушлкнуть душ» /"оБог" говорам ад 1Чт » Ч
более-ееряце» г додано?
i * Г
беяш ^.ш стщ его д 1
юяъяо .;V
i *
вокруг ч > 4
ч П ?
Совершенства/ о как ятот ветер * v*» , ч<!
даже т т ш не тронул днш ая! I ч>
* t
огнь * i
I
яеттнносгА l i? i
ве»л i, '
.» %
4
ът ш т г v Д *
вое , 1 <
4 A *
исчезало: о буи» же 1* ч '
*
ТЙМ , р
Iх х ■>
уже очень давно j (ч
не т ц ю - ке.«: у л к б а л о в ь : > £
i
"хуяте ??истое - тн" > ? *
i* i
< *

ГБ80

: / / jf . Я*/**».*', /Тгл y&J? у t> у-**/*. / ^Vc л-уи

II-/ £<'./*/<¥< $•£** *■ *•«'<-*"£< 4 * s***СЛ-У* f i-*/»¥у **■*•.<i if *.?■fa?S..^ +*y, «- Г***«».4 ***** I
I /iiS-а **'■*"***¥ *■& S' *-<■<■* yfr*. J*'£y>*■*«'/*u.rf.*<A “ (л>*/.л»)г/ /per - О <■/•♦.,
■А#-*.* еЪ-М-*** '*'"** г/ ’усе*- / / r- *v* *. ъ+.,4< <f Мг;гг^ *
4&1+«<Л~ь. Й гн . ( у* 4,4, х*м /с, <?л j , **«учА.л* {
%Л* ^-к • * < <■*11м <<ivx " ^хмч <&' ■■&>#**Г\ &**>» \
<+-у.*<- / 'W/k^ rfCfc.** -Ч' *-у '<#“*> <’ Я^Г>< Ь'^м ♦’i.f Л#' ^ /•<'.'<<*'<?...* «vx- !
С'. А-у-ьjfp **. ъ«Лы*. « -* tfar/» MlkPjjt -Г-уУ* Ж* — 4' ptytt&f.A
tf4* >u*'W ^ - /*»i .: * х ч ) ^ y*»-^ Ум* ь У* е.ьг*. ~ ^ ^ ^ ^ *< •

77je poem “Field-Russia” in a letter by Gennady Aygi to Peter France

 Д С ЪЧ

G e n n a d y A y g i

I E L D -
U S S I A

translated fro m the Russian by P E T E R F R A N C E

A NEW D IR E C T IO N S PAPERBOOK O R IG IN A L
C opyright © 1982,1990,1991,1992,2001 by G ennady Aygi
T ranslation Copyright © 1993,1997,2007 by Peter France
C om pilation Copyright © 2007 by New D irections Publishing

All rights reserved. Except for b rief passages quoted in a newspaper, magazine, radio, or
television review, no p art o f this book m ay be reproduced in any form o r by any means,
electronic o r m echanical, including photocopying and recording, o r by any inform ation
storage and retrieval system, w ithout perm ission in w riting from the Publisher.

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

Poem s in this volum e have appeared (som etim es in earlier versions) in the following p u b ­
lications: “Willows,” “Field-Russia, “In the Mist,” “Again - Willows,” “A nd - Schubert,”
“Rose o f Silence,” “T he Last Ravine,” “Leaf-fall and Silence,” and “Final D eparture” in Gen­
nady Aygi: Selected Poems 1954-94, Angel Books, London / Hydra Books (N orthw estern
University Press), Evanston, Illinois (1997). “Final D eparture” in Index on Censorship, Lon­
d o n (1993). “ Field: and Beyond it a Ruined Church,” “View w ith Trees,” and “Little Song
about a Loss” in Degree: o f Stability, D uration Press, Sausalito, CA (1999).

The poem s have been translated from Aygi’s typescripts, taking account o f corrections
m ade by him in subsequent Russian publications, in particular Zdes' (Moscow: Sovrem en-
nik, 1991); Teper’ vsegda snega (Moscow: Sovetskii PisateP, 1992); and Poslednii O t’ezd
(Moscow: O G I, 2001). The Russian text o f “Conversation at a Distance” is published in
Razgovor na rasstoyanii (St. Petersburg: N im bus Press, 2001).

M anufactured in the U nited States o f America

New D irections Books are prin ted on acid-free paper
First published as a New D irections Paperbook (NDP1085) in 2007
Published sim ultaneously in C anada by Penguin Books C anada Limited

Library o f Congress C ataloging-in-Publication Data

Aygi, Gennady, 1934-2006.

[Poems. English. Selections]
Field-Russia / G ennady Aygi; translated from the Russian by Peter France,
p. cm.
“A New D irections Paperbook O riginal.”
ISBN 978-0-8112-1721-7 (pbk.: alk. paper)
1. Aygi, Gennady, 1934-2006— Translations into English.
I. France, Peter, 1935- II. Title
PG3478.135A2 2007
891.7Г44— dc22 2007025079

New D irections Books are published for lam es Laughlin

by New D irections Publishing C orporation
80 Eighth Avenue, N ew York, NY 10011

-СИСНД/ЬНЛП БИЬ/ГСПТМ

ЧУВАШСКОЙ
РЕСПУБ/ИКИ
 A n d - it seems that Silence itself,
entering a pile o f papers,
Itself crosses ou t thoughts about Itself,
striving - fusing with m e -
to become:
Unique
and ever more -
Absolute

G en n ad y A ygi

from Poetry-as-Silence, 1992

This tran slatio n is dedicated to the m em o ry o f G ennady Aygi,
dear friend a n d en d u rin g presence.
 Contents

CONVERSATION AT A DISTANCE 1

FIELD-RUSSIA: PART O N E 23

Field-Russia 25
In th e M ist 26
W illows 27
Field: A nd Beyond It a R uined C hurch 28
S leep-Illum ination 30
Again - Field-Russia 31
Phlox (And: A bout a C hange) 32
After th e Blizzards 33
Field: Suddenly - a Poppy 34
Sleep-W hiteness 35
G ouache 36
Field: U n know n Flower 37
D istant D raw ing 38
Again - W illows 39
Field-Russia - III 40
But th a t H illside 40
And: T he Field o f the Living 41
Rose at the T hreshold Alone 42
Day-W orld 43
 View w ith Trees 44
Late N ut-Tree 45
Day: I-A lone (Two Postcards in Verse) 46
O utside the D oor 47
And: The M orning Star (Breaks d u rin g W ork) 49
Field-Russia: A Farewell 50
Song for M yself 51

FIELD-RUSSIA: PART TW O 53

Field: R oad 55
C om ing in to Being o f a Tem ple 56
Rye - Always th e Sam e - Rye 57
O akw ood a n d (Across the Field) O akw ood 58
S hudder o f a Daisy 61
R oad o u t o f th e Forest 62
Second Little Song for M yself 64
Field-C onclusion (L and w ith o u t People) 65
A pproaches to Sunflowers 67
Field (A nd Again - A n A bandoned C hurch ) 68
T h ird Little Song for M yself 70
Peacefully: Fires o f Sunflowers 71
W illows (In M em ory o f M usic) 73
Field a n d A nna 74
W alking tow ard a Birch-Tree in a Field 75
Slowed A ugust 76
M o th er am o n g R aspberries 77
Field a n d A nna - II 78
A nd - A M em ory: C learing in Shauri Forest 79
B rief A ppearance o f Liudochka 80
And: S chubert 81
Poem -Title: W hite B utterfly Flying over a C ut Field 82
A., W alking to the H erd - Across the Field 83
 M idnight: Radio Jam m ing: U nknow n W om an Singing 85
Fading o f August 87
O ne M ore Little Song for M yself 88

FIELD-RUSSIA: PART THREE 89

C louds 91
And: M om ents-in-B irches 92
To an Icon o f th e M other o f G od 93
R oad th ro u g h a C learing 93
D rops o n a Rose 94
T h ro u g h th e W indow - A C learing 95
U ntitled 96
R em em brance in a C learing 96
C o n tin u atio n 97
C ornfield - Before R ipening 98
Funeral o f Poppies 99
Evening T houghts A m ong R aspberry C anes 100
P arting w ith a C h u rch 102
D ream -in -a-B an n er 103
O h M y F riend 104
R em em brance in a Clearing - II 105
Late Last Flow ering o f the W ild Rose 106
Solitary Sunflower 107
A nd th a t N ut-Tree Long Ago 109
Island o f Daisies in a C learing 110
D ream s - W ith Faces o f O ld 111
O nly th e Possibility o f a F ragm ent 112
Always th at Same W illow 112
Phloxes - After “Everything” 113
T hree N otes for an Epilogue 114
P urer th a n M eaning 116
C learing tow ard Evening 116
TIM E OF RAVINES 117

Rose o f Silence 119

Y ou-A nd-Forest 120
W ith Singing: Toward an E nding 122
A bout a Little G irl a n d S om ething Else 124
Pitiful Landscape b y an U nknow n A rtist 125
T he Last Ravine (Paul C elan) 126
Little Song for You a n d Me 127
Streets a n d Ravines 128
A D ead Rose am ong Papers 129
Little Song ab o u t a Loss 130
Beyond th e Tim e o f Ravines 131
Scatter o f Phloxes in the O utskirts 133
U ntitled 135
After M id n ig ht - Snow O utside the W indow 136
E ntering - A W ood O nce A bandoned 137
And: T he O ne-R avine 138
H ill-Forever 141
Phloxes - A G lim pse 143
N o t Reaching the Place w here a F riend Is 144
Leaf-Fall a n d Silence 145
In th e Peace o f August 146
A longside th e Forest 147

FINAL DEPARTURE 149

FOR A LONG TIM E: IN T O W HISPERING S AND RUSTLINGS 161

A fterw ord by Peter France 165

F I E L D -
R U S S I A
C O N V E R S A T I O N AT

A D I S T A N C E

( a n s w e r s t o a f r i e n d ’s q u e s t i o n s )
N ote: This te x t was first published in a Yugoslav literary newspaper on Septem ber 25,
1985. T he questions were asked by the p o e t N ikola Vujcic; the answers were given in
w riting.
Could you say som ething about the blurring o f the frontier between
w aking and sleep in yo ur poetry?

As far as I can rem em ber - for m ore th an a q u arte r o f a century

now - alm ost all th e p o etry su rro u n d in g m e has been direct, “com ­
m itted ” poetry, very often o f a rath er basic kind. It was always the
p o etry o f action, o f “acts.” I could sense n o poetic tru th , n o “real” o r
living tru th , in the way these “acts” were directed.
C onsequently, if I was to find poetic tru th , the tru th o f h u m an
existence (or to p u t it m ore exactly, o f h u m a n endurance o f life), I h ad
to look w ith in myself, in m y m em o ry an d m y way o f seeing and u n ­
derstan d in g th e w orld. I did n o t need to engage in “acts,” w hether they
were “poetic” o r “real-life” (and indeed, as I saw it, such acts were n o t
needed by anyone else; - there were others w ho “acted” in p o etry
m ore skilfully th a n I could).
I gradually began to set som ething different against the p o etry o f
“acts.” It was n o t exactly contem plation. No, it was som ething else, an
ever increasing im m ersion in a kin d o f self-preserving unity o f w hat I
can best describe as som ething “undim inishing-abiding,” som ething
from w hich h u m an in tervention h ad n o t yet b ro u g h t fo rth the p h e­
n o m en o n know n as an “act.”
It seem s to m e th at the them e o f sleep gradually an d im perceptibly
em erged from this “literary situation” o f m ine. S leep-as-phenom enon,
b u t also sleep-as-atm osphere becam e for m e the sleep-image o f a
certain w orld, a sleep-w orld in w hich one could reach o u t tow ard
“islands,” tow ard fragm ents o f a “river-bed” th a t constituted the life-
en d u ran ce o f a person; - there was the feeling th at in pain an d w ith
p ain - in a k in d o f fire-focus - 1 was touching the changing m anifesta­
tions o f th e being in the w orld o f a single existence-fate.
In this situ atio n I m ade great use o f sleep itself as an image. The
refusal o f “actio n” naturally also to o k the form o f silence, an d quietness
becam e th e sym bol o f the ongoing endurance o f life. In short, there
was o n e single sleep-w orld, w hich encom passed bo th sleep an d w ak­
ing. In such cases, it is obviously difficult to draw a line betw een
w aking an d sleep. I only know th at “w aking” som etim es com es into
m y p o e try w hen I “get o u t o f myself,” an d in a rt this seem s to m e a
bad, destructive sign (just as in life it is better n o t to get “beside y o u r­
self” w ith rage).

W h a t o f the poetic text as a “body,” a sign on the paper?

T he verbal “text” as a b o d y . . . In the first place, I see it perhaps n o t on

paper, b u t in som e created “paperless” space.
Even any coherent oral text is a “body” . . . - it resem bles a bush,
stretching skyward. T here are som e unforgettable text-“bodies” o f this
kind. For instance, I feel the liturgy to be a k in d o f “spiritual body” in
th e chu rch - it is “constructively” organized, possessing its ow n
church-like shape, a n d its outlines im p rin t them selves o n the m ind
an d th e m em ory.
Ideally, I feel the poetic text to be a “b o d y ” o f this sort. As against
the classic E u ropean verse form s (quatrains, octaves, sonnets, etc.),
every p oem in free verse m akes its appearance (I am thin k in g here o f
its external appearance) as a k in d o f unrepeatable tem ple, a kind o f
verbal-spiritual structure, visible in its verbal outlines, unlike any
o th er “can o n ic” structure. Because o f its in n er u n ity o f construction
(the w hole th in g is “o f a piece”), such a w ork calls for an indivisible
coherence o f all its graphic constituents. However this m ay be, I give
quite serious co nsideration to such m atters. I th in k this concern for
the “body” o f the thing o n paper also reflects m y “p o p u la r” rural o ri­
gins. For instance, all m y poem s have a title (if a title is m issing, I
sim ply call the p o em “u n titled ”), as if I could n o t bear to see any
“constru ctio n s” - even verbal ones - th at lack a “roof.” T he sam e a p ­
plies to th e dating o f every poem : I see the date as playing a “construc­
tive” p a rt in th e unified “b uilding” o f the w ork.
For the m ost p a rt I hear poem s “liturgically,” an d perhaps I see
th em this way to o - w hen they are n o t yet b uilt o n the pap er and ris­
ing above it. The liturgy com bines the chant, the W ord-Logos, an d the
“in to n atio n o f the soul” - alm ost like a wordless conversation! - an d it
contains b o th invisible (“spiritual”) and visible (“ritu al”) signs. It
seems th e n th at I conceive “the poetic text as a body an d a sign o n
pap er” in this way: as the generic form o f som e kin d o f verbal “tem ­
ple,” which, being itself a kind o f generic sign, m anifests itself in m ore
“concrete” in n er signs o f w hat it contains - w hen I w ant these to be
particularly visible, I pick th em o u t in italic o r razriadka (the addition
o f extra space betw een letters), som etim es introducing hieroglyphs
an d ideogram s, an d deliberately highlighted “w hite places” (also signs,
each w ith its ow n special “m eaning”).
T here are tim es w hen a separate poem o f m ine (usually a sh o rt
one) is a com plete sign in itself (th at is to say, the “body” o f the text
com pressed into a single sign). But only a few o f m y poem s are like
this.

W hat is the origin o f the themes o f sleep, field, and forest in your poetry?

I have already said quite a lot ab o u t the them e o f sleep in m y poem s. I

w ould ju st add th at action as a concept an d as a p h en o m en o n always
conceals a trap - aim ing for one thing, we m ay arrive at som ething
quite different. I do n o t fear the trap o f sleep, since it is m ore an educa­
tio n o f th e “soul” th a n a tem p tatio n for it.
As for m y o th er them es - f i e l d and fo rest. . . - I was b o rn an d grew
up in a C huvash village, su rro u n d e d by boundless forests, the w in ­
dows o f o u r house looked o u t directly over the fields - field an d forest
m ade u p “m y w hole world.” T hrough w orld literature I becam e ac­
q u ain ted w ith the “ocean-w orlds” a n d “city-w orlds” o f o th er peoples,
and I attem p ted to give to m y “Forest-Field” w orld as m uch m eaning
as o th er w ell-know n “worlds.” I even w anted it to possess - as far as
possible - som e k in d o f “universal m eaning” (draw ing o n the w hole o f
m y intellect an d im agination, w hich had been educated by o th er cul­
tures in a long, strenuous process - m y com parative-cultural “bag­
gage” h ad to be as extensive a n d elaborate as possible, becom ing “my
own,” always ready to be called o n a n d to be “set to w ork” in my
creative activity, w ith o u t any lim its w hatsoever).
I w anted the “sm all” to be elevated to the Great, I w anted to give it
universal significance. A nd in fact this has always been the case in vari­
ous literatures a n d cultures. T he concept o f the “provincial” cannot be
applied to fields a n d haystacks - there is n o th in g provincial a b o u t the
earth. T he haystacks an d fields o f N o rm an d y becam e universal once
the Im pressionists h ad touched them .
In sh o rt the fields an d forests in m y poem s are sim ply faces o f m y
m o th erlan d , w hich have u n d o u b ted ly becom e m ore a n d m ore sym ­
bolic in character.
T here can be very sim ple desires in a rt - for instance the sim ple
desire to tell o th er people - people o f different landscapes and
cultures - ab o u t the appearance o f o n e’s ow n country. This was the
origin o f “m y ’’fields a n d forests, an d equally o f m y snow, w hose w hite­
ness grew “in to a sym bol.”
T he Italian literary scholar G iovanna Pagani-C esa has w ritten a
substantial stu d y o f “archetypes” in m y poetry, show ing deep links
betw een such key im ages as “field,” “forest,” “w hite” (various degrees
o f w hite), “snow ” o r “w indow ” an d im p o rta n t elem ents in ancient
C huvash pagan m ythology. I agree w ith G iovanna “o n all points,”
th o u g h I have to say th a t naturally I was n o t thin k in g ab o u t any
“archetypes” w hen I w rote m y poem s.
W h a t are yo u r thoughts about poetry and tradition?

It seems to m e th a t th e problem s o f “trad itio n ” an d “trad itio n s” are o f

m ore concern to scholars an d critics th an to poets a n d w riters (w hat is
m ore, critics generally engage in this debate w ith a certain “conserva­
tionist” ardor). T hey speak ab o u t trad itio n s as if they were telling us:
“be like this o r th at writer,” p ro m p tin g us to w rite in th e m an n er o f
one w riter o r to “b u ild im ages” according to the m eth o d o f another.
They m ake exceptions in favor o f the “successors”; as you learn from
the classics, you can still b rin g “som ething” o f your ow n to literature
(always w ith th e approval o f the critics, o f course). B ut I can take ac­
co u n t o f “traditions,” Pushkin for instance, precisely by n o t following
them , overcom ing th em in the nam e o f m y ow n poetic vision (and in
doing so, I am the only one w ho know s in w hat ways a n d for w hat I
can be grateful to Pushkin).
M y ow n literary education can be traced to som ething different.
In the m o st difficult periods o f m y life, m y th o u g h ts tu rn e d frequently
an d intensively to Nietzsche an d Baudelaire, an d m ore recently to
C yprian Kamil N orw id; it was as if I was addressing th e w riters th e m ­
selves ra th e r th a n th eir ideas, w hether literary o r otherw ise. For
instance, th e spiritual-intellectual image o f Baudelaire as an existen­
tial m artyr, B audelaire-as-Im age, was m ore im p o rta n t for m e th a n
any “trad itio n s” (including his ow n literary traditions). Like Blok,
he aided m e in m y ow n self-education as a “p o et” (I am sure th at
every p o et m ust go th ro u g h a very difficult p erio d o f “artistic” self-
ed ucation). You co uld say th at I tried to learn from Baudelaire b o th
fidelity to P oetry (as he an d I u n d ersto o d it) an d the way a poet
should lead his life (in this d o m ain I m ade som e serious m istakes).
In this way, the continuingly influential an d genuinely living
images o f certain teachers constituted for m e their “legacy,” th eir life­
long su p p o rt, and the strength o f this kin d o f “co n tact” was m ore
pow erful th a n any literary considerations.
W h a t linguistic operations are needed fo r the poet to “com m and”
language?

I am rem in d ed o f the dictu m o f Apollinaire: “You can p ain t a picture

w ith dung, o r w ith a pipe, ju st so long as it is a picture.”
As I see it, all m eans are suitable for attaining a “c o m m an d ” o f
language. T he m o st ou tlan d ish “w ild” creation, if it is genuine, in ­
evitably possesses its ow n in n er harm ony, any “unacceptable” elem ent
in it will “have its place,” will be “canonic,” since every successful w ork
is in itself “canonic.” (A still m ore im p o rta n t “can o n ” is the inevita­
bility o f this creative law - breaking o u t o f o n e circle, we find o u r­
selves in another, stronger circle.)
Similarly, there are no linguistic m eans th at are laid dow n once
a n d for all. Som e tw enty years ago I w orked o n syntax - in a way I was
try in g to relate it to th e changes th at h ad taken place in people’s ways
o f relating to one a n o th er (sentences left unfinished, things left u n ­
said, absence o f “explanatory” w ords, “passw ord”-w ords, pauses that
expressed w hat is b e h in d the “w ord sequence” - a kin d o f sorrow ful
an d indeed hopeless com m entary, as if I were saying: “b u t w ho will
hear th is”).
N ow things are ra th e r d iffe re n t. . . - m y w ish is to say as little as
possible, aim ing in this way to allow n o n -h u m a n quietness an d light to
grow ever greater a n d “m ore irreversible” all around. H ow does this
w ork in cases th a t seem to be m o re o r less successful? I n ote one thing:
th a t so m eth in g th at is w averingly alogical, som ething previously u n ­
know n, becom es fully logical thanks to this w ork, as if I was learning
to talk in a language th a t was new to m e.

W hat o f the energy o f language and the poet?

T he sea a n d the w ind are pow erful in them selves - “even w ith o u t us.”
Language is th e sam e. T he p o e t enters language an d language “goes to
w ork” in accordance w ith his energy. But be c a re fu l. . . - they are n o t
fully “identical.” Be c a re fu l. . . - even in a w eakened state you perceive
such crests and valleys o f language: its ow n “a u to n o m o u s” energy
seems to be seething there, taking o n “a life o f its own,” an d you m ay
m anage to channel som e o f this energy “to y o u r ow n account” into
y o u r already cooling p o etry - even in an enfeebled state you have
glimpsed som ething, an d this to o is work: the force th at d id n o t subm it
to strength m ay su b m it to your tact, your intu itio n , y o u r skill.

Thinking o f the technique o f verse - w hat should a poem be today?

In m y view o f things there is n o such thing as technique w aiting to be

“deployed.” “Technique” com es into being in the “fire” an d “body” o f
w riting itself. I feel the po em o f today to be “free,” th a t is to say th at it
can absorb any k in d o f rh y th m an d “meter,” n o t sh u nning even rhym e,
b u t easily able to do w ith o u t i t . . . - a poem o f this kin d is as it were like
nature: it is the free field and forest, n o t a “classical park.” The cham pi­
o ns o f aristocratic “order,” som e o f w hom exist even today, ou g h t to
take th eir th in k in g a little further, they o u g h t to envisage som e fu rth er
developm ent: in the last analysis n o th in g is free in artistic creation (and
this un freed o m is th e one universal an d obligatory C anon): “free verse”
has its ow n m easures an d p roportions, its “classicism” finds its place
one way o r an o th er in th e u n broken circle o f the M eta-Classical - it
su rro u n d s us, like som e distant, ultim ate hoop.
Possibly one can see in “free verse” signs th at we are unconsciously
trying to get away from the centuries-old, sclerotic city culture; - the
capacious, m ultifaceted free poem , w ith its “n o n -u n ified ” form s o f
expressiveness an d its in term itten t alternation o f various levels o f
co n ten t is perhaps akin to a distinctive “m odel o f nature.”

W hat have you to say about poetry and shamanism?

T his them e (or p roblem ) has an artificial look to it. If we perceive a

so rt o f m agic-m aking in the songs o f a co n tem p o rary C hukot poet,
we accept it w ith o u t m isgivings. But “sham anistic” o r “Z en-B uddhist”
elem ents can n o t sim ply be assim ilated in order to give new life to so­
phisticated E uropean poetry; it is n o t possible to enrich life-giving or
life-enhancing p o etry w ith this kind o f “learning.” O u r know ledge o f
others sh o u ld send us back to ourselves.
If sham anistic sh u d dering-shouting awakens som ething real in the
depths o f o u r native poetic so und, the p oet m u st expect to undertake a
m ost p ain fu l descent into the forgotten deep places o f the Melos-
F atherland - o ne m u st hear oneself, oneself alone. It is good if an in ter­
est in sh am an ism results for the p oet in such genuine self-revelation.

Poetry and experim entation?

I have never experim ented - 1 sim ply have n o tim e for it.
W ritings o f m ine w hich have an “experim ental” look to them were
always for m e th e only possible m eans an d form o f expression, once I
had got rid o f th e old m eth o d s an d form s th at w ent w ith the them e in
question. O n such occasions it was as if I “exploded” in som e new and
unexpected fashion - exploded from the im possibility o f using a
language th a t seem ed to m e to o old to express som ething th at I had
conceived.
I respect experim ental poets (perhaps as m arty rs o f a paradoxical
spirit). I follow th eir experim ents w ith interest. At the sam e tim e, I do
n o t k now w h eth er th e ir researches a n d th eir discoveries in the way o f
“naturally-free” p o etry are necessary, o r w hether they are m o re in ter­
esting to linguists. T he new in poetry, as I see it, com es into being
organically - th anks to a general linguistic incandescence, an d n o t
th ro u g h “experim ents.”

Poetry an d quietness?

Even “objective” quietness begins to exist for us only w hen we h ear it,
th at is w hen we begin to converse w ith it.
 The N oise-W orld som etim es begins to seem like a Lie-W orld -
w ho can “pu rify ” it to the p o in t o f quietness? - perhaps only art. O ne
has to do m ore th a n sim ply “converse w ith quietness.” In p o etry it
seems th at one also m u st be able to create quietness.
A nd this is the paradox: In poetry, alongside speaking, there is
also silence, b u t it to o can only be created th ro u g h the W ord: the
p o etry o f silence speaks, b u t in a different w a y . . . - how this w orks for
m e, o r for any o th er p o e t (if indeed it does w ork) is the business o f
those w ho study literature, o f the philosophy o f literature (I th in k there
is a philosophy o f literature ju st as there is a philosophy o f history).
But let u s re tu rn to “objective” quietness. This is n o t the Taoist
nothingness; created an d creatable quietness is already a k in d o f W ord
th at is b ro u g h t into the world, an d this W ord can com e into poetry,
too. W hen an d how? We d o n ’t know, o r if we do, it is like a b lin d p e r­
son im agining a k in d o f “seeing,” w hich is know n to him only th ro u g h
th e w ords o f others. But even so we m ust believe th a t it is n o t m erely
th e reflection o f m eaning-quietness, b u t quietness itself th a t can im ­
perceptibly find its place in poetry, w hen w ith o u t suspecting it we re ­
ceive the gift o f e n c h a n tm e n t. . . - “the w orld does n o t transcend us,
we are th e w orld” - th e shining o f th at single-abiding can to u ch o u r
paper . . . - ju st now I said th at one m ust be able to “create quietness,”
b u t th at is n o t quite correct, - in the noise o f the w orld-as-action, one
m ust set aside som e tim e for “serving quietness,” a n d th en ways o f
expressing it will appear, differently for each poet.
In th e 1960s I w ent th ro u g h a b rief p erio d th at I th in k o f as m y
“W ebern period.” Quietness entered m y poem s in the shape o f su b ­
stantial sem antic pauses w hich m ight last as long as a given verbally-
so n o ro u s “p erio d o f tim e.” Now I aim m ore an d m ore for a single
unified p o em th at will represent in som e way quietness “itself” . . . - as
I have ju st said, this is only possible by m eans o f w ords, an d I can
quite im agine th at these attem pts o f m ine m ay leave “scars” o f despair
in the poem s rath er th a n even a few “influxes” o f quietness.
Som etim es “w orking theories” m ay arise in o u r m in d s for a sh o rt

li
tim e (subsequently disappearing o r being transform ed). O nce I d e­
veloped the idea th a t m usic is the superseding o f audibility by the
Audible, a n d p ain tin g the superseding o f visibility by the Visible.
W hat th en was poetry? Perhaps the superseding o f the practical “com ­
m unicative” w ord by the essential W ord in w hich lies hid d en the
quietness o f the pre-W ord (one can say th at the essence o f the hu m an
being in th e w orld is th e word in him or her, o r even m ore accurately,
th at in th e w orld there is the hutnan-being-as-W ord).

H ow do you see free verse in contemporary Russian poetry?

As I see it, free verse rem ains com pletely undeveloped in co n tem p o ­
rary Russian poetry. T he free verse you com e across is essentially
narrative o r storytelling (like a so rt o f prose w ith traces o f a kind o f
“poetic” a d o rn m e n t - w hich looks extrem ely feeble). O r there is
a n o th er type o f free verse th at crops u p now a n d again - the intellec­
tual-rhetorical.
I have observed th a t free verse (in any language, I th in k ) is subject
to o ne m ain danger: the elem ent o f musicality, w hich is inherent in
poetry, is liable to dw indle - to the p o in t o f com pletely disappearing.
“Classical verse” in co n tem p o rary Russian p o etry is undoubtedly
u n d ergoing an unprecedented crisis. In the post-w ar period, as if “for
the last tim e,” it was still living, thanks only to the inner sem antic sig­
nificance o f th e w ork o f Pasternak, A khm atova, an d Zabolotsky. In
reading it we tru sted the intonations o f the great writers - it was only
these intonations, w hich could be distinguished thanks to the great­
ness o f the individuals w ho revealed them selves in them , th at still gave
life to this old form o f verse. T he in to n atio n s o f m ediocre poets are
hardly distinguishable from o n e another, an d poem s in “classical
form ” now resem ble one and the sam e little song (even a m usic-hall
song, if o n e is to be honest).
Ideally, “free verse,” thanks to its “un m etrified ” an d genuinely free
rhythm , an d thanks to its freedom from “stanzaism ” (w hich is re­
placed by periods o f verbal sonority o f different lengths, n o t divided
u p in an unchanging, standard m anner, a n d by pauses o f different
“m ag n itu d e”), such “free verse,” I repeat, could, in contrast to the
above-m entioned m o n o to n o u s unvarying “little song,” find antece­
dents in various kinds o f instrum ental cham ber m usic - so im p o rtan t
does it seem to m e to preserve the elem ent o f musicality in so-called
vers libre.

H ow does yo u r poetry relate to symbolism and futurism ?

T hom as M an n called Rilke a great lyric poet, b u t n o ted at the same

tim e th at there is “a lot o f m asculine m uck” in his poem s.
In sym bolism there is a lot o f “religious m uck” w hich is found in
“sym bols” th at are n o t tested against genuine religious experience.
O ne m ight well n o t w ish to confront sym bolism w ith this “reck­
oning,” since p o etry is n o t som ething th at is sim ply applied to
religion - p o etry rem ains poetry, its essential goal being the develop­
m en t o f its ow n poetic m eans.
In this respect, sym bolism m u st be considered as an impressionism
o f th e W ord. All p o etry u p to sym bolism -im pressionism seems like a
single classical whole, a classicism w ith its different periods (both the
language o f the Renaissance an d the language o f G oethe are an objec-
tivized language - the personality, even w hen it reveals its ow n peculi­
arities, can only express itself th ro u g h this objectivized language - it is
som etim es sad to hear Beethoven, for instance, b u rstin g his way
th ro u g h this language - bursting o u t an d then, as if suddenly realizing
w hat he has done, im m ediately “taking him self in h a n d ”).
From th e p o in t o f view o f language, im pressionism (in w hich I in ­
clude sym bolism in poetry) seem s to m e the last great p erio d in the
universal histo ry o f art. The manifestation o f subjectivity a n d subjective
language becam e “legitim ate” an d generally accepted. It seem s to m e
th at since th at tim e n o th in g “fundam entally-new ” has happened, that
we still find ourselves in the continuing stream , the sphere an d the
w orld o f im pressionism . D adaism , surrealism , an d futurism can all be
seen as sim ply variations prolonging the great “im pressionist era” in
art.
Russian poetic sym bolism gave the w ord a richness o f nuance, a
m ultifaceted rad iation, and abolished the fam iliar “o n e-dim ensional”
n atu re o f th e previous poetic w ord. I th in k this is the source o f m y in ­
debtedness to R ussian sym bolism , a n d above all to Blok.
In fu tu rism (as was the case w ith “sym bols” in sym bolism ) it was
precisely its “futurologies” th a t were revealed to be social utopias
u n tested against any experience (worse still, th e favorite images and
ideas o f the fu turists tu rn e d o u t to be m onstrosities). The “positive”
elem ent here is again concerned w ith the achievem ents o f futurism in
relation to th e W ord, w hich for the futurists cam e to be seen as palpa­
bly m aterial - w ords began to have a differential “w eight” th at could
be skillfully altered, it becam e possible to increase, dim inish, a n d vari­
ously m odify th e “m ag n itu d e” o f any individual w ord.
I have spoken m ore th a n once ab o u t the relation o f m y poetic
w ork to R ussian futurism . In doing so, I have always stressed, as I do
now, th a t th ere is a certain p erio d in m y w riting th at I regard as influ­
enced by M alevich ra th e r th a n clearly allied to fu tu rism (I th in k the
“essence” o f th e ideas and co n ten t o f m y w ork is largely directed p re­
cisely against th e p ro g ram m atic an d ideological essence o f futurism ;
in relation to language, however, I learned a lot from the poetics o f the
Russian literary avant-garde th a t we are discussing).
N ow indeed is the tim e - as I see it - to speak o f w hat m ight be
called th e spiritual essence o f b o th sym bolism a n d futurism . It is tim e
to state firm ly th at this essence tu rn e d o u t to be untested against the
experience w hich - like it o r n o t - m ust be unam biguously called
Christian-religious (o th er “tru th s,” in m y view, have in great m easure
show n them selves to be real pseudo-spiritual trap s from w hich there
is no escape).
Childhood and poetry - w hat can you say about the relationship
between them?

Perhaps in co n tem p o rary p o etry we need to approach childhood-as-

p h en o m en o n n o t only in term s o f “heart-and-feeling,” b u t also as a
m atter o f principle. It’s n o t just a question o f o u r need for th at re­
m em bered “freshness o f im pressions.” In childhood we tru sted the
w orld m o re - it stood open to us, and was for us a veritable w orld-
U niversum .
We sh ould do well to rem em ber this. For in o u r perception o f the
world (n o t o u r knowledge) we have sh ru n k the w orld-as-universe to
an incredible degree, tu rn in g it into a little bazaar-w orld - no w ider
th a n “orb its aro u n d th e Earth.” Isn’t it tru e th at precisely in this “cos­
mic age” we have less an d less feeling for universality, for the W orld-
as-Universum ? This little w orld o f earthly fear an d fears . . . - do we
really experience anything beyond this?
So let us n o t be condescending to the p h en om enon-of-childhood,
en rap tu red as it is by th e m iracle o f the existence o f the inexplicably-
m eaningfiil w orld (m uch in n atu re itself show s th at it was n o t created
for m a n alone).
The “them e o f ch ildhood” today can be m ore th an sim ply nostal­
gic, it can raise “theoretical problem s” for co n tem p o rary poetry. For
exam ple, in spite o f all o u r knowledge (very paradoxically in this “age
o f know ledge”) we live an d have o u r being in a strange atm osphere
. . . - for us creation is finished a n d dead, in it there is n o continuing
m anifestation o f the creative force, b u t the anonym ous “laws o f the
universe,” as if “given” once and for all - everything is geared to the
w orld’s being experienced as finished (once again, I am speaking here
n o t o f knowledge, b u t o f the perception o f the world) - w hat ro o m is
there for p o etry to “so ar” here? - an d yet, I tell myself, I haven’t lost
everything if w ith m y one-tim e child-self I can recall th at once som e­
thing reached m e th at was m ore distant th an the light em bodied
m erely in th e sun w hich stood above the village.
 I have also m y “p ersonal” reason for re tu rn in g to m y childhood in
th o u g h t-an d -p o etry . Even th e h u m a n w orld th at I saw then, con­
nected as it is w ith those d istan t im pressions, was no b ler th a n w hat I
have m et w ith since. I d o n ’t th in k this is ju st idealization. It was a
w orld o f tru ly p atien t people, people o f “village and field,” th eir great­
est b eau ty being the basic w ork needed for today a n d to m o rro w - I
lived in a w orld w here the h u m a n im agination (and this is perhaps the
very th in g o f w hose creation it is said th at it was m ade “in His ow n
im age”), yes, I lived in a w orld w here the people’s im agination seem ed
to be directed to its tru e destination; it was n o t b itte r o r destructive,
b u t creative, “like G o d ’s.”

W h a t is your general impression o f contemporary Russian and world

poetry?

Frankly, m y im pression is th a t “som ething is ro tten in the state o f

D enm ark.”
It is as if th e W ord has becom e ro tten th ro u g h a n d th ro u g h , and
n o t m erely in th e space su rro u n d in g m e. Som e k in d o f kernel has
gone ro tten in it.
T he Latin w ord religio carries w ithin it the n o tio n o f a “connec­
tio n ” - the co n n ection o f person, tho u g h t, an d w ord w ith som ething
G reater th a n th e p erson. T he w ord m ay co n tain this “connection”; -
th at m ay so u n d g ran d ilo q u en t, b u t let us tru s t Dostoevsky, w ho says:
“E verything in the w orld lives th ro u g h its secret contact w ith o ther
w orlds” - you can believe som eone like Dostoevsky.
In th e c o n tem p o rary w ord - o r m ore exactly, in the action o f this
w ord - th e co n n ection I have referred to seem s to be im possible. This
con n ectio n is n o t a decorative piece o f speculative m oralizing o r som e
kind o f verbal “angelism .” Shakespeare’s M ercutio, w hen he speaks o f
the w orm s th at will soon be eating his body, curses the Universe itself,
its ap o p h atic Soul . . . - there you have worms-as-religio\ - these
w orm s em body th e “connection,” becom ing words-as-religio.
 C learly we should give som e th o u g h t occasionally to ways o f revi­
talizing th e kernel, the ro o t o f this connection th at lies hidden in the
W ord - “good inten tio n s in the en d lead to good results,” as the French
thin k er Pierre Leconte de N ouy liked to repeat.
Forgive m e for n o t saying anything ab o u t the outstanding
achievem ents o f th e great contem porary poets w hose w ord has the
m eaningfulness for w hich I am currently (so to speak) “fighting.” I am
speaking here ab o u t the general state o f poetry, “am o n g us” and
“am o n g o th er people” (in so far as I am fam iliar w ith m ore “d istant”
poetry). M y general im pression, m y m ain im pression o f co n tem p o ­
rary p o etry today is as if its vocation was to curse the world, the w orld
th at in th e en d - w ith o r w ith o u t qualifications - we m u st call
“creation.”
Some th irteen years ago I was taught a good lesson by one p a r­
ticular creature - a starling in the M oscow suburbs. It was a dank day,
wet spring snow was falling, the w orld was like a “curse.” Suddenly I
h eard singing an d saw a starling w histling away in the snow -and-rain
o n the steps o f its little house. “W hat’s got into it?” - it was quivering,
an d its th ro a t was b u bbling away. “It m ust be bursting w ith gratitude
- even fo r a day like this.”
T h at starling was m uch m ore grateful for its w orld th a n m any o f
us w ho w ith rare zeal curse the day, the w orld, an d ourselves as well -
a n d even m ore zealously, o u r “fellows.”

W h a t do you think about your intonations and punctuation?

It’s h ard for m e to describe m y ow n intonations; all I can do is m ake a

few com m ents.
I once listened to an old tape recording o f a reading o f m ine as if
I were listening to som eone else, to som ething “alien.” I was neither
satisfied n o r dissatisfied - “it is the way it is.” In m y reading I noticed
several accum ulations o f psychological “waves” - I fear they broke
explosively w ith o u t th e benefit o f “self-control.”

J d z lS lA A
17 .Ч л т т н * в е л е т ь
Чувдшской
Рес п у б /и ки
 T he first p erso n to w rite ab o u t a certain “liturgical” character in
m y in to n atio n s was the Czech scholar Z denek M athauser in 1968.
F rom m y p o in t o f view, I can say th at the result was w hat I wanted.
I th in k m y in to n atio n s contain som ething o f the “ru ral-p o p u lar”
so n o rity o f lam entation . . . - som etim es I hear in m y verse som e
clearly fem in in e in to n atio n s - evidently this is connected to the
m em o ry o f m y m o th e r - “ultim ately,” I w rote in a letter three years
ago, “w hat is called the people was sim ply the sufferings o f m y m o th er
in such a life as h ad in her tim e been tu rn e d into som ething opposed
to life.”
I can speak m o re confidently ab o u t m y pun ctu atio n .
N early th irty years ago I was extrem ely im pressed by N ietzsche’s
w ords ab o u t “th e supposed wholeness, n o t m ade by hands, o f the
w o rk o f art.” T he th o u g h t o f the w holeness (even “supposed”) o f a
single p o em taken by itself becam e a persistent idea for m e, an d it
connects w ith m y p u n ctu atio n , w hich is in ten d ed to elim inate the in ­
evitable “seam s” a n d “gaps” in a single, unified w o rk - to replace th em
w ith elem ents o f a “poetics o f p u n c tu a tio n ” w hich w ould be fully as
im p o rta n t as the poetics o f th e “verbal texture.” I ad m it th at I am n o t
always successful in this aim an d th at my p u n ctu atio n is often highly
com plex.
T here is a passage in S chum ann ab o u t C h o p in ’s p u n ctu atio n th at
I have fo u n d very instructive. He writes: “In C h o p in there are m any
secondary episodes and ‘parentheses’ w hich you should pass over o n
first reading so as n o t to lose the m ain thread. A com poser does n o t
like to dish arm onize (so to speak), an d yet we find in his m usic
rh y th m s an d tonalities n o tated w ith ten o r m ore different signs th at
we all use only exceptionally. O ften he is justified, b u t there are o ther
cases w here he com plicates things w ith o u t sufficient reason and
frightens away a considerable p o rtio n o f the public w ho d o n ’t w ant
(as they see it) to be constantly confused a n d constrained.”
M y com poser friends assure m e th at m y p u n c tu a tio n is perfectly
com prehensible to them a n d doesn’t interfere w ith the reception o f
the poetry. But th at is by the way. It’s h ard for the reader o f a poem to
be at one an d the sam e tim e the “p erfo rm er” an d the “listener,” a n d I
am try in g increasingly to reduce the n u m b er o f “parentheses,” to sim ­
plify th e various signs th a t “no tate” m y verse, all the things “th at we all
use only exceptionally.”

Do you experience fear in the face o f language?

In p o etry I do n o t experience any fear in the face o f language (one

should n o t “hesitate” before the “river” o f language, w ondering ab o u t
the tem p eratu re “there,” one should sim ply “plunge in,” a n d there, as
they say, “things will w ork o u t”).
But I do feel fear in the face o f language as the w ord o f Prose (al­
th o u g h for a long tim e now I have perhaps been thin k in g m ore about
prose th a n poetry; in general I regard “great prose” as the highest form
o f verbal art).
I console m yself w ith the th o u g h t th at for m e “the p o et” an d “the
w riter” are as different as for exam ple “the p ain ter” a n d “the writer,”
an d th at there is n o need for the painter to be a “w riter.”
In a w ord, I am well aware th a t I am a “ non-writer;” a n d I only feel
free in th e “sphere” o f poetry.

W ho are yo u r favorite poets?

I will n am e the poets w hom I need just now.

Suddenly, reaching the age o f fifty, it tu rn s o u t th a t the tw o
Russian po ets w ho have rem ained m ost necessary an d closest to m e
are L erm ontov an d In n okenty Annensky.
T here is less “a rt play” in L erm ontov th a n in any o th er Russian
lyric poet. In a general way, he is n o t interested in “being a writer.”
Everything he w rote is p en etrated by an agonizing central axis -
I should call it th e axis o f testing o f the tru th th a t for brevity we
can define in o u r tim e as existential. A nd Annensky, in m y opinion,
could be called the first “existential” poet in the history o f European
poetry.
In recent years (especially w hen I have h ad difficulty w orking) I
have often read th ro u g h the poem s o f Pierre-Jean Jouve. W hat I like in
his p o e try is th e “dirt,” visited here an d there by “spirit” an d as it were
sanctified by it - 1 th in k this is like the “tu rb id d am p ” w hich gives life,
alm ost “vegetatively” . . . this is the best kind o f “action” in poetry.

W h a t are you w orking on at the m om ent?

I always w o rk o n sh o rt poem s only (I d o u b t if I shall ever w rite a

long p o em o r a dram atic o r prose w ork), a n d I am constantly w orking,
since even th e en d urance o f periods o f silence is also w ork (and possibly
even m o re necessary fo r m e th a n “p eriods o f talking”: periods o f silence
seem to “forge th e soul” in a very clear a n d m em orable way).
It is w o rth n o tin g th at w o rk o n the w ord w hen it will not subm it
pleases m e by v irtue o f a special quality: at tim es like this you m ay dis­
cover certain “pro p erties” o f th e w ord, know ledge o f w hich will prove
useful in p erio ds o f successful w ork th at rem ains alm ost “u n n o ticed ”
an d som etim es even unrem em bered.

W h a t o f com m unication in your poetry?

For over tw en ty years I had fewer th an a dozen readers (I am no t

th in k in g o f those w ho knew m y poem s in tran slatio n - 1 did n o t know
w hat th ey th o u g h t o f m y p oetry). Evidently I can say th at I learned to
converse w ith myself. This does n o t m ean th a t th e o th er “I” w ho lis­
tened to m e in one way o r a n o th er was indulgent to m e.
I do n o t know w hether I am “herm etic.” But I th in k “herm eti-
cism ” is a k in d o f respect for the reader (“if you w ant, you can u n d e r­
stan d this as well as I do - I believe in you, I tru st you” ).
I have never sp en t tim e th in k in g ab o u t w hether people u n d e r­
stood m e o r n o t. Even som e o f m y close friends kept telling m e over
the years th at m y poem s were “absolute gibberish” (I can sincerely say
th at this never offended m e). It is n o t tru e th at m y poem s circulated in
“sam izdat” - apart from five o r six people, n o one ever copied th em
o u t by h an d o r typew riter (“sam izdat” was only for poem s w ith an
“o p p o sitio n al” flavor).
Briefly, then, I can say th at I was n o t interested in the question o f
the “com m unicativeness” o f po etry - how could I have w orked if I had
been th in k in g ab o u t this?
Even so, I m u st say th at one type o f “com m unicativeness” was fa­
m iliar to m e - som etim es I “com e across it” even now. The poem s th at
m ay be called “the best” are w ritten in a state w here in the process o f
w riting yo u seem to be plugged into som e kind o f indefinable, u n -
dem onstrable “p articipation” . . . - all th at is “b est” in us is transform ed
into “creative” co n centration, b u t perhaps it also encounters som e kind
o f “creating force” w hich (I am convinced) exists in som e way o r o ther
in th e w o r ld . . . - for instance, I know from long experience th a t som e
k in d o f “co nnection” can be m ade betw een us a n d the trees in a forest,
b u t we seem to be swallowed into th e essence o f these trees - som ew here
“there,” indefinitely “th ere” - as into a colorless darkness - the trees are
w ith o u t th e W ord, a n d we are swallowed into th at absence. . . - b u t it
m ay h ap p en th at in th e light o f Day som ething is breathed in to us - we
only know ab o u t this because w ithin us, clearly an d “in words,” som e­
thing - s u d d e n ly - answers this breathing.
We can say o f a p o em th at com es into being in such a situation
th at in it “co m m u n ication” has already occurred, although in such an
“u n concrete” m an n er - the “consistency” o f th e po em is already m ade
good by th e im p rin t o f the “com m unication” I have described. At
tim es we can clearly feel its fresh trace.

In your opinion, w hat does it mean to be a poet today?

Clearly this is related to the particular n ature o f the tim e - in poetry I

am very little interested in the personality o f the writer. W hat m atters
m ore, it seem s to m e, is w hether he o r she “gives” m e som ething o f the
world, th e w orld o f nature, the “universe.” Spiritually, n o one is poorer
th a n m e-as-“poet,” b u t m any people in the bustle o f “action”-in-the-
w orld (and these “actions” are becom ing m ore an d m ore m onstrous)
som etim es have difficulty in rem em bering th a t the “universe-w orld”
always contains som ething th a t recalls to us n o t only the com p reh en ­
sibility o f life, b u t also its infinitely deep m eaningfulness - this w orld
som etim es touches us w ith bare fragm ents o f the “m iracle” itself - in
its very essence, a n d this happens simply, as if som eone were laying a
h an d on o u r shoulder, b u t this sim plicity is the m ost inexplicable o f
all th e things w hich we regard as existing.
To be “o n the w atch” for such gifts o f the w orld, n o t to allow them
to pass by unreceived, to pass them o n to others in a “poetic”
m an n er - all this, in m y opin io n , is the obligation o f the p oet today
tow ard those w ho are interested in poetry.
F I E L D - R U S S I A

PART ONE
 F I E L D - R U S S I A

so this I w ish you!

(happiness-prayer unspoken)
in the field to fall silent in soul (“o h G od” we say
w ith m o re-h eart: a valley
o f w hite-gleam ing
freely
all aro u n d
Perfection) oh how this w ind
did n o t to u ch even radiance o f breath!
fire
o f unchangingness
wafted
the perceptible
all
was vanishing: o h th e n let it be
there
for a long tim e now
n o t know ing - as w h o m it was smiling:
“best Purest - you”

1980
 IN T H E M I S T

full o f m ist
all n ig h t the allotm ent - like a garden
a n d beyond it
beyond the fence in m ist-forest
the voice o f the cuckoo
as if in ever-quieter-unquietness
in th e d istan t father-people
long
an d long ago
m y father
(in the crow d - billow ing
w ith procession-and-singing)

1980
 WILLOWS

such willows: to fall asleep! be su rro u n d ed

w ith living silver like a sigh
and sh u d d er an d recognize the leaves in the shining o f lines like
a w hisper (again - raised up by th e sun)
o f soft m ist-caring - like tears in the w orld o f silvery-shining
passionless childhood! - such willows: to fall asleep!
greyly to be scattered in quicksilver over tops a n d spill dow n
tenderness: the one n o t know n
the o ne p ain ted in Spirit
an d m isted in death

1979
 FIELD: AND B E Y O N D IT
A RUINED CHURCH

b u t this w as long ago

an d - th an k s be to God! -
there is n o o th er

an d it seem s
s o m e happiness
(o f this
place
m aybe)
starts to ache w ith (“p u re st” ) pain:

oh in this state
(“u n to tears”)
o f gratitude! -

and in quietness (as if spirit stum bled

n o t u n d erstan d in g - a n d at peace w ith
n o t-u n d ersta n d in g ) - o h in this! -

in ju st such shining:

birches
are glistening
(as if
in this
the m o st M eaningful was happening) -

and it breathes - no-saying-w here - oh it breathes

everyw here breathing! -
(and in th e shim m er
so m uch m ore
the surfaces o f th e hill-circle seem m iracles) -

an d shadows
w ith quiet
speech o f “som ebody”
retaining
(like the soul)
their fullness
(both-giving-and-uninvaded)

shadow th e field

1980
 SLEEP-ILLUMINATION

toN. Ch.

yet h o w m any tim e s !. . .

always w hitening
(as w ith soul)
you to rm e n t
(but o f sleep
such purity!)
- an d how yo u thful th e n can I be?
such
(like a saintly w om an’s)
shining o f torture-unforgiveness!
(and all - is n o t air
only - light)
- loving - yo u are doubled: in w hiteness o f fire!
(still w ith th e same:
as in flight! -
burningly-steadfast forsaking)

1980
 AGAIN - FIELD-RUSSIA

As if - after vision o f the air-sky-icon: of-the-H oly-M other-of-G od:

free it rem ained - goldsoffened by spirit o f the people - the shining: o f
Peace.

1980
 PHLOX (AND: ABOUT A CHANGE)

at tim es - we think: love

(yet there is only silence):
seem s a single circle - o f light - an d quietness
for n o o n e - since long ago:
already - w ith us - distant!
so n o w all su m m er already
(and m o re th a n till au tu m n )
you - as if un seen - you: in o p en w hiteness
in shining unconcerned!
an d living such a life (if I rem em ber it as action)
looking as if blindly
I k now (as I feel th e h u rts o f children)
th at yes: a little:
in m y passing: playing - o f life
you - like a certain circle
(from distances as if distance):
like a w eak “god” in th e m in d (and therefore henceforth
already in free “eternity”) - are lovely

1979
 AFTER THE BLIZZARDS

I w ith quietness at evening

(soul as if in snow drifts)
know this: yo u are in th e Land
an d so - th e b read th in the snows
and the shadow am ong th em is such
(soul like repose o f th e field)
as looking in to eyes we say “m iraculous”
an d sliding over itself
(and even m ore quietly)
as in o p en happiness

1979
 FIELD: SUDDENLY - A POPPY

in pale daw nlight

as if - before orthodoxy!
am o n g petals
w ith h id d en grains - “for n o o n e” - this tenderest o f cases!
(and it seems to be tapping
this w eak o rp han-like daw n
as if m ade o f grief) o h wordless u n h u rrie d G reater
th an offering o f the “ready”! - oh quiet abiding
o f th e so silently Fulfilled

1980
 SLEEP-WHITENESS

to В. A.

“now
we d on’t often see one a n o th er”
(or rather:
don’t see o ne an o th er at all)
b u t - w ith a whiteness! -

secretly wafting:

(oh this coldness

m o u n tain -to p seeming! intense!
o f th e voice - as if w hite
w ith th e b est o f treasures
o f the cypress casket) -

b u t - w ith a whiteness! -

o f a deep sw ooning:

w ith a fragrance: m y friend! - 1 suffer

in sleep - th a t is lit: by y o u r soul?
an d - 1 do n o t u n d erstan d

1980

of the cypress casket. The Cypress Casket is a collection of poems by Symbolist poet
Innokenty Annensky (1856-1909).
 GOUACHE

A field, littered w ith new spapers; the w ind stirs th em (no end no
lim it). I w ander all day, I p eer at them : the nam e is always the same
(and th e sam e forgetting: I have forgotten a n d I peer - tim e passes: no
rem em bering); w ith always the sam e p o rtra it (an d again - forgetting).
W here am I? W here can I re tu rn to? Evening; n o road; rustle o f paper;
the E arth is m ade up o f this field; darkness; solitude.

1979
 FIELD: UNKNOWN FLOWER

to my son Artem

oh lu m in a to r (oh for such shining

m ay I be forgiven)
oh lightreceiving lum inator!
in the field tow ard m atin s-th e-su n
w ith light-of-beauty
as w ith speech
o f w isdom
shining

1980
 DISTANT DRAWING

to the memory of Vladimir Pyatnitsky

to see trees - is like sleeping

barely op en in g to distance
th e edge o f shining (a n d again - the edge):
oh this w in d - after w ind!
from “n o th in g is n eeded” a n d from “n o one is n eeded”
(and ever m ore b rig h t m ore bright:
“o h sim ply n o th in g ” )

to see trees is to sleep

unseeing to reside
having passed n o t to know it
to becom e less an d less a light
an d o nly m elt in sleep in leaves
an d n o t expect a thing

1979
 AGAIN - WILLOWS

to my mother’s memory

suddenly
I u n d ersta n d I remember yo u r soul
observing in m ist far away
slopes now o r islands o r steps o f the silver sum m its
o f a willow grove
peaceful
(and in som e way
“from b ey o n d ”)
and “so m ething” w hat is it
(“m agnificence”? “fragrance”
o f in tim ate soul o f “p u rity unspoken”?)
I m u st be rem em bering (and even far off in place o f the face
I seem to retain in m y th oughts
the quietest o f hollows - n ow swirling only w ith tenderness)
an d besides
this is only th e flicker o f “som ething” from m em o ry
w hen the crossings
o f beauties “n o t o f this place”
cluster in th at youthfulness
w here th e “etern al” is like o rp h a n h o o d
(the unseen - aw aiting o u r com ing)

1980
 FIELD-RUSSIA - III

oh subtler th a n sky
lighting up Earth! - w ith people’s soul
as w ith circle-of-love
“still m o re th a n lum en” b u rn in g

1980

BUT THAT HILLSIDE

to the memory ofV. M.

to incline th e head
m y m elancholy hillside!
an d h a ir in th e w ind
as by d ark in to air: always far a n d far o ff - falling!
in the w ind to th e grave
(soul ju st solitary - soul!)
an d in shifting - a w hisper (w ith rem ains o f sobbing)
w ith w o rm w ood - as w ith reality
(as if p alp ab ly-in-crum bs)
o f th e o ne a n d only in th e w orld
(as if - here: the soul! - an d a h an d - as if into water!)
an d o f v ery -m uch-m ine
d am p solitude

1980
 AND: THE FIELD OF T H E LIVING

field - like “som ething” like Appearance?

and if it was sim ply - for us?
as if “we were n o t” - only w andering in vision o r deed
as if we w ere like advances:
strange - as sleep: in illum ination!
we sleep we wake (as if we were fleeting):
we are for n o m orning!
the fiery light w ith o u t m eaning is em pty
(only residual reflection w ith o u t link - as if am ong us - n o t
touching: th e Gleam! - o f the Fathers’ spirit)
“m eetings” “com ings-together” - in em pty-bright aimlessness
as if o f a w andering (by light o f day - as in u n b o u n d ed unseeingness)
dream - o f clods-of-fields as o f clods-of-thoughts
in sharpness - in deadness - ascending! there is n o aw akening
in th e S leep -as-it-turns-out-C ountry!
in senile-childish (backw ard-turned) w o r d l e s s n e s s

1980
 ROSE AT T H E THRESHOLD ALONE

b u t so m uch!
(all - o f w hiteness):

n ow soft shade a sw oon

in th e face it is shaking
th e back o f th e head a n d thereafter
carrying o ff som ew here (as if into the p u rity
o f all-disappearance) -

now w ith th e re tu rn
(as if th ro u g h a field) -

in to w hitest o f white: itself:

m o re freshly (from long ago) shining

1979
 D A Y - W O RLD

Day - expanding - ever m ore - equality w ith the W orld:

as if
in m ovem ent
C o m in g -in o f W ords
a n d th eir Exaltation
in M ultiple
diffusion:

(for
E m anations
seem a swaying
o f m asts) -

in a single Field
as in co m m o n -transparent-S oul! -

o f Suns - in quietness - w ith cleanness o f n o -so u n d - the M arch:

in to legs in to back:
w ith H uge-H ours! -

once again b uilding you.

1979
 VIEW WITH TREES

N ight. C o urtyard. I to u ch the birds o n the branches - an d they d o n ’t

fly away. Strange shapes. A nd som ething h u m an - in the wordless
com prehensibility.
A m ong th e w hite shapes - such living a n d com plete observation:
as if m y w hole life was seen by a single soul - from the d ark trees.

1979
 LATE N U T - T R E E

b u t - a nut-tree? n u t-tree by your

patches
o f ru st
shall I be - o r imagine? - a little
(w hen m y “co n d itio n ”
because o f this
is dam p)
o rp h a n h o o d ’s wind! like a sign - to no one! - such a n u t-tree you are!
som ew here - only as in hiding - including by chance
(myself)
for n o th in g
as if in the m ist o f a thicket
reflection o f “p easan th o o d ” w ith o u t illum ination
w ith o u t things illum inated
o f a k in d o f “life” rem aining
in the w ind
in the rain
to no one

1980
 DAY: I - A L O N E
( TWO P O S T C A R D S IN VERSE)

there w here is abiding o f the edge

o f the p o p p y petal the trem ble in the air
there - is th e soul’s attention: touched
by b eau ty “itself” (an d a little
it seem s w ith a scratch)

a n d blessedness o f grateful contem plation

by th e precious p a th o f air:
g lim m er o f a b rig h t-w h ite butterfly
from heartsease to cham om ile

1980
 OUTSIDE THE DOOR

b u t you m u st have - fear

so th at yes: w ith o u t a break

so th at subtly: yes: the soul (for this we are as we are) -

and w ith life - also - th a t (an d in essence it seems - o f blood:

in aching - unceasingly - abohtion! -

th ro u g h oneself - th ro u g h it - knowing:

and this - is all th at is)

there was - a “tim e” a n d m any tim es it was

now w ith o u t any “tim es”
to have - such a fear
to have it - as if final:

(so as - to be alive
so as to be)

- b u t yet there was a tim e (th at “tim e” is not)

w hen we knew -so m eth in g-and-rem ained

outside the d o o r - as if: the h o u r

(So as to take ap a rt the look the cry)

a flicker: shadow-like - in the head:

as in the w orld: o f u n q u iet rosecolor
(an d besides - stillness: like eyes)
as if the O nly-S pirit (three o r four steps)

(So as to e n d - here: taking apart)

an d a step - n o t a sound: like fur

1979
 AND: THE M O R N I N G - S T A R
( BREAKS D U R I N G WORK)

to Csaba Tabajdi

b u t tow ard au tu m n - ever m ore often: like a child

(w hen in sleep - it seem s light)
w ith soul-w ing unseen
(with a tinge o f clear - w ith adu lth o o d - o rp h an h o o d ):
we do n o t think: “w hat?” b u t seem to su rro u n d
w ith a gleam th e exclam ations:
“b u t p u rity yo u are th ere”
(oh childlikeness is so long!)
then so m u ch - is not! (like all th at we are)
an d after we are in m in ds
and again - w eightier th a n all
(fallen
from th e sto rm
o f th e W orld)
and all th en
u n in terru p ted ly
in sleep is like distan t light

1980
 FIELD-RUSSIA: A FAREWELL

Soon this too became known.

D.P.

b u t to love th e m otherland - is n o t to see M e

cam e th e su d den w ords
an d th e country’s dam p - in hollows -
heartfelt w eeping: gathered life -

in the breast m istily grew - as once before - the space

w here proofs o f the T rinity sw irled -

(as these
stars’
rising
you end u red : as you grew - by Sleep!) -

w ords cam e in the n ig h t (and there is n o w ord - w ith o u t the W ord):

only so m u ch o rp h an h o o d : a m ist - like a handful! -

to be eyelight sw arm ing-oakw ood-song

an d to weep as a sun (because - w ith o u t soul) -

an d to be - a field - w ho is o r is n o t - free

1980
 SONG FOR MYSELF

secret song: “I w ant for n o th in g ”

and o th er th a n this
n o th in g I know
only th at field to o w here in m em o ry the soul is suddenly so sim ple
an d still
and the place to o is such:
nothing there is (“I w ant for n o th in g ”)
just in boundless expanse the loose b o ard o f som e building
in som e way s о th e person-som ew here-here
in som e way an answ ering-song - to such daytim e and lucid grief
like a w o u n d in the h a n d b u t you look
and there is n o looking away (and it seems this only rem ains
as som e business an d life)

1979
FI ELD- RUSSI A
PART TWO
 FIELD: ROAD

w ith b reath in g (oh let m e)

trouble it a little!
hide-and-seek o f preciousness:
I shall say: for sleep I save it!
I shall say: I love: is it n o t w ith gold o f shadow
o f the sacred-in-m y-dream
wafted an d sm oothed! such - love! -
to leave - even by light
(for a while I was: I know!)
b u t it is help to oblivion! an d
you are m o re th a n continuation!
far o ff (like th e w orld) - w ith unheardness
delicately - as from sum m its
(for childhood) o f clouds:
to forget T h at w hich was audible
(and I close it - w ith a glance)

1981
COMING INTO BEING OF A T E M P L E

oh
sky blue
and
field - in a silver thread - field
(an d m asses
o f gold
m asses)
along it - th e tension!
and
w ith firm ness o f brightness
skyward

1981
 RYE - A L WA Y S THE S AME - RY E

sun in rye - like m y d ream - as in scarlet - antique! -

quivering-and-slow ly:

thro u g h tops o f corn-ears (the way is lost)

m y-life-sleep-oh-flow ering-oh-Lord
moves in redness a n d cuts as w ith achingness-m e
the d ream - now vivid - o f birches: here an d there w ith nightingales
(as if in places
in the w ind th ey were hiding - n o t m any
o f a tender: in freedom : m ind) -

it-grow s-cold-it-touches as if in flight w ith nods-as-of-w afting-of-

blood
the tim id - th ro u g h souls som ew here - places o f n atu re -

som ew here in th em for a long tim e (though we do n o t hear -

b u t w ith gladness)
concealing heights o f singing
(as if in th eir ow n depths)

1981
 OAKWOOD AND (ACROSS THE
FIELD) OAKWOOD

to N. V. Lossky

eyes free among topmost leaves of the oakwood

1 am a world without a brother
(and you)
but finding-through-air?
(I say
through the land)

but
continuation
in wind
(in touching)
noisily-with-children - you are now such quietness
with bones in yourself
of the fathers
enough for me through pain
to continue
as if into legs
into depth
eyes free among topmost leaves of the oakwood
for a long time now not going toward love
simply loving
everywhere where I am (and since then in awakenings
I was not set apart
to search)
oh w riting into w in d (m ore a n d m ore w ith o u t pain)
becom e th e people alone be the people
I w ould say to th e friend (I shall find him )
the daw n is ever greater an tiq u ity (it seems th a t we ask
o f stars only) a n d peacefully
from blood
all w arm
a b ro th er rose u p for m e once
and for long
was c o n tin u atio n
in the people
(again
he will be raised:
n o t there
where it is not).
- always he is p o o r an d always
sleep stretches w ider th a n the world: so freely alive! -
I shall b rin g
so speaking
into clear air a roughness
“b ro th e r” - to be alive
to be - for a b ro th er
(an d this - let h im be in his place)

eyes free am o n g to p m o st leaves o f the oakw ood

a friend
(a b ro th e r b u t absences to m e are indifferent)
in the b o n e (w ith o u t w eeping) is b u rn in g
(and for m e
enough pain
“I” th at “am ” )
a n d long I have know n m a n ’s p u rity
for n o t w ith sight only
b u t w ith spirit he forged
(like a pail
full o f w ater)
th e ingoing (an d trem bling)
in to steadfast b rightness
o f birches

1981
 SHUDDER OF A D A I S Y

little cloud! -

w ould once the m o m en t

(invisibility-visibility)
o f m y death th u s be shaken -

(w hat th en
shall I choose
m ore dear):

w in d - jewel-like - fleeting! -

as in flight
aw akened in m e - first o f all:

freshness! -

o f absence o f m em o ry

1981
 ROAD OUT OF THE FOREST

I am at h o m e o n the earth
I need n o th in g
b u t w ould like one sm all thing:
live suffering! -

(suddenly I see: th e im m ense people only

explodes-gives - to -o n e-to -an o th er
th e heat o f suffering: so b u rn w ith it apart
b u t pain is like a gift - o f the family:

a n d in this we are neighbor food a n d brother! -

b u t that
freshness
called th e people -

like y o u r blo od
h an d
a n d breast
does n o t a b a n d o n and lives-enlivens:

sparks-reverberates explosion-and-fusion
a n d the sm all - in to rm e n t is great!
you will explode an d color
th e festival-singing! -

for they even offended

as if they gave bread -
for they even to o k away
the sobbing
as if
keeping
in cries too
the harm ony! -

so - th ey tore th e souls
so - kept th em from deadness) -

- it will n o t be b ro th er: here o th er festivities

will kill o ff the devil w ith this ted iu m
to be em bodied (oh Lord)
in m u rd erers - an d in satan
him self - it m ust be! -

so I thought (as N orw id w ould say

at th e end: I rem em ber:
“ Vade-mecum”)
so I th o u g h t - com ing o u t o f the forest
ever lighter
(lighter th a n happiness o f grasses) -

suddenly I see: th ro u g h young oaks

gold is flam ing
of-w heat-and-field - w ith a church:

(then
m ake ro o m
for em p ty space):
and not a thing for nothing!
I do not know my grief
but the wind too is needed!
and in heat of gold my brother
no neighbor no little one
and so burns for-himself-“farewell”
that there is not any thought

1981

SECOND LITTLE SONG FOR MYSELF

hair is shaken loose water poured

and for what - amidst this - the call
(so all presence of all also passes)
as of always the same - one and only - cuckoo?
(light of sleep is distorted - by shoulders once young
but still before the face it circles)
there so simple is grieving for love
- that has been a little alone:
of youthful light a-source-for-dreams-somewhere
is ever more sad and quiet - but the freshness already is - many
times - such:
it will be late (all this is for the good
but only - such sorrowful good
it is not for you to speak of it)

1981
 FIELD-CONCLUSION
(LAND WI T H O U T PEOPLE)

In n atu re - d e s e r t e d (b u t “som ething” here w hispers - in a dis­

tan t “b reath”: as yet N o t-abandoned) - w e-I-or-som ething (there are
now no “others” ): we are —the r e f u s e r s .

Self-refusal-and-M ore (they w ent away - into heavens-w ithout-m ind

— and the splendor d ried up! — festivities o f steel: in roots-as-in-
crosses! —an d it was —as in Heaven: in the L and-D essication —from
light as from w ind! - we rem em ber no “seconds”).

A nd —m irage o f a specter —false-height! —“here-and-there this still

is: somewhere this glim pse (w ithout seed-center — w ith o u t place: to
grow in to ) b u t a rocking —a scattering! —to be the d e f e a t e d of
those lit-as-by-w histling.

But “heaven”-from -a-thing? - w ith a stream bed o f em ptiness: like

absence —o f wordlikeness.

There is - only b lo o d (like m ovem ent o f false-brotherhoods).

They cam e o u t o f th eir age —o u t o f echo-of-spirit-as-if-for- eternity

(let us say so m u ch ) —fell o u t —fell into: the w orld s agelessness! —will
n o t grow into infants: becom ing —th ro u g h this —th e fathers.

And: there is (it creeps u p m echanically-stickily) n o People. T he dying

m an will ad d (for n o understandings): “who is the Father. (Soon will
be no lesser w ord either —as o f root-of-vision: for m ultitudes).

Field —w ith o u t a w ord like “you” corresponding —field (like the Book)
— w ith people: w ith o u t people (the Illum inated-Eye — nam e-as-ot-
F riend - a n d Second Sun! - cannot be broadened by u s ! . . . - already -
like dews - we shall forget it).

But - th e o n e w ho speaks?

(Yes. T h i s also is f r o m t h e r e : nothing has happened, - an d it

m eans one th in g only: t o v a n i s h ) .

1981
 APPROACHES TO S U N F L O W E R S

I am lit - a n d at hom e
and forget all things
and again I am - w ith m y brothers
to m e - only light (and I do n o t know things in detail)
again - smiles
long since in-itself-receiving
p o u rin g o u t w ith thankfulness
from circles-glim m erings-fathers
and only one th in g I rem em ber: as if shinings were shining
in echoing openings-touching
o f so n ority o f breathing o f fem inine-sacrificial powers:
so all-em bracing - like a w orld - from all sides
to m e - a son also - w hispering! -
thus you are th e m o st w om anly w om en (to the w orld o f earth -
m o re precious - th a n angels)
- essence o f illum ination! - w ith this-itself
for us - sev ered -b ro th ers-in-the-M otherland
so were lit shelters-walls! an d the gold o f tears finished gleam ing:
in air-the-w hole-land-nostalgia
we seek - a n d th e b reath breaks out:
dim inishing life: from shoulders!
(as if I by th e w hole h u m an -sh in in g
into dryness - o f all m inds! - above earth
were weakly d irected - to shim m er:
in the house o f shining
o f au tu m n sunflowers)

1981
 F I E L D ( A N D A G A I N - AN
ABANDONED CHURCH)

Now:

w h at shall I call it? (perhaps - to the Soul:

o f th e once-Beloved:

a M em orial).

Visible: even a little (like breathing) - yes: in beauty (from w ithin

itself).

A nd - th e rye: in co ntinuing reflection (better be silent: from the

fathers ach ing-as-in-bone - m inds n o t reddened: we grow quiet).

(From tim e to tim e: blood-as-bearer: sim ply advances - m aking one

w ho walks:

som ew here - w ith o u t m em ory).

Anew.

(T here is
th e incredible
last w ord
is. )

A nd - th e rye (an d no saying: “o u r ow n” ):

it seems
th e O riginal Field.
(But here
w ith voice
o f singing already):

I was: let m e be allowed:

(for th e place - is for that):

as if to-speak-to-address! -

is there
is there n o t
som ething
b u t still
we know
the idea “b u t still”:

w ith a b reath
(as if coexistent w ith soul):

(quietly-resem bling the so u n d o f greeting o f those so long already

silent in circles expanding):

w ith a b reath - like ab an d o n ed splendor:

to th e place
(co n tin u in g w hite
w ith its
form er w hiteness) -

ever m o re d istan t (w ith spirit-or-ductility):

P urity -R y e!. . .

1981
 THIRD LITTLE SONG FOR MYSELF

b u t at tim es w hen for m e it is im possible

(a n d yet possible)
“b u t there are such things for m e” I th e n speak
m y head: as if w ith it I dipped
in the m otherland-som ew here-abandoned-distance
rem em b erin g “barely fu rth e r b u t there”
o h how lovingly they let go! to weep w ith the cheek
forget I w as loving
long against this splintered
th is (now n o o n e there)
field signpost - w ith the head
th a t h ad th o u g h t over everything - already stopped thinking
(n o m o re w ould I need b u t now a n d long since a n d now n o t to be
late
in to this absence tow ard the tree-body
so th at o ld er alone)

1981
 PEACEFULLY: FIRES OF
SUNFLOWERS

in memory of Valery Lamach

All aro u n d - a little - as if building: a house (I did n o t know - there I

am: as m y som e k in d o f “m any”).

Again - let there be such a sunset (here too are things

o f th e fathers - still the same: to shift th em
is m y task - in peaceful m otion-w andering).

I com e into th e light (but in the b o o k o n the table - w ords b u rn - and

to m e he was saying: “you are always giving” - b u t o f th a t day - we
could read in co m m o n b ro th e r blood: “explosion o f joy in lightness o f
shining”).

O nly one friend was strangely-greater th an the requiem (years were

passing - he created: an d one day the land - in his face I saw: in full! -
did I w orthily absorb th at gold? - 1 dream o f the face! - p u rity o f cir­
cling - deserving o r n o t - 1 know ).

(O f childhood he spoke - suddenly rem em bered: the m any disks! -

an d the b o o k o f books - an d th e m any disks! - the freshness.)

A nd w ith this: “alone” - n o t true! - the gift - like August: a n d do-you-

think-as-you-w alk? in old gold: as in a cham ber - ever m ore peaceful.

Have I forgotten? - to be gold w ith the fathers - suddenly: h ands o f

m y brother! - a n d o f circle-fields - o n b ehalf o f m y friend - unfailing:
sonority.
(I w afted p ain - saying th a t “w ith-spirit-ductility” ! - he w ould have
u n d ersto o d soundlessly - w ith the w hole face.)

A nd brightness: as if building a house - for th e people! - an d yet m y

b ro th er: for th e spirits o f few (a little is all! - w hen the face is
fulfillm ent).

(I knew such a house o f the people: as if I was touching the - co m m u ­

n al - singing),

To slip p erh ap s - in grief (and m em o ry is quiet: already the building

o f fo u n d atio n s is done).

Ever m o re
in softness - for n o one - the sunset:
a n d th e striving o f gold
tow ard sim ple things o f the people
(b u t “th ey were” - m eans: th ey were).

Rem em brances? n o t so: it is b ro ad er (as in deadness o f the land - n o t

from inside the land: a light).

A n d m y friend! - b rother: w ith a sm ile - as o u t o f dear ones (I know -

h ow to speak in p u rity o f the face: from the face itself - an d a fresh­
ness: brig h tn ess o f disks! - light o f sunflow ers - like a house).

1981
 WILLOWS (IN MEMORY OF M U S I C )

to V .S.

in th e long m ist-vision
o f b rig h t inaudibility
th ro u g h p ain so clear and distant
is m y holy d u ty - preciousness
o f m em ory: to be sung - by beau ty itself:
“schubert” as “m o th e r”!
(you will n o t say “G od” - o h G od som ething
has h ap p en ed to m y soul: there is
no steady sobbing! an d long now in som nolence
in su ch -n o t-m in e-b eau ty
losing p u re groans-sum m its
dim ly I grow hazy)

1981
 FIELD AND ANNA

in th e last
(how long th en he continues)
b rig h t - for th e eyes o f few - fire-tw isted-as-in-blood
(im age o f th e land o f Ryazan)
th e last o ne
is b u rn in g
(always I see
th e iro n o f w o rk
a n d the back
as in a bonfire
su rro u n d e d
b y shouts
like an o th er tongue too)
th e last
lo n g -ag o -h u m an
is flam ing
(a n d already
m y seeing
is n o t to be blinded):
w hat is it a n d fo r w hom - this center-fate? - in the su n is less shining
th a n in th e neck o r cheeks o f b u rn t-o u t sufferings - in dim ness
longer th a n all fire! b u t the ancient
field
o f Ryazan? it is dead
th e field
an d w here now is
unforgettable A nna
dear-love-A lekseevna
w here th e n are all your silences-passions? - an d possibly a certain
light n o t o f the sun - w hiteness w hiter th a n snow drifts o f Russia
still glows an d is charred
by your long-gone w hispers th a t are needed
by n o one in this field ?. . . - we in such glory
did n o t o p en ourselves! - astonishm ents there were - just silence
o f flam e-ruin - in a circle-like-a-field
o f b u rn in g fe a r!. . . - and deadness
ripened - o f fire !. . . - an d im m ensity was sh u t in th e oneness o f
forgetting:
w ith no w in d -m an ifestation - em pty
Field - o f fields

1981

WALKING TOWARD A BI RCH- TREE

IN A FIELD

it was
a -a
no m ore: it was
gleam ing from w ithin
(m aking clear th e lim its)
in soundless prayer
w ith m ovem ent - ju st barely
th at heaven
too
should be
a

1981
 SLOWED AUGUST

th e day was passing

as if w ith little leaves
w ith dear ru b bish o f E arth
in a w orld o f ra in (or a heaven o f rain)
obscurely we were we sw arm ed
n o t catching fire n o t starting to shine - in th e ocean
o f god - like a boundless-w hite stru ctu re . . . - an d it m u st be said:
th is is qu iet a n d hard
to live-have-a-being an d n o t lift y o u r eyes
so as to start shining - a n d like som e m aterial
in god (I shall allow m yself this feeble knowledge)
to be d ip p ed - being his ow n
dow nw ard - gravitation

1981
 MOTHER AMONG RASPBERRIES

and you were gathering

raspberries! so that I should remember (and weep) you
so that after a day after some quarter of a century
freshness like an angel (still the same one: movement
there was none)
was still coming in! beyond the river the voices
long seemed to be play-of-a-ffiend!
now returned by the powers-and-winds of the world
in sorrow I am - through shadow: and besides
the mist is light... - friend do I really
know maidenly shining? (I disturb you
as if your light was for birth!)
spirit - for: tears! - this is sun of the clearing! - mist - a continuation
refining the woods with its ripples!
knowing - we know no foresight:
is god clear - and is it not better together
not to want to make him out? and only
to be - as if weeping with shining-friends
and with the self-motion
of berries long ago before sunset
in redness - to fall?

1981
FIELD AND ANNA -

theeeeeEEEEEEEeeeeere:

faAAace:

(of a cry)

1981
 AND - A MEMORY: C L E A R I N G
IN SHAURI FOREST

but this one! a n d n o approach:

w ith a disk - o f light! w ith precision
o f its b rig h t closure! n o repetition-plurality:
all - hom ogeneous! like breathing-firm ness - w ith a gleam
suddenly - o f Spirit - peering out: in clear absence o f place!

(was it
w ith sh in e-an d -cird e
one tim e
at th e fo u n d atio n
fem ininity’s sobbing?
rejected
by th e land:
no rem em bering) -

fu rth er o n - day breaks:

I was - space-love - o f the family! -

and now: what? - (w hisper o r say goodbye: I m ust!) -

what? w ith p u rity perhaps o f death-final-slipping

as if to breath e-an d -p ass-through
in flight - w ith g ratitu d e-to -E arth
(here it shone to o w ith Eye-and-B one) -

in light th at is lightless - above this to soar:

in a new - u n h e a rd -o f - lo v e?. . .

1981
 BRIEF APPEARANCE OF
LIUDOCHKA

Meadow.

(To rem em ber. To rem em ber.)

Little-girl-butterfly.

C hurch.

L ittle-girl-butterfly.

M eadow.

1981
 AND: SCHUBERT

pain
for you
kept com ing: in intervals o f sky
in the young oakwood! h ow clearly
that blue m ig h t reso u n d w ith your soul!
“m usic” they were telling m e
I heard it - w ith o u t sound:
it was m y quietness!
later I learned - b eh in d it
shines in longing such music:
as if - in reply - was m ade clear
in torm en t: o u r Lord! - a n d the one
we prayed for in grief - for us
in His p ain grows quiet

1981
POEM-TITLE: WHITE BUTTERFLY
FLYING OVER A CUT FIELD

1981
 A. , W A L K I N G Т О T H E H E R D -
ACROS S THE FI ELD

and b eh in d his back

far off
a fullness
of shadow s - w ith breaks - still fresh:

- w ith b rig h t-d am p whiteness! -

to the left - n o t rain b u t rare descent

here and there o f clouds in the form o f rain -

(and th e lake o f a gaze th ro u g h the w orld

that one: now it can n o t be scattered
and it tu rn e d out: sustained to the end:
understood: this is needful and true
when it is - for no one) -

- to cross th e field? at tim es - across life: the passage th ro u g h life! -

(but th e o n e a n d th e other:
pity
for som e boy as if to a reed:
was there singing in th e world?
no recalling -

yes: it tu rn e d out: the absence o f singing-as-sharpness

was needful too
and som ehow it happened:
this loss h ad ripened: a n d a w hisper
by som e thing-like-a-piece-of-clothing
was b o rn e in to the wind:
it tu rn e d o u t
this to o was achieved:
as if th ey were asking:
an d tru e) -

in th e lake o f the gaze is one m ovem ent only (although n o t

rem em bered)
it m ay be
(since all can be)
th ro u g h som e kin d o f d istan t blueness
w in d - as a sister! -

to th e right - steadfast happening: a haystack

1981
 MI DNI GHT: RADIO JAMMING:
U N K N O WN WOMAN SI NGING

a voice
like w eeping
chenstokhovska m adonna
oh God:

“Yanek” (explodes)

(in a sh out) “ Vishnevski

(unto-bleeding): “is dead!”-

it beats - o n th e D eadness-Land! -

a voice!
(now
n oth in g
is possible)
explode
if only
a drop:

there is such a o ne th en
in som e deep place
o f peoplelikeness:

“we can do no more!” -

a voice!
plunge yourself
in th e C en tu ry ’s m aking:
“all is useless!” -

soar u p - in a final blow! if only at w hat rem ains

o f th e likeness o f a heart
if o nly th e one! -

“Yanek” (explode):

“is dead” (sh o u t o f Auschwitz)! -

cu t (n o w useless b u t still cut):

in to this C offin-Land - into this “im m o rtality ” o f death -

“over-place” o f deathm asks:

into this poster-people! -

splash out: a drop - alien bloody:

at “g o d ” - o r - at th e w ind-halo: over the C arrio n -P lac e!. . . -

at th e sky-conflagration

1981

T h is p o e m refers to A ndrzej W ajda’s film M a n o f M arble. T h e Polish w o rd p a d ’l (is

d ead ) suggests th e R ussian w ord padaF (c a rrio n ). T h e C henstokhovska (co m m o n ly
spelled Czestochowa) M a d o n n a is a c eleb ra ted 1 4 th -c e n tu ry Polish religious painting.
 FADING OF A U G U S T

som ew here in th e oakw ood

m ade o f sounds
a swing as if shining
secretly com posing
holding back - in a state
o f interm ittence: all golden! -

a b ird ’s: unknow ing: farewell

1981
 ONE MORE LI TTLE SONG
FOR MYSELF

I am sleeping this is som ew here

th is place w here I am has long been w ith o u t a c o u n try
b u t a consolation - som ew here logs u n d e r snow
th e blizzard since then
a n d I too am n o t needed
frien d sh ip now - sleeves in ice
sleep-m y-blood thaw s o n the tree:
h o w singing breaks out! w ith its shadow sw inging
th ro u g h p ain as in air
in longing for p o sts-in-this-w orld-or-G annushkins
in needless song rocking
in th e field in the blizzard am idst snowflake-beings
w ith a forehead split open
singing into the world! - for the Lord
so rtin g th ro u g h
th e logs
u n d e r snow

1982

G annushkins: psy ch iatric h o sp itals in M oscow .

F I E L D - R U S S I A
PART THREE
 CLOUDS

it was
as if
in G od was the head
b u t rem aining alone th en
an d it becam e clear: Day was darkening (there was w o rk to be done)
a n d was shining - as it opened!
w hat was h ap pening was consciousness - no d o u b t
it was m elting w ith sm allness-m e
in T hat - w hich was opening the clouds like gates
forcing th e m in d —to shine! —an d the frontiers
were tim e: were th e breaks
in the vividly-single
(touching th e Earth)

1982
 AND: MOMENTS-IN-BIRCHES

in th e face
to grow heavy
a n d cut
w ith the p a rt th a t pulls
as if into trustfulness o f kin close b y - into heavy a n d m oist ad o ratio n
o f b rightness (as o f brain ) o f birches
w ith a p a rt
to cut
a n d in-clo ts-in -dam pness
there from here
in tears as in b ones in ad o ratio n
in to w hiteness-G od! into deeper th a n a groan
w ith b lo o d as w ith som e blow
to fall! - in exceeding oneself to give (w ith th at m oist part
o f w eeping - as w ith fallings o f firm ness)
collapsing to give - som ehow -splinters
to a Bow to the earth

1982
 T O A N I C O N OF T H E MOTHER
OF G O D

in dream ings an d visionings

in daw n day o f nonevening
in th e house blazing as w ith coals
benedissolution
o f joygrieving!
in a corn er-san ctu ary th a t as w ith h eart’s coals
in dream ings an d visionings
as if in the field the Living
at th e deserted feast-table
like signs th e m any assem bled

1981

ROAD THROUGH A CLEARING

for fellow-feeling
w ith w ind o f the m in d - so lightly drawn?
such a road then: so to hide it! - an d then w ith grief
barely shade it! - an d h old it back
just as far - as shadow in the m ind! - b u t also shine th ro u g h -
th e idea o f a smile: so th a t it is noticed -
in sun lig h t-sh arp shuddering
(spilling over th e edge)
in a grove o f birches
b u t - drops?
is heartfulness (in good tears
for life)
still alive in children for me? - a n d in it
a n d even across it
these slidings? - an d is vaporous tenderness
childishness fresh in the w orld
peacefully - dripped?

un-focussing (there - ju st as here):

segm ents d ear - as in the house:

o f this lightness-w orld! -

a n d little is needed o f m em o ry even:

I was - as I w andered fro m reading

(b u t som ew here
in d am p they w ere young
a n d in visitings o f the w hitely-peaceful
I rem em bered: they are young! a n d over m y face
th a t seem ed distantly-w eightless
for a long tim e - together
th ey slid)

1982
 T H R O U G H THE W I N D O W -
A CLEARING

weakness I w ould s a y . . . - is sacred

because
m o re th a n “th ere”: it is like agreem ent - to be Beauty
o f the unrevealed! just a little
here to sw im up w ith it
o u t o f distance an d evening light - a certain
Selflikeness! - so to retain
(M yself was as I was not)
powerlessness o f a w eak an d dam p su rro u n d in g
living in flashes o f light! - w ith a secret hint
o f Visitedness - in grasses an d b ra n c h e s . . . - especially
in saddening ru b b ish (here
I touched on more - preparing fo r M yself
the strength to depart)

1982
 UNTITLED

sim ply because it is so pitiful

I still call it love:
poverty, oh You-Mine! a n d the w orst ( o h ,. . . I!)
so p o o r th a t in fearful nothingness
it can n o t be - o h G od-M ine! - unlove

1982

REMEMBRANCE IN A CL E A RI NG

singing:
in th e beautiful - such little
steps: n o catching h im - o h Schubert!
he so: in creation o f the beautiful-sm all
b eing (by v irtu e o f the sam e)
th e spacious-beautiful
(the Spirit Itself?)
slips away
 CONTINUATION

b u t life’s darkness floods the soul w ith likenesses

glim m er o f sacrifice grows som ew here ever fainter
an d tim e is needed: for the soul again
to sh u d d er - having gone

p erhaps in m em o ry places o f past sufferings

in a new o rd e r com e to life again
an d labor is continued: pains will cleanse you
o f th at sam e - sacrifice

an d see - it seems th at u n til now it struggles

transfiguring to rm e n t (all in blood)
an d ch ild h o o d chastity an d m aidenhood
in you - will start to weep

1982
 CORNFIELD - BEFORE RIPENING

gleam ing
splashing assuagem ent:
discoloring
already - w ith oblivion!
a n d see: for n o w - it ju st clutches the spirit
for now - n o t p u rity (you rem em ber heartfalls):

o h slowing! -

o u t o f this ever subtler the seeing

a n d again th e to rm e n t
outw earing th e likeness!
an d soon
so o n - B earing Away

1982
 F U N E R A L OF P O P P I E S

to A. L.

so it was! - 1 b u ried the dream

and w ith it w ent the precious fadedness:
an d w ith o u t w hat netochka-nezvanova
is there windlessness now:

w ith o u t the lovely “ju st a little”? -

little I rem em b er - b u t in the w orld’s M uch

there trem bles (is it n o t ab o u t you
distan t person)

ju st a little disturbing: th e message?

1982

netochka-nezvanova: N etochka N ezvanova (“nam eless n o b o d y ” ) is th e o rp h a n h e ro ­

ine o f D osto evsky’s u n fin ish ed novel o f th e sam e nam e.
 EVENING THOUGHTS AMONG
RASPBERRY CANES

to L e o n a n d S im o n e

b reath o f happiness
w hen from o u t o f raspberries
it tu rn s y o u r h e a d !. . . -

guessing:

w h at was th a t - beatitude? -

hom e?
(to b e sure: th is was in the fam ily
a n d in ch ild h o o d - w ith loved ones
all aro u n d ) -

it was h o m elan d
(a n d o nly including
th e fo rg o tten h o m e )!. . . -

fu rth e r - friend - d estru ctio n (and calling it “life”

th ey c o n tin u ed it for us
a n d we too) -

b u t - it rem ained (an d the head is tu rn e d

by h a p p in ess-as-d istan t-m em o ry )!. . . -

so - at evening am o n g the canes

we searched for berries
o f th e forest (w ith peaceful blows
in m em o ry o f m u ch seeing):
w hat brings back - w ith a jolt o f radiance
ho m e a n d country? a n d fam ily (w ith illum ination
o f the h o st - o f those loving in kinship)? -

w hat - at last - from a letter - from raspberries - o f forest an d field

from a hom e-like-stone
can b rin g us th e b reath - o f beatitude? -

(oh this freshness: we to uched

the th in g itself - w ith illum ination-steadfastness
m ore steadfast
m aybe
th a n th e concept-w orld) -

this - is she w ho loves like hom e (w ith a spring o f

illu m in atio n -ch ild h o od) -

an d continues: w ith kinsfolk a n d c o u n try

a n d o u r destiny
still in c o m p le te !. . . -

in th e b reath o f raspberries I know

w here th e radiance starts: like breathing I see
a child’s - a w om an’s - face - som ewhere:

sim ply - 1 should say (I lead to a sim ple conclusion)

I am glad o f happiness
for happiness th at is! -

a w o n d er - this is always sim ple (b u t a m ystery - it is sim ple - b u t a

w o n d e r. . . )
 PARTING WITH A CHURCH

w hat m o re do I rem em ber? -

now - ju st w indow s ever em ptier

(ever m o re - w in d n o t w ind
gleam o f light n o t light):

as if they - w ere e s t a b l i s h e r s
o f t h i s th a t there should be no l i n k
w ith this space abandoned! -

an d Silence com es in like a w arning:

co m m u n ally -o ne - into country-and-field (an d ever m ore w hole - in

desolation):

as if —th e o n e - a n d - o n l y C hurch

1982
 DREAM-IN-A-BANNER

tim e
o f T hrow ing
o f Haystacks! - an d you?
as if I am spreading an d just the sam e I-peered-in:
still the sam e o n the haystack
w o rk o f h ands o f to rm en t o f w hite clothing:
vision-you - like a banner!
I b u rn -an d -am -se en b o th by you and m yself
an d in p u rity o f im pulse against you-all-w idespreadness
th e sam e golden w in d is troubling you
ever m o re long-gone youthful-burning!
an d in h im - th e u n to u ch ed m ovem ents o f love
are exchanged a n d th e gleam
into distance - soaring

1982
 OH MY F R I E N D

can he
be dead - th e g uardian
angel? and deathly - appear
as th e b earer o f W ords? - for the phrase is strangely-distant:

“so o n yo u w ill c o m e . . . ” -

an d is w hispered - by a friend
w ho is quietly-deathly-calm :

all is m otionlessness!
an d only the cause o f presence
like - m u d d ied w aters . . . -

as if - yet a while: is it som e so rt o f “tim e” o r is it

d isp lace m e n t?. . . - there w ould be a light -
in s u b s ta n tia l. . .

1982
REMEMBRANCE IN A CLEARI NG - II

The W hite.
T he Black.
Stone - is b o th one an d the other.
Poor houses:
Arles.
T he Black.
T he W hite.
Shade - like invisible ice. In the m iddle:
fire
(eating away
the m o re-th an -P o o r).
T he W hite.
T he Black.
Field - u n fath o m ab ly gleam ing
(in hugeness o f th e w orld)
invisible
ice.

1982

Arles: city in so u th e rn France w h e re Van G ogh lived a n d p a in te d in 1888-89.

 LATE LAS T F L O W E R I N G OF
THE WI L D ROSE

th e soul rem em bers it seem s ab o u t blows

a n d p u rified - radiates
sanctifying w o unds it preserves for itself:

all - besprinkled! -

o h th is air - o f u n p eo p led n e ss!. . . -

(he has died

it seem s
w h o m I can n o t rem em ber:

a n d to w ander! - to n o b o d y th en
as if guilty - o n e w ord)

1981
 SOLITARY SUNFLOWER

to V. Sokol

o h trem ble o f solicitude!

(better n o t
lift u p m y eyes) -

su rro u n d in g m yself “I-a-child”

w ith a m o d est surplus o f joy
in m yself - at playing - myself:

- o h yo u m y person-poem !
(m ore tenderly
I ca n n o t say it) -

(b u t here:
I say: b u t here:
visibly:
the secret:
o f the golden: section:

a n d here I can n o t even w hisper) -

oh be:
w hat you are:
as com pletion!
(b u t m odesty
is like th e flow o f a tear!):
- p erm it me:
alleging:
it is - in th e O ne:
to abide - an d n o t nam e it in words:

w ith circle-you - to see in Spirit:

oh perfection! - to perfect

1982
 AND THAT NUT-TREE LONG AGO

a g a in - to m y m o t h e r ’s m e m o r y

b u t th e cold
the clarity o f cold?
th at the place should b e - i n quietness
still clearer: “b u t the soul?” - in coolness!
a n d - in th e w ind: a child!
still the same: h an d s in dam pness
o n a dear cheek it seems:
b u t now - just attain m en t in beggarly shuddering
o f w indlessness - as o f absolute-ice!
w ith ju st glim m ers o f cold
back to o n e’s th in k in g (as if som ething had
em p tied from m eaning) a n d to jointly-silent clothing
as in falling aim lessly re tu rn in g
w ith relics o f m ovem ent:
o f th at - for it happened: whom
shall I tell? - w hen since long ago
any places - to m e
are on ly - as if m ade o f absences!
(and in such:
unconnected:
o f people’s ice-“feeling”
oh still m o th er-to u ch )

1981
 I S L A N D OF D A I S I E S
IN A CLEARI NG

to the outstanding percussionist Mark Pekarsky

illumination
m o v in g ( )-

I_

aaaaAAAAaaaa
(voices an d voices a n d voices):

- © - © - © -

illu m in atio n u p w ard (voices-and-glim m er-and-voices):

......................................(oh radiance-drum roll):

1982
 DREAMS - WITH FACES OF O L D

an d b o th in snows
they flowered a n d in roses
su m m er long they sought o u t
encounters in m e w ith islands o f white
an d spring w aters
oh G od o f such being! - as if the soul knew
th eir sources in th e w orld - an d tested them
in forb id d en com m union! as if in the ancient image
n o t restraining itself! th e soul all: returning: in signs
as fro m sacrifices!. . . - from snow s an d from roses
to o in n o cen t (and even th ro u g h love
there is n o co m m u n io n : as if rem aining
th ro u g h singing o f th e church
w ith o u t song!) -

. . . “life” they called it all life they called it! b u t th e n - others

w hispered . . . -

and I
th ro u g h idea-like-snow s-through-snow s
can see - th em otherw ise w andering: by shining
(if only from pains
in th e rem nant!):

w hat then! - u n d e r guard-as-w ith-signs-of-torm ent:

(already
w ith o u t shelter
in disasters):

roses! - in-blood-through-snows-and-in-suffocation-you-roses
 ONLY THE P O S S I B I L I T Y OF
A FRAGMENT

. . . b u t this G old a n d H eat

is a relic (as if th e Sun “was”)
o f th e M eaning-A ppearance “Rye Ripens”
like a R oar w ith o u t Place
like Collapse . . .

1982

AL WA Y S THAT SAME WILLOW

a cloud o f old
as w ith m ovem ents o f thinking
there - in th e very sam e stirrings -
as if am plifying a nearb y -d am p sensation o f the face
closes for m e
the place o f т а - т ӑ -veneration as in babyhood
so th at I can en d u re
a n d n o t h o ld in g m e back
it is u tterly silver

1981
 PHLOXES - AFTER “ E V E R Y T H I N G ”

in memory of Paul Celan

b u t W h iten e-ess?. . . -

(there is n o m e) -

b u t W hi-iteness . . .

1982

из
 THREE NOTES FOR AN EPILOGUE

b u t tears
no longer n o u rish w hat we call “bodies”
changing w ith the clean
b u t also w ith o u r faces
we w ere long delayed: already there is n o
b ecom ing - in illum ination! a n d if we are shadow s
th e n - already th ro u g h feeble increase
o f false-belonging to daylight-just-em pty
in th e L and o f No-People! a n d is there
a little - f o r s o m e th in g - o f grief? - if only
in th is drop! . . . - b u t w ith it
th e place you will n o t even m ark
w here Absence only is lit! un iq u e in this
“to the pure all things are pure”

2
“B ut tears, - th ey change the outw ard form o f the h u m a n face.”

b u t each one
each -o n e-in d iv idual - is w ith in a fire!
so m u ch fire: so m uch em ptiness-w ithout-everything
(rem oved too the m eaning o f seeing
an d th e basis
in ro u n d n ess o f heaven to recognize the face th at is no less close in
sym pathy
th a n th e nearby-neighbor-face)
each o ne (or b etter - no one) - is w ithin the em p ty an d dead
fire for him (and there is fire enough) -
seeing
the face
o f n o one
(even th e blade-of-grass-im age)
an d the tree-(oh-w hisper!)-face

1982
 PURER THAN MEANING

oh
Transparency! ju st once
C om e in
a n d Spread yourself

in a p oem

1982

CLEARING TOWARD EVENING

but
it cam e about: the clearing
is w holly change: already - advancem ent
o f light - to th at fullness: radiance
all aro u n d - o f peace! - a n d only the surplus
som ew here above - in vanishing delicacy:
as if - seen by som eone! - b u t the look
rem oved: a n d to us rem ains
o nly the sensation: o f p u re
(all-giving)
departedness
TIME OF RAVI NES
 ROSE OF S I L E N C E

to B. Schnaiderman

b u t th e heart
now
is either m ere absence
in such em ptiness - as if in w aiting
the place o f prayer
h ad grow n quiet
(pure - abiding - in the pure)
o r - by starts p ain beginning
to be there (as p erhaps
a child - feels pain)
w eak nakedly-alive
like th e helplessness
o f a bird

1983
 YOU-AND-FOREST

I was hid in g you b u ry in g you then

in forest illum ination
as if bu ild in g a nest o u t o f you
(I d id n o t k now th a t b o th fingers an d birds were playing
a n d com ing in to being
for a m usic u n k n o w n to me:
tim idly-supple to pulse in air-clots o f trem bling
so - to touch: as if n o t to touch)
I u n w ep t I forgot h ow th at forest was coiled in a h earth m ade o f love!
visibly u n k n o w ing continues w ith o u t m e
I have becom e
credulous
to w ard em ptiness
an d so for m e the age is already new!
“I need n o th in g ” a n d suddenly you illum inate
fro m th e y o uthful ancientness o f the fathers
a n d unexpectedly - ageing - 1 am shattered
in golden rain: oh alien vision! - perhaps your chastity
is to be - w ith o u t it:
co n tin u in g ever th e sam e: in the b u rn in g o f people-fathers - in an
already d istan t inaccessible refuge:
in th is steadfast blazing - in endless snows
in th e d am pness o f w ork - as in rains - c o n tin u in g -to -tem p er-th e-
Allpeople
you rem ain u n k n o w in g - in w hat reverse circle
th ey b u rn - m y im aginings-visions: at such a distance w here even
th e ir sem blances
b u rn e d o u t long a g o !. . . - a n d you
like m y b ra in in youth: shining im age in clear light o f day:
are stru ck a n d are tw isted
fro m the fullness o f those sam e depths
by a p u re - like y o u r hands - like the idea o f them in this world:
light - like a w h isp e r!. . . - an d sim ply - perhaps
no w this is all - o nly th ro u g h m e rustling
the n am e - o f th e people

1982
 WITH S I N G I N G : TOWARD
AN E N D I N G

to A. Nazerenko

The festival had dispersed. I saw only a small line of

people going off toward the forest. (Noted in 1956)

w ith th e sway o f the forest’s hem

th e line d ep arted - sm iles am o n g th em - vanished
taking w ith th e m th e singing also
step by step d ep arted w ith the sway o f w ork w ith hands
leaving m e for a little while
th e flu tter o f the forest’s edge:

- n o n o th in g will explode I shall be stifled in calm:

oh god how calm is m y G od

to fall silent so openly! -

sim ply w ith such sim ple

covers o f light o f clay concealing blood:

to flash in to th e forest - finish sparkling as in heat haze

in th a t it only rem ains to m e in a single lightbone
dim ly to ap p ear in faces:

th at give b irth to earth! - fo r heaven:

(here I m ust forget an d o f p o o r things be silent m ore poorly: this

pow er like th ings u n n eed ed is to o weak even to die: it is w ind
rustling long since in d estru ctio n s - even blood is n o t needed:
to be spilled as a sign - an d such a waste place - an indifferent
eye! - an d it will be earth m o re a n d m ore - for day):
a n d so it is tim e to awake
for m o re th a n th e G od o f stillness:

for the p h a n to m o f light it is tim e to awake

for th e light o f absence o f brow s - unveiling us
w ith peals o f fire:

w hat then? we shall sing to the end: expect nothing

so again to awake as to w ater
“o h line” to th e w alking-line:

- G od take at least such a th in g as living

oh it m u st wake (and the forest closes):

in qu iet w eakness th e weeping-line! -

you - w ho have n o t finished singing

1983
 ABOUT A LITTLE GI RL A N D
SOMETHING ELSE

evening
b u t th e roses
o f h u m a n m isfortune are n o t im m ense th at is w hy the nam e also is
to o flat
“m o m m y has gone” she says as if asking
for a d rin k - “w here to?” - she repeats “she has gone” (there are toys
a n d th ere is this sim ple idea)
this su d d en little girl (sim ply - there’s n o one to re tu rn ) - an d o n
com es
(as if years a n d m o re years were passing)
a w indless evening - oh roses
here injuries to o are as if th ey were n o t - b u t still
so m eo n e keeps com ing to the w indow an d playing the fiddle
as if we deserved
to be busy w ith w ithdraw al
here am o n g th e ravines - a n d roses I w ould like ju st a little
b u t n o w there is n o th in g little
so as to rem ain w ith som ething sim ple - an d playing the fiddle
in a strangely-open way he keeps com ing
to step back from th e w indow
as if w ith o u t shadow : an d seem s to know injuries greater
to lend w ith o u t lo s s! - an d n o t forgetting
the evening w indless
as th e little girl’s sim ple u n d erstan d in g
w ith n o m eaning-details: is sim ple

1983
 P I T I F U L L A N D S C A P E BY A N
UNKNOWN ARTIST

to I. M.

tall d ry stem s
o f grass: th u s u n en d in g - a n d o u t o f the Sun
seem s to p o u r - a passionless w ord from the lips
o f a wise m an o f old: but pale: it visibly:
finds it hard to m o c k. . . a n d w ith brilliant noise
the w orld is no longer expressed: w hat it utters stum bles
like a b roken s ta lk . . . o t h e r . . . con tin u ed
to th e edge o f th e earth . . . - b u t the artist clearly gave up
seem ed to sigh . . . - an d in this grey haze
(barely perceptibly) suddenly shuddered
tw o o r three daisies

1983
 THE LAST RAVI NE
( PAUL C E L A N )

to M. Broda

I clim b;
th u s in walking
one builds
a tem ple.
Breath o f fraternity, - we are in this cloud:
I (w ith a w o rd u n k n o w n to m e
as if n o t in m y m in d ) an d w orm w ood (unquietly b itter
alongside m e th ru stin g
this w ord u p o n m e),
oh, once m ore
w orm w ood.
Clay,
sister.
A nd, o f m eanings, the one th at was needless an d central,
here (in these clods o f the m urdered)
seem s a n am e to n o purpose. W ith it
I am stained as I clim b
in sim ple - like fire - illum ination,
to be m arked w ith a final m ark
in place - o f a sum m it; like
an em p ty (since all is already abandoned)
face: like a place o f painlessness
it rises - above the w orm w ood
(•••
And
the fo rm
was
not
seen
...)
But th e cloud:
th ey grew b lin d er (in hollow facelessness),
the dep th s - w ith o u t m ovem ent; the light
as from openedness - o f stone.
Ever higher
a n d higher.

1983

LITTLE SONG FOR YOU A N D ME

b u t this tro u b le o f o u rs is a tw openny affair! n o t w o rth calling trouble

it does n o t w alk - barely toddles
does n o t h am m er o n the d o o r - rustles over the road
a n d is n o t a shadow - like an em pty hollow in fire!
trou b le o nly because th o u g h the grief is slight
as if close by - w ith som e k in d o f a m a r k ! . . . - an d like som e
p o o r rags
(an d very m u ch alive) it is stirring
an d again - like the sem blance o f a sigh!
so do n o t look aro u n d then:
since at ju st such a tim e it can say
m o re th a n G od (b u t perhaps it has been said)
a n d after long w aiting trem bles

1983
 to M . F o n fr e id e

o f islets
(all to m e)
th a t su m m er consisted:
I say: flowers: a n d an islet an d others
again - d am p w ith tears - there
in th e street
a n d som ew here beyond the ravine
a n d everyone - in soul passing by - was
(such visible rustling):
m y living friend (supple glim pse o f an em brace
from th e im age
again
will splash o u t
m o re th an once)
it w as - as if ann ensky was near
a n d like ch ild h o od a little girl com ing to m e in an apron:
it was th a t very radiance
trem b lin g
close a n d dear to m e ! . . . - a n d in glances full o f life
co m m u n icatio n
gleam ed
in m y quietness:
I lived in landslips o f w hite . . . - an d by sleep
I was passing - like tim e

1983
 A DEAD ROSE A M O N G PAPERS

O n m oney
taken from the poor,
to fulm inate - w ith sovereign powers.

Shall we call it shameless?

Even w ith this - to give th e m som ething.
A cause - for pleasure in others’ woes.

B ut something, be it ever so little - to the poor.

But, oh m y G od, w hat are we speaking of?

Even th e w ord poverty is n o t allowed us,

a n d th at
it sh o u ld be
o n p ap er - sim ple.

R ather they will snatch bread from a child.

O u t o f his hands, a pitiful crust.

1983
 LITTLE SONG ABOUT A LOSS

to Peter

long
like a desert
in such freedom it starts:

fu rth e r - still fu rth e r - m o re fathom less seen

carpenters laying (reddening a n d ever m ore distant)
logs o n the w ooden foundation:

an d th ey weep as they fall o n a log -

b u t this is such boundlessness

in sleep-clarification-of-the-edge-of-burning:

so it was p urified - n o m ore will anything be:

an d even - n o seeing: w ith th e soul! -

a n d o n ly red dening (and ever m ore distant)

they w eep - as they fall on the log

1983
 BEYOND THE TI ME OF R A V I N E S

all by w hich I shall die about th a t am I now

in o th er things
continued: a ragged-ancient slippage:
an d w hat is there to say:
an d yet - fresher th a n th e b irth o f leaves
in the m idst o f those islands (like children’s souls laughing b u t
w ith o u t th em ) -

those islands - 1 say - o f tufted grass

(as if in th eir m id st
I in soul in a smile
was long since w ith o u t myself) -

an d it trem bles am ong days

like th e o n e a n d only Day:

abiding: th e g lim m er-o f-love!. . . - only som ething a little - o f a

stran g er’s blood:

b u t such a th in g - rustles: a n d one tim e you will wake - w ith this! -

a n d why repeat it?

this is a circle: w ith the Sun to o n o t vanishing:

ju st as if
you agreed in th e All-field to v a n is h !. . . - b u t the gift o f the spirit:
divides w hat was divided by th e clever-unwise:

in o rd e r - th ro u g h a n d through! a n d by triu m p h - w ith n o bond! -

to be: th ro u g h abiding - u n to u ch ed by the world:

(w ind - above the ravine)

1983
 S C A T T E R OF P H L O X E S
IN THE O U T S K I R T S

b u t grief?
the possibility grows
o f letting it go som ew here . . . o f following:
a n d - freely - w ith its evident islets
this day grows u n q u ie t!. . . -
- a n d in it now here now there are w hite landslips:
w ho speaks th ro u g h them ? air like fire
since long ago u n see n -n o t-n atu ra l
only in fatal depths! I roam
w ith n o greater aim th a n the birds:
in a game: th at radiates em ptiness: light
is d raw n back - an d
th e places - like landslips - o f people
are in flower w ith o u t form s in fire like som ething pitiful
an d - as if they were secrets: they d ro w n !. . . from such
an o u tsk irt I w hisper - w ith lostness
in a little happiness (like light o f ash
o n paths: abolished: like th o u g h t
for m e th e ancientness o f phloxes is stirring
an d the life in th eir m idst
an d in th em
at one tim e - w ith dear ones)
ra th e r - 1 gaze
w ith th e stirring
(th an
in w hite
places
w ith thinking
I drow n):
th at long d u ra tio n is now greater th an life
a n d o u r abiding like the o u tsk irt
swells w ith n o nrecognition! nam es
will m ove away from m eaning:
it is w in d o f th e w orld
(now free
w ith o u t flowing - o f links:
it eats itself u p - w ith exhaustedness!
a n d trash - is rustling)

1983
 UNTITLED

w ho - th ro u g h silence
speaks o f the equal dignity - o f peace
in fro n t o f th e Creator? - it is slow ly-reddening
seconds - o f w ild roses
inclining a peaceful conjecture: we
also - m ig h t be included - b u t only w ith stillness
o f th e sam e - k i n d . . . - b u t t h e r e we drow n only
in voids w here m eanings are never an sw ers!. . . - a n d again to o u r
ow n silence
we re tu rn
as to th e tru est w ord

1983
 AFTER M I D N I G H T - SNOW
O U T S I D E THE W I N D O W

g rief
like o rp h an ly scattered-w hite clothing
(as if
o f a h id d en event
the fresh
d ep artu re)
to begin
an d w iden
th ro u g h a silent land
ju st - everyw here - b reathing desolation
th e field (oh grief) w ith som e blank spaces
(as if all is finished)
o f souls

1983
 ENTERING - A WOOD ONCE
ABANDONED

I en ter - in walking receiving: circles-glim m erings like a gift on

m yself
as if sh ining w ith an unseen river - expanding - ju st such a river -
into m yself - som ew here ever greater!
I am losing m yself - do n o t seek - even m ore - 1 rem em ber m ore
such th e n is th e finding o f peace - there was w hispering ab o u t th a t
o h there was
b u t now th ro u g h luck for felicity there is n o t even this
only so co n tin u in g to be you wifi be ever m ore yourself -
incom parably losing th at faintly sorrow ful “y ourself”
a n d in going o u t quenched: it m ay be - o u t o f m y sleep !. . . - oh
how long ago I was
an d how m uch
ever m ore - you are - only you! - som e kind o f Soullikeness is stifled
(as if I can still observe it)
an d - in a flash letting through: suddenly - a landslip-of-light
a n d only th e one - Began circling

1983
 AND: THE ONE-RAVINE

to the memory of Krysztof Baczynski

this tran q u illity

w in d over th e ravine by-People-called-sham elessly-R avine
a n d at last th e Super-dignity-A byss - a n d sim ply such a calm
collapse-D ignity: there is n o th in g it signifies U nity (to this degree
to th e m o m en t
by talking to th e end
w ind
over th e ravine)

w ind
like b reath in g already w ith N o th in g -an d -N o -o n e we say
spiritlikeness (likeness o f a likeness)
o f th e Friend-depths-of-first-created-A uschw itz - o f the all-hum an-
T hin k er-w ith -trenches
w ind
d ream n o t dream ed to the end
sensing (an d th e soul like b lo o d from a baby w ith banners tearing-
an d -cry in g in w ide-opening)
sensing-eating in endless dog-breathing
th e crater o f th e ravine
th e ravine
a n d o nly o u t o f liquid-substance-“o n ce -u p o n -a -tim e”
this inverse long-before-S om eone (w hen already like a corpse over
everything th e nam e
h ad sto pped shining! - the absence
o f traces shines - beyond th at end-of-shining)
oh this
inverse
n o less
Rain

oh quietness
I was n o t m ore sham eless
w ith you quietness
b u t now even so w ith m e
yo u quietness are like breathing
o f light-im m ortally-high
o f the spirit-of-A sh (in such true
beauty
now
you are
quietness)

w ind
we have finished b u t from the ravine
sham efully b u t still like a flower
the w ind like th e babble o f baby-Baczynski (here for you is a flower-
su ch -a-h iero g ly ph-of-super-perfection-trem bling - a n d n ow it has
arrived like th e w o u n d o f the child in its subtlety sham eless)
w ind
over th e ravine
th ey have finished
even bran d in g s o f perfection o f shining to grasses a n d birds teeth-of-
p erfections-of-H um anity-of-god-long-ago-Selfeaters
an d even som e
sign
to th e w ind
th ro u g h E m ptiness itself
ca n n o t be drilled h o m e o r sparked off
en d -o f-sh in in g
has covered: a n d there is n o nam e
o f-w h at-o r-o f-w h o m -T h at-n o w -to -g iv e-a-n am e-to -is-em p ty -an d -
late! - o f that: in closed setting aside!)
only b ones are shining n o t light o f eyes over the face!) an d a kind
o f endlessness
w ith o u t-d o ts-an d -d iv id in g
o f sham elessness in ultim ate subtlety
tearin g -S o m eth ing-tearing - an d m ore an d m ore subtly! - they have
finished - w in d over the ravine
they have finished
w ind
over th e ravine

1984

K ry szto f Baczynski: P olish p o e t (1 9 2 1 -1 9 4 4 ), killed in th e W arsaw U prising.

 HILL-FOREVER

to L. Putyakov

hill
b u rn in g an d m elting the th o u g h ts all aro u n d
how it was b o rn e in o n you
th a t d istan t poor-free childhood
o f a friend in to rn clothing: how this fire all-em bracingly entered
th e spaces betw een b rie f appearances:

(a child - was briefly passing) -

b u t from these op en spaces I com posed a tenderness

early-adolescent - clasping brotherly m ovem ents
sh u d d erin g possibly from the depths
w ith a gleam -of-people in all-people fire:

(n o less he was - a friend) -

a n d in th e venerated flam e-ancient-hill

these silence-landslips (like airy clearings)
seem ed ch u rch-shining-blue
from bits o f childish clarity
cracking m y collarbone
b u rn in g -

- a n d since then there has been a long tim e so long as i f absence o f

thought and o f world - circle long ago closed! -

an d n o t th e hill b u rn s b u t em ptinesses
bu rn in g -an sw erin g the blows
o f th at earth th at gapes (if only “in o u r h o m e” b u t we all are already
ourselves)
 a n d becam e e n d o f so u n d - in conceptions-places also!
w indlikeness only:

hollow echoes
w ith th e idea o f hom e-exhaustedness
w ith n o - directions! -

b u t o f im potence (since as forces we knew th e weak a n d departed

progenitors-w elders o f the heaven o f love o u t o f laboring clods
- w ith sim plicity o f lab o r - a n d o f clots o f soul) -

th e specters o f pow er im personal-faceless

can be seen
as th u n d e r o n th u n d e r
landslip o n landslip:

in o n e sky
o f n o n -m ean in g s - unique! -

. . . you ca n n o t even say in w hat circling all this re m a in s . . . -

(b u t th e friend?
the tru e nam e
o f any friend is - Loss:

an d for m e - “n o m a tte r” . . . - for m e it was long ju st a snatch o f

old song:
it was - “a child was briefly passing” . . . -

b u t I k now it: hill-forever)

 PHLOXES - A GLIMPSE

once
in days such as these
T h o u - wert:
(can it be? I am left w ith unknow ing
b u t w ith strength - th at is greater: since then
never changing):
it suddenly - flamed: w ith w ounds - th a t stared
as if w ith a beating b eauty-question
a k in d o f ro ad -b o d y - into the breast - from dep th o f n o o n
(a fragm ent! b o d y -p ath - in collarbones - in the neck
an d in w asteland o f the outskirts):
did the flowering trem ble: no-greater-love-possible?
m o re painful th a n life - the shock! th u s - suddenly
it cam e in - it struck: like blo o d on blood?
an d from b eau ty - 1 did n o t suffer but: “if only death”
(I w andered - n o tear shone white: day
was scarlet - m o re desolate) now
I seek - as w ith th e ghost o f a tear: now? “oh w hat you w ill”
only - into that lo v e!. . . (by chance - as if secretly
straying - am o n g phloxes)

1983
 NOT R E A C H I N G THE PLACE
W H E R E A F R I E N D IS

to Jacques Roubaud

this
is n o t w in d
b u t th ro u g h long freshness an evil
slippery-rosy - as if w ith w hispering
o f m o v em en t capable
feeling-of-disaster: this som ething - barely shudders
in th e house - as in the field:
w hite
it stands
close - to books: as if shining th ro u g h - by the b an k
o f th e river w here rem ains - a fragm ent o f light: just som e kin d o f
gleam s-and-shreds
o f u n h ap p in ess - in grasses: a n d suddenly - at once - like open
n ight: naked - in to th e d ark
a n d illu m in atio n
in it quietness:
as if th ey kept o n w alking - in a circle o f light
precisely a n d b rig h tly . . . an d again
in th e w arm th there is badness: and w ith crum pling o f breathing
again - close to the face! - shifting direction
w ith so m eth in g - still the sam e - rosily-form lessly swelling
in y o u r house

1983
 LEAF-FALL AND SILENCE

so th at I
in m yself sh o u ld pray,
You
are n o t filled for m e - w ith prayer,
a n d in evident pow erful
absence
1 am ringed, encircled.

But in her
th e child - 1 can n o t
pray. She is in herself
a prayer. You, in this quiet circle
Yourself
are utterly
in Yourself.

W hat am I
in th e Silence - as in steady Light?
O r in fire. But th e sick trees’ frozen equality is living. A nd You, next to
this —
are clarity, - oh, im penetrable clarity. C om pared to it
death is a p ro m is e . . . - is som ething o th e r ! . . . A nd in a dead circle
u n en d u rab ly
falls from a tree - a leaf.
 IN THE PEACE OF A U G U S T

recovery:

betw een shoulderblade an d neck

it lies h id d en - as if like an u n k n o w n living substance
naive a n d golden
h u m an silence -

rip en s for m em ory:

u n til now there was n o t a w ord —and n ow —like a b reath com es in

the h alf-em p ty shining:

a still incom prehensible prayer

(as for a child)

1984
 ALONGSIDE THE FOREST

but
at last I draw n ear there is n o one there never was
only silver
o f an cien t feeling - in free w arm th over forehead a n d shoulders
oh
this weightless
field - in its shining to heaven

this
is soul o f solitude like a glim m er o f shyness
existing all aro u n d
an d free it shines w hite by m y side
b u t p u rity is b ro u g h t forth - sim ply - th ro u g h p u rity itself
th e field
m anifestly
(still ju st like
a field for heaven)
glows w ith it - to itself

w hat
o f o th er things? th e shining pierced th ro u g h
in o rd er - to love
as it w ere som e angel - all a ro u n d - m y u nim pededness
creating th u s
th e place o f chastity:
- w hatever w inds there m ay be d ark departures o r lives
this is quieter th a n the god o f quiet!
there
in the silence
blue
FI NAL DEPARTURE
(WALLENBERG IN BUDAPEST: 1988)
In 1988, w hen I was allowed abroad for the first tim e, I spent the su m ­
m er in Budapest.
I h ad long been interested in the outstanding H ungarian sculptor
Im re Varga - 1 had retained a particularly strong m em o ry o f a re p ro ­
d u ctio n in a m agazine o f a sculpture o f the p o e t-m a rty r M iklos Rad-
n o ti, a victim o f H itler’s concentration cam ps, w h o m I h ad translated
into Chuvash.
O n o n e o f th e first days after m y arrival, m y B udapest friends to o k
m e to see the m o n u m en t to R aoul W allenberg th a t was designed by
Varga an d erected in M ay 1987. Thereafter, I often used to sit in the
little p ark w here the bronze W allenberg stands, a n d all th ro u g h the
following m o n th , n o t yet know ing w hat kin d o f po em it w ould be, I
w orked o n a subject th a t w ould n o t leave m e in peace, even d u rin g
long a n d tirin g journeys all over Hungary.
The initial title o f w hat I was w riting was “W allenberg’s H a n d ” -
the strangely enigm atic, stationary, yet “m oving” gesture o f th at han d
kept finding its way into m y rough drafts. A year later I began to look
for an epigraph for the p o em I had com pleted, an d tu rn e d to religious
literature. In theology the H an d is defined as “the in stru m en t a n d sign
o f action, expression, com m unication.” T he levels o f m eaning tu rn e d
o u t to cover an en o rm o u s range: from “pow er” a n d “possession” to
“dism issal” a n d “consolation.” All o f this, as I rem em bered m ore and
m o re clearly, was to be seen in Varga’s rem arkable work.
“Son o f th e Right H a n d ” was the nam e I privately gave to the great
Swede (the expression is used for the chosen o f the Lord, w ho is
“M an”), b u t for the p oem I chose a title a n d epigraph m ore a p p ro p ri­
ate to th e silent, restrained, sacrificial attitu d e o f W allenberg.
Let m e n o te finally th at the w ords Khaya an d Aurn are taken from
th e refrains o f H ebrew lullabies.

January 1991
 Donee eris felix, multos numerabis amicos:
tempora si tuerint nubile, solus erits.
(When the weather is fine you have many friends:
when the clouds gather, you are alone.)
[Inscription on the base of the monument to Raoul Wallenberg in Budapest]

this
is no one h ere. . . - b u t in fact: the long com pleted
co m m o n
an d single
final d ep a rtu re -

like a w orld sto pped sh o rt -

(and th ere rem ained —to the one rem aining

the long
cru m p led dam pness
- som ew here o n the neck o n lapels o n sleeves -
o f th e long
grow ing old o f a host o f eyes) -

this
is th e fro zen -in -trem bling (insubstantial specter
o f som e eternity)
b lack -to o th ed m o u th
o f th e sim ple th o rn -

keeping far from the lonely - u nchanging - hand:

at th e very sam e distance -

(here
nearby
in th e alley) -

this to w n o f haw th o rns - August

Eighty-Eight - a n d in its clear center
this single all-h u m an
h an d - this from long ago
is ju s t simple Sim plicity
o f beggarly-plain-eternity: like
dow n-at-heel slippers
in E ternal C o n -stru ct-io n s
for
Gas C ham bers a n d H air . . . -

tow n o f w ild roses . . . - only this han d

never rests:
it is incarnate
in eternal C onsolation
o f the long-since consoled: it rem ains - oh: w ith
no one an d n o th in g - the C onsoling
m ost
lonely h an d
in the w orld -

“here” - it has sto pped - “here

is th e d o o r”
(to say m o re - w ould be
to displace
th a t sam e God: an d thus
still m o re - to be
dam p -b oniness-fragility
in greater A b an donm ent): “here
is th e (railw ay-truck)
d o o r” —and th e simple
slow ly-eternal
removal - o f th e hand:

W orld
W ith N o o n e -

(just a fain t trem bling

K h a - ay - у a . . .)-

an d as if everlasting
like air like light -

this gleam ing:

still th e same
hand. . . -

long ago
p artin g long ago w ith the Heaven o f Wordlessness
it u n en d in g ly falls to th e pit
in b e-n e-d ic-tio n o f the terrible
E arth - like a S t o r e - H o u s e (oh how m uch o f this
I know
as th ro u g h Universe-Sleep) -

dam p
w ith th e steam o f unseen b lo o d -

(nearby the hills

lift them selves
in sweat - stirring
o u t o f d istant valleys - an d w ith-tattered-rags-to-the-w ind-only-
praying
b a c k s . . . - lo n g since unm oving
silent as th e h a n d —a n d n ow never
again will it trem ble
the han d ) -

- th e train s have departed:

oh: K h a y - у a . . . -

A —a —aum . . . -

a n d Tim e
carrion-spectral - has becom e
the m in u te
(oh at last) o f farewell
long ago -

Long-A go-U nending

(...they si ng . . .)-
this
is th e O n e Level
H ig h e r - they have scattered speaking-and-singing
Lower
They Keep Speaking to the H and (and shouting) - such is
th e T rinity
in th e blazing h eat -

(for
In the M iddle is the H and) -

in th e to w n o f h aw th o rn s (always gaping
in those
alleys-and-shouts
oh
black -m o u th ed ) -

an d - again
com es in the pitiful
childish dance-likeness
w ith n o one:

K ha - ay - у a -

(n o t even a ghost o f air)

oh: A u m . . . -
- a su d d en blow to the face: for there was
an o th er h an d
w hite - o n red balcony railings
beside th e azaleas -

(suddenly it shu d d ered a n d vanished

an d th e w orld
becam e - a piercing nail in the forehead:

oh: this
first center o f fea r

- an d y e t no one shouted ou t “m o th e r” ) . . . -

th e silence o f th e h an d
becam e a w orld - a n d soaked th ro u g h cracked open
still not abandoning
it h ad long dism issed (such a h an d
takes leave - f o r itself alone
never taking leave):

like G od sto p p ed sh o rt
(n o o th er
will there be - n o o th er
only
His Stopping) -

here
is this p l a c e
of t he h a n d . . . - a n d above it
th e Gaze o f th e Lips:

so - as if in light flight
barely trem b lin g they look
only - at children . . . -

(and
how afterw ard
m ingled
w ith th is childlike im p o rtu n ity
th e cru shed in -fir-m i-ty o f ra-di-ance
o f holy-beggarly-bystanding
lam en ted by so m ebody
b odies - yes indeed: as o f materials
b u t still
even s o - th e L ord’s . . . ) —

an d the d re am ed -o f Tim elikeness

ascending (W hither-A scending)
long since - w ith o u t m ovem ent: becam e
th e last boundlessly-single
m o m e n t o f Rescue (the clang:

. . . as if - piercing his finger . . . - w ith the needle

oh God! - S chubert’s n e e d le . . . - th e clang):

the face d arkening

becom es
a co n tin u atio n
o f th e Final D oor:
(oh how m any there were: fields a n d valleys
all
from th e black
doors)

oh: K h a y a . .

m aybe
I am D ream w ith o u t Self
w here they sang laughed a n d w ept
straight away they were nowhere bu t they sing
on ly th e h an d does n o t leave
its Level
above E arth: th ey w ent an d will go
an d it only rem ains: th ro u g h branches
stare
clouds
(oh - d irty -to o th ed ) -

- th e train s have d ep arted - the harm onica

alone to the w hole Earth
sings
in the w orld
in a tattered h aw th o rn b ush continuing
th e rain and its solitude:

K h a - a y - y a ...

August 1988, Budapest

 FOR A LONG TIME:
INTO W H I S P E R I N G S
AND RUSTLI NGS
W hisperings, rustlings. As if w ind were penetrating into a cold store­
ro o m a n d flour scattering som ew here. O r - straw trem bling in a yard
ab an d o n ed by all. T he rustling is the com ing into being o f som e land.
“To be a m ouse,” said that poet. To be a m ouse. Vertiginous. R ip­
ples. A fterw ard they said it was poison. H alf-a-Pole. H a-alf . . . As if
b eh in d th e w hispering o f clothes was a cut. F rom the slaughterhouse.
A nd h id d en in the rustling - blood. Even if it was only m an-clothing.
A lone, alone, - w ith the liquids o f to rtu re.
But reb-be, m ade o f all things - o f this an d o f that - you were
so m uch one, - dirt, a to rn book, an d blood, - oh alm ost Trans­
parency, - w in ter dance in the street, tattered jacket, m an-snow drifts
(for everywhere was the sweat o f poverty, - even in straw: there - in
the w ind, a n d th e scattered handful o f flour).
Life, rebbe.
A nd then, - here. This face . . . - all-em bracing. It is as if you are
walking th ro u g h the city, an d everywhere it is “m ine,” every co rn er o f
it. V ertiginous. T hen - the ripples. A nd even if it was only: a garden
(all this is face, in the face) splashed o u t there - inaccesssibly. It sprang
back, p ain - as from glass. A nd - you cannot squeeze in. “A garden -
ju st a garden.” Like a p o p u lar tune. B ottom less. A nd - close at hand.
A nd how does it h ap p en in the voice - som e b o tto m lies co n ­
cealed. A nd do we converse in words? W ind. B ottom less. You can n o t
n am e it - even w ith signs.
A nd this m an from H ungary. Sim ply - a fraternal grave, n o m ore.
T hey du g h im o u t - w ith all the others (and this is w hat m atters m ost)
in to th e light o f Day, an d suddenly - there was the M otherland. The
qu estio n solved. W ith all the others (this m atters m ost).
“G o d ” - n o t th e right expression. T here is only: “A nd G od?” For
ever a n d ever.
A nd then - those journeys. Rol-ling stone. For prizes. A nd speeches.
All correct. In h o n o r of. A nd all - seems: floating-in-air! A nd as if
th ro u g h heaven it w an-ders: pain-language, - alone, - for heaven. Ah
em pty. Give u p the ghost, - huddle up, - only pain. Language? - the
W ind o f th e Universe.
O h how sim ple it is. This “simple,” there is n o place for it in lan ­
guage. (You can try. S traight o u t will com e - a thing. “The simple,” -
such F reedom - com pare it: the m in d b ro u g h t collapse.)
Ripples. Sim ple, vertiginous.
O h, w hisperings, m y clothing. Straw. T-r-a-sh. O h, rustling, m y
skin. I-m o th erlan d , I such-clothing-and-flesh. W ith w hispering-skin.
Ripples.
But n o o ne cries out. T hat-is. N ot I then. “I” is sticky. T here is
so m ething o th er (behind - the w hispering. B ehind this rustling).
A n d in th e w ater walks the sight o f this F renchm an. C ar-r-ion.
W h at is this, - th e essence? - the clothing? The one-ness.
Forget. O h, w hen then. Forget. A nd - p u r i t y begins.
A nd.
Ripples. W ith all the d irt - o f to rtu re.
N o floating back up.
N o -Bapteme.
N o-o.

1991

th a t poet: T h e Polish p o e t A leksander W at (1900-67), w h o fell foul o f th e Soviet o c cu ­

piers o f P oland a n d was exiled to K azakhstan d u rin g W orld W ar II; subsequently, like
C elan, h e e m ig ra te d to Paris.

rebbe: a Y iddish w o rd fo r ra b b i, m aster, teacher, o r m entor.

A n d this m a n fro m H ungary. T h e H u n g a ria n p o e t M iklos R ad n o ti (1909-44), a v ictim

o f th e H o lo cau st; d u rin g a forced m arc h w ith a large g ro u p o f H u n g a ria n Jews, h e was
sh o t a n d th ro w n in to a m ass grave.
 Afterword
G ennady Aygi is already know n to English-speaking readers th ro u g h a
n u m b er o f published volum es, notably the bilingual Selected Poems
1954-1994 (Angel Books a n d N orthw estern U niversity Press, 1997),
Salute - to Singing (Z ephyr Books, 2002), an d Child-and-Rose (New
D irections, 2003). All o f these contain inform ation about the p o e t’s
life an d w ritings, so I shall lim it m yself here to a b rie f biographical
sketch followed by a few w ords o n th e poem s th a t m ake u p this
volum e.
Aygi was b o rn o n August 21,1934, som e 400 m iles east o f M oscow
in a village in th e C huvash Republic, at th at tim e p a rt o f the Soviet
U nion, now included in the R ussian Federation. H is first language was
C huvash (a Turkic language), an d he eventually becam e the C huvash
natio n al p o et - besides w riting originally in C huvash, he translated
m uch foreign p o etry into his native tongue an d assem bled a rem ark­
able an thology o f C huvash p o etry th at has been translated into several
languages. But Aygi is above all a Russian poet, having sw itched to
w riting in R ussian largely o n the advice o f Boris Pasternak, w ith
w hom he was friendly d u rin g his tim e at the M oscow L iterary Insti­
tute an d w ho rem ained a vital influence o n his w o rk and his vision o f
the world.
H is friendship w ith Pasternak a n d his ow n u n o rth o d o x poetics
co m bined to expose him to political harassm ent from his stu d en t
years on. D u rin g the Soviet p erio d he rem ained virtually unpublished
in Russia o r C huvashia at a tim e w hen he was becom ing w idely
know n, translated, a n d adm ired abroad. H e lived in M oscow an d was
m arrie d four tim es, having five sons a n d tw o daughters. In the 1960s
he w orked at th e M ayakovsky M useum organizing a rt exhibitions;
after being dism issed from this post, he m ade a precarious living
th ro u g h tran slation. H is life was difficult, b u t he found su p p o rt in an
“u n d e rg ro u n d ” o f like-m inded creative artists. O nly w ith th e pere­
stroika o f the late 1980s did he begin to be officially published an d to
receive recognition in Russia an d C huvashia; at the sam e tim e, he
began to travel all over the w orld, received m any awards, an d was sev­
eral tim es n o m in ated for a N obel Prize. H e died o f cancer in M oscow
on F ebruary 21, 2006, a n d received an official state funeral.

Aygi’s essential w ork is a series o f lyric “books” w hich taken together

m ake u p w hat he called his “life-book.” Because o f the difficulty o f
pu b lish in g his w ork in th e Soviet U nion, these books rarely appeared
as separate publications. T he present volum e, w hich was planned by
th e a u th o r sh o rtly before his death, contains com plete translations o f
tw o o f them , Field-Russia (Pole-Rossiia, w ritten in 1979-82) an d Tim e
o f Ravines ( Vremya Ovragov, w ritten in 1982-4), followed by Final D e­
parture (Poslednyi O t’ezd, w ritten in 1989), a po em in eight parts
devoted to the m em o ry o f the Swedish diplom at R aoul W allenberg,
an d by a sh o rt trib u te to Celan in poetic prose. These are preceded by
a long interview given in 1985 th a t casts a vivid light o n the way Aygi
saw his poetic w o rk at the tim e w hen these poem s were w ritten.
In Aygi’s view, Field-Russia occupied a central po sitio n in his
w ork. It was b eg u n after a particularly tragic p erio d in his life, d o m i­
n ated by the politically inspired m u rd e r in 1976 o f his close friend, the
p o et a n d tran slato r K onstantin Petrovich Bogatyrev. Aygi h ad over­
com e th e im m ediate im pact o f this trau m a tic loss in w hat he called
th e “explosion” o f the lu m in o u s lyrical w ork Tim e o f Gratitude, w hich
carries an epigraph attrib u ted to Plato: “N ight is the best tim e for b e­
lieving in light.” But after this explosion Aygi fell back into silence, and
in January 1979 he w rote to m e o f a “fearful in n er dum bness since last
sum m er.” At th e sam e tim e, however, he declared th at “gradually I
have com e to th e firm knowledge and certainty th a t I have had enough
o f despair” It to o k him m any m o n th s to find his voice again, however.
In January 1980 he w rote: “life - apart from day-to-day w orries - is
above all a difficult spiritual search for som ething to live by; previ­
ously everything fo u n d a voice in th e ‘poetic’ w ord; now there have
com e to be som e ‘spheres’ o f life w here there is n o W ord.”
In 1980 Aygi spent the sum m er w ith his fam ily in a R ussian village
- a stay th at was to be repeated the following tw o sum m ers. It is p rin ­
cipally to this th at we owe the new beginning th a t Field-Russia repre­
sents in his w ork. T he Russian countryside, th e villages w ith th eir
ru in ed churches, an d the people aro u n d h im all spoke to Aygi o f sp iri­
tual a n d m o ral values th at were m ore an d m ore retreating into an in ­
accessible past, an d th a t he felt com pelled to reassert. At the sam e
tim e, the fields an d w oods o f the Tula region recalled th e treasured
C huvash countryside o f his childhood, so th at in w riting ab o u t Russia
he was also proclaim ing w hat C huvash and Russian ru ral cultures
have in co m m on. I can probably best shed light o n this by quoting
from a series o f letters I received from him betw een 1980 an d 1982.
O n June 19,1980, he w rote: “We have been in the c o u n try for five
days now, 140 kilom eters from Moscow, in the Tula region. O u r village
(w ith tw enty houses) stands in a clearing in the m iddle o f deep forest.
All aro u n d there are oak trees, rem inding m e o f m y C huvash child­
hood. I can’t tell w h ether m y C huvash soul is w eeping o r rejoicing.
“A nd the hills, hill after hill, they have started speaking together in
such a Russian voice (such an ancient Russian voice! as if there was
som ething ‘iconic’ ab o u t them ). I w rite - an d w ith m y shoulders I
feel-and-know th at the h aw th o rn is flowering now in the m ist (the
h u m an soul can n o t know such tran q u il solitude; I am reading here
the w ritings o f Russian holy men; b eh in d th eir sayings there stands
th eir silence . . . - 1 jo t dow n som e verse - an d d e s p a ir. . . )
“But, yes, - 1 am w orking [ ...]
“All M ay I was very ill [ . .. ] an d for the first tim e perhaps I discov­
ered th e beneficial effect o f illness - I was feeling devastated an d then
suddenly I felt th at som e kin d o f ‘m eaningful’ silence h ad entered this
em ptiness: I started w riting in a new genre’ o f tran q u illity and feeble­
ness - so m ething o f this survives here too, in this unG odforsaken
village.”
O n his re tu rn to M oscow in Septem ber, Aygi su m m ed u p the
su m m er experience: “We sp en t two a n d a half m o n th s in the country;
there was such a feeling o f Russia com ing to an end (and in the people
it h ad already com e to an end) —a state o f m ore th a n grief, b u t at the
sam e tim e o f m ore th a n ‘happiness.’” Six m o n th s later, o n A pril 1,
1981, he was anticipating the com ing sum m er: “A m o n th o r a m o n th
a n d a h alf from now, G od w illing, we shall be able to go to the c o u n ­
try, a n d it seem s a very sh o rt tim e since I was w riting to you from
there - from a blessed place, from ‘Field-Russia’! (So life passes, and
th at is good! A lthough I am m ore an d m ore glad to be alive - as no
d o u b t a tree m u st feel in m iddle life, having got used to the ‘usual’ ups
a n d d ow ns o f life.)”
O n June 20, he w rote again, and the letter conveys well the c o n tra ­
d icto ry feelings th at ru n th ro u g h the poem s o f Field-Russia (en ch an t­
m en t w ith the village an d its su rro u n d in g s, b u t at the sam e tim e g rief at
th e disappearance o f a precious w orld): “I am w riting to you from the
sam e village fro m w hich I w rote just a year ago. This tim e, I have a lot o f
w ork to do in th e vegetable garden [ . .. ] It’s a lot o f w ork, an d a lot o f
pleasure, the cu cu m b ers an d potatoes are already in flower [ ...]
“H ere, am o n g th e m arvel o f the golden encircling hills and the in ­
credible fields, it seem ed last year th a t I was touched by ‘the one who
breath es everywhere.’ I am quietly longing for the re tu rn o f th at
‘breathing,’ a n d co n tin u in g th e cycle o f poem s I began last year, my
m ost ‘R ussian cycle [. . .] But it is h ard to cast off the feeling o f
‘o rp h a n h o o d ’ (relating to the land a n d the ‘people’) in these wide
spaces th a t are so dear to me.”
In th e following year, Aygi was still w riting poem s for Field-Russia
- m any o f th e poem s in the th ird section are dated 1982. But at the
sam e tim e he was w orking tow ard a new book, Tim e o f Ravines, as is
indicated by this extract from a letter o f February 3,1982: “I began the
year in th e darkness o f m y ow n depressed state (brought o n by bad
news, directly concerning som e close friends). But th a n k goodness I
have taken a grip on m yself and am w riting som e new things (in a
rath er m u ted m an n er) - possibly the start o f a new book.
“ ‘New,’ th a t is, in relation to the b o o k o f poem s I w rote last su m ­
mer. Those were m o n th s o f unusual em otion an d exaltation. I should
love you to see those poem s - som ew here a n d som ehow. This cycle
u n d o u b ted ly contains an inw ard conversation w ith you (these are no t
m ere words, you are one o f the tw o o r three friends w ith w hom I
inevitably an d naturally carry o n a kind o f ‘hidden’ conversation,
w hen I am free an d alone in nature).”
Tim e o f Ravines is a new book, then, w ritten in a ra th e r different
m anner, b u t there is m uch to link it them atically to Field-Russia,
above all th e desire to assert spiritual an d n atu ra l values in the face o f
grief, oppression, a n d loss. It is also w orth n o tin g th at the com posi­
tio n o f these poem s overlapped w ith the quite different cycle, the very
joyful Veronica’s Book, w hich was devoted to the first six m o n th s o f his
new d au g h ter’s life. Tim e o f Ravines seems to m e a m o re “C huvash”
b o o k th an its predecessor, principally perhaps because the “ravines” o f
th e title, w hich figure in so m any poem s here, are a p ro m in e n t feature
o f the C huvash landscape. A significant feature too, for d u rin g the
years o f th e Tatar o ccupation (from the th irteen th to the fifteenth cen­
turies), th e C huvash peasants (w ho at this tim e lost m u ch o f th eir cul­
tu re an d th eir w ritten language) to o k refuge from the invaders in
th e ravines th at cut th ro u g h th eir fields. In the in tro d u ctio n to his Ati-
 thology o f Chuvash Poetry, Aygi quotes from the com poser Kheveder
Pavlov: “C huvash p o e try was a ‘song from the ravine,’ because the
w orking people, suffering from an oppressive yoke, did n o t dare to
settle in o p en places [ . .. ] In C huvash villages it was only at night th at
you co uld h ear from the ravines the sad songs o f girls celebrating
som e festival.”
T he m o d ern equivalent o f the Tatar yoke is only h in ted at in this
collection (rad io jam m ing, psychiatric hospitals, Van G ogh at Arles,
. . .), b u t it is always a d ark a n d threatening presence. A nd there is
o p en reference to o n e p artic u la r figure, the tragic G erm an p o et Paul
C elan, w hose w ritin g was a cardinal p o in t o f reference for Aygi at this
tim e. C elan appears as the p o sth u m o u s dedicatee o f one po em in
Field-Russia a n d as the subject o f “T he Last Ravine” in Tim e o f
Ravines, w here the im age o f the ravine seems to relate n o t only to
C huvash geography a n d h isto ry b u t to the m o d ern landscape o f the
H olocaust.
S om ew hat later, in 1991, Aygi was to w rite his trib u te to Celan, For
a Long Time: Into Whisperings and Rustlings, an d it is n o t entirely a co­
incidence th at th e sam e year saw the publication in Russia o f Final
Departure. H ere the black h isto ry o f W orld W ar II, w hich lies behind
C elan’s poetry, em erges as Aygi’s principal them e. But here, too, he re­
jects despair, cen tering his p o em o n the heroic figure o f W allenberg,
w ho was in stru m en tal in rescuing th o u san d s o f H ungarian Jews from
th e N azi ex term in atio n cam ps, only to perish him self as a p riso n er in
Soviet Russia.
Aygi also can be read as a “n atu re poet.” M any o f his poem s take
th eir title from n atu ra l objects: fields, clearings, hills, ravines, trees,
flowers, snow, air. H e is constantly alive to the w orld th at su rro u n d s
us, above all th e w orld o f the C huvash o r Russian countryside. N ature
is a sure source o f value; like W ordsw orth o r H opkins, Aygi sees in it
an essential sp iritu al force th a t h u m a n beings need to preserve, re­
spect, a n d love. To a certain extent, the n atu ra l w orld - the fields o f
Russia, th e ravines o f C huvashia - is a refuge from the losses, pains,
an d degradations o f h u m an history. Yet this h u m a n history, an d in
p articular th e tragic h istory o f the tw entieth century, is at the h eart o f
Aygi s poetic enterprise. As I w rite this afterw ord shortly after the
d eath o f a p o et w ho was also a dear friend, I hope th a t the reader o f
this volum e will appreciate the tru th o f w hat Agyi said in an interview
from th e 1970s: “Poetry, as I see it, can do one thing only: preserve
h u m an w arm th u n d e r the cold sky o f the world.”

Peter France
Edinburgh, April 2006
Igor Vulokh
 G E N N A D Y A Y G I
F I E L D - RUSSI A
TRA N SLATED FROM T H E R U S S IA N BY P E T E R F R A N C E

I was hiding you burying you then

in forest illumination
as if building a nest out of you
(I did not know that both fingers and birds were playing
and coming into being
for a music unknown to me:
timidly-supple to pulse in air-clots of trembling
so - to touch: as if not to touch)
—from “You-And-Forest”

h e d e a th o f GENNADY AYGI o n F e b r u a ry 21, 2006 w as a te rr ib le lo ss to c o n te m p o ­

T r a ry w o rld p o e try . H is life lo n g tr a n s la to r a n d frie n d , P e te r F ra n c e , e u lo g iz e d h im in The

Guardian, saying: “A ygi w ro te fro m a d e e p a w a re n e ss o f th e lo sse s a n d d e s tr u c tio n s o f th e
2 0 th c e n tu ry . . . . H is p o e tr y w as a p o e tr y o f lig h t, se e k in g to a sse rt th e v a lu e s o f h u m a n c o m ­
m u n ity a n d o n e n e s s w ith th e re s t o f c re a tio n .” Field-Russia is a b o o k o f p o e m s Aygi a r ra n g e d
s h o rtly b e fo re h is d e a th . It b e g in s w ith a n in fo rm a l c o n v e rs a tio n a b o u t h is th o u g h ts o n p o e try ,
a n d o p e n s o u t i n to a se rie s o f little ly ric “b o o k s ”— Field-Russia, Time of the Ravines, a n d Final
Departure— that to g e th e r f o r m a p a r t o f w h a t A ygi c a lle d h is “ life -b o o k .” T h e c o lle c tio n closes
w ith a re m a r k a b le p o e tic t r ib u t e t o P a u l C e la n , fo llo w e d b y a m o v in g A fte rw o rd b y P e te r F ra n c e .
A v a n g u a r d is t n a tu r e p o e t w ith r o o ts in a n c ie n t s h a m a n is tic tr a d itio n s , A ygi, like A k h m a to v a
a n d C e la n b e fo re h im , h a s le ft u s w ith th o s e m o s t n e c e s s a ry w o rd s to d w e ll in — a q u ie t, s p ir itu a l
p o e tr y in a tim e o f u p r o o te d n e s s a n d d e sp a ir.

G E N N A D Y A Y G I w a s b o r n o n A u g u s t 2 1 ,1934, s o m e 4 0 0 m ile s e a s t
o f M o s c o w in a villag e in th e C h u v a s h R e p u b lic . H is firs t la n g u a g e
w a s C h u v a s h , a n d h e e v e n tu a lly b e c a m e th e C h u v a s h n a tio n a l p o e t.
L a te r a t th e u rg in g s o f P a s te rn a k a n d H ik m e t, h e s ta r te d to w rite
in R u ssia n . F o r o v e r tw e n ty y e a rs A ygi. h a d fe w er th a n a d o z e n
re a d e r s a n d h is w o r k r e m a in e d u n p u b lis h e d in th e S o v ie t U n io n
u n til th e 1980s. S in ce th e n h e h a s b e e n p u b lis h e d a n d tra n s la te d
in m o r e th a n tw e n ty c o u n tr ie s , a n d re c e iv e d m a n y h o n o r s in c lu d ­
in g C o m m a n d e u r in th e O r d r e d e s A rts e t d e s L ettre s, th e P e tra rc h
P riz e, th e P a s te rn a k P riz e, a n d w as se v e ra l tim e s n o m in a te d fo r th e
N o b e l P riz e. N e w D ire c tio n s a ls o p u b lis h e s h is c o lle c tio n o f p o e m s
Child-And-Rose.
ISBN 978-0-8112-1721-7

978081121721751595
Cover photographs by Peter France; author photograph
by A. Kolmykov; Design by Sem adar Megged

A N e w D ire c tio n s P a p e rb o o k O r ig in a l N D P 1 0 8 5
9 . uuu 1
$15 .9 5 U S A \ $ 1 9 .0 0 C A N
I n d e p e n d e n t P u b l i s h e r S i n c e 1936 w w w .n d p u b l i s h i n g .c o m